#I Win Golf Clubs

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.

2. Use adverbs.

Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!

4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter

First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.

If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:

English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.

Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.

You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.

If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.

You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.

That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.

5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were

Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.

Well, bye!

[sunsburns]

good luck, babe!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader x patrick zweig x art donaldson

summary: patrick zwieg invites tashi duncan and art donaldson to join him at your engagement party. you think they came to celebrate you and your new chapter and put the past behind you, rebuilding lost friendships, but tashi hopes to stop you from marrying a man you never wanted.

—or: the trio crashes your engagement party

word count: 10k+ (i have a serious problem)

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, post-challengers movie, fluff & comfort, angst, tashi’s pov but lowkey get's mixed up around the end, foursome, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sed (wrap it before yall tap it), homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, three-way make out, four-way make out, dom!tashi, patrick being nasty, art being a loser, no use of y/n, situationship that lasts 13 years.

author’s note: this fic is based on this request with inspo from the greatest song on earth: good luck, babe! it was supposed to be a quick smut blurb but at this point, you all know i can’t write smut without some kind of angsty plot. everyone is super messy and there is some of the dirtiest smut i’ve written so far (it’s only going to get worse from here). this one is a roller coaster.

It didn't make sense to any of them, how you could've possibly ended up with him. 

Tashi remembered him from Stanford vividly. He came from a white-collared family, with daddy's money that bought him everything he could've ever asked for, yet he still wanted more. He played golf and polo and even dabbled with tennis but never had enough guts or skill to take it seriously. But his dad funded most of the programs and events at the school, so everyone had known him, his charm, his family, and his inability to stick to one thing even outside of sports. He clung onto a new girl every other week, a new girl wrapped around his finger only to be ultimately tossed aside like the rest of them.

"What a dick," Tashi remembered you saying once, stabbing your fork into your salad while glaring daggers at him from across the cafeteria as he bragged loudly to his fan club about how he beat you in a game of tennis. 

Which he didn't. 

You let him win. 

His parents had been paying you to coach him, paid you extra every time you let him win a set or two against you, even if it was off the record. God knows you needed the money.

"I think I'm gonna quit." You said, turning back to glance at Tashi.

"About damn time," she snickered, shaking her head. "I told you you're wasting your time with him when you could be doing something better. Like training with me."

You had rolled your eyes and poked her arm with your fork, "If I'm still trailing after him this time next week, shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery."

Almost thirteen years later, you're walking around with his ring on your finger at your engagement party. A party where your fiancé announced your upcoming retirement after a tennis career run that Tashi would’ve killed for: a six-time US Open winner; two-time gold medalist at the Olympics; and brand deals that would ensure you and the next four generations of your family lived happily under your trust fund.

Clearly, you weren't marrying him for his money.

It made Tashi anxious, because, in some way, she could see that the marriage you will have with your fiancé is far too similar to how Tashi's would have been if she and Patrick stayed together. 

Okay, maybe that was a reach.

Or maybe it's how it would've been if neither of you had gone up to Art and Patrick's hotel room that night. Or maybe it would've been Tashi's ring on your finger instead.

She couldn't shake the bitter taste in her mouth as she watched you laugh with him, your eyes lighting up in the way they always did when you were truly happy. It used to be her who made you smile like that. She remembered the late-night practices, the shared victories, and the quiet moments shared in the comfort of her dorm room. She remembered the promises you both made and dreams of dominating the tennis world together.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past, she shouldn't think about what-ifs. At least that's what Art tells her with a hand on her shoulder. Tashi glances at his hand, noting the wedding band that rests on his finger. The squeeze he gives is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it feels suffocating.

"I'll never know how he bagged her," Patrick tuts from her other side, a drink already in his hand. He holds it close to his mouth, biting the rim of the glass before taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. His gaze is shameless, tracing the way your dress hugs your curves, how your hair shines under the chandelier lights, and the way your lips move as you speak.

"Lucky, lucky man..." Patrick shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

A waiter passes by, offering hors d'oeuvres, and Patrick takes enough for the three of them for himself, setting his empty glass on the platter. As he stuffs an appetizer in his mouth, he begins to walk away, his eyes fixed on you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Art asks, his hand slipping from Tashi's shoulder.

Patrick spins around, mouth full, and shrugs. "To congratulate the future bride."

Art and Tashi stand there, watching, almost dumbfounded when they see Patrick sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you into the air. You shriek, champagne spilling from your glass, but once you see who it is, a wide smile breaks across your face.

"Patrick!" Tashi can hear you from across the hall. Patrick lifts you again, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he spins you around, your laughter ringing out—a sweet melody that draws the attention of everyone nearby. "You made it!"

Tashi feels a pang of surprise. 

You and Patrick had been in closer contact than she imagined. It stings, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you after her injury, much like the distance that had grown between Art and Patrick. She never knew you had turned to Patrick for comfort. Though it made sense—Patrick was the one you invited, not her, not Art. Patrick was the one who had to ask if he could bring two guests instead of the traditional plus-one. 

But surely, you must have known that if you invited Patrick, Tashi and Art would come too, right? 

Right? 

The question churns a pit of dread in her stomach as Art starts to lead her closer to you out of courtesy.

Patrick's arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, his hand resting too low to be innocent, but you seem happy nonetheless. Happier in Patrick's arms than in the arms of your future husband. You embrace him close, the ring on your finger glimmering under the chandelier lights as you hold onto the back of his neck, your laughter finally subsiding as the spinning stops.

As Tashi and Art approach, the reality of the situation hits her harder. She's watching from the outside, a spectator to your happiness, feeling the sting of what could have been. She forces a smile; your engagement to the worst person in the world can't possibly be the thing that makes her break. Not after everything she's built since she started coaching.

Art tries to catch your eye, offering a polite smile once you let go of Patrick. "Hey."

"Hi," you say breathlessly, a bright smile across your face while Patrick swings his arm over your shoulder. You seem happy, almost relieved that Tashi and Art were here as if you doubted their attendance. "Wow, it's been so long. You guys look great."

"Thanks," Tashi finally says, the words weighing on her tongue like lead.

"You look beautiful," Art tells you, and it's rushed as if he's been trying to keep it to himself but couldn't help it once he was close enough to you.

Before you can get a word out, another arm wraps around your waist, discreetly pushing Patrick away from you to slide into your side. Patrick lets out an annoyed groan, stepping aside as your fiancé squeezes you tightly and says, "She does, doesn't she? Hey, killer."

You turn to him, about to say something, maybe greet him back, maybe introduce him to everyone. But he doesn't let you, he's leaning closer until his lips lock with yours. It takes you by surprise—you flinch at first before finally letting him kiss you properly, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible.

Art lets out a low, awkward sigh while watching it happen before him, and Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping back in search of a waiter for another drink.

He holds onto you like you're a prize he's won. Almost as if he's been competing with everyone in the world to finally hold you and show you off. As if that's all you had to offer.

You blink, clearly embarrassed, as you clear your throat to disperse the awkward tension in the air. "These are some, uh," you stumble over your words before nodding towards Art, Tashi, and Patrick, "some old friends from college. I'm sure you remember—"

He's interrupting you again, reaching out with the hand that's not on you to shake Tashi's hand. He holds it tightly, his thumb pressing against her wedding ring. "Tashi Duncan, how could I ever forget? Still beautiful as ever."

She has to force herself to smile, for your sake. "Good to see you too—"

"You know," your fiancé starts, cutting her off, "I still remember the time you told me to suck a bag of dicks 'cause I took up your court time. Best day of my life."

"Yeah," Patrick laughs. He's found another glass of champagne to sip on, and it's by his lips when he says, "who doesn't love getting cussed out by Tashi."

You wince. "Patrick—"

"No, no. He's right. It's one out of a million. I took it as a compliement," your fiancé says, glancing at Tashi again, his eyes darting up and down, lingering on her wedding ring once more before she finally pulls her hand out of his grasp. He spots the arm Tashi has been clinging to. "Art Donaldson, I'm a big fan."

Art stiffens as if taken by surprise. "Really?"

Your fiancé is nodding, and when Art glances your way for a split second, he tugs you closer. "You're incredible. Watching you play, it's like, woah! He's killin' it out there. Too bad you've retired though, would've loved to see you play longer."

There's a faint redness to Art's face when he nods. "Oh, thank you."

"I've always wondered if I'd turn out the way you did if I stuck to tennis." Then he laughs, nudging your side. "If only this one put me to work like Tashi did to you, maybe we would've competed in the US Open a few times."

You snort and shake your head, the idea of watching the two of them even standing on the court together amusing you. "You couldn't beat Art if you tried."

Your fiancé shrugs. "Maybe Patrick."

"Stop kidding yourself. You can't even beat your nephew and he's twelve."

He hums, turning so that he'll face you. He holds your waist with both hands, caressing you gently. "You sure know your way into a man's heart, baby," he says lowly before kissing you again. It's rough and messy, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You shriek and press your hands against his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, peeking a glance towards the trio while kissing you.

Tashi feels a knot of disgust tightening in her stomach. The audacity of him to touch you like that in front of them, as if he’s marking his territory, sets her blood boiling just a little bit. God, did no one teach this guy any kind of etiquette?

She catches Art's expression out of the corner of her eye—his jaw is clenched as he turns to look away. Patrick's lips curl in a sneer, the glass in his hand trembling slightly. He fights the urge to throw it.

Your fiancé reaches down and gropes your ass over your silky white dress before finally separating from you.

You stand there, looking flushed and embarrassed, letting him whisper something in your ear before he walks off, joining a group of men who whistle and catcall at him as he nears them. Each jeer and hoot feels like a slap to the face.

"Uh, sorry," you apologize, unable to meet their eyes as you blindly wipe at your chin to fix your lipstick. "That was... I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like this. He's, uh... he's great."

Patrick scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, real great."

Tashi can’t help but frown, her heart aching as she watches you fumble. "You can't possibly want to marry him," she wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She can't bear to hear the answer, especially if it's the one she fears.

Art steps forward, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "If you’re happy," he says, but there's an edge to his tone, a challenge. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air: "Are you?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Sure, sure. I mean, what’s not to be happy about? His family loves me. I'm retiring this year, and gonna spend more time with my family. Hopefully more time with some old friends?"

"Old friends?" Tashi repeats, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The casual way you say it, as if years of distance and silence can be bridged with a few meetings, stings more than she cares to admit.

"Yeah, before I get busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Patrick's voice is sharp, almost disbelieving. "You’re pregnant?"

"What? No!" You quickly sputter, shaking your head. Then you pause, a thought crossing your mind and you lighten up a little bit, a hopeful smile gracing your face, "But I do want kids one day. I want three."

"Does he want kids?"

"We've talked about it, but he shuts it down all the time."

"You poor thing." Patrick puffs out, pinching your arm before reaching for your hand and leading you toward the bar. "Let's bring this conversation outside, ladies. I need a smoke. And you all need a drink stronger than his champagne."

The idea of fresh air and a strong drink is appealing. After grabbing a bottle of finely aged wine, the four of you make your way to the garden outside the grand hall. The shift from the stuffy indoor atmosphere to the cool night air is a relief. 

The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the meticulously maintained garden, illuminating the path with a soft, ethereal light. You glow in your pretty white dress, the fabric shimmering as you take a seat on a patch of grass near the rose bushes. The scent of roses mingles with the crisp night air, creating a tranquil yet poignant backdrop. You glance up at the three of them who stand there, watching you.

Tashi raises a brow as you take a long swig of the wine. She didn't remember you to be much of a drinker. 

"It's not that big of a deal," you say, passing her the bottle when she finally sits next to you. 

It's as if her movement had woken the two guys and then Art takes a seat on your other side while Patrick lies down on the grass a few feet away to light a cigarette. 

You pout, "If he doesn't want kids, then we won't have kids."

"But you want kids," Tashi reminds you, but it's more of a question as if she's wondering if that's truly what you want. Don't get her wrong, Tashi loves being a mother, she would kill anyone for Lily, but you wanting kids barely before confirming your retirement threw her off a little bit.

"Of course I do." You hiccup, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm not getting any younger. It's just... he'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?" Art asks, his voice gentle but probing.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I just want to get shitfaced and party."

"Now we're talkin'!" Patrick interjects, his grin wide as he takes a drag from his cigarette. The embers glow briefly in the dark.

"Come on, everybody gather." Patrick flicks his cigarette off to the rocky pathway and snags the bottle from Art's hands. He raises it, nodding at you with that same smirk he's had for years. Snarky, cocky, and yet endearing. "To celebrate new beginnings. Even if your future husband's a dick and can't make you cum nearly half as hard as I can. Good luck, babe."

The rest of you all make a noise of annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art scoffs, though there's a faint smile tugging at his lips as you let a giggle slip out past your fake annoyance.

Patrick's smile only widens at the sound of his friends' protests. It reminds him of the good old years when his biggest worry was which shorts he'd wear to his next game. "Cheers!"

As the bottle is passed around, Tashi can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with bitterness. The comradery of the past clashes painfully with the reality of the present. Is this how things are going to be like now? Is this night a call for a truce, waving the white flag so that all of you could be friends again, now as adults, making plans for brunch and getting the kids together for birthday parties?

You take another sip from the bottle, your gaze drifting towards the moonlit sky. "To new beginnings," you repeat softly, though the hope in your voice is tinged with uncertainty.

Tashi leans back, her eyes lingering on you, a mix of longing and regret pooling in her heart. Art sits quietly beside her, lost in his thoughts, while Patrick’s laughter rings out, masking deeper sentiments beneath his forced cheerfulness. The chatter and music from the hall spill into the garden, the warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. Patrick talks animatedly about the seasons he thinks he has left in him, and to Tashi's annoyance, you encourage him.

She shakes her head at the way Patrick's eyes light up, glancing at her with a knowing look. Despite her irritation, she can't deny the comfort of slipping back into their old dynamic.

Suddenly, Art hums thoughtfully. He has been mostly quiet, listening to the conversation with occasional quiet laughs. Now, as he puts down the empty bottle of wine, he looks at you, his eyes more alive than they have been in a long time. "I had a burger for the first time in years," he announces, a smile spreading across his face as if he is proud of it.

You gasp, perking up as you reach over to hold his hands. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Art says fondly, "like heaven inside a bun."

"You should've seen him," Tashi smirks, shoulder to shoulder with Patrick, playfully kicking Art. "He was drooling just looking at the menu."

He rolls his eyes, "I wasn't drooling." When you fall silent, he looks at you again, frowning. "You haven't had one in a while, have you?"

You shake your head, "No, I think the last time I had one was when we graduated."

Patrick scoffs, "Bullshit."

You laugh, "It's true! I've been very strict with my diet. And now that I've retired... I don't know..." You shrug, suddenly getting shy as Art starts tracing stars against the back of your hand. "There are so many options, I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Tashi says.

"Pretty sure I saw an old diner on the way here," Patrick suggests. He stands, stretching and groaning before bending over to take Tashi's hand and help her up.

You sputter, watching them all start to stand before you. "Shut up, we're not driving, you're drunk."

"But sober enough to see how badly you want this," Patrick teases, waving a finger near your face and smirking. "You're drooling."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are," Art joins in, pulling you up to your feet. He swipes a thumb at your chin, "Look right there, by your lip."

"Oh," Tashi grins, "I see it."

"Shut up, Tash, no you don't." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. The old nickname fits too smoothly as if it hasn't been years since you've called her that. Tashi smiles, feeling like a teenager again, messing around with you. She starts to walk off, Art and Patrick following her while you stand there, dumbfounded and a little breathless from their teasing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a burger?" Tashi shrugs, and she smirks at you, a mischievous smile that makes you wonder if any of you have ever grown up at all. "You coming or what?"

You try to be reasonable, "I can't just leave."

"We'll bring you back before anyone notices," Patrick bargains, jogging back to your side and taking your arm to lead you to the exit. "Lighten up, when was the last time you had some fun?"

You don't even look back.

You find yourself laughing, nodding as the four of you make your way out of the garden. The moonlight guides your steps, casting long shadows on the path.

The walk is a blur of laughter and shared stories, the kind of carefree joy that you haven't felt in years. Before long, you arrive at the diner. The neon lights buzz softly, casting a nostalgic glow over the parking lot. You can smell the greasy, comforting aroma of burgers and fries even before you step inside.

The few people in the diner stare, watching as what seems to be a runaway bride and three wedding guests stumble and giggle over each other, lips a little purple from the wine you've all had and ordering burgers to go.

Once you have your food, you all find yourselves sitting on the curb of the diner's parking lot, the warm night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Patrick hands out the burgers, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light as he makes a show of presenting yours to you. "First bite in... how many years?"

"Too many," You take the burger with a chuckle, unwrapping it and taking a bite. "Oh my God," you mumble around your mouthful, "this is amazing."

Tashi watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Told you."

Art takes a bite of his own burger, nodding in agreement. "There's nothing like it."

You shake your head, going in for more, "This is the greatest thing I've put in my mouth."

Patrick, already halfway through his, lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I bet."

The parking lot felt like a little bubble of the past, untouched by the years that had separated you. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of your old friendships, how natural it felt to banter and laugh as if no time had passed at all.

Tashi rolls her eyes, though you don't even seem phased by Patrick's joke. "I can't even get mad," you say, swallowing, "I feel like I'm eighteen again."

"Tell me about it," Art agrees. Then he pauses for a beat, chewing on her burger a little slower before turning to you. "You know, this reminds me of that time... when, you know."

"Oh," You snort and nod, scrunching up your face at the memory. "Yeah. It kinda does."

"What?" Patrick looks between the two of you, raising his brow in interest. "What time?"

"It was a long time ago," you tell him.

"Like back in Stanford," Art explains, and then he points between Tashi and Patrick with his burger, "when you two were still a thing."

Tashi sits up straight now, her full attention on you and Art. "Oh, really?"

"It was that time Patrick came for a surprise visit in the middle of our girls' night," you say, nodding your head at her, hoping she'd catch up with the memory. "And you kicked me out of your dorm so you and Patrick could... you know."

Tashi nods. "Have some alone time." She finishes for you.

She remembers that night well: you were both nestled in the haven of her dorm room, the soft glow of the television casting gentle shadows on the walls as the movie played on. You were curled up under her covers, your bodies intertwined, legs tangled together in a comforting knot. The world outside ceased to exist in those moments, leaving just the two of you in your little cocoon of comfort.

Tashi can still feel the sensation of your fingers running through her hair, the tender, rhythmic motion soothing her in a way nothing else could. The warmth of your touch lingered on her scalp, your fingers traced lazy patterns, and she remembered the way her body instinctively relaxed into yours.

But then came the knock on the door, and she felt her heart jump at her throat as she swung her legs out from under the covers and padded softly to the door.

When she opened the door, there stood Patrick, his presence almost surreal. He was holding a bouquet of carefully picked-out flowers, their vibrant colours contrasting sharply with the dim light of the hallway. His smirk was both nervous and charming

"You kicked her out?" Patrick gasps, and Tashi gives him a blank stare. He's acting as if he wasn't even there, as if he didn't stand by her desk while watching her scramble to clean up the mess the two of you made in her dorm and shove you out the door before locking it.

Patrick shrugs, that stupid smirk painted on his lips again before he finishes his burger. "Would've let you stay if it were up to me," he tells you, "The more, the merrier."

"No way," you poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. "She wanted you all for herself."

"Please, I would've been too distracted with you to even give him my time of day," Tashi admits. "I did you a favor, Patrick. Saved you from blue balls."

He holds a hand to his heart. "I'm so honored."

"But anyway," you start, "while I was walking back to my dorm I bumped into Art, who got stood up on a date."

Patrick blinks, turning to Art. "You got stood up?"

"Was it that girl from marketing?" Tashi asks.

Art's cheeks start to turn red, the flush growing from his neck and up to his ears at the attention. "Yeah, she, uh, she bailed on me last minute."

"I remember you telling me the date went well," Patrick says. "That you guys went out late, bought takeout... you made out in your car," Then, to fuck with him, he adds, "You came in your pants 'cause she kissed your neck. Remember?"

"And that did happen," Art confesses begrudgingly, glaring at Patrick while Tashi laughs. "It’s just... it wasn't with her..."

"It... it was me," you admit.

Tashi wishes she could say she's surprised, but it's nearly impossible because anyone who knew you back in college knew very well about the big crush you harboured for a certain blonde. She knew the way you swooned after him, even if you never tried to admit it because it was too embarrassing.

"Wait, so," Tashi starts, poking at your side and drawing a nervous giggle from you. It makes her smile. "Is Art that guy you told me about, with the puppy eyes and pretty smile?"

"Okay," you puff out, blushing, "I did not say puppy eyes."

"You think I have puppy eyes?" Art asks you, his gaze softening.

When you take a few seconds too long to answer, Patrick claps his hands together and swings his arm over yours and Art's shoulders, pulling the two of you closer to him. "Aw," he teasingly coos at the two of you getting all flustered, "you think he has puppy eyes."

"It was so long ago," you say, running your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. "I don't even remember."

"I'm so sure you don't," Patrick hums, a knowing look in his eyes before he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

You groan, shoving your hand in his face to push him off before you stumble to stand on your feet again, wiping your cheek from his spit. "You're disgusting," you huff, but there's no real bite in your words because there's a faint smile threatening to appear at the corners of your lips. 

You stand there for a beat or two, brushing off your dress and feeling the weight of the night settling in. You stare down at the three of them sitting on the curb, the neon lights of the diner buzzing behind you. You can see the hall where your engagement party is from where you stand; you almost don't want to go back.

"Okay," you tuck your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, "this... this has been fun."

"Don't leave yet," Tashi says while Art's smile drops, his face falling in disappointment.

"Yeah," Patrick rushes to stand, reaching for you, "the party was just getting started."

"I really have to get back," you step away. "If anyone finds out I left, I'll hear about it for days. This has been great. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed this hard since before..." You trail off, your tongue getting tied as you glance at Tashi, then at her knee, covered by the length of her dark purple dress. You clear your throat. "Well, uh, I better go. But thank you again, for the beer and the burgers and the memories. I hope you guys can make it to the wedding."

You start to walk away before they can say anything. Like, on purpose, as if you know that if they tried to make you stay and ditch your party, you would. You would cave to their defences.

The sound of your heels is deafening. Tashi watches you go, she watches how you wrap your arms around yourself, and it all feels too similar to how she watched you go all those years ago and never chased after you. 

"Don’t marry him," Tashi stands from the curb. She's shaky on her feet, taking long strides to walk past Patrick and hoping to catch up to you. She sees you freeze in your steps, barely out of the parking lot. You turn to look at her quickly, face falling in shock at her demand.

"What?" Your voice is quiet, hoping that your ears are betraying you.

Tashi slows down once she is close enough, the distance between you is almost nothing but the gap feels like miles. The red and blue lights from the neon sign blend into a deep purple against your skin, casting an ethereal glow that makes this moment feel suspended in time. She watches your face, sees the way your brows knit together, the flicker of anger and confusion in your eyes.

Her heart is pounding, the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out her voice. But she forces herself to speak, her voice low and urgent. "Don’t marry him," she says again, each word feeling like it's being ripped from her chest. Her resolve, which had held firm all these years, finally crumbles.

Getting Patrick back into her life had been one of the most complicated, tangled pains she had ever undertaken. The late-night calls, the awkward meetings, the painstakingly slow rebuilding of trust between herself and Art. 

None of it had been easy.

Yet, even with Patrick back, there had always been something missing—a void that only you could fill.

She looks into your eyes, her gaze unwavering, despite the tears welling up. "Please," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Please, don't marry him." The words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea that carries years of longing and regret. She knows that having you back won't make up for the lost time, and won't magically fix all the mistakes and missed opportunities. But she can at least try, can at least fight for the chance to make things right.

"Tashi, you can't possibly be asking me to—"

"It’s not worth it," she tells you anyway, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken truths. She knows it’s a risk, a gamble she's taking by laying her heart bare, but she can’t hold back any longer. The years of resentment, of silent longing, bubble to the surface, fueled by the sight of you with someone else's ring on your finger. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that she resented you not for leaving, but for never coming back. 

Why didn't you come back?

Tashi's words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea born from years of unspoken desires and regrets. "Both of you want different things anyway. You don't love him," she continues, her voice raw with emotion, "it's not gonna last. One day you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night and realize I'm right. You'd hate to admit it, but I will be right. I am right. He doesn't deserve you. He's no good for you."

You scoff, "And you are?"

"You said it yourself," she presses on, her voice barely above a whisper, "You've never laughed the way you do with us. And you kept in touch with Patrick, so that's gotta mean something." It's a feeble attempt to grasp at straws. "Marrying him will just be another excuse, another stupid reason. I thought you were better than that."

Then she remembers that night before you left for London, back in 2012. It's like a distant memory now, a flicker of what could have been. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as you stood on the precipice of something new. She remembers the way your eyes met hers after your exchange with Art at the hotel bar, a brief greeting with an old friend, both of you at the peaks of your careers. It is a silent exchange of longing and regret. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

She remembers the smell of your perfume, the bitterness of the drink you were having and how she could taste it when she kissed you; tongue running over your teeth, nails clawing at skin, hair tangled between fingers, hot breaths and unkept promises and false apologies and a night of regret.

And then the morning came, and with it, you had to leave. And she never stopped you.

"Tashi… I can't just throw this all away for you. For any of you. You were the one who told me to leave."

"I know."

"Because you know everything, right? Because you know he's not good for me, you know it all."

"I know you."

"No, you don’t," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. "Not anymore.”

Tashi huffs, shaking her head before she reaches out, cupping your cheeks gently in her hands. Her lips hover over yours for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air between you. She waits, her heart pounding in her chest, for you to make a move—to kiss her, to push her away, anything.

You gaze into her eyes, tears glistening in the dim light, before finally closing the distance between you. The kiss is tender, and bittersweet, a culmination of years of unspoken longing and regret. It's a brief moment of solace amid chaos.

Your hands dig into the nape of her neck, where the short ends of her dyed hair tickle the skin of your wrist. The heat of your engagement ring nearly burns her, the edge of the diamond scraping against her skin.

When you pull away, breathless, Tashi fears this will be the last time she will see you. 

"Tashi, this doesn’t change anything," you say, your voice trembling.

"It changes everything," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know it does."

But you step back, breaking the contact, the distance between you growing with each passing moment. "I have to go," you murmur, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. "I need to think."

As you walk away, Tashi watches you go, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She clings to the memory of that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. 

Back in the hotel room, an uneasy silence settles among the trio. Tashi steps out of the shower, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The press of your lips still lingers on her own, a persistent buzz that crawls under her skin. 

As she rubs lotion into her arms, she takes her time, methodically moving over each inch of her skin as if she could somehow rub away the confusion and yearning. She finishes her skincare routine, staring at herself in the mirror, almost meeting the eyes of the eighteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. It's a constant chant in her head not to dwell in the past. 

She has to focus—she needs to find a way to pull Patrick Zweig out of the top 200 ranks and get him qualified for the US Open by the time the next season starts.

Speaking of the devil, when Tashi steps out of the bathroom, she finds Patrick lounging on the loveseat by the open window. Naturally, his shirt has found itself a home on the floor, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

He perks up when she walks out, sitting up to greet her, "Don't beat yourself up."

Tashi rolls her eyes and climbs into the bed, letting herself sink into the soft comforter. "Shut the fuck up, Patrick. And put that shit out."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window, grinning when he hears Tashi scoff. "She's a stubborn little shit," he says as the hotel door clicks open and Art walks in. Patrick hums, "Probably only marrying him to piss us off anyway. Been trying to talk her out of it for months. Never listens."

"She might listen to Tashi," Art says, turning to his wife with a hint of optimism in his voice. "Lily's asleep, by the way."

"Right, because my word is stronger than both of yours," Tashi retorts, pulling the blanket over her legs.

Art and Patrick glance at each other before nodding, "Yes."

"Well, yeah."

They all sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own little bubble. The hotel room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the bedspread. 

Art joins Tashi on the bed, absently flipping through the channels on the television, the remote clicking softly in his hand. Beside him, Tashi pretends to read a book, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again without really absorbing the words. Meanwhile, Patrick rummages through the mini fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling breaking the stillness.

A quiet knock on the door makes the three of them freeze, their heads snapping up in unison. They exchange hesitant glances, each wondering if they imagined it. Then three raps against the wood sound again, more insistent this time. Patrick scrambles to the door, Art and Tashi close behind him, their curiosity piqued and their hearts pounding.

Patrick swings the door open, and there you are, a sight for sore eyes. You're still in the same dress, though one of the straps has fallen off your shoulder, and your makeup is smudged around your eyes. You hold your phone close, dropping it from your ear.

"I tried calling," you say, turning your phone so they can see Patrick's contact, a simple 'pat' with a cute tennis ball emoji next to his nickname. "You never answered."

"My phone died." He shrugs.

You let your hand fall to your front, where your fingers pull on each other nervously. Tashi can't help but notice the lack of a ring on your finger all of a sudden. She raises her brows at you, a knowing look flashing across her face before she tells you, "Something's changed."

You roll your eyes and step into the room, sliding between Art and Patrick easily. "A lot has changed." You walk until you reach the middle of the room. 

It's a big hotel room, not nearly as big as the ones Art and Tashi are used to staying in, but big and luxurious nonetheless. You fit in perfectly with your white gown and styled hair, a vision of elegance even in your dishevelled state.

You turn, facing the three of them again. "I hope whatever offer you guys were hinting at earlier still stands... I don't exactly have anywhere else to stay, unless I want to hear my mother telling me how she was right the entire night."

Tashi smirks. "You know I'm about to tell you the same thing too, right?" She closes the space between the two of you, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Her nails brush against your jaw in a feather-light touch until her fingers pause below your lips.

"Yeah, I know."

You don't seem too upset about it. Instead, you're grinning, letting Tashi push her thumb between your lips. The gesture is intimate, charged with unspoken emotion. You're standing face-to-face when she says, "I told you so."

She leads you to sit on the bed, and you let her, nearly tripping over your heels before you land on the soft duvets. Tashi leans down, her nose brushing against yours, and you swallow your heart racing.

"You were right," you murmur. It's hard to maintain eye contact when your skin is buzzing with heat and when there's so much going on in the depths of her eyes that it dizzies you. "I hate it, though."

Her nose is cold against yours, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her breath. You let your eyes fall shut as she slowly traces patterns under your chin, pressing her thumb harder into your mouth before pulling it out. She catches the side of your face with it, making a mess with your spit.

She smiles, "I know you do."

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, there's a shiver rolling down your spine.

Tashi releases a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, her lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as her lips, warm and smooth, explore your own.

It's a little fumbly, nervous and making you tremble under her hands. Tashi loves every second of it. Her fingers grip your face tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into her hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, she slips her tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

Tashi ends up straddling you, making out like you're both teenagers again, putting on a show for Art and Patrick. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. 

You moan softly as she pulls away from your mouth, her attention shifting to your neck. As you watch Patrick and Art make their way to sit next to you on the bed, the bed dipping, you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to Tashi. You whimper as you feel her lips drag over your exposed skin. She nibbles and sucks until she finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

"Fuck," you whimper. You tug on her air-dried curls, coaxing her back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of her mouth on yours. Tashi sighs, and you can feel her smiling into it while beckoning Art and Patrick to join in.

Their lips are on you in a split second, with Art pressing soft, ticklish kisses against your collarbone, and Patrick sliding his tongue from your shoulder to the back of your ear. He's moaning at the taste of you, sucking a bruise under your jaw while digging his hand into the back of your hair. 

He slowly starts to bring his sloppy kisses to your mouth, lips brushing against Tashi's and your own before she draws back. You whine, pouting as you watch her take a few steps away before making herself comfortable in the cushioned seats by a small dining table. You can't pout for too long, because now Patrick is kissing you, tugging softly at your hair until your back arches.

His tongue presses against yours, pressing as far back as he can reach, swallowing your every moan and whimper. You bring your hand up to scratch at his beard, then run your nails over his scalp. This is when Art starts to get a little bolder by running his hands up and down your thighs, pulling and pulling the long skirt of your dress until he reaches the end of it and he can touch your skin and take off your heels, tossing them aside somewhere.

Patrick traps your lower lip between his teeth, watching it bounce back into its place as he leans back just the slightest bit. You break apart with a whimper. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, then flick down to the trail of spit strung between your glistening lips. He stares at you, cheeks a little red as he smirks, "I've missed this. Missed you."

You smile, breathless as Art's hand makes its way up higher and higher and closer to your heat, his mouth is relentless with its attack at your neck. He grinds his crotch against the side of your leg and you cradle the back of his head with your other hand.

"You saw me last week, Patrick."

"Last week?" Art pulls away. His lips are parted, eyes a little dazed but focused enough to stare between you and Patrick in confusion. Tashi smirks from where she sits and shifts in her place.

"We're not all perfect, Art." You groan, rolling your eyes as Patrick laughs, reaching over you to start pulling down Art's pants who shifts in his place to let him. Once they're off, he looks at you, and it's embarrassing how fast you tangle together, melding together into a pathetic heap on the bed for Tashi and Patrick to see. 

Your lips move in tandem, his soft, pouty lips slitting against yours with ease as you lead his hands to your chest and shove them under your dress.

Art squeezes and fondles your breasts over your bra, his hips jerking against your leg again, almost desperate as his boner presses against the fabric of your dress as it has fallen down again.

Tashi startles you as she settles behind, one knee on the bed while her other long leg steadies her on the carpeted floor below. You let her tilt you backward, parting you from Art and she draws you into an upside-down kiss. The salacious kiss leaves your legs parting for the two men beside you. 

Patrick makes quick work of taking that damn dress off of you and you sputter out a pathetic moan when Art's soft hands tease your hardening nipples once Patrick gets half of it off.

Your dress eventually falls into a heap on the floor in front of the bed, you’d matched with it a white paired set underneath. 

"No fucking way," You peek one eye open slightly to see Patrick scowling while Art runs his hands everywhere he can reach, across your stomach, your thighs, under your boobs, down your back. 

Patrick tilts his head and groans, "I can't believe you wore this shit for him."

Your hand cups Tashi's jaw to deepen the kiss as you both ignore Patrick, only Art snorting out a laugh as he tugs his shirt over his head. 

Patrick slots himself between your open legs, stopping just a breath short of your aching cunt to nip teasingly at your soft inner thigh before dragging his mouth up to your neck again. He revels in the moans he's able to draw from you as he finally comes to caress your face. 

You pull away from Tashi and gasp in a breath. "Kiss me, Pat," You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he eyes you up so openly. 

"Beg me," He counters with a quirked brow, challenging you. 

Your nose crinkles, "I'm not doing that."

"I'm not kissing you, then."

"Shut up and kiss her, Patrick," Tashi groans, attached to Art. She holds his face the same way she did with you, pulling him closer and letting the man crawl to her. But she's glaring at Patrick with venom behind it you know she can’t mean when she's trembling under Art's gentle touch as he slips off her silky nightgown.

"Come here," You beckon Patrick closer with a fiendish look in your half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." Patrick nods, dazed as he obliges. "Anything you want, beautiful," His voice slightly slurs as the space between you diminishes once again. "I'll do anything for you," His husky voice drapes around your name like velvet as it's whispered against your plush lips.

Your hands easily find themselves tangled in Patrick's curly hair and tug him to your lips with aching want. You dive in immediately, lips meshing against and, eventually, catching against his chapped lips. 

A moan escapes from your throat and he uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. From there, it's another flurry of saliva, tongue and entirely too much white-hot pressure building below. 

When you break for a breath, a string of saliva stretches between each of your red, puffy lips. Patrick groans at the sight and pulls you in for a slower, raw kiss that leaves you slick and trembling for more. When you pull apart again, Patrick plants a sweet kiss on Art's mouth before focusing back solely on you, his hand slowly approaching your white thong.

When he starts to rub, you moan into his mouth and start trailing your hand to his crotch, palming his dick. Patrick reciprocates easily and tugs at your lower lip with an impish look in his eyes. 

Lips attack your neck again, pulling you higher up on the bed. You hear pants and clothes being shed from every angle around you before you're surrounded again, hands everywhere.

While Art pulls Patrick into a kiss, Tashi cups your face again and draws you into a gentle one as you settle between her legs, your back to her chest. You rest your head on Tashi's shoulder as you heave out another breath, her hands travelling from your navel to tracing shapes on your clit, over your wet panties, spreading your legs apart with her own. 

"Please, Tash," you whimper as her fingers curl around the edge of the fabric and tug so it strains against your leaking cunt perfectly. She then decides to skim a whisper of her touch against your pulsing ache. 

You gape as Patrick wraps his hand around Art's dick, stoking it, and he lets out the prettiest little whine. Patrick slowly works his way down Art's body, running his tongue between each curve of his muscles, collecting the sweat that's been building on his skin before wrapping his mouth around him, taking all of it in one insatiable bob of his head.

Tashi's nails tickle lightly up your stomach, then in the valley between your breasts and then back down again. It has you spiralling, arching your back as she presses a kiss at your neck.

"You're being so good," she coos into your ear. Your name is only a breath out of her mouth, and she's edging your clit with a gentle roughness that could only come from a woman of her calibre. Tashi pulls your panties aside and flicks and flits about your dripping cunt like she already knows how to make you come undone.

It makes you tremble. You'd sworn up and down earlier about how Tashi didn't know you anymore, and here she is, proving to you that she still does, that she knows every curve and divot of your body, that she still knows what makes you whimper and twitch.

Your hand quickly reaches behind you, between the heat of your back and her body and finds her clit and you try to emulate how she's making you weak. Each quiet gasp you earn from her has you moaning back tenfold under her saccharine trance and she quickly starts pumping two fingers into you.

One particular flick of Tashi's thumb on your clit coupled with her lips gliding against and sucking your own in a wanton kiss sends you over the edge. You moan and cum, back arching as you relentlessly force Tashi's hand against your cunt, searching for more delicious friction. 

She takes you all, and lets you ride it all out on her fingers while swallowing every moan you let out in a lewd, wet kiss. Art and Patrick moan appreciatively at the two of you, then focus back on each other.

Before you're able to come down from your high, Art's shoving his come down Patrick's greedy throat. He swallows it all, pulling off Art's red-tipped cock with a vulgar pop that creates a trail of saliva in its wake. 

Patrick smiles down at you and leans closer, and you think he's about to kiss you but then he swerves and kisses Tashi instead, who removes her hand from your cunt and slowly works it up his thigh until she cups his balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. He moans into her mouth, winking at you amid his impromptu make-out session you were tempted to join.

You shimmy back and turn on your stomach, positioning yourself between Tashi's long tanned legs. "Can I eat you out?" You ask while kissing up her leg, and you want to hear how much she needs you. You bite at your bottom lip as you nuzzle into her juicy cunt. "Tashi?" You look up at her from where your face is pressed against her. Her sweet smell makes you sigh as you tease your tongue with her hip bone. "Please, Tash, let me taste you." 

"Yeah, go for it," Comes her breathless plea.

You finally pull her lips apart, revelling in how she squirms against your hold on her hips. 

You're on your knees, trapped arching between Tashi's long legs when you hear Art clear his throat. You give one long lick up Tashi's twitching cunt before turning around with her slick dribbling down onto your chin to where Art has sidled up behind you.

Art crawls closer to you, "Can I touch you, beautiful?" He tilts your chin up as he awaits your answer. 

When you nod, he easily descends upon your lips, placing a sure hand behind your head as he deepens the kiss into something absolutely filthy. As soon as you break apart, he kisses your shoulder, then down your spine.

Tashi guides you back to her. You allow her nails to tangle in your locks as she forces your head back down against her arching hips.

"Shit," Patrick huffs, rough hands reaching for the globes of your ass while Art's smoother ones trail up your spread, inner thighs. Tashi tugs at his dick a little harder, which has him panting against her lips.

Tashi gasps as you flick at her clit then quickly move to tease her entrance with the tip of your tongue. You flatten your tongue, dragging it across her length and repeat the motion until she whines for you to stop. 

You slurp the combination of drool and slick as you pull away with a pussy-drunk smile. She meets it with a panting, dazed one and removes her hand from your hair to push her own out of her eyes while Patrick sucks at her neck.

"Ah!" You startle forward into Tashi's tits as Art finally breeches your entrance with his index finger. 

"Eat our girl out, Art," Tashi motions for Art to lie down under your spread form to get a better angle. You can't deny that the new nickname drives you a little crazy. "Show her she's ours."

Art's soft hands draw another moan out of you as they assuredly grip your hips to keep you in place while he unleashes teasing licks against your pussy.

Tashi draws you back to her. You'd know that look anywhere—she's ready to cum.

"I want you," Her breath hitches around your name while your tongue steals the rest of her coherent words until she's a withering mess under your touch. 

Her pornstar-worthy moans ring out across the room like a beautiful symphony. Tashi's wanton noises coupled with the wet whines you're unleashing against her folds until the two of you create the lewdest duet this hotel's ever heard. 

She arches against the bedframe as she tells you her near release, tugging at your hair as she draws closer and closer to the edge.

Panting, she draws you against her lips for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. 

"Fuck, Tashi," You groan against her plump lips, feeling your own impending orgasm drawing near. "You're so fucking hot, I-"

She cuts off your rambling with another wet kiss. Her tongue flicks out to tease yours before sucking it into her mouth with a lewd slurp. Your hand works alongside hers to leave her shaking and whimpering against your lips as she comes undone by your hand. You smack her cunt lightly, eating the groan she feeds into your open mouth as she rides it out.

Tashi eats your moans as they echo against your messy tangling of lips and tongues.

Art's fingers start to pick up a pace as Patrick, feeling left out, starts thrusting his throbbing cock in the middle of your sapphic kiss with Tashi. You eye the two with half-lidded eyes as you share Patrick's cock with her. After only a few moments in your mouth, Patrick pulls out and releases across Tashi's and your expectant tongues.

"So fucking good to me," Patrick pants as he splatters the last of his come across your faces with a shaky groan. "Best fucking orgasm ever, swear it," He says as he encases his lips around yours, swapping his cum between your mouths before moving to Tashi to do the same.

Art moves out from under you, offering your knees relief as he lays you back against Tashi's stomach to fuck into you.

It's a slow and cruel pace, only made crueller by how Patrick and Tashi touch you like they already know where you want to be touched. Each brunette takes a side, Patrick sucking your tit into his mouth while Tashi's mouth draws you in for a kiss. Her nails tickle at your other erect nipples until you're arching off of her and into Art's thrusts, making him whimper.

"Just like that," Art whines your name. "You're so fucking tight."

It's when Patrick and Tashi move their attention down to your clit that you know you're fucked. Patrick spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as intensely as Art does as his cock disappears in and out of your hole.

"He could've never made you feel like this, right?" Tashi rasps. "He has no strategy, no real game. Just a fucking waste of space. Could never make you feel this good, this loved."

You don't need her to say his name, you know what she means. You're panting, shaking your head against her shoulder. "Never."

"Told ya," Patrick laughs into your skin. "Make her cum, Art. C'mon, man." 

"Fuck- please," You whimper, nodding. "I need to come, baby-" Without warning, you arch off of Tashi. Neither she nor Patrick stops their jerks against your clit as you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head with the thrum of a second wave creeping up on you with a steady building heat. Waves of pleasure roll over you as the tantalizing sensations become too much. You come loudly, arching pathetically off the bed as you desperately reach for Art, to hold him.

You're wriggling in Tashi and Patrick's arms as Art pulls out and releases across your expanding and retracting stomach as you pant out the remnants of your orgasm. 

"Shit," He moans, and his voice sends waves of aftershock across your body while his steady hands draw you against his naked chest for a toe-curling kiss.

You'd never been happier to have invited Patrick Zweig to your engagement party.

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[strawberrystrangers]

Do you think JJ would constantly stay over at readers house bc he feels safe there compared to his own??

🦋anon

I love this!! I also kind of love the idea of the reader having accepting parents too bc that scene with Kiara’s hurt hurt!!

This literally just became a “please let JJ have a win with a girlfriend’s family who actually loves him” write-up…

Yeah he loved the independence that the chateau gave him, but your house had the company and it had the warmth of family. Your parents have stern rules about bedroom etiquette but they’ve practically given him the spare room whenever.

He definitely swings by after altercations with his dad; he’s been walking the street for hours trying to get the courage to ask if he can see you (& he does this every time, even after the 50th visit) because his insecurity is so deeply rooted in feeling like a burden (fuck you, Luke) to everyone.

So when he says he should go, because he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome, you’re always responding to it with “please stay” and not a “you can stay if you want” knowing he needs the clarifying reassurance that you want him there.

You’ll ask your parents downstairs if he can stay, and they’re always happy to say yes.

Your dad will talk to him in the kitchen while he’s making the dinner, and JJ helps with his experience from his summer jobs in the golf club kitchen. Your dad will never fail to find out how bad the altercation was, and give gentle advice and care and love and reassurance to jj, emphasising that he’s always welcome and never alone. Your dad is basically the Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting to Matt Damon. Your dad will hug him for as long as JJ needs it and there’s a few shared tears between them.

At dinner, your parents are always so interested in what JJ’s been up to—and when he divulges about the gold and his adventures, they believe him and want to hear more. They always make him feel like they see potential in him and that he’s not destined to be like his father & that his name isn’t tainted with a pre-made future.

JJ will talk mechanics with your mum, she’ll ask him if he knows what’s up with their car and he’ll go on this whole nerd talk about it.

He’ll help clean up: he washes the dishes and you dry them while your parents sit at the table still, sipping beer or martinis.

The recurring thought they always have, and the recurring thing they’ll always tell JJ is: “you have the kindest soul who has found it’s other half in our daughter” and they always make it clear that they’d rather him with you—a Pogue with gentleness—than the boys who attempt to butter them up—Kooks with misogynistic views.

[bth3cowboi]

snoop the memories, cs55 x reader

part 1 part 2 part 3

masterlist

pairing: carlos sainz x driver!reader

summary: back in time to first race wins and secret relationships that aren’t so secret. The beginning of snoopy carlos!

format: social meadia au

a/n: snoopy carlos is back!!!! and also carlos to Williams wtf...

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ynraces thank you spain!!!! thank you team!!!! thank you mom!!!! now i can say im a race winner!!!!

this one is for yall and my bestie snoopyyy... and for the haters I WON AND YOU SUCKKKK

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carlossainz55 👏👏

f1 our most awaited winner👏🎉

carlossainz55 4h

ynraces 1h

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carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 Nothing beats getting driven through Barcelona by an F1 winner. Congrats guapita, you are the best 🎉🎊🏎️

Now en español, te amo guapa! Eres la mejor, a por más👏

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ynraces te amo🙏❤️ thank uuu

carlossainz55 ❤️❤️

user1 nahh this is mad

user2 that twitter user wasnt crazy😭😭

landonorris 😢

user3 i can only think of conflicts of interests lol

user4 expected and cute!!! congrats

f1 nothing to see😎 just a couple of winners

ynraces

liked by landonorris, f1 and 1.856.847 others

ynraces I just came for the free drinks and to show off my new skirt 😚💖 watching the golf gang was just a bonus

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carlossainz55 best golf caddie😘

landonorris she literally threw a golf club at me

carlossainz55 she’s helping me against the enemy

landonorris 🤬

ynraces cry abt it and check your texts

landonorris STOP SENDING ME PHOTOS OF LOSER SNOOPY

——

a/n: this is short but snoopy is back!!!❤️❤️ if you want to read more snoopy carlos just give me ideas through my asks!!

[xneens]

golf lesson

you distract rafe during a golf lesson.

"How important is winning this bet with your brother for you?" Rafe asked, watching as you hit the ball right into the lake, the ball nearly hitting a duck.

You glance at him, biting your lip. "Am I that bad?"

He turned to look back at the holes on the grass where you had hit your club, the iron kicking up the freshly mown grass rather than the ball on the tee. The blond bites back his smile, turning back at you, shrugging. "No, you're doing great, baby."

Groaning, you lean against your golf club, annoyed and frustrated. "Ugh, how am I so bad at a game old men play? This is humiliating."

Rafe had spent the whole afternoon trying to teach you how to golf after making a bet with your brother you could win a round with him. The prize: a few weeks in Greece that your parents would fully fund. And you wanted to play your Mamma Mia fantasies this summer, even if you had to listen to your boyfriend teach you all the mechanics of the most boring sport ever.

However, it did have some pros, one of them watching how Rafe's arms flexed when he swung the club, the way his white polo shirt fit him, the way he drove the golf club. It was a wonder how you were able to focus on his presence so close to you.

Rafe chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss on your shoulder, his chin resting on it. "It's a stupid sport, don't get discouraged. And with me as a coach, you'll be the best."

You turn to glare at him, annoyed at how he babied you, knowing full well there was little to no hope with your golf skills. "You're mocking me."

"No, no, I would never." he smiles softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We just need to practice a little more. You're good at everything, I'm sure you'll be good at this, too."

Rolling your eyes, you huff, thinking about all the balls you had lost in the past hour alone. Rafe had to go back to the country club multiple times to grab another pack of golf balls, a smirk slapped on his face every time he came back with a new pack.

"This is hopeless." you groaned dramatically, throwing Rafe another glare as he laughed.

He wraps his arms around you, setting you up for another swing. "Here, let me teach you the proper technique and posture so you hit the ball where you want it to go, yeah?"

"Fine," you grumbled, biting back a smirk as Rafe's hands traveled down your body, hands gripping your waist.

"Make sure your body is turned to face the ball." Rafe murmurs in your ear, positioning your hips. His fingers trail softly up your body, your tennis dress riding up slightly at the movement. "Yeah, just like that."

You giggle softly as arch your back, shifting your legs slightly to grind your ass up against Rafe's crotch, smug at how quickly he froze. "Am I doing it right, Rafey?"

Despite how you hated the stupid nickname, you'd use it whenever you wanted something from him, something he couldn't help give you every time you asked. You'd also use it when you teased him with it, almost like a secret word to hint you wanted him without others knowing.

"Yeah, yeah. Doing great, baby. Grip the club here and here." Rafe cleared his throat. He positions your hands on the club, fingers brushing briefly against the Darry ring he had gotten you for your first week anniversary.

"Hmm, this feels right." you grin smugly, feeling his cock hardening against your ass. Gripping the club, you do a little swing, twisting your hips. "Does that look good?"

"Fuck." Rafe groans, hands tightening against your hips, pulling you up against him, his cock pressed up against your cock. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, his chin resting on your shoulder. "You always look so goddamn good."

You giggle, eyes drifting towards the group of old men a hole away from you, near enough for them to see you and Rafe, but far enough to not see how you were grinding against him. "Help me hit the ball?"

"Of course," replied Rafe, hands engulfing your own. He leads you through the motion of a swing before guiding you to hit the golf ball. With a straight swing, the club hit the ball, flying in the air for a few seconds before rolling towards the flagged hole. "Good job, baby."

With a victorious smile, you turn to look at him, dropping the club on the ground. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much, Rafey. You're such a good coach."

"If I was a good coach, I wouldn't have spent half an hour searching the lake for the balls you hit in there." he teased, an arm encircling your waist. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "But I'll take the compliment."

You give him a pout, puckering up your glossed lips. "You're so mean to me, always teasing me."

"I'm sorry, baby." Rafe smirks, not sorry at all. Blue yes filled with mirth, he tilts your chin up with a finger. "Let me make up for it."

He brings his lips to yours, tongue-seeking entrance as you kiss him back. Teasingly, you bit his bottom lip gently, drawing out a soft gasp from the blond. Smiling against his lips, your hand drifts down his chest, down towards his hardening cock.

"Someone's excited." you kiss along his jaw, drawing out another small gasp from your boyfriend. Despite dating for a year, he still had the same reaction to your kisses, almost as if he was surprised you wanted to kiss him.

You squeeze his cock through his shorts, pressing your body against his, hiding the action from every golfer near you. Fingers trailing up and down the length of his cock, in a stroking motion, you bring your lips back to his, allowing Rafe's hand to grab your ass.

Rafe's hands wandered up beneath your dress and you pulled away, laughing as he dramatically groaned. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "No more kisses for you. I know you bet against me, fucker."

[bunnys-kisses]

Hey lovely, can I please have a butter tart with a coffee and whatever's on the house served by Lestappen?🤍

bakery menu

please request your own! there's ton of items on the menu for you to pick! (with more coming in the near future!!). *quiet voice* thank you lovely anon. basically i wanted to do a lestappen & reader three-way rivalry that would make me lose it. this order is on the house for doing me a solid, please come back another time and order again!

butter tart ("let's ruin ourselves for anyone else.") + coffee (rivals au) + on the house (aftercare) served by max verstappen & charles leclerc (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, lestappen, threesome, rivals au, dirty talk, aftercare, teasing, hot stuff (!!), various sexual acts mentioned

the sun, the moon and the stars.

the trio that ended formula one the same time. from three different parts of the world, three different past experiences and histories, but all with the same goal.

you all wanted to win. simple as that.

on camera, it felt like the three of you were in a league of your own. to settle scores that were etched into your psyche during your karting youth. max would get a little too close to charles, charles would make a snide comment before the final race, and you'd vague post about them online.

all to fuel this insatiable hunger that the media had to watch the three of you tear each other apart. a rivalry between the three celestial bodies that would tear the universe (or this case, formula one apart).

the rumours followed the three of you since you became in each other's orbit. over the past few years more images have resurfaced that only added to the "conspiracy" of your secret relationship. it was honestly quite fun to watch.

"someone tried to create a timeline in tiktok." charles shook his phone at you and max. you were both honestly impressed by how much the internet could cobble together.

a personal favourite photo of yours was a poorly saturated photo of charles and max at a club together. they both looked painfully drunk in the seats they were in. while that itself wasn't striking, what made it a favourite was that their faces were covered in kiss marks. all the way to the collar of their shirt.

this was often paired online with a few photos of you wearing the same shade of lipstick to events around the same time. it was a rich plum colour from what you remembered and you remembered that the marks didn't end at the collar of their shirts.

you had a bruise the size of a golf ball when you and charles ended up in a cramped bathroom stall.

you were thankful that some of the photos were lost to time. or rather an old hard drive on a laptop you kept buried in your apartment for fear of people finding the photos and videos. you didn't even trust a hammer to get rid of the evidence.

there was one file that was on your current phone however, that you painstakingly transferred. it was a video, you three at around twenty four, right after max's first champion win.

charles was between his legs, his mouth on max's cock while you standing beside them, filming the sexual scene while max's fingers were stuffed in your pussy. and that was one of the more tamer ones.

however, well into your racing careers. the rivalry still went strong. and sometimes, after a race. it all boiled over.

your teammate, george looked at you as he caught you leaving your hotel room. a small knapsack was filled to the brim with stuff. he sighed, "not this again. what, you're going to catch an uber and go see them?"

the relationship between you and the two other men was the worse open kept secret. you shrugged, "it's the dutch grand prix and max didn't completely fuck it up, you know how it goes."

not fucking it up meant that max won. but you couldn't give him the benefit of knowing that you lost. so, max just did well.

george replied, "just be smart... be safe, i guess. i don't know. i don't want drama because you three couldn't get along or be safe."

you replied with your best press smile, "aw, c'mon russell! the three of us are always at the center of drama. you're not new to this." he watched you turn away and head to the elevators.

at the hotel occupied by ferrari and red bull, you ended up at max's room. you bounced on your feet for a moment as you knocked. then waited for him to open the door. you then tapped your foot and almost called something before the door opened and max pulled you into the room.

he pushed you up against the back of the door once he was shut. he grabbed you by the face and pulled you into a searing kiss. you sometimes forgot how big his hands were until you had become painfully aware.

"where's charlie?" you asked when max pulled away from the kiss. you held onto his wrist for a moment.

"i want you to guess where he is." max replied.

"the fan girls swarming him."

"he was getting us some wine too." max made a face.

you replied, "well, i guess we can start without him." then started to strip when max let go of you. the two of you got naked quickly and onto the massive bed. max's hands were allover your naked body, the blankets provided some comfort against the air conditioned room.

you felt like you knew max's body as well as your own. you had touched it in so many ways over the years. you pressed yourself up against him and kissed him gently.

it really was the moon and the stars right now. but, they wouldn't be alone forever as a knock at the hotel room door pulled you away from one another. max got out of bed and answered the door.

"hey ma- why are you naked?" charles voice could be heard before he steeped in. he was pulled in by max. you moved a little bit to see through the doorway to the main room where the men were.

charles was holding a bottle of wine and smiled when he saw you. he said, "are you starting without me?" then turned to max, "you sent me out for wine so you could have first pick, right?"

"i would never! she just doesn't have the dedicated fan base you have." then headed back to the bedroom. charles followed closely behind him and was stripping his clothes. his shirt ended up with max's on the couch and his jeans were draped over some chair.

you got out from under the covers and charles almost choked on air at the sight of your naked body. not because it was horrible, but because it was just as beautiful as ever.

the sexual history between the three of you was a messy web. it felt like anyone who tried to get with one of you always failed. because if one of you tried to step out, the string that kept you tethered to one another always brought you back.

the two men got into bed with you and started to kiss at you warm skin. you felt a shudder run through you at the feeling of their lips on your skin.

"you fuckin' freaks." you purred as you giggled at the touches. you felt goosebumps across your skin as you rubbed your thighs together.

"ah what, are you mad that you came in sixth today?"

you looked over your shoulder at charles and said, "i should've ran you off the track, mister third."

max pulled your attention to him and said, "and what about me?" he chuckled as he held you jaw.

you held onto the other's shoulders and said, "ugh, i was hoping that something would come flying off. halfway through the race."

the men pressed against you even harder, their touches were getting harder. charles said, "i can't believe she said that about us. after everything we've done for her."

"i know. so ungrateful."

charles pulled your head back and pulled you in for a hot kiss. you felt both their erections up against your back which made you whine softly.

max chuckled, "i'm curious about what colours she'll end up wearing. when she is cheering from the sidelines."

you shuddered, "shut up, both of you. i'm not changing my last name and i'm sure as hell not marrying either of you." you tried to squirm out of their grasps.

but it only tightened and both men looked at each other. they could barely compose themselves and both of them started to howl in laughter, like you said the highlight of a comedy show.

"we're serious." charles said, low in your ear.

max chuckled lowly, "she'd be too stubborn, even if one of us got her pregnant, she'd give that kid her last name."

you looked at max, "yeah, exactly." and tensed up when max's finger dragged across your achy slit.

"verstappen is always available." max then pulled you in for another searing kiss and charles' voice was in your ear, the combination made your core throb. you hated how they knew all your weaknesses.

"i was thinking leclerc. i mean we'd still have this little arrangement. but i'm thinking a nice wedding in monaco, the whole thing. your team, my team, your family, my family. max."

he pulled away and said, "thanks." his tone was flat.

"no problem." he smiled at his rival before he went back to you and added, "i think it would be a lovely wedding. i think leclerc seems less... harsh than verstappen."

max rested his chin on your shoulder to look at charles, "to be good on the grid, you need a strong name." their eyes met and charles went in to kiss the other man.

you were perfectly sandwiched between them as they kissed. when they parted charles said, "don't worry, max. you can have my last name too."

you tapped your chin for a moment and said, "lovely offers you two, but i think i'm just going to stick with the last name i've had for my entire life. i don't need either of you to boost my legacy."

"right, right. it's not like you're going to marry anyone else outside of this." max said.

"oh yeah, most likely. i think we've entered the let's ruin ourselves for anyone else territory."

charles kissed the side of your neck, "don't say it like it's a bad thing."

you looked over your shoulder at him and raised your eyebrows, "i would like a husband at some point."

"then marry me." both men said in unison.

eventually the three of you got into position. your face buried in charles' lap while on your elbows and knees with max behind you. you looked up at charles who had his hand in your hair.

"you look good like this."

"next time." you said, "you're eating me out." your voice was pointed as if you weren't practically salivating at the chance to suck him off.

"there's no higher honour." he said as he held the back of your head before you started to kiss at his cock.

both men were impressive in size, not too crazy. nothing that would painfully scare someone or leave you with internal bruising.

"ready for me?" max asked.

you nodded as you continued to kiss at charles' cock. your hands on either side of his waist for leverage as you really sank your mouth down on it. you did arch your back and moan when max pushed his cock inside of you.

"neuken."

charles chuckled, he's heard that more than a few times in his life. with his hands tangled in your hair, he looked to the other man and said, "she still feels amazing."

"afraid you have competition, charles?" max replied, as if you hadn't spent time watching the two of them go after one another in the bedroom from time to time.

he made a face before he looked down to you and started to gently roll his hips. you knew exactly how to make these men squirm as you eagerly pleasured them.

max's thrusts were strong, but not fast. he was savouring his time inside of you. the tight heat of your pussy that he only found himself craving more as time went on.

you knew if the press even got a whiff of this, it would be such a media circus that you were certain that one of you would kill a reporter. that was why you still had that laptop, because the fear of the files being restored somehow even after a good wipe of the hard drive, was very real.

there were nudes of you, of max and of charles, sometimes all three of you together. there was one when the three of you were in amsterdam where it was you smoking a cigarette, presumably after sex and max was fast asleep and you were using his back to hold the hotel ashtray.

you knew there was a video of max waking charles up by putting his pussy slick covered fingers (thanks to you) in front of the man's face and whistling to him like a dog. the funny part was that it worked.

it would be a treasure trove of debauchery if anyone got their hands on it. the three of you were stupid little sex freaks, in a way you still were. except now with heftier pay checks and nice homes in expensive real estate.

you closed your eyes and let yourself just be fucked by the other two men. they were never truly mean. no slapping or hair pulling, and certainly no bruising.

you and max spent a whole season in the rumours section of gossip rags because of the amount of hickies that were seen on your neck. max even went as far as to leave one on the inner part of your wrist. charles thought that fiasco was funny, mostly because he wasn't in it.

"you feel so good." charles groaned.

max wrapped both of his strong arms around you and leaned over you, pressing you further into the bed. he rutted against you and kissed the back of you neck while you throat was full of charles' cock.

"she feels so fucking good." max said, "i think we've really lucked out. as good in the bedroom as she is on the grid."

charles chuckled, "if she was that good on the grid, she would've easily passed you today."

max kissed the side of your neck and shoved his cock as deep as it could go, "true, true." he kissed the side of your face,

the three of you moved together. the sounds of sex filled the hotel room, you had felt over the years since this started you have become more mature in your sexual proclivities. it wasn't a quick, messy fuck in some hall closet or a blow job in a car in an empty parking lot.

you three could take the time with each other. the three of you panted, moaned and groaned. you were wrapped up in the hot euphoria of sex.

the three of you were interlinked in ways that couldn't be fully explained. while it made for titillating headlines, there was a deeper under current of your relationship.

while most feuds between the two of you would be solved either through conversation or the heated moments of sex. there was a need for the three of you to push to your absolute limit.

while there were seventeen other drivers on the track, and you did have your feuds with them. you were tied to charles and max just as they were tied to you and each other.

a perfect triangle. in a strange reality where two of you were on the same team, it would be a clean sweep for the team. it was good that the three of you were on three different teams.

in all fairness, george, sergio and lewis probably would prefer the three of you somehow were on the same team. at least it would contain the bitching. (you knew they had their own group chat to figure out what the hell was going on between the three of you)

but it was hard to bitch when the three of you were in the bedroom.

both men were starting to lose steam, in all fairness, so were you. you could feel the head rush as you continued to charles' cock with max's cock hitting against your sensitive areas. you gripped the bed under you and kept it together long enough to orgasm.

charles was the first to finish, that was usually what happened. he ran so hot when he had sex that it clouded his mind and he easily finished down your throat, almost coming a second time when he saw how easily you swallowed it all up. he slumped against the headboard of the bed watched max continue to fuck you.

you were the second to cum, you gripped onto the bed wit your nose up in charles' pubic hair as you panted heavily. it was a throb in your body only made worse by max's persistent thrusting.

max watched both of his partners of a sexual bliss and continued to rut against you. he had been holding himself off to make sure that you two finished before he did. that was sort of what he did. but the sight of both of you was enough to send him over the end. and he finished inside of you with a last hard thrust.

"holy fuck." he panted as he felt the fight leave his body.

you felt a bit of your jaw ache as you laid there with your head on charles' thigh. max pulled out and got comfortable beside the other man.

charles play with your hair and said, "i think she's been spoiled."

max chuckled, "i think she's spoiled us. that was her plan all along."

you cracked an eye open at max before you leaned over to kiss him. right before you did, you said, "yeah max. it's been my evil plan for almost ten years."

max kissed you and charles' continued to play with your hair. the sun, the moon and the stars. the three celestial bodies of formula one. curled up in bed together.

-

both men laid in bed and shared a smoke while you cleaned yourself up. you always ran so painfully hot. while you got your hair out of your eyes after you dried it, you noticed that max's red bull shirt and charles' ferrari shirt were both left over the couch.

you heard both men talking in french, with the occasional sound of kissing. but your focus were on the shirts on the couch. a thought crossed your mind and you picked up your phone from the sink counter and snapped a picture.

you stared down at your phone for a moment. you should've probably pondered your options a little more before you uploaded the photo to your instagram story. "a stallion and a bull. yeah right." with a rolling eyes emoji. you posted it to your story then put your phone on silence before you headed back to the bedroom.

the fallout from that would be tomorrow's problem. <3

[freshxsturniolo]

4th July - Part 6 - chris sturniolo x femreader

pt1. pt2. pt3. pt4 pt5

you flop down on the seat with a frustrated sigh, finally admitting defeat. you'd played the 3 games you had paid for and had chris had beat you every time. of course he had. you'd never played a game of top golf in your entire life.

chris smiles at you cheekily as he walks his way over to you, before he flops down and instantly puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest.

"dont be a sore loser, pretty girl" he whispers in your ear, his voice sending shivers across your whole body before he lets you move away from him again, leaning forward and grabbing his drink.

you pull your hair away from your eyes as you look at him.

"you could have let me win at least once" you moan, and he chuckles again as he puts down his drink.

"and not teach you how to play properly? never. i tried to help, didn't i?"

yes. he had tried to help. your heart was still racing with it now.

you had let out a frustrated cry as the ball once again went no where, and you had automatically looked to chris for guidance. he didn't even notice you weren't hitting the ball right to start with, his eyes trained all over your body. the jeans your wore showing off your ass. the skin of your exposed stomach as you wore a off the shoulder crop top, shoulder moving as you swung the club. your make up the most beautiful he had ever seen it. he could tell you had made an effort for him, and it made him smile, even thought he thought you were beautiful with or without it.

he had chuckled as he walked over to you, taking position behind you. hands on your hips as he angled you better before his hands held onto the backs of yours, as he practically took the shot for you, just your body entwined in front of his. when you and he hit the ball and watched it fly further than it had done all night, you turned your head over your shoulder to look at him, but your nose brushed together. he had smiled and looked down at your lips, before you uttered out a thank you, and pressed your lips against his.

it was your first kiss of the night, and you had lost count of how man kisses you had had since that moment just a little under an hour ago.

you rolled your eyes at him now, but a smile escapes you. "okay, yes. you did."

and he leaned forward and gave you another kiss. you weren't sure you were ever going to get enough of him and those lips.

he looked down at his phone now and saw the time was just nearing 6pm, because yes, you had called him the moment you were ready earlier in the day as you simply couldn't wait till the evening to see him, and he looks to you.

"so, what now? do you wanna go somewhere for drinks?" he said, his hand coming to your thigh. you look down at his fingers before placing your hand over his.

"you want to keep the date going?" you tease. he smirks as he bends forward now, his lips just inches from yours.

"i fear i want to keep this going forever." and then his lips press yours again. your hands come up to the nape of his neck as his hands rubs against your thigh, and for a moment you forget where you are. you forget the prying eyes likely upon you. you forget that people might even recognise who you both are. but you don't care. this felt right. this felt comfortable and so okay.

he pulls away from you now and theres a hazy look in his eyes, like he's contemplating saying something. so you wait. his eyes scan your entire face for a second, hand squeezing at your thigh, a sharp breath escaping your lips.

"i might be crazy, but-"

"are you done with these?" a voice comes from the side of you. you jump, turning your head to look at the voice and noticing the staff member pointing towards your plates and trays of food. you'd gone for a mixture of things, picking at them as you went along. wings, fries, ribs. but truthfully you hadn't eaten a lot, both too infatuated

"uhm, yeah, thank you." you smile.

the staff member smiles at you as he picks up the plates and trays, and when he finally walks off you give him a smile before turning back to chris. but he's shifted in his position and his cheeks are slightly red. his hand no longer on your thigh but clutching his phone, his knees doing a nervous jig. when he knows you're looking at him again, he smiles and stands, shoving his phone back in his pocket before holding our your hand.

"shall we go, then?"

"yeah," you start, lifting yourself from the seat and grabbing his hand. he pulls you forward immediately before you can even finish your sentence.

you make your way to the exist, the hustle and bustle of the place becoming quieter as you get to the car park, but you don't reach for your car keys just yet.

"what where you gonna say in there?" you ask.

he ignores you. you can tell he's ignoring you.

"chris" you press on.

"hmm?" he says, but he still doesn't turn to look at you, so you stop. you'd be lying if you said your heart didn't hurt a little. had you done something wrong? was he about to get in the car and tell you that actually, he didn't want to go for drinks and if you could drop him off home?

"are you okay?" you ask, and he stops now to look at you. luckily theres no cars wanting to come through the car park because you'd be swiftly moved along.

"yes. sorry. im good. really good. are you?"

you can see him panicking slightly, but it only stresses you out more.

"i just - im not sure. you dont seem yourself."

he smiles before he grabs your face in his hands, his eyes looking all over your face.

"sorry, i didn't mean to give you that impression. im okay, promise."

"its not me?" you blurt. you're being annoying. you're being overbearing, you know you are. but damn, there is something about this boy.

"oh my god" he says, shaking his head. "its never you. you're everything, pretty girl."

and then he kisses you. soft. but lingering for a second or two. when he parts he looks at you, and you can tell he's sincere, so you giggle. you actually giggle.

"so fucking cute" he laughs, but you push his hands away and roll your eyes, which only makes him laugh more, head back and hair flowing with him. you're addicted to him. you're actually addicted to him.

"come on then, pretty girl. where are we going for drinks?"

you laugh as you walk back towards your car, chris by your side.

"well, do you mind if we take my car back to mine and uber there? the night is ours then"

he comes behind you, hands on your hips, continuing to walk forward.

"sounds perfect."

___ the drive back to yours is filled with laughter. continual yapping about anything and everything, and his rests on your thigh the whole way, only taking it away to sometimes send a few texts to his brothers.

you throw your car keys on the side and show him into your living area, and he smiles as he looks around. you were proud of your house and everything you'd done to achieve it, so to see him enjoy it made you smile.

"do you fancy a drink whilst we wait for an uber?" you say now, walking across to the fridge in the kitchen. you can hear him on your heel.

"what you got?"

you open the fridge and let your eyes scan.

"uhmmmm," you start. but you feel him behind you. his breath on your neck, his fingers brush against yours as he takes the fridge door in his hand too and opens it wider, and suddenly you can't speak. suddenly the tension fills the air.

"beer will do" he says, his voice low.

and you both go to grab a bottle at the same time. he's leaning over your shoulder as your fingers brush the bottle and you both stop. your breathing higher, his breath hotter down your neck.

and then your phone rings, and you almost jump out of your skin.

"fuck" you whisper, and chris chuckles into your ear as he grabs the beer from the fridge, and you feel the heat of him move away from you.

you close your eyes before fishing for your phone in your pocket, and you screw up your face when you see the caller ID. spinning around, chris has perched himself on your kitchen table, and he sees the look on your face.

"everything okay?" he asks, genuine concern lacing his voice, and you smile.

"yeah, its carrington."

you see his smile fade. "oh."

"he never calls."

he raises his beer to you. "answer it, check hes okay."

you smile as you watch him take a sip, before sliding across your phone screen to answer the call. you hear the chatter of people before you even press your phone to your ear.

"babeeeeeee" carrington calls, and you can't help but laugh as a rush of relief washes over you. he's okay.

"hello, carrington" you laugh, and chris raises an eyebrow. you smile at him.

"where the fuck are you?" he shouts. its a quiet bar but you know the amount of people he's going to be surrounded by.

"im at home." you admit, walking back to the fridge and taking out your own beer. you walk over to chris and pass it to him, and he laughs as takes off the lid for you. you mouth a thank you before taking it off of him.

"what?! are you not coming out?"

"erm,"

"oh. fuck." you hear him say. "you're with chris, aren't you?"

"yes." you say, and you can tell chris can hear him on the other end, his eyes are surveying you as he takes another sip from his beer.

“shit.” carrington says “wait, at your house? did i just call you mid FUCK?”

he’s drunk, so drunk, but you laugh.

“no carrington, you did not.”

“oh thank god. put me on speaker” he slurs.

“not a chance.”

chris is eyeing you further. and you give him a sorry smile, and he shrugs. he shrugs.

your mind instantly goes back to the party. you in the pool and him sitting on the edge after you’d been thrown in there, and you instantly remember his words. words you’d forgotten about until now. ‘is there anything going on between you and carrington’. and then you realise the shrug and the eyes, are jealousy. you smirk almost. something about him thinking of you with another guy and being mad about it only makes you find him so much more attractive.

“go onnnnn” carrington pleads in your ear, and then the pull the phone away and press louder speaker.

“you’re on” you say. and chris looks towards your phone.

“CHRIS” carrington shouts, and chris laughs.

“hey, bro” he says as you walk closer to him so he can be closer to the phone. he doesn't look at you once.

"you guys should come here. the whole gangs here and it would be good to see you."

chris looks at you now and you realise in the excitement of the day, you hadn't mentioned the drinks. truthfully, you were going to text tara and tell her you wouldn't be going, as you didn't want the alone time to end with him. you were having fun, and you knew your friends would understand.

but you begin to tell him. "we have drinks at this bar. is usually pretty lowkey but its just a place to catch up properly." you shrug, and chris nods.

"you wanna go?" he asks, the chatter of people around carrington as he awaits for one of you to speak to him.

"we dont have to." you say, and chris studies your face for a second before he leans into the phone.

"we'll get an uber there now, bro." he says, and your eyes widen.

"urgh, thank god. i miss my girl.” carrington speaks.

you close your eyes, hoping chris doesn’t latch onto it, but he laughs as carrinton hangs up. you open up your eyes just in time to see him staring at you, but he looks away quickly. and that look on his face again.

“you know” you say, and he diverts his eyes to you again. “i meant what i said. there’s nothing going on between me and carrington.”

he shrugs. again. that damn shrug. “i know.”

and you look at him for a second, before walking closer to him. you force your legs in between his and he opens up immediately, your hands coming to the nape of his neck again. it takes him a second but that beautiful smile emerges on his face again as he puts his free hand on the back of your thigh, giving it a small squeeze.

“tell your face that then”

and then you kiss him.

TAGLIST : @spencerstits @chrissturnsss @slut4chriss @valkatriee @sturnsjtop @viiiwwwee @gwennysturniolo @melanch0lybby @sturnioloblues @mattstrombolii @sturnsbella @hearteyes4chris @le4hsblog @nervoussagittarius @chrissypook @sarosfilms @somegirlfromasgard @carringtonsgirlfriend @h3arts4harry

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 15

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Seems like you're declaring war on me,” Bucky said, his voice steady but his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Does it sound like that? Forgive me.” Steve set the golf club down, a smirk playing on his lips. “What I meant is, we have to be aware of everything. We're this close to winning.”

“I agree.” Bucky replied, his expression calm, though his mind churned with unspoken thoughts.

“This is why I trust you.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “Remember, we're playing in the highest league now.”

Steve paused before adding casually, “By the way, my son wants to visit Nate. Is that okay with you?”

“I'll let my wife and Nate know,” Bucky responded, his voice neutral, though he felt a flicker of unease.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

When Bucky got home, he saw you sitting cross-legged on the floor with Nate, working on a puzzle together. You both seemed relaxed, unaware of the weight he carried from the conversation with Steve. He walked over, his movements deliberate, and knelt beside Nate.

“Nate, buddy, can you go to your room for a bit? I need to talk to your aunt,” Bucky said gently, placing a hand on Nate’s shoulder.

Nate, always obedient, nodded. “Okay, Uncle Bucky,” he said before scooping up a few puzzle pieces and heading inside.

Once it was just the two of you, you glanced at Bucky and noticed his exhausted expression. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“What? Did something worse just hit you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky took a breath, his jaw tightening. “Did you just involve Ian?” His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed his frustration.

You widened your eyes, momentarily caught off guard by the question. That single look was enough for him to sigh deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I…” His hands clenched into fists momentarily. He wanted to be angry, knowing full well this would put you on Steve’s radar.

“Just… tell Ian to slow down,” Bucky muttered, clearly uneasy.

“I can’t,” you said softly but firmly. “The way Ian works is far more efficient than anything I could do.”

Bucky rubbed his temples, his frustration mounting. “Then I hope God protects him.”

“Bucky…” you stepped closer, your voice serious. “Be honest with me. Is he in danger?”

Bucky looked down, his hands braced on the counter, his shoulders tense. “Steve just gave me a warning. It won’t matter to him if there’s blood on his hands.”

Your heart dropped. ‘Fuck,’ you thought as panic began to bubble inside. You immediately grabbed your phone and dialed Ian, but there was no answer. Frustration and fear mingled in your chest as you quickly texted him instead: Be careful. Eyes and ears everywhere.

You glanced at Bucky, your stomach twisting. “By the way, the Rogers twins want to come here to play with Nate,” Bucky added as if it were a casual comment, though his voice carried an edge.

“You allowed that?” you asked, the disbelief evident in your tone.

The mention of the twins unsettled you. Your mind flashed back to watching The Shining in secret with Tim, and how the twins in that movie had always given you the creeps. That eerie feeling wasn’t just from the film anymore—it was rooted in real life. You had learned the truth: William and Charles, Steve's sons, had a reputation for bullying other students. The thought of them around Nate made your skin crawl.

Would they be a good influence on Nate? You highly doubted it.

Bucky gave a tired shrug. “I can’t say no to the future president, right?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, knowing there was little you could do to stop it. But one thing was clear—you would be keeping a very close eye on them when they came to visit.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The twins arrived at the house, their faces lit up with matching grins, excitement practically radiating off them. Nate, catching sight of them, bolted to the door, his small body bouncing with joy.

"William! Charles!" Nate called out, bouncing on his toes as he welcomed them in. His innocent joy was palpable—he was simply happy to have people he knew coming to play with him.

"Hey, buddy," William said, ruffling Nate’s hair as they walked inside.

After a brief exchange, they settled in front of the game console, and soon, the twins had chosen a violent shooter game. The screen flickered with gunfire and explosions, the sound effects jarring in the otherwise quiet room. Nate, seated between them, initially watched in awe but quickly became uncomfortable.

His tiny hands shot up to cover his eyes, and he flinched with every loud noise, his body tense as he pressed himself into the couch. He covered his ears, trying to block out the unsettling sounds, but he didn’t say a word, not wanting to ruin the moment.

You watched from a distance, trying not to be the nosy adult. You wanted to give them space, but seeing Nate’s frightened reaction twisted something in your gut. Likewise, you couldn’t stand by anymore. Walking over to the boys, you kept your tone polite, but firm.

“Guys,” you said, your voice cutting through the sounds of the game, “is there another game that’s not as scary? Look, Nate’s getting scared.”

William glanced down at Nate, who was huddled close to him. “Oh, why didn’t you say something, buddy?” he said, patting Nate’s shoulder as if that would fix everything.

Charles sighed and turned off the violent game, switching to something more child-friendly. "Here, we’ve got a game for you, Nate." He scrolled through the options and selected a bright, colorful one with cartoon rabbits running a restaurant.

The second the screen changed, Nate’s face lit up. “Wow!” he exclaimed, his fear dissolving as he leaned forward, eager to play. The teenage boys, now seemingly patient, guided him through the simple controls, explaining how to serve food to the cartoon animals. You felt a wave of relief. Maybe—just maybe—the twins weren’t as bad as you had feared.

Later, the boys decided to go swimming. You sat on a poolside chair, keeping a close eye on Nate. He was wearing a floatie around his small frame, happily splashing in the shallow end while William and Charles horsed around further away.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. It was Ian. "H...ell...o"

You stood up, checking the signal, which was terrible. Frowning, you moved toward the balcony. The pool was indoors, so you stepped outside, hoping for better reception.

“I just got your text,” Ian said when the call finally connected. His voice was rough, but you could hear his smirk through the line. “You know this isn’t going to stop me.”

“I’m serious, Ian,” you replied, leaning against the balcony rail. “Bucky told me directly. You’re in danger.”

A pause, and then Ian’s voice, low and almost teasing, came through. “Hmm… Guess where I am right now?”

You sighed, trying to play along. “London? Since you went home, right?”

“Nope. Paris. And I’ve found something—something lethal enough to kill Steve,” Ian said, his tone dark with implication.

Paris? You froze. Was this related to Hazel? Your heart pounded with a new surge of anxiety. “Ian, don’t—”

But before you could finish, you heard it. A splash—loud, frantic. You turned around, the blood draining from your face. In the water, you saw a small hand desperately reaching out, the floatie floating uselessly nearby. It was Nate.

Panic gripped you like a vice. “Nate!” you screamed, dropping your phone as you sprinted back inside.

Without hesitation, you dove into the pool, your body hitting the cold water like a shock to your system. Your hands reached for him, pulling Nate’s tiny, trembling body to the surface. His arms latched around your neck in a vice grip, coughing and sputtering as you lifted him from the water.

He gasped, burying his face against your shoulder, his small body shaking as he clung to you. “He…he can’t swim!” you snapped at the twins, your voice filled with raw anger.

William and Charles stood there on the edge of the pool, unfazed. “That’s why we were teaching him,” they answered in unison, their tone almost dismissive.

Nate let out a pained cough, his voice weak. “My nose hurts…” he whimpered, rubbing his face against your neck.

Your heart ached at the sight of him, vulnerable and hurt. Anger surged through you like a tidal wave, and you glared at the twins. You remembered that they both just watched while Nate was drowning. Without raising your voice, you pointed to the door, your finger shaking with fury. “Get out. Now.”

The command echoed in the room, sharp and unforgiving. William and Charles flinched, startled by the intensity in your voice. Without a word, they quickly grabbed their things, shooting one last glance at each other before rushing out the door.

You stayed in the pool, holding Nate close, your teeth gritted in anger and your heart still pounding. You knew then—those boys were never going to be allowed near Nate again. Not after this.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The twins walked into the Roger household, their shoulders slumped, clearly sensing the storm waiting for them. Behind them, Peggy followed with a stern but composed expression. As they stepped further into the room, the tension was palpable—Steve stood there, arms crossed, his face hard as stone. He had heard everything from you, and his sons could feel his fury even before he said a word.

William and Charles instinctively moved closer to Peggy, seeking the safety of her presence as if she could shield them from the inevitable.

Peggy, sensing the mounting tension, stepped forward slightly, her voice calm but firm. “Steve, calm down. I will talk to them.”

Steve let out a frustrated sigh, his clenched jaw releasing only slightly. “I’m not going to yell,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I need to say something.”

He fixed his cold gaze on his sons. “Both of you will be homeschooled from now on.”

The twins’ faces fell in disbelief. “Dad, no!” William blurted, and Charles’ mouth hung open, too stunned to speak.

“I know,” Steve said, his voice quieter now, but there was no softness in it. “I know the main reason for your behavior is because your mother and I have been too busy for you. We never spent time together as a family.” His arms unfolded, and to their surprise, he pulled them into a hug. “So, homeschooling is the best option, isn’t it?” His tone sounded almost tender, but underneath it lay a cold warning.

William and Charles glanced at each other, then back at Peggy, silently pleading for her to intervene. But she didn’t. She stood still, her lips pressed tightly together, offering no rescue.

“Good children don’t question their parents,” Steve said, his voice dropping low. “You just say, ‘Yes, father.’”

The twins swallowed hard, a sinking feeling settling in their chests. “Yes, father,” they muttered in unison, their voices barely above a whisper. It felt as though their every move would now be monitored.

Steve’s lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t warm—it was the smile of a man in control. “Good. Now, go back to your rooms.”

The boys moved quietly, retreating upstairs, the weight of Steve’s words heavy on their shoulders.

Once they were out of sight, Steve’s smile faded. He turned toward Peggy, his tone biting. “This is why I never wanted to send them to boarding school in the first place. They needed parental guidance, not strict school rules.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed, a tired look crossing her face. “Don’t start again, Steve. That decision was made by my father.”

Steve’s expression darkened at the mention of her father. His voice dripped with bitterness. “Oh yeah, him. I almost forgot. I’m glad he’s dead.”

Peggy’s face tensed, a flare of anger sparking in her eyes. “When will you stop badmouthing my father?”

Steve’s cold stare met hers. “Never.”

Steve had lived a life bound by duty, his role in the military shaping every part of him. He was a good soldier—respected, disciplined, and obedient. But despite his loyalty, promotions came slowly. His lack of a powerful family background meant he was always overlooked by those with better connections. Essentially, Steve was an orphan—without anyone to vouch for him, he was left behind.

He knew how the system worked. If you didn’t have the right name, the right family, there was always a price to pay. And Steve had paid it, doing the dirty work of his superiors without question, sacrificing his principles just to keep his place. The worst part of it all was that his commanding officer, General Carter, was his father-in-law.

Every step of his career, Steve had been a puppet for the man who held both his professional and personal life in his hands. The weight of it bore down on him every day.

“Good soldiers don’t ask why,” General Carter always said this to him. “They just say, ‘Yes, sir.’”

"Yes, sir." Steve answer it like he's a robot.

At some point, Steve had everything he’d ever thought he wanted—marriage, a steady career, money, and status. On paper, he should have been happy. But he wasn’t. His life felt dull, empty, like the spark had been drained from it.

The day he realized the truth hit him like a punch in the gut. He wasn’t his own man—he was nothing more than a tool for his father-in-law, a puppet dancing to someone else’s tune.

That was the moment he had enough. The frustration, the years of silently obeying, simmered into anger. He wanted to be the one in control. He was tired of taking orders—he wanted to be the one giving them.

Steve’s life had been dull for years, a constant routine of military duties, politics, and the weight of expectations. Until the day he met Hazel. She was much younger than him—vibrant, full of life—and he was supposed to give her advice, to help steer her back home. Julius and Caroline had asked him to help their daughter stop running away. But when Steve sat with Hazel and listened to her story, something shifted. Her reasons for running, the pressures she felt—her life mirrored his own struggles. For the first time in years, he felt empathy.

He told her, quietly, “If you ever need someone to talk to, you can find me.”

And from there, things changed. They grew closer, and eventually, more intimate. He knew it was wrong—cheating on his family, betraying his friends—but for the first time, Steve felt alive again. The numbness of his life vanished in her presence, replaced by something that burned, something real. And then came Nate, the baby born out of that connection, out of a love he hadn’t felt in years.

Steve’s thoughts snapped back to the present. His jaw clenched tightly as he faced Peggy. “Did you tell them to hurt Nate?”

Peggy stood her ground, her face a mix of frustration and cold calculation. “No,” she said flatly. “But they’re smart enough to figure out why their father cares so much about that kid, and why he’s always…” She hesitated, her lips curling into a thin smile. “Spending time with his little girlfriend. Maybe they’re just releasing their anger.”

Steve’s fists tightened until his knuckles turned white. “When I get into the White House, you won’t be coming with me.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t flinch. “And what then?” she said with a mocking tilt to her voice. “You think you’re going to put that girl in my place? Have you forgotten who you are? You were a beggar, crawling to my father for help.”

Steve’s eyes darkened, a dangerous calm settling over him. “And this beggar has crawled his way to victory,” he said slowly, his voice low but filled with menace. “You can act high and mighty because of me. Don’t forget that I can take it all away from you.” He stepped closer, his words laced with venom. “Remember how your family got their business permits? How they were saved from corruption charges and tax evasion? That was because of me.”

Peggy let out a scoff, her eyes filled with disdain. “You think you’re a king now?” She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “I actually pity her, you know. Because one day, she’ll feel exactly what I felt. You’ll never be satisfied, Steve. You’ll never have enough.”

She turned to leave, her hand on the door. Before stepping out, Peggy glanced back at him, her eyes filled with cold certainty. “Never.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You sat beside Nate, your heart heavy as you watched his small chest rise and fall, his face flushed with fever. The doctor had just left, handing you a bottle of medicine. "Make sure he drinks this, and let him rest completely," he’d said before exchanging a few quiet words with Bucky and leaving the apartment.

Nate’s red, feverish face made your heart ache. He had been through so much in just a few hours. You gently wiped a damp cloth over his forehead as Bucky sat beside you, silent and tense.

"Never, ever let Nate be alone with them again," you said, your voice firm.

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. "I agree. And I’m sorry. I never thought they’d pull something like that."

“Don’t underestimate underage kids,” you warned, your voice sharp. “There are so many cases where perpetrators can’t be jailed because they’re underage.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. "Noted. I won’t forget that."

A brief silence passed, then you asked, “Have you called Hazel?”

“I tried, but I couldn’t reach her. I called her assistant, though.”

You nodded, your mind still spinning. The memory of Nate sinking beneath the water haunted you, but there was something else gnawing at you—you hadn’t finished your conversation with Ian.

Excusing yourself, you left the room and grabbed your phone, your stomach dropping when you noticed the cracked screen from when you’d dropped it before diving into the pool.

You dialed Ian’s number, your fingers trembling as you pressed it to your ear. The first ring echoed, unanswered. Your heart pounded faster. The second ring—nothing. A cold sense of unease crept into your chest. Why wasn’t he answering?

On the third try, the ringing stopped abruptly, and you exhaled in relief. “Hello? Ian?” you asked quickly, your voice tight with worry.

There was a pause on the other end, then a voice you didn’t expect—familiar, but not Ian’s.

“Y/N?”

You froze, confusion flooding your mind. “Hazel? Why are you answering Ian’s phone?” Panic started to rise inside you, the pieces beginning to fall into place. Ian had gone to Paris. He had found something—something connected to Hazel and Steve.

“He… he can’t answer it,” Hazel whispered, her voice breaking.

Your breath caught in your throat, a chill racing down your spine. “Why?” The word came out in a shaky breath.

There was a long silence before Hazel finally spoke, her words hitting you like a sledgehammer.

“Because he’s dead.”

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[wannab3-writer]

Country Club Rivalry

PATRICK ZWEIG X CHILDHOOD FRIEND READER (some Art x reader)

NOTES : GOD, how I tried to make this an Art x Reader because I'm an Art GIRLIE, but Pat just had to come out on top for this one, truly…"

WARNINGS — 18 + content mdni, fem!reader, not proofread

wc: 5.3k

description:

When three friends work at the same country club, things are bound to get messy—especially when they have a bet about who can win over the reader first.

The Oakridge Country Club was bustling with its usual summer energy. Guests lounged by the pool, chatting under the striped umbrellas, while golf carts zipped along the winding paths. The sun blazed overhead, casting sharp shadows on the clay tennis courts where Patrick and Art were finishing their morning lessons.

You stood at the server station near the patio, jotting down drink orders on your notepad. It wasn't your first summer at the country club, but you still enjoyed the easy rhythm of the job—the way the breeze rustled through the trees, the laughter of kids playing by the pool, and the familiar faces of the regulars.

Patrick waved at you from across the tennis courts, his hair tousled from teaching. He was grinning like he always did when he'd just finished a good session. Art stood beside him, spinning his racket in his hand, looking relaxed and effortlessly charming.

"Hey, how's your section?" Patrick called, jogging over with Art trailing behind. He was wearing his usual tennis gear, white shirt, and shorts, with a blue visor to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"Pretty good," you replied, glancing at your notepad. "Mrs. Anderson is on her third mimosa, so I'm expecting a big tip."

Art laughed. "Better watch out, she's got a mean backhand when she's tipsy. I saw her smack a golf ball into the pond last week. Her caddie still hasn't recovered."

Patrick chuckled, shaking his head. "Classic Mrs. Anderson. Did you know she was a tennis champion back in the day? She could probably still give us a run for our money."

Art leaned in, lowering his voice. "Speaking of giving people a run for their money, I heard you've been racking up the tips lately. What's your secret?"

You shrugged with a playful smile. "Just being nice to people, Art. You should try it sometime."

Patrick laughed and nudged Art's shoulder. "Yeah, Art, maybe if you focused less on flirting with every guest and more on your job, you'd make some tips, too."

Art feigned shock. "Me? Flirting? I don't know what you're talking about." He turned to you with a charming grin. "Do you think I'm a flirt?"

You raised an eyebrow. "A little, but that's your thing, right? I mean, it's not like you're betting on who can get the most milfs phone numbers or anything." Clearly sarcastic.

Patrick shot Art a look, then quickly turned to you with a smile. "Yeah, nothing like that. We just... like to keep things interesting."

Art nodded, but you noticed a brief flicker of guilt in his eyes. It was subtle, but it made you wonder if there was more to their competition than met the eye.

"Well, whatever it is, just don't bring any drama into my section, okay?" you said, playfully tapping your notepad against Art's chest. "I've got enough to deal with without you two causing trouble."

Patrick raised his hands in mock surrender. "No drama, I promise. We'll be on our best behavior."

Art winked. "Scout's honor."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. Despite the teasing and the occasional competitive streak, you knew they meant well. It was just another summer at the country club, where the days were long, the sun was hot, and anything could happen.

Anything.

---

The Club had settled into its evening rhythm by the time you reached the bar. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting soft glimmers on the stone patio. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass. A live band played classic rock covers, the gentle strum of guitars mingling with the murmur of patrons relaxing after a day of golf and tennis.

Patrick was at a corner table, nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He looked up from his phone and waved you over, a broad smile lighting up his face. He'd changed out of his tennis instructor uniform into a casual blue polo and jeans, his hair still damp from a quick shower.

"Hey, there you are!" he said, using his foot to pull out a chair for you. "I was starting to think you forgot about me."

You shook your head with a grin. "Please, I could hear your bad jokes all the way from the kitchen. Had to come and see what was so funny."

Patrick laughed, setting his phone aside. "You know I'm hilarious. You just pretend not to appreciate my sense of humor."

You took a seat and glanced around. The bar was lively but not overcrowded. A group of older couples was playing cards at a nearby table, and a few teenagers from the tennis program were playing darts in the corner. It felt like the perfect end to a busy day.

"So, what are we drinking tonight?" Patrick asked, gesturing to the menu. "I've got whiskey, but I hear the margaritas are pretty good."

You considered for a moment. "Let's go with the margaritas. I need something fruity after today."

Patrick flagged down the bartender, who quickly mixed up a pitcher of margaritas with a generous splash of tequila. He poured you a glass and handed it over with a mock bow. "Your drink, my liege. May it bring you all the fruitiness you desire."

You raised your glass with a chuckle. "Thank you, William,” you turn towards the brunet “To Patrick, who somehow managed not to break any tennis rackets today. It's a new record!"

Patrick clinked his whiskey against your glass. "And to you, for not spilling any drinks on Mrs. Anderson. She's still mad about last summer's 'mimosa incident.'"

You rolled your eyes, remembering the time you accidentally spilled a tray of drinks on Mrs. Anderson's white dress during a particularly hectic brunch. "Don't remind me. I had to run for cover like I was in a war zone. I thought she’d have my head.”

Patrick laughed, the sound warm and familiar. "You should've seen her face. It was like you'd ruined her entire day. But hey, at least you got to keep your job."

As the two of you shared stories and relived old memories, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the patio. The band transitioned to a slower song, adding a mellow vibe to the evening.

Art arrived a little later, his tennis gear replaced by a button-down snap back and jeans. He had a confident stride and a smile that seemed to draw attention wherever he went. He slid into the seat next to you, his presence bringing a shift in the energy at the table.

"What's up, party people?" he said, his voice smooth and inviting. "I hope you saved some margaritas for me."

Patrick handed him a glass. "Of course, wouldn't want our little Arty to feel left out.”  He added leaning into Art smirking. “What took you so long anyways,  Shelly needed some one-on-one time to work on her underhand? Or what. ”

You smirked. "You really think He’s that charming, huh?” she turns towards Art looking into his eyes “What’s your secret hmm? Is it the cologne?"

Art leaned in with a grin. "It's all about confidence. And maybe a little bit of cologne. But mostly confidence."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Right, because confidence is what you exude. You should've seen Art on the tennis court today. He was so confident he almost hit a kid with a tennis ball."

Art raised an eyebrow. "Almost. That's the key word. No harm, no foul."

The banter continued, the three of you falling into an easy rhythm. Art's charm contrasted with Patrick's laid-back, cheeky style, and you found yourself enjoying the playful back-and-forth.

As the evening progressed, you noticed Patrick watching Art with a hint of unease. It was subtle, like a flicker in his eyes whenever Art made you laugh a little too hard or leaned in a little too close.

---

"All right, we're here. Try not to break anything, okay? Last time you were here, my mom couldn't find her favorite vase for a week."

Art smirked, stepping inside. "That wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know it was on top of the fridge? Who puts a vase on the fridge, anyway?"

Art dropped his bag in his Patrick’s room and looked around. The place had an eclectic charm—walls lined with tennis trophies, faded concert posters, and family photos. A stack of video games sat beside the TV.

Patrick led the way into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. He tossed one to Art, who caught it with ease. "So, what are you in the mood for? I was thinking pizza, but we can order something else if you're not into it."

Art popped open the bear and took a sip. "Pizza sounds good. Just no anchovies, okay? That stuff is nasty."

Patrick laughed, opening his own soda. "You're missing out, man. Anchovies are a delicacy." He grabbed the phone and dialed the pizza place, ordering a large with pepperoni and sausage. "There, something a bit more your speed. Happy now?"

Art nodded, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, that'll work. So, you ready for tomorrow? Two-on-two is serious business. We can't afford to slack off."

Patrick waved a hand dismissively. "Please, I'm always ready. Besides, we've got the advantage. I mean, have you seen the other teams? Half of them can't even hit a backhand."

Art chuckled. "You're so modest, Patrick. What would you do without me to keep you humble?"

Patrick shrugged with a grin. "Probably win more matches.”

Art threw a punch at Patrick's shoulder, and Patrick pretended to wince. They both laughed, the kind of easy camaraderie that came from years of friendship and shared jokes. But there was also a subtle tension in the air, like they were both aware of the unspoken rivalry that had been growing between them.

"So," Patrick said, leaning back against the kitchen island, biting his lip "you and […] seemed pretty chummy tonight. What's the story there? You trying to make a move, or what?" The familiar smirk making its way to his face.

Art raised an eyebrow, his expression guarded. "We're just talking. Nothing wrong with getting to know someone, right?" He finished wetting his lips.

Patrick smirked. "Sure, nothing wrong with that.” He shrugged.  “But you're not just getting to know her. You're flirting, and we both know it." He took a couple steps forward “Basically eye fucking her, to be honest” He only smiled.

Art shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Oh, come on Pat, maybe, She's just fun to be around, you know. No need to be gross." Art gave him a wry smile. "You know me. I just go with the flow. If she likes hanging out with me, who am I to complain?"

Patrick leaned in, lowering his voice. "Or maybe, you think she's interested in you. Is that what this is about? You think you've got a shot?" His eyes scanning arts face.

Art met his gaze, his expression calm but with a hint of challenge. "I don't know, man. Maybe I do. What does it matter to you huh? You think you've got the inside track because you've known her longer?"

Patrick grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I mean, it doesn't hurt. We've got a lot of history. I'm charming, good-looking, and I've got the best jokes. What's not to like?" he goes back to lean on the counter. “Besides, I’ve seen the real her, all of it, kinda gives me a little advantage don’t you think.”

Art halts, stops chewing his gum, straitening himself up. “What’s that supposed to mean Patrick.”

“Exactly what it you think.” He kissed his teeth, kicking off the counter and going back to looking inside the fridge.

Art chuckled, but there was a hint of envy in his laugh. "Well, if you're so confident, maybe we should make it interesting. How about a little bet? See who can win her over first?"

Patrick waved his hand dismissively. "Little Arty wants a bet he’ll lose?” He chuckles. “No games. Just a simple bet. May the best man win."

Art held out his hand, and Patrick shook it with a grin. The bet was sealed, but there was an underlying seriousness in Art's eyes. As they waited for the pizza, the two friends continued their banter, but there was a new edge to their jokes—like the stakes had just gotten a little higher.

---

A week after their doubles match, the annual Oakridge Country Club gala was in full swing, the ballroom bustling with elegantly dressed members and guests. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting warm light onto the neatly set tables, while smooth jazz played in the background. You stood near the entrance, surveying the glamorous crowd, your fitted dress drawing approving glances from a few partygoers.

Art was the first to spot you, leaning against a wall with a cocktail in hand, chatting up club regulars. He was dressed in a sharp suit, but he carried himself with a boyish charm. His grin was wide as he motioned for you to come over, his eyes moving from your head to your heels in a way that felt like a visual undressing.

"Wow," he said, raising his glass, "you clean up nice. I was expecting you to show up in your waiter outfit or something. I'm glad you went with the dress, though. Much more... appealing."

You gave him a playful smirk, stepping up to the bar. "Thanks, Art. I do my best to impress." You glanced at his drink. "Are you trying to get a head start on the partying? We haven't even hit the dance floor yet."

He took a sip, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Hey, I like to loosen up a bit before the main event. Keeps things interesting. Besides, you can't blame a guy for wanting to enjoy himself, right? You gonna  help me enjoy my night and keep me company?"

Patrick, who was laughing with a group nearby, walked over just in time to catch Art’s comment. He gave Art a look of mild disapproval, then turned to you with a sly smile.

"Don't listen to him. He's just trying to get you alone so he can talk your ear off about his latest tennis game.” Patrick shrugged, looking at Art with a smirk. "So boring. I was thinking we could have some real fun; you know? A little adventure never hurt anyone." He leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the music. "Besides, I know all the best spots around here. Private spots. You'd love it."

Art shook his head, clearly not amused. "Come on, Patrick. We're here to enjoy the gala, not to sneak off like we're in high school. Why don't we all just enjoy the party and see what happens?"

Patrick grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Art. But if you change your mind,” he turn towards her. “You know where to find me. I'll be the one having a good time." He turned to you with a suggestive wink while walking backwards to god knows where.

Art rolled his eyes, then smiled at you in a more relaxed manner. "Sorry about him, he’s not really allowed to leave the house. He's a good guy, but he doesn't always know when to tone it down. If you want, I can keep him from getting too out of hand. I wouldn't want him to scare you off." He says mocking Patrick as he walked away.

You laugh full heartedly glancing at Patrick, who was already chatting with a couple of other guests, his flirtatious demeanor on full display. " Thanks so for watching out for me. It can get a little overwhelming with him around." You continued smiling.

Art nodded smiling, his expression kind. " I was thinking we could get some food, maybe hit the dance floor. What do you think?" Art suggested, leading the way. "I'm sure Patrick will join us once he's done charming the entire room."

Patrick shot Art a mischievous look but didn't follow immediately. You could tell he was reveling in the attention, his flirtatious behavior attracting more than a few curious glances from the other guests.

The band switched to a slow, romantic melody, and Art extended his hand to you with a charming smile. "Care to dance?" he asked, his eyes warm and inviting.

You nodded, accepting his offer, and he led you onto the dance floor. His touch was gentle yet confident as he pulled you close, swaying to the music with practiced ease.

As you danced with Art, you felt yourself relaxing into his embrace. His presence was comforting, his movements smooth and graceful. You couldn't help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling a somewhat new sense of closeness.

Halfway through the song, Patrick appeared out of nowhere, a cocky grin on his lips. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Before you could respond, he swept you away from Art, taking you into his arms with a boldness that made you some type of way. His touch was hot, his body pressed close to yours as he guided you across the dance floor.

"So, you replacing your best friend with that ginger?" he asked, his voice low and suggestive. "Boring you to tears yet?" He raised a brow.

You laughed, unable to resist his playfulness. "Hmm maybe. He's actually a great dancer, unlike some people."

Patrick smirked, pulling you even closer. "Yeah, but can he do this?" With a sudden flourish, he spun you around, his movements fluid and confident. "Do I need to remind you why I’m better.” He paused.

“How, I’m better.”

You chuckled rolling your eyes, enjoying the thrill of dancing with Patrick. He was unpredictable, to say the least, his smile contagious. But as much as you were drawn to him, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for leaving Art behind.

Patrick reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering you one with a sly grin. "Care for a smoke?" he asked, lighting his own with practiced ease.

You just shook your head with hesitant smile. “I really shouldn’t, Pat. You know I’m trying to quit.”

He looks you up and down with a seductive look.  

“We’ve all got our guilty pleasures, darling.”

As the song came to an end, Patrick took your hand, leading you away from the dance floor and out onto the club’s private beach. The cool breeze off the ocean felt refreshing against your skin, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing.

You hesitated for a moment, then accepted the offer, taking the cigarette from him and inhaling deeply. The nicotine hit you like a rush of adrenaline, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration as you exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night air.

"So, what do you think?" Patrick asked, his eyes searching yours. "Having fun yet?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you. "Yeah, I am. Thanks for... you know, stealing me away." You added motioning to the cigarette.

Patrick grinned, leaning in closer. "Anytime, sweetheart. Just say the word, and I'll whisk you away to paradise."

You laughed, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest.

Patrick decided to sit down in the sand, his cigarette glowing in the darkness as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. You sat beside him, savoring the familiar scent of his cologne.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, then shot you a sidelong glance. "You know, I was just thinking about that first summer at tennis camp," he said, his voice low and playful. "I mean, it's where it all started, right? Just a couple of kids swinging rackets and making trouble."

You smiled at the memory. "Yeah, it's crazy to think about how much has changed since then. Who would've thought you'd actually make it big in tennis? Meanwhile, I could barely keep the ball on the court."

Patrick laughed, a warm, hearty sound that cut through the night air. "Yeah, well, I guess I had a little more motivation to stick with it. You were off climbing trees and playing in the woods, and I was stuck with a bunch of coaches yelling at me to hit harder."

"Hey," you replied with a smirk, "it's not like I was useless. I remember showing you all the best spots to hide when you wanted to skip practice."

Patrick nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I remember. You were the queen of avoiding responsibility. If it weren't for you, I'd probably have become a strait-laced tennis prodigy. Instead, you dragged me into the wilderness to make forts and find weird bugs."

You both chuckled, reminiscing about those lazy summer days when tennis camp was more of a suggestion than a requirement. But then Patrick's expression turned sly, and he leaned in a bit closer.

"Speaking of weird things from our past," he said, his voice dripping with playful insinuation, he nudged you. "You remember that bet we made? The one about if we were both green by the time you turned 16, we'd, you know, be each other's first?"

Your face grew warm at the memory. It had been a silly bet between two best friends who figured they'd never find anyone else in their small circle. But the fact that you followed through with it made it more than just a joke.

"Yeah," you replied, pretending to be nonchalant, "I remember, Pat we’re not that old. It was a dumb bet, but I guess we kept our word, didn't we?"

Patrick nodded, a cheeky grin spreading across his lips. "We sure did. And you know, I wasn't expecting it to be so... memorable. I thought we'd just laugh about it later, but it was kind of nice. You know, like a rite of passage or something."

You laughed, trying to deflect his innuendo. "A rite of passage? Yeah, right. More like a hilarious disaster. I mean, you had no idea what you were doing."

Patrick raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. Besides, you were just as clueless. At least I managed to keep my cool, mostly."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but smile at his cockiness. "Mostly, huh? If I remember correctly, you tripped over your own shoes and nearly fell face first."

Patrick groaned, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Okay, maybe I was a little clumsy. But you have to admit, it was an experience neither of us will forget. And hey, we did it together. That's gotta count for something, right?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of nostalgia and fondness. "Yeah, it does. I'm just glad it didn't ruin our friendship. It could've been awkward, but it wasn't."

Patrick leaned in, his gaze locking with yours. "Of course it wasn't. We were best friends. We still are. And besides, even if it was a bit awkward, it was worth it. You know, just to say we did it." He flicked the ash from his cigarette, then added with a wink, "And hey, I was your first. That's something not everyone can say."

You laughed, pushing him lightly on the shoulder. "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head. You still have a long way to go before you become a pro. But if you need any advice on how to avoid tripping over your own shoes, I'm here for you."

Patrick grinned, taking a final drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the sand. " If you ever want to make another bet, I'm always up for it. " He Looks at you seductively, his eyes full of mischief. " I think if you were to give me another chance, you’d find that I’ve improved quite a bit. " He gives you his signature smirk.

You scan his face trying to find sincerity in his words, not sure how you’d feel if he was. “What are you trying to get at Patrick?”

“Nothing at all.” He raised his hands in a surrender, cigarette in mouth looking away. “I’m just saying, I feel like I deserve a redemption arc,” He takes his cigarette putting out in the sand. “I wasn’t the most…giving you can say.” He looks back at you, under his brows. “And I just want to show you that I’ve changed, for the better.” He offers a smile.

You just nod your head in fake agreement. “Uhh, how much have you had to drink tonight pat?  Is it time to call you a cab?” You questioned with a week smile.  

“Oh, shut up, I’m dead sober.”  He said leaning in.  He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Besides, what's life without a little adventure?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his touch. It was a simple gesture, but there was something in the way he did it that made your heart skip a beat. Patrick had always had a way of pushing boundaries, but tonight, he seemed more deliberate, more intent.

"Adventure?" you replied, your voice slightly breathless. "Are you planning something?"

Patrick's smile grew, his eyes locking with yours. "Maybe. But you know me—always full of surprises." He stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your waist. "But I promise, it'll be a good one."

You felt a rush of heat at his touch, the closeness between you stirring something deep within. Patrick leaned in, his lips just inches from yours. "So, do you trust me?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "No I don’t, Patrick, because I know you. Why? What are you up to?"

Patrick's gaze grew more intense, his eyes fixed on yours. "I just wanted to try something." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

The kiss deepened, the heat between you building as Patrick pulled you closer. His hand slid around your waist, holding you firmly as he kissed you with a newfound intensity. The sound of the waves seemed to fade away, replaced by the pounding of your own heart.

Patrick's other hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle yet assertive. His kiss was slow and deliberate, each movement a carefully orchestrated dance that left you breathless. As his lips moved against yours, you felt a rush of desire, a connection that seemed to transcend words.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with emotion. He looked at you, his lips slightly parted, as if he was trying to read your thoughts.

“Show me.” You said looking him deep in his eyes barley a millimetre away from his lips.

“Show you what darling?” He question with a smile gracing his lips

“How you’re better than Art.”

That’s not what he was expecting at all. Maybe a ‘show me how you’ve improved.’ But certainly not you using his own words against him, That’s for sure.

That didn’t stop Patrick's smile from getting bigger though, as he moved his hands all over you, bringing you in for another wet and sloppy kiss. He slowly laid you down into the sand using his teeth to slide up your dress around your waits.

He slowly kissed your stomach stopping at the hem of your thong. Moving it to the side, he slides one of his digits up and down your slit.

Looking up to you with a sly smile, he lets out a contented sigh. " Give me some of this sweet pussy." With the excited flattening of his tongue, he dives right in, right there, on the beach. Before you even having a chance to fully lay down, Patrick slides his arms beneath your legs and pulls you in. 

As you begin to grind into him and yearn for more of his tongue, you play with one of your tits. Suddenly too shy to look him in the eye, you reach down and tug on his hair. You can feel your cheeks getting hot with shame at how quickly you folded for him.   “Tongue fuck me, please, Pat. When did you get so good at this?”

 he consumes you. his hands are playing with your ass and thighs. He kneads the skin and spreading you out. He trust his tongue into your entrance and explores your pussy.  Less than a minute later, your walls start to twitch around his tongue. He takes in all your cum. When he looks up back at you, he just gives you a sly smirk. 

Patrick rolled onto his back beside you, his chest heaving slightly from the intensity of what just happened. You try to get your breathing back to normal when suddenly you let out a random laugh.

Patrick turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, but his face still wet from your essence.

You shrugged, trying to stifle your laughter. "I don't know, it just hit me—how did we end up here? One minute we're at the gala, and the next we're... well, doing this." You gestured at the beach, and your unruly appearance.

Patrick grinned, rolling onto his side to face you. "Maybe it's fate," he said, his voice soft and playful. "Or maybe it's just because I couldn't resist pulling you away for a little... private time." He winked, his cheeky grin only growing wider.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the warmth that spread through your chest. "Or maybe it’s because you and Art have a weird little bet going on, and for some reason, I’m in the middle of it." you replied, a teasing edge to your tone.

Patrick frowns sitting up to look at you properly. " You know about that?" He’s confused.

You let out a chuckle. "Patrick, I’m not a dumbass, like i said, i know you. And i know Art, you guys have been total try hards for the last week, sure, you’re just a whore and will flirt with anything that has a vagina, but even Art was over doing it." You swatted at his shoulder, trying to hide your smile. "Patrick, seriously," you said, though your tone lacked any real reprimand. "You always push your luck, you know that?  You leaned in a little closer, your eyes locking with his.

Patrick's grin softened, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Yeah, well, sometimes you need a little excitement," he replied, his hand resting on your hip, a gentle reminder of his presence. "And you can't deny that you like it when I take charge. Right?" His fingers traced a light pattern along your hipbone, his touch both playful and suggestive.

You sighed, the subtle tension between you becoming more palpable. "Maybe," you replied, your voice low and teasing. "But don't think I'll always let you get away with it. Sometimes, you need to earn it."

Patrick laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed to carry on the breeze. "Oh, don't worry," he said, his eyes narrowing with that familiar mischievous look. "I'll work for it. You just let me know when you want me to turn on the charm." He leaned in again, his lips hovering near yours, the warmth of his breath a tantalizing invitation.

You closed the gap, letting his lips meet yours in a brief, soft kiss. It was playful but laced with an underlying intensity, a promise of more to come. When you pulled back, you saw the surprise in his eyes, followed by that trademark grin.

"Consider it a preview," you said, giving him a gentle nudge. "But don't get too cocky, or I’ll make sure you lose this bet."

------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please leave comments, likes, and reblogs; all are appreciated! Also, feel free to send requests!

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ i've missed you miami

♥ pairing: logan sargeant x fem!golfer!reader

♥ smau - fluff

♥ none of the pictures are mine, all were found on pinterest

♥ masterlist

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, and 345,672 more

yourusername ready for LPGA

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lilymhe good luck <3

yourusername you too babe <3

user10 GOOD LUCKK

user6 getting the prayer circle ready

landonorris we're rooting for you

yourusername thank you mwah mwah

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

-Top Golf-

“Alright teams of two,” Alex said to the group. “Lily and I, George and Carmen, Lando and Carlos…. which leaves Logan with Y/n.”

“Oh come on obviously Lily and Y/n are going to win. They have an unfair advantage.” George whined. 

You stepped up to the small square patch of turf with your golf ball and club. 

“Shouldn’t have invited two professionals to top golf then,” you laughed. 

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logansargeant everyone say thanks to y/n for winning us top golf

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landonorris booo

yourusername not my fault you suck at golf

carlossainz55 she’s just telling the truth lando

landonorris I hate you both

user2 why he posing like that

user14 oh!

user1 save a horse ride a cowboy

yourusername amen to that

user2 ON MAIN?!?! 😨

user7 new ship unlocked

user5 shoutout y/n for doing all the heavy lifting

landonorris I would also appreciate some sympathy for having to watch the two of them be all over each other

user7 SORRY?

user10 omg Lando spill

user16 Y/n and Lily ate them up huh?

user13 she’s so pretty :(

user12 the picture of Logan-

user14 this is so cute

user1 is it weird to say I ship

georgrussell63 I demand a rematch

yourusername you wanna lose twice?

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yourusername embracing my cuntry roots

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landonorris yeehaw

yourusername 🦅🦅

user13 how coquette of you

user5 logan sargeant core

user4 he didn't invent cowgirls

user6 RAHH

user1 USA USA

user7 but does he say you're so american 🤨

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yourusername hey miami, i've missed you

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user13 logan in the comments logan in the comments

user7 guys she's there for golf, not Logan

logansargeant did you need a reminder not to feed the alligators

yourusername ...no

logansargeant ...

yourusername they're so cute

user3 ALLIGATORS?

logansargeant if you try pet one it WILL eat you

yourusername :(

user8 @/logansargeant would you fight an alligator for her

alex_albon im sure he would

user9 gotta make sure he's good enough for our queen y/n

user2 her hair >>>

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logansargeant home race

-comments are disabled-

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yourusername me and the girls <3

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francisca.gomes love you babes

yourusername ily pookie

logansargeant how come I wasn't invited?

yourusername its girls night

landonorris you'll get her attention during the race dw

user7 Lando is the biggest y/n x Logan shipper

user8 hes so me

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yourusername I love you but not enough to let you win 💙

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carlossainz be honest. who's a worse golfer: Logan or Lando

yourusername lando.

landonorris yea but only one of us can drive an f1 car and I'm pretty sure its not you

yourusername that's LOW

oscarpiastri when you go low, Lando goes lower

user8 the blue heart-

user14 its for Logan idc

user2 BLUE HEART FOR WILLIAMS

user18 "I love you but-" SORRY WHAT? I LOVE YOU?!

user9 I love you?!?! say it one more time for the people in the back

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user6 I love how this is him hard launching his relationship and then just a picture of him and Alex 😭

yourusername you- you're cheating on me with ALEX?!

alex_albon you weren't supposed to find out this way

yourusername @/lilymhe come collect your man

user7 I TOLD YOU THEY WERE IN LOVE

user19 YES ITS FINALLY HAPPENING

user1 idk who I wanna be more

user5 they're dating?

user12 yea it was so obvious

landonorris get a room

[sports-on-sundays]

Okay so 🤭 what if Y/N use to be with ( whatever Barca player you choose ) and they broke it off because they supposedly wanted to focus on their career and the reader was really heartbroken and omg to make it more better y/n is Carlos sister and then she sees or hear how they moved on already! And little by little she starts to be with lando and they announce their relationship when he wins in Miami!! Like full on hard launch. 😭🙌🏽

Also this got me motivated to think of more ideas ima write them down for the future 🤭

papaya girl / LN4

Summary: ex!Ferran x Sainz!baker!reader x Lando - After a devastating breakup with your footballing boyfriend, you think you'll never be able to date someone again.

Warnings: there's a golf scene and I don't golf so-!🤞, mention of sickness, foul language, sorry if some things are not accurate, headache, partying/dancing/drunkenness/clubbing, mention of getting so drunk you had no memory of what happened, implied getting drunk to dampen emotions, getting injured, vomiting, slight soulmate feel, a bit of suggestive talk, use of babe/baby/bae/baby girl/etc., I feel like every kiss I describe is exactly the same sooo- sorry about that! ✌

Requested?: YES! 😘

Author's Note: Do you ever write something so good that you wish you could make it into a movie? That's how I feel about this. I can imagine the scenes. Didn't plan it but I guess 24 is the magic number for this one. I made the request more dramatic because... I like doing that... 👉 👈 🥺 ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. PERFECT MIX OF ANGST AND FLUFF. I LITERALLY LOVE YOU! If you do have any more ideas and you're up for it, let me know!

When you met Ferran Torres, you were a Madridista with a passion for Ferrari. Being a Sainz, you've always been rooting for Real Madrid, but your favorite Formula 1 team isn't as consistent. Because before that, you were a McLaren fan. And before that, Red Bull. And everything else before that, too.

Wherever Carlos is, you're a fan of it.

You, quite literally, on the day you met Ferran, were wearing a Cristiano Ronaldo jersey and a backwards Ferrari cap.

And, well, he, a new arrival from Manchester City, liked that, apparently!

And it was beautiful. They way you slowly became closer and closer, growing to know each other more and more.

And then, maybe you just hit a point. Hit a point in your relationship where you wanted more, and Ferran realized that if any more was given by him, it would be too far for him.

And he cut it off. Said he was doing well in Barcelona. He had high hopes. You, a sold out Madrid fan, had been wearing his number on the back of a blaugrana jersey. And despite that blaugrana jersey, he ditched you.

He said his work, his career, his passions, his dreams, were more important than you.

But you can't complain, Y/n. That's fair. He was gentle in letting you know. He made it clear he didn't want any malice between you and him.

You roll over in bed, staring vacantly at your wall. There's a large Real Madrid flag hanging in the middle. A smaller Ferrari flag on one side. A few posters of bands and teams you like or events you've been to, signed by different celebrities. People who are more famous than 'Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister' or 'Ferran Torres's ex-girlfriend.' On one side, it seems silly to have a poster signed by Max Verstappen, but you do. On the other side of the flag, you have a peeling old McLaren poster, showing the younger versions of Carlos and his former racing partner, Lando Norris, looking just seconds away from breaking into a loud, hysterical laughter.

And next to that, you have a Barcelona poster.

You smile sadly to yourself.

I must look like such a conflicted sports fan.

You stand up, walking over to the wall. After gently peeling the Barcelona poster off the wall, you slowly trace the badge with your fingers, any hint of a smile now gone as tears begin to fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

"This is stupid," you murmur scornfully, your voice cracking softly. "This isn't even my team! It's not my city...!" You toss the poster across the room, leaving it in a place where you don't intend to pick it up anytime soon.

Let it gather dust and crumple. That's what Ferran did. He threw away our relationship like it was nothing but a worthless piece of paper. And now I'm suffering the consequences.

You sigh. You're trying not to let yourself be bitter. You want to look back on everything you and Ferran had and be happy. Appreciate it. You still love Ferran. You don't want to be angry with him.

Someone said to you once, Hurt heals with time, as long as you let it.

You grab a bold, red Sharpie from your drawer and your notebook from a dresser. You scribble those words in all caps, rip out the page, grab some tape, and hang the piece of paper where the FC Barcelona poster used to be.

You sigh, but nod, before turning to get ready for your day.

You hate winter. You never hated winter before this winter, but now you hate it.

With the breakup, you've been avoiding anything La Liga like the plague, even if it doesn't involve Ferran Torres. It just reminds you too much.

And with Carlos on winter break, getting ready for the start of the season, he's not around much. Going on different trips, he's quite busy. Which you don't like. You and your brother have a strong bond.

It's not like you don't have anything to do. You just don't have anything interesting to do. You have a shop that you run, but you have enough staff hired to not have to be there all the time.

Yes, in a family of racing, you were never too into it. Your strong spot is in baking and business running, so that's why you opened up a bakery in Madrid.

And being a Sainz, of course it was a success.

Same type of thing as Charles Leclerc's 'LEC,' except you're not the racing driver Charles Leclerc, you're not doing ice cream, and you've always been doing this, for five years now.

You watch as a young, excited couple walks in, jabbering away in English. You can just tell they're tourists as they get in line to order. Once they get to the counter, the woman immediately leans over the counter in excitement, saying, "Is Carlos Sainz here?" in English.

You chuckle. Sounds American. "Which Carlos Sainz?" you tease.

They look blankly at you as if you're just about the dumbest individual to walk planet Earth. You chuckle and say, "Why don't you get to ordering? There's a line."

Towards the afternoon, as things begin to quiet down just a little bit, you look up at the doorbell jingles and freeze.

When he reaches the counter, you snap at Ferran, "Why are you in Madrid?"

"Am I not allowed to be? Either way, hello to you, too."

You sigh, licking your lips as you study the Valencian boy. "What can I get for you?"

He shrugs and orders, before seating himself down at one of the seats at the counter. "How have you been, Y/n?" he asks.

"Fine," you swallow, staring down. "And you?"

"I'm good." From there, he begins just talking, as if we're old friends or something, and not exes.

He seems so happy. So content.

To not be with you.

Suddenly, mid-way through one of his many sentences, you slip your hand over his, almost on impulse. He stops, staring to your hands, and then to you.

You breathe softly, "Why? Why did you come here to just talk to me? Aren't you moved on? Ferran, this is torture for me."

Lines crease into his face. You can see him swallow, looking at your smaller hand on his. "I'm... I'm sorry. I am moved on. I'm doing well. I just thought maybe we could be friends. I'd never want to date you again; I'm not in the place to date anyone. I'm happy single. But I just feel bad. I know you're hurt, and... I'd be happy to still be friends with you, is all?" He slips his hand out from underneath yours and takes his cup of coffee with it, taking a sip as he watches you intently.

You drag a hand over your face. Though you didn't want to admit it, seeing him come in to the bakery gave you hope. That maybe he wanted to try again. But those words that came out of his mouth? They cut deep.

"Listen, Ferran," you barely whisper. "I'm still trying to work through what happened. Everything. It's hard for me. But I appreciate it, and when I'm ready, if I'm ever ready, I'd love to be your friend. O- Okay?"

He nods slowly, staring down. "Alright... Fair enough."

"What's wrong?" your older brother, Carlos, asks. You watch outside the window as the world travels by.

You sigh. "Ferran."

"Him, again?"

"Carlos," you sigh. "Stop. It's nothing new. I'm just missing him. He wants to stay friends, but I said I needed time."

"Ah. Well, you know, I did tell you never to date-"

"-a Barcelona player. I know," you roll your eyes with a little smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hurt heals with time, as-"

"-long as you let it. I know," you comment, smiling a bit wider.

"Exactly. It'll come."

You sigh. "I hope so."

As Carlos pulls into the parking lot, you say, "So. Is that why you decided to take me golfing with your friends? Just wanted to check up on me, but you never have the time to sit down over dinner these days?"

Carlos smiles as he shuts off the car. "No. I could have made time. But I wanted your company golfing."

"You know I'm not big on g-"

"Shut up," he grins. "Yes you are."

"I suck."

"Not as bad as some people I know. In fact, you're actually pretty okay."

Soon, you meet up with a bunch of Carlos's friends. They're all chatting, and you're just kind of zoning off, looking out over the grassy hills, when suddenly you look up when Carlos says, "Ay! Lando!"

You blink in complete and utter shock. "Why is Lando Norris here?"

As Lando approaches, he eyes you, saying teasingly, "Well, thank you for the warm welcome, Y/n Sainz."

"Lando was just around, so he made the drive to meet us here," Carlos quickly fills in.

Soon, you're all off. After a round, as you're walking back to the cart to go get lunch, Carlos says, nudging Lando, "I think my baby sister is better than you."

Lando laughs. "You fucking muppet; what are you talking about?"

You grin, falling in step with Lando and Carlos. "I'm a better golfer."

"That is just wrong," Lando says, glancing at you. "Downright wrong."

"It's a Sainz thing," Carlos puts in. "There's no way for you to beat us, Lando. You can't. Winning runs in the family."

Lando rolls his eyes, reiterating, "Your baby sister is not better than me."

"You have no right to call me a baby," you put in indignantly. "I'm probably older than you."

Lando looks at you, his nose all scrunched up. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Hah! Same age."

"That still doesn't mean you get to call me a baby!"

"Her birthday is in January; different year than Lando's. Lando, you can call her a baby; you're older," Carlos says.

"Carlos!" you snap. "Don't give him permission!"

Carlos grins and shakes his head as he breaks off to chat with some of his other friends and get on the cart with them.

Lando grins, giving a discreet pat on your lower back as he murmurs, "Sorry, baby."

And for some reason, that makes you feel things. You decide to blame it on the fact that Lando's just good-looking.

Once you're all seated down with your lunch, you comment, "So what's with the whole..." your hand goes to your chin, referring to his facial hair, as you look at Lando expectantly.

Lando slams down his fork, saying lightheartedly, "Sick of people asking me that!"

You smirk. "Makes you look like you're forty."

"Whatever, baby."

"You know, I have a picture on my wall of you and Carlos when you were just babies, too."

As soon as Lando raises an eyebrow with a smirk, you know it was a mistake to word it that way. "You have a picture of me and Carlos on your wall?" he asks, mock condescendingly.

"No, no. I mean, I do, but- It's just an old McLaren poster." You immediately look down.

"What, are you a fan of mine?" Lando teases further.

"No! I'm a fan of Carlos, and you just so happened to be his teammate at that time. The point is that you two look like pipsqueaks in that photo! Lando, you looked so awkward, with all your acne-"

"What, Lando, you think she's a McLaren fan? She's sold out for Ferrari," Carlos interrupts.

"Literally! I deck myself out in red every Sunday!"

"Today's Sunday," Lando starts like the stupid idiot he is, "And I don't see you wearing red."

You groan, leaning back, covering your face in your hands. "Carlos, how are you this guy's friend? He's so annoying! Why'd you invite him for? How do you put up with him?"

Carlos just smirks, patting your shoulder, and says, "I'm used to having to put up with irritable people, after having to grow up with you."

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile as all the guys around you at the table laugh out loud.

On the car ride back, you're mostly silent, your thoughts swimming with one thing and one thing only.

Lando Norris.

And there's a soft smile on your face as you think about your morning with him.

But Carlos can tell you're deep in thought. Usually, you'd be yapping away right now. "Anything on your mind?" he asks carefully.

You sigh. "Not much."

"You're bad at lying. You're staring out the window dreamily. What's on your mind?"

You sigh. "It's stupid. You'll make fun of me."

"I'm not stupid, though. I can already guess what it is."

You gulp. "How?"

"For the whole day, the only person you talked to was Lando."

You feel your stomach drop. "It's nothing serious, Carlos. He's just funny."

"You said something like that to me about Ferran Torres right before you officially started dating."

That makes you feel a bit sick. "Carlos, I won't let that happen again."

"Don't. And don't be getting interested in anyone until you're over your ex. And we both know you're not. And please don't be getting interested in someone like Lando."

"Why?" You eyebrows scrunch together. "I thought you two were buddies."

Carlos grins teasingly. "If you somehow got yourself with him, there would always be two annoying people in one place."

"You're intolerable!" you snap, laughing.

"You are too, hermana."

It strikes Carlos as strange when the first thing Lando says to him the weekend of Bahrain, before even a hello, is: "Is your sister here?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Lando shrugs. "She's nice."

"No... She'll be coming to Australia, though..." Carlos can't help but feel suspicion fill his chest. He's always been somewhat protective of you, being his little sister and all.

"Perfect," Lando grins, and he's off.

In Australia, like any other race, you're decked out in your red. Ferrari hat, Ferrari jacket, red jeans. Ferrari earrings. Even your black shoes have a stripe of red on the sides.

Carlos always tells you it's dumb. But it's become a part of your whole thing, since you spend a huge amount of your life following Carlos around and going to Grand Prixs.

It's fun sometimes, being Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister!

But when you see a shock of papaya in your red world called Ferrari's hospitality, you squint, slipping your sunglasses up on your hat, and say, "Who said you could walk in like that uninvited?"

"No one," Lando grins, "but I'm only here to see you."

Your eyebrows raise as you stand up. "Wha-"

"Come with me. I'm going to barf if I have to breathe Ferrari air any longer. Just your terrible get-up is making me nauseous. I guess I'll be free from seeing that stupid outfit next year when Carlos isn't in Ferrari-"

"Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, but follow him with a grin on your face.

"So you broke up with your Barcelona man?" Lando start, cutting straight to the chase.

"Uh-" you swallow. "He broke up with me."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

You're not sure why Lando wants to know, and he certainly doesn't have any reason to know, but still you say, "We had been dating for a while, you know? I wanted something more. You know, to go deeper. Someday, I'd love to even maybe get married. But, Ferran... well, he didn't want to go the step deeper. Said he wanted to focus on his career. He broke it off. We're on fine terms, though."

"Ah..." he nods slowly. "That sounds like a tough breakup."

"Yeah... Yeah, it was."

He continues nodding, and catches your eye before saying, "So I'm assuming you want to... you know, you won't be up for any more relationships any time soon? Lot to work through?"

You suddenly feel your face begin to heat up. "Uh, well- depends on who it is, I suppose," you blurt without thinking.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Well, considering the fact that your face is just about as red as that Ferrari hat on your head, I'm wondering what you think of me."

You swallow, feeling even more embarrassed. "Are you suggesting...?"

"If you're up for it, the night after the Grand Prix, you can meet me at my hotel room, and we'll go from there. Text me if you decide 'yes,' for the details."

"I don't have your numb-"

He gives a cute little smile and opens his hand to reveal a folded up piece of paper. "Now you do. See you later, Miss Sainz!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as he jogs off.

"Oh my God, Carlos! Well done! So well done! Oh my God!" you scream in the midst of your strings of excited swear words, in both Spanish and English. "Did you actually just win the Australian Grand Prix?!"

He grins as he kisses your cheek, patting your back and saying, "Yes, I actually just did."

You hug your older brother tight, resting your head on his shoulder. "Love you. You did amazing. After everything you've been through. You're going to be leaving Ferrari next season and with your surgery and everything and-"

He smiles a bit. "Want to let me go now? Can't squeeze me too tight, remember?"

"So you can drive a race car and win the race, but you're too fragile for me to hug you!" you laugh, but release him from the hug.

He laughs out loud. "Yes, pretty much."

Hours later, you stand in the lit, mostly empty hallway, knocking on the white-painted door. You've change out of your Ferrari red head-to-toe fit, and are now wearing a black t-shirt with the F1 logo in red on the left side, black sweatpants, and your hair held back by a headband.

Lando probably isn't here, you think as you wait. I look so stupid. He doesn't care as much as he acts like he does. He's probably out partying or something. He got a podium. Carlos won. There's no way he's just sitting around in his hotel room-

You look up in surprise as the door clicks and swings open to reveal Lando Norris standing before you.

You beam and say a bit too loud, "Lando!"

He laughs. "Hey..." He's dressed in a white button down, dark blue jeans, and his regular assortment of jewelry. "Want to come in for a bit?"

You nod. "Were you... just out?" you ask slowly.

He chuckles again, plopping down on the sofa. "If I were just out, I wouldn't be looking this neat."

"Oh... Oh?"

"Come on. Sit down next to me," he encourages with a wave of his hand. "Something funny- I've had my eyes on you for a while now."

You look up in somewhat shock. "That's why you're so confident about this?"

"That, and that I'm just the peak of all confidence," he jokes, clearly mocking cockiness.

You roll your eyes.

"But really. I've been flirting with you for a while."

This time your eyes widen. "No way."

"Just little. I knew you were dating that Torres-"

"How?"

He smiles. "Doesn't take much to find out. Anyway, I think you just blocked it out because you were dating someone else. Shows you're a loyal girl."

"Hm..." you nod slowly. "I... I suppose...?"

Suddenly, he takes your hand in his. "So, you like me?"

"I think I have for a while. Like you said- I blocked it out because I was dating someone else." You didn't even know that until now, hearing the words coming from your mouth.

He smirks. "Even better. So..."

"Yeah?" you ask, a little glimmer in your eyes.

"I'd like to know what the hell you're wearing."

Suddenly, your face falls. "Uh- I'm sorry- I- I thought we- Um-"

Lando laughs. "Y/n! I'm teasing!"

"O- Oh!" you laugh nervously.

"I was just thinking... Maybe you'd want to go out and celebrate with me?"

"Oh-" you nod. "Right."

"So, do you want to get changed? I'll text you where we'll meet in a half hour?"

You grin, standing up. "Sounds good."

"See you then."

"Holy fuck, man," are Lando's first words when he sees you. You're wearing sunglasses, a form-fitting sequin shirt, and flattering white jeans.

"What?" you ask anxiously. "Is it too much?"

"Too much? Y/n, you're gorgeous."

You sigh in relief. "Alright good... And- one thing."

"Hm?" Lando asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know if we... could we say we're... that you're my..."

"Partner? Boyfriend?"

You swallow. "Sure. I think... I think I'm good with that. At least for tonight."

He nods.

"But let's not make it clear here. I don't want the way for everyone to find out about this being, you know, by nightclub pictures on the internet."

He smirks a bit, nodding. "Fair enough, then. Let's go."

"Rise and shine! Let's hit the grind, Y/n!" an unfamiliar voice wakes you up.

You roll over to see Lando's handsome face looking down at you. You're in his hotel room, in the one bed. He's all dressed and ready to go, and towering over you, looking like a giddy dog.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. "I've got a killer headache. What happened last night." You feel disgusting, and wrinkle your nose as you get a whiff of the alcohol scent radiating off of you.

He grins. "I learned that you have no tolerance whatsoever."

You frown. "Unlike you, Norris, I'm not getting drunk all the time! Now, tell me what really happened!"

"Nothing much. Just a lot of fun," he sits down next to you, "and it's a shame that you can't remember any of it." He chuckles a bit, saying, "You got fucking wild. You were more fun though before you got absolutely drunk out of your wits."

"You didn't do anyth-"

"No, no!" he rolls his eyes. "Besides, Carlos was there. I wouldn't dare. You at least remember Carlos, right, being there?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, of course I do."

"But you really did completely black out? You don't remember anything?"

You swallow nervously. "No... I don't really remember anything... I mean, I guess..." You close your eyes, thinking hard. "Just dancing... music was super loud, but... that's not anything specific. I don't feel well at all now, though..." You start to feel a bit dizzy at the energy you're putting into trying to remember.

You open your eyes and look at Lando.

He smiles. "Well, it was fun, nothing more. Want me to bring you back to your hotel now?"

"Yeah, I guess..." you nod, cradling your head in your hands. "That'd be great..." You see the wine stain on your jeans. You can feel an ache in your ankle. You just need to clean yourself up.

Lando helps you limp to the car, assuring you that you just tripped. Saying your ankle is fine; it'll feel better in a few days' time.

You're not so sure.

As Lando drives, he knows he should tell you the details, like Carlos said.

But it still feels like you'd be better off not knowing at all.

Nine hours before

Though every single one of Lando's molecules in his body told him not to, he had to keep pushing you off. He sat talking away with some other dudes, and you sat his side, drunkenly trying to wrap your arms around him.

You blubbered softly about all kinds of stuff, a strange mixture of being utterly devastated and overly romantic.

Lando knew. You didn't get drunk this often.

A part of him felt bad. A huge part of him. He didn't think he had pressured you into anything. Certainly not intentionally. And you were the one who kept drinking more. But maybe he did...

Maybe it was his fault you were the mess you were now.

"Lando..." you murmured, your hand gripping his bicep. You leaned closer. "You're so sexy in that shirt." You reached over to unbutton another button of his shirt.

He gently pushed you away for the millionth time. "Remember, Y/n? You don't want anyone to know you're into me this much," he whispered lowly to you, running a hand through his hair. "Remember that, baby."

You pouted. "Ferran broke up with me and made me sad. Can't you make me happy now."

"Not now. I won't be doing anything when you're this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk..."

Lando snorted. "Whatever you say, lovely."

All was going as fine as it could be going. But then Carlos showed up. "Hey, Y/n-" he had started.

But you had interrupted him by slapping your hand on Lando's shoulder, leaning into it, and giggling giddily, "Look at this pretty boy."

Immediately, Carlos's eyes flashed with shock. And then vague panic. And then anger.

"Lando, how drunk did you get her?!" he snapped, raising his voice even more than he already was. The flashing lights on the Spanish man's face helped Lando's anxiety no more.

"I didn't get her drunk at all! I tried to stop h-"

"Yeah, fucking right. Come with me Lando-"

"No!" you had snapped, standing up to grab Lando's sleeve before your older brother could drag him away.

You were clearly biting back tears. "Lan didn't do anything..." You stumbled drunkenly into the British man, who steadied you gently, before helping you sit down again.

Carlos's face remained hard and steadied on Lando, but he spoke no words, as if he was battling in his head what to do.

Lando sighed. "Listen, Carlos. She won't remember any of this tomorrow morning. Let's just not bring this up again, yeah? It was a mistake. Stuff happens. She got wild and had one too many. We've all had those nights."

But Lando genuinely didn't think Carlos had had one of those nights before.

Lando certainly had, though.

"She deserves to know."

"Maybe she shouldn't, though. She's gone through a lot with her ex breaking up with her and everything. And I'm sure your career up in the air isn't helping her cause much, either. She loves you more than the world. And think about how worrying it was for her to see you go into surgery like that, and race right afterwards? The good emotions just hit her, man. But it's probably a lot. She's just going through a lot. She doesn't need the guilt of getting too drunk and acting a little stupid, yeah?" Lando ranted, intently studying the older Spaniard's eyes.

Carlos's eyes slowly softened. "Alright... I won't tell her what's happening once she's sober. Only if I can make a deal with you."

Lando bit his lip, running a hand through his messed up hair. "What is it?"

"I won't say a word to her, as long as you promise to stay away from my sister. I know you're interested in her."

Lando's eyebrows creased together. "What does that men? Why?"

"Quit trying to get with my sister, and then it's a done deal."

Lando let out a shaky breath, slowly nodding. "Alright, then. Whatever. It's a done deal."

Of course Lando didn't intend on following through with his end of the deal.

But when Lando turned around to check on you on the couch, he froze when he saw you were gone. "Where'd Y/n go?" he immediately asked the other guys and girls sitting around.

"The hot Spanish girl?" one guy asked in a painfully slow Australian accent.

"Yes, her!" Lando demanded, his buzzed brain filling with irrational panic and overwhelming confusion.

He lazily gestured and responded, "Went to go dance, I reckon."

And before Carlos or anyone else could react any faster, Lando tore into the crowd, shoving people aside and squeezing through gaps that weren't there, in search of you.

She's drunk out of her mind! What the hell was she thinking!

That's right. She wasn't thinking.

And then, he spotted you, just for a moment. Moving your hips, stumbling about, thinking you were just about the sexiest thing in the room.

"Move out of my fucking way," was Lando's polite way of shoving two guys out of the way.

He could see the sweat glistening on your face. He could see the dumb smile on your face, your high giggles. He could see fresh wine spilled on your white jeans. He could see hands on you; he took no energy to see who they connected to as rage filled his entire being.

And he watched, almost in slow motion, as your ankle rolled on your black stiletto, and you stumbled to the floor with a brain rattling, painful cry.

Immediately, Lando shoved his way to your side, slipping his hands under your body. "My God, Y/n!" he nearly screamed over the music. "You idiot! You beautiful, fucking stupid, idiot! Tell me why I fell in love with you! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Hi Lando," you murmured through tears. "My ankle..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding as Lando tucked your hair behind your ear. He lifted you to your feet and let you lean on him as he helped you limp out of the club.

"I'm sorry, Lando..." you had muttered hoarsely.

"Hey, don't worry," Lando had responded. "Never apologize for having nothing but a good time."

But he, Lando Norris, disagreed with the words coming out of his mouth. That was his motto, his excuse, all the time. But as soon as soon as he saw you, someone he genuinely really loved, really cared about, living like that?

It made him sick to his stomach.

Speaking of that, as soon as you were outside, you stumbled away from Lando. He steadied you with one hand and held your hair back with the other as you doubled over and vomited, your previously red face impossibly pale.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah..." you gasped after about a minute.

"Alright. Okay. Let's get to my hotel room now."

Lando could barely understand your slurred words as you responded, "As long as we're getting away from here."

Now

You were going to go to the Japanese Grand Prix. But you just wanted to stay home. With a sprained ankle that confines you to crutches and an illness you've picked up, there was no way you were going to fly across the world for a Grand Prix, especially with the potential jet lag.

You lay on your couch and text Lando. You've been thinking, and you let him know that though you really do want to go places with him, you want to go slower.

You still don't know what happened on that night in Melbourne. For some reason, you can't get anything of significance out of Carlos or Lando. But you know more than what they're saying must have happened that night.

You asked Charles, because he was there. He provided a bit more information, but not much. He said he wasn't really hanging around you that night, but that he did see you cuddling with Lando.

When you asked Lando about it, he said you were drunk, it was just you not thinking, and it only happened once. That you stopped after he pushed you off.

And social media shows no one caught it on camera, or anything that night, for that matter.

So at least there's no fans going crazy over anything.

Lando texts you back, saying that he thinks it's best to go slow. Just let yourselves ease into whatever your relationship is going to be.

It's a relief to see he agrees with you on that.

But then he sends another text, asking you to try to keep it a secret. Even from your family, including Carlos.

You ask why, and he responds saying he simply agrees it's good to be private, and he doesn't want Carlos judging.

Though you're not sure about it, since Carlos is not only your favorite (only) brother, but also your best friend, you still tentatively agree to it.

Lando probably has a good reason.

Right?

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix comes around, though your foot is still in a walking boot, you're over your illness, and decide you're going to go for it and make the trip halfway across the world. After all, you've never been to China!

It's true that your walking boot doesn't look the best with your shades, shining silver jewelry, and overalls, but oh well. The most annoying part is literally everyone who even half knows your name (the Sainz part) keeps asking you what the hell happened to your ankle.

And you have literally no response but, "I fell," because you have no more of an idea than them, and there's no way you're about to say, 'Hah I just got drunk with Lando and got so fucking crazy that I twisted my ankle and sprained it! Anyway!'

Yeah, no way.

So "I fell," is the best option you have.

But the most concerning thing to you is that you haven't even seen Lando yet, all weekend. Though you haven't seen each other in a while, you've been calling, texting, and face timing often, your relationship growing a lot.

You chew your lip as you limp towards the McLaren garage. You peek in, scanning for Lando, but only see Oscar.

You limp to him.

"Whoa- What happened to your-"

"I fell," you say, thoroughly exasperated with this. "Anyway, is Lando around?"

"Lando? Uhhh..." he looks around.

Dude, hurry up. I'm not supposed to be here, your thoughts practically scream.

But then he walks in himself, and you grin, waving, "Lando!" you call.

He walks over to you, smiling. "Aw. Look at my little injured girlfr- uh, uhm, mate. My injured mate." He glances nervously at Oscar.

But the Australian just smiles, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Lando nods gratefully, before leading you to a more private place. "Hey," he says softly once you're alone, his hands resting on your waist. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright... Ankle's getting better, slowly but surely."

"Oh, good," he almost looks relieved. "That's so good to hear. I'm so glad you made the big trip to be here, Y/n."

You smile softly. "I was starting to miss you."

He grins. "I was missing you, too, baby... I think I could make some time for you this weekend, too. We could just get take out, hang out at my hotel room, you know. No more partying, even if I win, right?" he teases gently, gesturing to your foot.

You snort. "Yeah. Yeah, no more partying for now for me."

Later that night, you lay next to Lando in his hotel room. His arms are wrapped around you, his hand rubbing your back. "Look at me," he murmurs sleepily.

You look up to see his soft eyes looking at you, with so much, tenderness, so much...

love.

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Lando, how did we get here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two months ago, I would lie awake in bed, dreaming about and missing Ferran. I was so lonely. Now here I am. Two months, and I'm laying here, in your arms."

He grins a bit. "I bet it's because we're meant for each other."

"That's cliché."

"No, it's not. I really mean it. You know, I had a crush on you even back when Carlos was in McLaren, you were around a lot more, in papaya."

"No, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did!" he laughs softly. "I really did. The day I saw you in the paddock. The day Carlos pointed you out as his sister. The day you flipped your hair and looked at me with those warm brown eyes. And then looked away from me, because in my first season in McLaren, I was the farthest thing from attractive."

You giggle at this. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not! That was the day that I knew- I knew- that someday, I was going to make you mine," he murmurs, his eye half-lidded as his hand gently caresses your cheek.

"Lando!" you squeak, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "Don't you dare make me cry for no reason!" You wait a minute, before saying softly, "Well, maybe, just maybe, back then, though you were a pipsqueak, you were kind of cute... And I've always gotten butterflies from your jokes and teasing, even all those years ago, before I was even dating Ferran."

He laughs. "Awww... So you've always had a little bit of a crush on me, too!" You can see by his blushing cheeks and beaming eyes that just this fact is making him feel warm inside.

You roll your eyes, giggling. "I guess, maybe...."

He flicks your nose gently, playfully, holding you even closer. You lay there in more silence, before Lando says softer, even more tenderly, "Hey, Y/n... can I talk to you about something...?"

"Of course, Lando..." Your eyebrows knit together.

You watch as he swallows. Nods. Sighs. "Okay... Something has been bugging me..." He pauses. "I... I feel like I never should have brought you out that night in Australia... you know? Like, beyond the sprained ankle."

Your eyes flash. "What do you mean?"

"Well... You just got so drunk, and... I feel so bad... Like, somehow, it's my fault... I didn't mean for you to get hurt, or to drink that much... I just thought we'd have fun. Like I always do with my friends. And you're my girlfriend; supposed to be my closest friend..."

"Lando," you murmur shakily. "Did you try to get me that drunk? You didn't encourage it, did you?"

He looks nervous. "I genuinely don't think so, but I'm nervous I did... I tried to tell you enough was enough, but maybe I should have looked out for you more... Maybe I should have worked better at keeping you from getting that drunk... But we were having so much fun and I figured you would know your limit... I shouldn't have assumed."

"Lando! Don't blame yourself! It was my fault. I got too drunk, I fell and sprained my ankle. The sentiment of you wanting to look out for me is nice, but when push comes to shove, I'm in charge of myself, just like you're in charge of yourself, and it was my fault. My mistake. M'kay, Lando...?"

He nods slowly, still looking a bit unsure. "Well, Carlos isn't mad at you about it. He's mad at me..."

"Carlos is what?!"

"Ah, fuck. Forget I ever-"

"Lando Norris, explain."

"Whoa, that's sexy," he laughs.

"What?!" you exclaim in exasperation, yet you're still unable to keep your stomach fluttering by Lando's sudden spoken intrusive thought.

He grins, his eyebrows raised. "I don't know. Full name, in such a firm voice? Like, yes, mommy, order me around. I'll do whatever you want me to," he says in a low, goofy, teasing voice.

You can't stop your face from heating up. "Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, your voice cracking awkwardly as you flick him in the nose this time. And you flick his stupid nose harder than he flicked yours earlier.

He giggles evilly, rolling over. "Look at yourself! You liked that! You're a blushing mess!"

"No, I didn't. What a stupid way to flirt."

"Oh, well, I can show you even more stupid ways to flirt. Because, apparently, it doesn't quicken your heart rate at all."

You groan. "You are so annoying."

He leans over, giving you a peck on your lips. "I know. And you know you love me for it."

You forget to ask him again about Carlos.

"Baby, c'mere," Lando says, nodding for you to join him in his driver's room.

"Dude, watch what you call me when there's listening ears around."

Lando shrugs. "It's only Oscar in the other room."

"So? What makes you trust Oscar so much, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He's a good guy. And he's not gossipy, like me."

You laugh. "You are, are you?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a fucking gossip girl."

You laugh out loud at this as Lando shuts the door of his driver's room behind you.

Lando grins. "Anyways, Oscar is trustworthy because he's not the type of guy to have any desire not to keep a secret."

You frown, crossing your arms. "Alright. Whatever. Anyways, why'd you bring me in here?"

Lando shrugs, sitting down on the one chair in the room. "Sit down, babe."

You blink. "Where? On the fricking floor?"

"Uh, no," Lando rolls his eyes jokingly, as if this is the most obvious thing. "On my fricking lap, Y/n. Come on now. Duh."

You can't help but find yourself blush at that as you slip onto his lap. He wraps his hands around your waist, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You smile, leaning into him as you ask softly, "So why'd you bring me in here? Just for kicks?"

He grins. "I need my Y/n fix before the race. You know, it'll make me drive better."

"Oh? Is that how it works?" Suddenly, though, before Lando can respond, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You slip it out and sigh. "It's Carlos, asking me where I am. I feel like I'm under surveillance."

Lando blows a raspberry before saying, "Just ignore it, bae. You're a twenty-four year old woman; Carlos needs to get over it."

"Get over what?" you ask, an eyebrow raised.

"You not being his baby sister anymore. You're my baby now," he murmurs into your shoulder, pulling you closer to himself.

You laugh. "I still can't decide whether you're the worst flirt I've ever met or the smoothest. But right now, I'm thinking the worst."

"Oh, well!" he says, looking up at you with innocent eyes, batting his lashes. "Doesn't matter to me, because either way, you like it! Anyway, back to before Carlitos had to interrupt-"

You giggle as he begins kissing your face and say, "Carlitos? I'm not even allowed to call him that without him going psycho man on me-"

"Mmm... Can you talk less? It's cuter when you do that giggle thing," Lando murmurs between kisses.

This causes you to laugh out loud. "Sometimes, Lando, I think you're so weird." You realize, in a strange way, though, Lando is right. Because of the giddy feeling of literally having your boyfriend shower you with kisses and love, you're just kind of trying to find anything to talk about.

But maybe you should just take one moment to shut up.

You lean into the kisses, exhaling slowly. Contently, despite your pounding heart and sweating neck.

Finally, you feel as though your face is absolutely, completely covered in Lando's kisses. You sigh, contented, as Lando kisses the tip of your nose, and then pecks your lips.

You giggle, opening your eyes to gaze into his.

But his eyes flutter shut as he leans in, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck. And his lips meet yours again, this time in a real kiss. You shut your eyes, enjoying those lips on your own, sending tingles throughout your whole body, causing your breath to grow heavier and heavier. Desire pulses in every beat of your heart, causing the passion in the kiss to build and build. Your right hand falls into his chest as the other knits itself in his curly locks. You feel Lando's hand on your hip as his fingers snake under to grip your ass gently. You can feel his hot breath on you, in you, apart of you, as his other hand gently stroking your neck, giving you little twitches of longing for more. Your tongues find an art of lingering exploration, Lando's hunger seeming to never be satisfied as his tongue and lips tease your nerves, the emotional and physical connections between you seeming stronger than ever. His hand slides down your neck to your back, pulling you closer to him, so your chests are pressed into one another.

Suddenly, though, there's a pounding on the door of Lando's driver's room. Your eye cracks open. Lando's squeeze tighter shut, his eyebrows creasing together, as if he wishes so much that this never has to end.

Lando grunts, finally pulling away. Oscar's voice on the other side of the door saying Lando's name seems to be in another, insignificant world. You're both gasping as you study each other's eyes in a certain awe.

A soft, mischievous smirk appears on Lando's lips. Those lips that now you can't stop staring at. "Was your first kiss with Torres that hot?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "Definitely not."

There's a pause, of just softly smiling, gazing into each other's eyes, before Lando breathes, his eyes half-lidded, "My fucking God," He gently, slowly strokes your warm, pink cheek. "Did I ever tell you how head over heels I am for you?"

Before you can respond, Oscar's voice says again from outside, "Lando, if you don't respond, soon, I'm coming in."

Lando groans again, leaning his head back, "You can't! The door's locked!" He then adds under his breath, "Fucking Osc, interrupting as soon as I was going to take it to the next step."

At this, you blush even deeper. "You were-"

Lando waves his hand dismissively. "I would have checked with you first."

You nod, breathing deeply.

"Alright, baby," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. "Let's go see what the hell Oscar wants."

When the door swings open, Oscar can't help but chuckle how how much, in that moment, you two look like some snarky super villian duo, about to give him some cheesy monologue. You both stand, arms crossed, practically back to back. Lando wears a scornful grin and you display a glare as hard as stone. Even your clothes- Lando's racing clothes and your head-to-toe Ferrari red, finish off the silly look.

"What's so funny?" you demand upon seeing the Australian's laughter.

"Nothing, nothing. But I hope you guys know: These walls are not soundproof."

"What are you suggesting?" Lando snaps. "You couldn't have possibly heard anything, you idiot!"

"Whoa, whoa! I didn't! I'm just saying!" Oscar says, going on the defensive, putting both hands up. "Me and my girlfriend don't lock ourselves in my driver's room before the race, losing track of time and forcing you to go get us!"

"You and your girlfriend are probably going to buy a house with a white picket fence and have 2.5 children and a golden lab! Oscar and Lily is bad enough, but I'm surprised it's not John and Emily!"

"Whoa," Lando says, laughing as you walk out of the driver's room together and he shuts the door. "Shots fired. Calm down, Y/n; jeez."

But Oscar's laughing, too, so you know there's no need to apologize.

"Lan... You know I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I won't go out, right?" you say nervously as you walk into his hotel room, rolling your suitcase from your own hotel room.

"Yeah, I know you weren't. I wasn't kidding, either."

"So... What?" you ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed, crossing your arms. "You're planning on going alone? Then why did you bring me to your hotel room-"

"Y/n," he suddenly says, leaning down to gently grab your chin and look you directly in your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm staying right here."

Your jaw actually drops. "I'm sorry, but who are you and what have you done with Lando Norris? Because that man would never miss an opportunity to party."

This makes Lando let go of you and break into a fit of laughter. "Y/n!" he breathes. "What the hell are you talking about? Before that, I would never miss an opportunity to spend time with you."

You stare. "Okay, actually. I'm being serious now. What did you do with Lando?"

You watch as your boyfriend chuckles, sitting down next to you. "Baby. I'm not going to go out clubbing while you sit in a hotel room alone. And there's no way I'm taking you out again; my guilty conscience can't take that, and neither can your sprained ankle. So why not celebrate P2 here, just you and I, hm?" he says in a low tone.

Immediately, at this suggestion, you blush. "Oh, uh, Lando... I, uh... I don't know if I'm ready for something... you know... for that... right now... Not yet... You know, it's too early for me in our relationsh-"

Lando suddenly breaks into laughter again. Oh, that sweet, silly sound. "Y/n! My God, what a dirty mind you have! I wasn't thinking that at all-!"

"You, Lando Norris, are saying I have a dirty mind?! I bet you really are his doppelganger!"

He crosses his arms. "Only reason why I wouldn't suggest that is because I know you're not ready. Which is more than one hundred percent fine with me. I wasn't even thinking about that, anyway."

"What were you thinking, then?"

He smiles with his eyes. "Well, let's both get ready for bed," he begins pulling his shirt off over his head as you absolutely bear your eyes into him, "And once we're both ready, I'll meet you back... here...?" His confused face slowly turns to one of teasing nature when he sees your eyes trained intently on his bare chest. His perfectly toned abs. His perfectly shaped pecs. His strong, straight, tan back. The little brown beauty marks sprinkled all over his torso. You would love to kiss every single one of them. "Why don't you take a picture?" he smirks stupidly. "That way, it'll last longer."

"Oh, shut up," you murmur, licking your lips as you tear your eyes away from his bare middle. "You can shower first," you murmur.

Once you're both all clean and ready, you snuggle up under the blankets, only to find your arm brushing against Lando's bare skin.

You feel your heart flutter as you murmur, "Are you not wearing a shirt just to bother me?"

"What, no," Lando says, overly innocently. "I never wear a shirt to bed. Just like I'm sure you never wear a bra...?"

If you were embarrassed before, now it's ten times worse. You specifically decided to wear a bra, to avoid... that. And now here Lando is, bringing it up like it's the weather.

"Uh..." you begin.

"Anyway!" Lando says, apparently seeing the vaguely panicked look in your eyes. "Wanna just watch a show or something?"

"Yeah," you nod. "That sounds good."

Lando turns some stupid show on his laptop, and as you snuggle and it gets later, you become more relaxed. You lean your head on Lando's shoulder as he plays with strands of your smooth, wet, dark hair. Your hands begin softly feeling his chest, just drawing circles and feeling the shapes of his abs.

Everyday, you seem to get to know Lando more and more- inside and out.

He sighs, contented, and murmurs sleepily, "That feels nice."

You smile, nuzzling into him.

"I saw Barcelona and Madrid played today," he comments as your fingers continue stroking the abs under Lando's soft skin.

"Yeah... El Clásico..."

"You don't sound as excited as I thought you would. I thought you were big on Madrid."

"Yeah, I am... Just having been keeping up with La Liga lately, I guess."

"Hm... Well, would you like it if I could find some way to watch the game...?"

You smile softly. "Hm. Yeah, maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

Lando nods, and soon, you're cuddled up with your boyfriend, watching your favorite team play against FC Barcelona/your ex's team.

It feels weird, but you like it.

You decide your bra isn't very comfy and slip it off under your shirt before tossing it across the room.

"You're finally over being embarrassed with me?" Lando teases.

You smile softly, shutting your eyes. "At least for now. Too sleepy to care."

He smiles back. "You're cute when you're sleepy. Cuter."

Soon, though, Lando is gently shaking you, murmuring, "Look. Your ex was subbed on."

"Hmmm? What about Fer?" you murmur with a yawn. You must have dozed off for a bit.

"Fer?" Lando asks, his nose scrunching up. "Yeah, Ferran Torres."

Your eyes flutter open to see your ex-boyfriend running onto the pitch. You feel a sudden, unexpected pang in your chest. When you and Ferran were still together, you watched him do that so many time, with a sense of pride and excitement.

But now, you don't feel much at all. It's no different from anyone else going out there to play.

But, like a train, memories of the past begin to hit you.

Going for walks with him. Cheering him on at finals. Hanging out with his teammates. Working out with him. Bringing him to the Barcelona Grand Prix. Exchanging gifts on birthdays and holidays.

Just all the little things you used to do.

Like snuggling with each other on late nights after Barcelona won.

Not unlike what you and Lando are doing right now.

Suddenly Lando's arm around you tightens, and he says, "You okay?"

"I- yeah..."

Lando leans forward to see you face. You try to turn it away. Lando doesn't let you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

"You're crying," he states softly.

"I guess..." you trail off, averting your eyes.

There's a few beats of silence before Lando states again, "You still miss him."

"I guess..." you repeat. "But... I'm happy to be with you... it just all happened so quick... It's a lot for me... I'm mostly over it- over him- by now, but sometimes things just... make me start to think. Reminsce of what's not anymore."

Lando slowly nods, and begins rubbing your shoulder. "I- Alright..."

"But don't worry. I'm way more happy to be with you right now than sad to not be with Ferran any longer."

"You're sure?" the Brit asks tentatively.

You nod, leaning into him once more. "I'm sure. One hundred and one percent."

"Hey, Lando," you grin giddily before the Miami Grand Prix. "Just drive your best out there, okay? Good luck, baby." You give him a high-five. You can sense he wants to give you a hug, but painfully knows he can't because of the ever-watching cameras and eyes all around you.

But he leans in close, until you can practically feel his breath on your face, and says softly, in just about the most heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way low voice, "Oh, baby... I'm going to go out there and win that race. For you."

"Oh, stop being such a romantic. You're going to make me cry."

He leans in, about to kiss your cheek, but you gently push him off, saying, "You better get going, Lan! Race is going to start soon!"

"Right! Bye bye, bab-"

"BYE!" you scream to overpower his stupid 'baby girl.'

And before you can even blink twice, it seems-

It's lights out....

And away we go!

"LANDO! FUCKIN'! NORRIS!" you scream as soon as you see him, running to him as fast as you can. Your eyes threaten to fill over their brims with tears as you leap into Lando's arms, immediately forgetting about hiding your relationship.

Right now, that just seems too silly to care about. It doesn't matter enough.

Your boyfriend is a race winner.

The racer winner!

He leans back with the most joyful, most romantic, most adrenaline filled, most glorious look in his eyes as they search yours. His hand slowly strokes your cheeks as he purrs, "I told you I would win it for you, didn't I?"

"Lando-" you begin in excitement, but are interrupted by Lando's lips on yours, aggressively, passionately leaning into yours, flooding all his emotions into you, sharing his dream coming true with you.

For some reason, you begin to cry. Flows of tears, flooding down your cheeks as you kiss each other, and your heart pounds at a million kilometres an hour. His hands grip your waist tight, and the moment-

It all seems so perfect.

Right now, you don't care about the fact it was supposed to be secret. You don't care about what Carlos will think or say or do, or what fans on social media will post. None of it matters.

In this moment, the only two people that matter are you and Lando, in a symphony of amorousness, standing on the top of the world.

In this moment, you and Lando, both in sync, know this is the right time. Though it's been merely three months of being in a real, serious relationship, it feels like several lifetimes.

You don't care about the shock of other people, or the cameras flashing and clicking and filming.

All the sudden, you're proud of it.

You want everyone to know, no matter how they'll react, that you're Lando's, and Lando is yours.

When you finally break away from each other, Lando's smile remains as he gazes into your eyes.

"Are you crying too?" you giggle softly as you spot a glint in his eyes.

"What? Me, crying? No, I'm not crying! Of course I'm not crying!" he says teasingly, hastily wiping at his eye with his thumb. "You're the one crying! But anyway-" He slips the papaya McLaren cap off his head and plops it on yours, saying, "Won't be needing this for the top step. Besides," he smirks, leaning in closer. "Enough with all this Ferrari stuff. I think it's finally time for you to admit: Papaya looks best on you. Papaya's your color."

As you watch him jog off after that, stunned, you feel pleased.

Finally, for once, content.

That's right. My color isn't white, or blaugrana. It's not Ferrari's red, either.

I'm a papaya girl.

His papaya girl.

[gothgoblinbabe]

✮ Monster Mash ✮

Logan Howlett x fem reader

A/N: I wanted to do something for spooky month and I’ve been dying to go to Monster mini golf because. I mean. Look at it. Does that not look so fun. It’s so fun. I haven’t been since I was little and I’m determined to go soon - anyway, I wanted to explain that if you don’t know what that is, it’s a chain of indoor mini golf courses that are hand painted in neon paint and have all these cool monster statues and themed holes. Also an arcade <3 I fucking love the arcade 

I even included some pictures in the moodboard!

Yes I did laugh like a twelve year old boy every time I wrote “hole” so get the giggles out now

Summary: Picking a group activity was never easy, but with Halloween right around the corner, you came up with the perfect idea. Even if Logan hated it.

Warnings: swearing, I think that’s it? Good amount of fluff, This is a cute one

Word Count: 4k

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦

Team building exercises sounded great when Charles brought it up, in theory. 

You’d all spend one day a week doing an activity together. Each person - you, Logan, Ororo, Jean and Scott - got a chance to pick said activity, decided by who got to pick the week before. It seemed like an easy and fair system - except that some of you were very stubborn and wouldn’t agree to go anywhere half the time.

“I’m not doing that. I don’t want to,” Logan would say flatly, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Too bad,” Scott would always say, “get in the car.”

This week was your turn and you were ecstatic, except that you couldn’t decide on what you wanted to do. Something in you was feeling nostalgic and longed to revisit somewhere you hadn’t been in a long time. You tried to think of what you did as a kid with your friends, what you did for your birthdays or places you wanted to go but never got to. You also figured since Halloween was around the corner, you should choose something kind of spooky.

You knew exactly where you wanted to go.

“I don’t get it,” Logan narrowed his eyes and looked at the colorful sign plastered on the front of the building, “what do monsters have to do with it?”

You stifled a laugh.

“They’re cute.”

“Cute?” Logan eyed one of the monsters painted on the outside wall, “define ‘cute’.”

“It looks like fun,” Jean shrugged, hand in hand with Scott as you all walked in together. 

Monster mini golf was one of your favorite places to go as a kid. The blacklights, patterned carpets, familiar monster displays and neon lights reminded you of simpler times.

Once inside, you all got clubs and golf balls. You tried to hand Logan a club and he shook his head.

“I am not playin’ golf like some yuppie.”

“Does this look like a country club to you?” you gestured to your surroundings, “Logan, it’s mini golf. It's fun. Take the damn club or you can sit in the car for the next three hours.”

After a moment of hesitation, he begrudgingly took it from your hands and followed you onto the little neon course.

“I’m gonna kick your ass at this - just so you know,” you told him. If there was anything that could get Logan to participate, it was to challenge him.

“Oh, are you?” he narrowed his eyes and you knew you had him.

“Yeah, duh! And when I do win,” you smiled and pointed at a distant photo booth in the arcade room adjacent from the course, “you’ve gotta get in the photo booth with me.”

It may or may not have been an excuse to sit shoulder to shoulder in a little booth where you could smell his cologne and see his pretty face up close. Plus, you’d have a strip of photos to help you remember it. Having such a huge crush on him and never saying a thing about it meant that a moment in a Photo Booth could be all you’d ever have, and you still wanted it anyway.

“Deal,” he replied, holding out his pinkie so you could lock yours with his. You can’t remember where it started - maybe during downtime on a mission or a late night talk on the couch in the living room - but every time you made some sort of deal or agreement, you locked pinkies. It was like a pinkie promise to fulfill your end of the deal.

You locked yours around his and he goofily shook your hand all around while he still had a grip on you.

“Okay, okay,” you giggled, “let me go!”

He finally did with a short laugh.

“Okay, Romeo and Juliet,” Scott’s voice made you turn around, “can we actually start playing?”

Logan rolled his eyes and lifted the mini golf club over his shoulder to hit him with it, but you grabbed his bicep and made him slowly lower it.

“Is this gonna be like the last time we all went out?” Ororo asked, “because I can’t do a repeat of Six Flags.”

“We’re still banned for another six months,” Jean pointed out.

“I didn’t think they could kick you out for destroyin’ a concession stand,” Logan shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Scott asked.

“You started it, anyway.”

“So?”

“So? I’ll throw you through another one, fuckface -“

“Alright!” you interrupted with a false smile, “if either one of you get us kicked out of here, I will personally shave your heads in your sleep. Got it?”

Logan shuddered and immediately brought a protective hand up to his hair. They both nodded and you patted them on the backs.

“Okay, boys! Time to golf.”

You couldn’t even get past the first hole without hitting your ball over ten times.

“This sucks,” you said under your breath. The place itself didn’t suck, but you sure did at mini golf. You did this as a kid all the time - why was it so hard as an adult? Maybe because the clubs were much shorter now.

Except your six-foot best friend was hunched over the little club as he swung and he was still doing well.

“Looks like I’m winnin’,” Logan flashed a smug grin as he hit a hole in one.

“Ugh,” you groaned, letting your head fall back in frustration.

“Someone’s a sore loser,” he teased in a sing-song voice. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be you soon,” you pointed over to where you saw Scott, who was playing effortlessly. 

“Alright, hey - it’s you and me, one on one. Forget Summers, I’m gonna be the one to kick your ass.”

As much as it probably shouldn't have, Logan’s voice made your heart flutter.

“Sure you are, big cat.”

His eyebrows furrowed when you said the nickname, one you used to tease him often.

“You think ‘roro and Jean are doin’ any better?” he asked, intending to ignore your inherent need to press every single one of his buttons.

You saw the both of them a little bit ahead of you, celebrating as Jean completed that part of the course.

“I’d say so,” you pursed your lips and leaned down to align your club with the ball.

“Your feet aren't right.”

You stood up straight and looked back at Logan.

“What?”

“Your feet are too close together,” he explained, coming closer to lightly knock his boot against the inside of your foot, “there.”

He stood back again and crossed his arms. You positioned yourself to hit the ball until he spoke again.

“You need to straighten your back.”

You chuckled and turned around.

“I thought golf was for yuppies, hm?” you mocked his earlier statement and he rolled his eyes.

“You want help or not?”

You genuinely contemplated his question before answering.

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

He came closer behind you before you could even ask what he was doing. He blanketed his hands and arms over yours to help your aim, inadvertently pulling your back against his chest. He was warm and smelled like leather and pine. You were trying to listen to everything he was saying, but his voice so close to your ear made your head spin and turned your brain to mush.

There was a sudden flash of light and you heard something click. You instantly spotted Ororo with a digital camera in her hands and a wide smile on her face.

“You guys look so cute, I had to!”

Logan rolled his eyes and you shook your head, but you couldn’t see him bite down a smile behind you. If you didn’t ask for a copy of that picture later, he would.

You were so distracted by your thoughts that you almost forgot there was actually a point to him crowding you like this.

“Anyway, here,” he readjusted his hands over yours and pulled the club back a bit to swing, “ready?”

You nodded and he rested his head over your shoulder so he could see the ball and help you aim. You could feel his warm breath grazing your ear.

You felt like your legs were going to give out from underneath you.

The ball went rolling with a light tap and you watched it travel straight into the hole.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, excitedly raising your hands in the air when he let you go. For some reason, a part of you felt bold enough to lean up and kiss him on the cheek as a thank you, so you did.

He was lucky you couldn’t see the tips of his ears turn pink under the black light.

“With your help, I’ll be better than Tiger Woods in no time,” you joked.

“I don’t know about that,” he said with a shy smile, “I’m no professional trainer. Besides, it was all you.”

“You had your hands over mine and swung for me.”

“Again, all you.”

You laughed and motioned for him to follow you to the next hole in the course. The spot was next to a particularly grotesque monster sculpture.

“Ew,” Logan cringed, pointing at the towering neon statue, “he is ugly.”

“He looks like you,” you joked, gesturing to its face.

“Ha - ha,” he said flatly, “very funny.”

Logan shot you a mischievous smile and looked around the room, locking eyes with Ororo.

“ ‘roro! Pull out that camera!”

Before you could ask any questions, he was lifting you up with his arms around your waist and holding you up next to the statue.

“Logan! Put me down!” you tried to yell but couldn’t stop laughing, kicking your feet in an attempt to get loose and failing miserably. He held you tight - not enough to hurt, of course - and practically squished the side of his face against yours. Your cheeks felt hot from laughing so hard - or having Logan so close, you weren’t sure which.

Ororo, Jean and Scott were all chuckling while the picture was taken. The flash went off and you couldn’t help the wide smile on your face that unknowingly mirrored Logan’s.

“How cute are they?” Jean pouted and spoke under her breath, looking over Ororo’s shoulder at the digital camera screen.

“Lemme see!” you demanded as Logan set you down, jogging over to peek at the screen.

You knew you smiled as wide as you could, but seeing him smile so big that his eyes were nearly closed made your heart feel like it would burst.

“I didn’t even know you could smile,” Scott teased him, earning a glare from Logan.

“Hey, you remember six flags,” you reminded Scott, “he smiled when he threw you through that concession stand!”

“I was kind of too busy with my head stuck in the front of a popcorn sign to see it, but I believe you.”

“That was pretty funny,” Logan smiled to himself, “your hair smelled like butter for weeks.”

“Yeah, funny,” Scott rolled his eyes.

You continued the game and having Logan’s guide at the start increased your skill significantly. When you got down to the last hole, you were tied.

“This is it, big cat,” you told him, hands on your hips as he lined up his shot.

“If I win, you’ve gotta stop callin’ me that.”

“Hm,” you pretended to think for a moment, “nah, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re gonna have to in a minute,” he said in a cocky tone, pulling his club back to swing.

When he hit the ball, it rocketed across the carpeted floor and hit the little neon side wall, ricocheting it from one side to the other until it lost momentum. It was nowhere near the hole.

You clicked your tongue.

“Step aside, big cat,” you flashed him a smug grin and playfully nudged him with your elbow.

He groaned in frustration and crossed his arms, watching from behind as you lined up your shot. You hit the ball and watched it roll straight into the hole.

“Ooh, how does that feel, babe?”

You didn’t really mean to let the nickname slip - you called people ‘babe’ all the time - but you didn’t correct yourself either.

“Feels like I let you win, babe.”

Hearing it in his voice made you undeniably giddy.

“Sure, sure - whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

“Well, I can guarantee you one thing,” he started and you raised your eyebrows, “you’d never beat me in Mortal Kombat.”

He pointed into the arcade you’d seen before.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Who do you usually choose to fight?”

“Reptile. Who do you pick?”

“Kitana.”

“That’s..” Logan paused in thought, “a pretty good fight, actually.”

“I’m still gonna kick your ass.”

“Not at this one, kid.”

You were walking hurriedly on the neon carpet like you were a kid again, eager to feed money into rewardless games. You spotted the Mortal Kombat machine almost immediately and tugged on the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention. You made your way over to the brightly colored machine and put in some quarters, changing the screen to the select character menu.

“Ready to lose?” He asked and you playfully scoffed, eyes glued to the screen.

“Whatever, kitty. You still owe me a photo booth picture, so I’m the real winner today anyway.

“What’d I say about ‘kitty’?”

“That you hate it? Oh, yeah, I know, that’s why I use it.”

The round started and you and Logan stood shoulder to shoulder, mashing buttons and driving the joysticks in different directions. It was a two player machine - technically, you had enough room to put space between you, but neither of you actually wanted to.

The first round was over before you knew it, a bright ‘FATALITY’  written across your side of the screen.

“Now how did that feel, babe?” 

Your face felt hot when he used the affectionate nickname and you hoped he was too focused on the second round to notice you were smiling like an idiot.

He was too, though.

“Oh, permanent nickname now?” you tried to play cool while you were still focused on the fight.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “get used to it, babe.”

You could most definitely get used to it.

“Okay, babe.”

You were still with your eyes glued to the screen, but in your mind, you were jumping around and doing cartwheels and screaming in victory.

So, you were amazed that you’d won the second round even while daydreaming about the guy beside you.

“Suck on that, Howlett,” you said smugly, grinning up at him.

“Ooh, so your trash talkin’ gets dirty, now?”

You only laughed in response.

“I think I prefer being called ‘babe’, though,” he told you, looking into your eyes in a way that made your hands sweat. 

“Well,” you tried to calm your nerves, “you’re on, babe.”

The third round would determine who won and you were both locked in. The colored light from the screen painted your features as you vigorously slammed buttons. You watched your health bar steadily get lower, lower and lower before it was empty completely. The third and final end screen popped up and you let your head fall back in frustration.

“See, what’d I tell you? You never had a chance,” he teased.

“It’s Photo Booth time, anyway,” you said excitedly, grabbing his hand and attempting to pull him with you as you walked. He followed you, but it wasn’t actually because you were holding onto him - you couldn’t move him even if there were two of you - but because he’d really follow you anywhere if it meant he could hold your hand.

You passed a row of claw machines and halted in front of one of them when something inside caught your eye. Logan stopped behind you, confused as to what you were looking at.

Smack dab in the middle of the pile of stuffed creatures, you saw her.

A Halloween themed stuffed Hello Kitty, complete with a glow in the dark bow and bat patterned dress. Her small beady eyes stared back at you from behind the glass and you knew you had to have her. It was love at first sight.

“You see her?” you looked at Logan with a deadly serious expression and pressed your finger to the glass, “I’m not leaving without her. We’re coming back after the pictures.”

You found the Photo Booth and eagerly slid into the small space behind the curtain with Logan next to you. You looked up at the screen that showed the both of you and smiled wide. Maybe it was your own bias, but you thought you looked cute together.

You followed the instructions and the photo countdown began. You and Logan looked at each other in mild panic, realizing you didn’t know how to pose.

“Silly one?” you asked and you were both immediately moving to strike a pose before the photo was taken.

You were crossing your eyes with your tongue stuck out and he had his hands up in claws, forcing an underbite so that his lower teeth were covering his upper lip. When the picture was snapped and you looked up to see it, you laughed so hard at Logan’s face that you were nearly in tears. Your laughter was contagious and he was infected immediately, both of you starting to tear up from laughing so hard. You hadn't heard the camera timer over your laughing and when it made the click noise, you looked back at the screen.

You were leaned over Logan a little, your mouth open mid-laugh and your eyes closed. His smile was wide as could be, his cheeks actually red from laughing.

“That’s cute!”

You really didn’t mean to say it aloud but it slipped anyway and you pursed your lips.

“Very,” he said.

You felt the turn and twist of excitement in your stomach. 

“Okay, next one,” you told him, “wanna do a regular picture?”

“Sure.”

Instantly, he slung his arm over your shoulder and leaned his head against yours while you kept your cheek-aching grin. He had a genuine smile, his eyes stuck on your face on the screen. 

It felt like there was something there, something in the air between you, some kind of effect that made your longing for him almost unbearable.

The picture was snapped and you turned to look at him. He didn’t move his arm, instead keeping it hooked around you to pull you close. He looked back at you with a semi-serious expression while his eyes studied your features.

“What?” you laughed, small and nervous.

You were too entranced by him to hear the last photo countdown, but Logan heard it fine. 

Three

You leaned in close to each other, almost nose to nose.

Two 

He brought his other hand up to hold your face tenderly, swiping his thumb over your skin in an affectionate manner. His stare was intense in the best way possible. You felt like your heart was beating so hard it might give out.

One

He kissed you.

He closed the gap and you wanted to squeal in excitement, though you’d wait till you told Ororo to do that. His lips were soft like you always thought they’d be and you reveled in the overwhelming scent of him - leather and pine. You had your hands in the hair at the back of his head, as if you were holding him against you. It was like a dream come true, somehow everything you’d hoped it would be. 

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were speechless. He took your silence as rejection and awkwardly avoided your stare.

“I’m sorry, I - uh, I don’t know why I-“

You pulled him close to kiss him again and silence his rambling. You could feel him relax under your touch and you did the same, smiling against his lips when it finally set in that he had actually kissed you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for awhile now,” you admitted quietly when your lips disconnected.

“Me too.”

He was smirking like he’d beat you in another arcade game, proudly basking in the afterglow of victory. This time, you were the prize, one he never thought he’d win.

“We should probably get the pictures, huh?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yeah, uh, one more thing,” he replied and kissed you again, “okay, let’s go.”

You giggled and followed him out of the booth. He picked up the two strips of photos from the printer on the side of the booth and handed you one. 

All of the pictures came out great, but you were really just focused on the last one. It was perfect. Not only did he kiss you, but now you had proof to remind yourself it wasn’t a dream.

“Hey, how’re you guys making out over here?”

You jumped at the sound of Jean's voice and blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“We weren’t making out.”

Jean tilted her head and looked between the two of you.

“Hm,” she hummed, “okay, then.”

Logan discreetly interlaced his fingers with yours when she turned away and tugged you further into the isles of games. He stopped in front of the row of claw machines again.

You spotted Hello Kitty and looked back and forth between her and Logan.

“I’m gonna get that stuffed cat,” he told you matter of factly, starting the game with a press of a button.

“She has a name, you know,” you informed him, trying to bite down another beaming smile just from the fact that he wanted to do that for you.

“Oh, does she?”

“Mhm, Hello Kitty.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” he sighed and you started to laugh, taking a deep breath before responding.

“No, no - that’s her name, she’s Hello Kitty.”

“Ah, I see,” he smiled while his eyes were glued to the metal claw of the machine, “Well, I’ll let you teach me all about her when I get her out.”

The metal claw lowered slowly and its talons gripped around Hello Kitty’s rotund head, but she slipped from its grasp the moment the claw started to rise.

“Rigged,” you said simply, “I never win at these.”

“No one does - I will, though.”

“Sure,” you giggled, watching him try once more. He got it but the stuffed cat, of course, slipped from the claws grasp.

“Third try, this is it. If I don’t get that damn thing, I’m gonna put a hole through the machine and get it myself.”

You were going to get that cat no matter what he had to do. It was undeniably sweet to see him so determined to do something for you, especially something as unserious as winning a stuffed animal.

You both watched anxiously as the claw lowered for the third and final time. The talons wrapped around Hello Kitty’s head once more and lifted her into the air. You gasped and watched in silent concentration as the claw took from one side of the box to the other, dropping her into the prize slot.

“Yeah!,” Logan exclaimed excitedly in his deep voice and you giggled at his enthusiasm.

“I mean,” he cleared his throat, “you’re welcome.”

You took Hello Kitty from the prize slot in the front of the machine and held her close to your chest.

“Thank you very much.”

He would’ve stayed at the damn machine all day to get that thing if he had to.

You all decide to leave a little while later, stepping into the parking lot, only to be met with light rain.

“Ugh,” you groaned, looking down at your shoes, “I just got these - if they get wet, they’re ruined.”

“I gotcha.”

Without a second to protest, Logan lifted you up with one arm under your knees and the other around your back. You giggled - something you couldn’t really help when his hands were on you - and grabbed ahold of the front of his jacket. You weren’t really sure why. You told yourself it was to keep him from dropping you, but you knew he never would, especially with how strong he was. Truthfully, it was probably just to keep him so close.

“Go carry your bride to the car,” Jean teased, nodding towards the vehicle parked not so far away. 

Neither of you challenged the ‘bride’ comment.

As Logan carried you the short distance, his hand on your back reached your side so he could poke you, knowing it made you ticklish.

“Ah!,” you squealed and laughed, kicking your feet, “you’re gonna drop me if you do that!”

He did it again and you squirmed, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you from hitting the ground.

Neither of you realized that when you had kicked around, one of the photo strips fell from the pocket of your jacket. Scott saw and picked it up before it could get wet without a second thought, failing to even look at what it was.

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” Logan finally replied, “promise.”

“Promise?”

“Nope!”

He poked your side and you shrieked out of instinct, lightly hitting his chest with your open palm.

“Logan!”

“Okay, really, I’ll stop.”

He set you down and opened the car door for you. You slid in to escape from the rain and he did the same, everyone else piling in after. Scott was in the front seat and remembered that he picked up something of yours. He pulled the paper from his jacket pocket and turned it around to figure out what it actually was, turning in his seat to speak to you at the same time.

“Hey, one of you dropped this pa-“

He went silent and smiled, chuckling to himself.

“What?” Logan asked, but when you saw what was in Scott’s hands, you instantly knew what it was.

“Oh, that’s not - that’s..” you tried to explain but your voice trailed off as Jean peeked at the photo from the passenger seat and gasped.

“Finally!” she turned the picture to Ororo so she could see, “I told you!”

You and Logan both made the same confused expression, looking between the three of them.

“ ‘Told you’ what?” he asked Ororo, who sat beside the two of you.

She sighed.

“Jean said you’d get together in the next month. I said it would be two months, so - she told me so.”

You and Logan were both still very confused.

“So you knew I liked him?” you asked Jean blatantly, but Logan spoke first.

“You liked me this whole time?”

“Yeah,” you felt bashful, “of course I did.”

“I liked you this whole time, though.”

“You did?”

“Alright, we get that you like each other,” Scott interrupted with a huff, “is there anything else you guys want to tell us?”

You were silent but Logan spoke again after a minute.

“Yeah, all the quarters I used in the arcade were yours.”

Scott was visibly grinding his teeth.

“Alright,” he turned back around and started the car, “we’re going home.”

Logan wrapped his arm around your shoulder like he did in the photo booth, lovingly pulling you into him so you could rest your head on him. 

You stayed like that the entire ride home, stuffed Hello Kitty tucked in your arms.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦

A/N: If you made it this far ily! and I wanted to say I'm absolutely still working on requests, I just take a long time to write </3

Anyway pls interact if you enjoyed and follow me 4 more!

[no-144444]

lovers in denial- l.sargeant

Day 27 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: you and logan don't get along. or do you?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You walked across the track, a sigh on your lips as Lando shuffled you into the McLaren garage. 

“He wants to see you,” he bargained. “Please just play nice.”

“I’m always nice, he’s the dickhead!” You argued. 

“Y/n,” he warned. “Just be fucking normal.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed but obliged. You felt bad for him, He’d been dropped mid-season and didn’t even get a proper goodbye. You were livid for him, but he didn’t need to know that. Logan Sargeant, the American man, now an Indycar probable, and in front of you. 

“Hi Logan,” You smiled. “Nice to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too.” 

“How have you been?” You asked. 

He nodded, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “I’ve been good. Golfing.”

You rolled your eyes, your deep hatred for golf showing. “Bored then?”

He chuckled. “I missed you.”

“We miss you on track,” Oscar said.

You stared at Logan, knowing what he meant with his words. 

The night in Italy. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You were dancing in a club, free of inhibitions and worries, slightly drunk and much too loose with your movements, and you hit into a hard chest.

“Sorry!” the American man rushed out, grabbing your hips to steady you. “Y/n?”“Logan?” you questioned. There he was, in front of you. Your enemy. Being a Haas driver, you were often in fights with a Williams, and Logan was usually the one to take you both out. You hated him. He hated you back.

“Congrats on today, p5,” he nodded, the tension building between the two of you. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the red lights flashing in the club, or the ‘winner’s spirit’ you were experiencing, but he looked good. 

“Thanks,” you flashed your signature smirk. “Wanna dance?”

He nodded, smirking, He wrapped his hands around your waist and you both swayed to the music. It was like the rest of the club fell away, just you two, just him. He hands on you, his breath in your face, his eyes on you. He was in love with you. He always had been. He loved your competitive spirit, your bright smile, your brilliant mind. All of you. 

“This is the part when you kiss me,” you whispered, running your hand through his hair as he brought you impossibly closer. 

He didn’t waste time. He pressed his lips to yours, and he knew you both felt it. The sparks between you and the way you fit perfectly. Like you were made for each other. The kiss was teeth and tongue, both of you desperate for something unexplainable, both of you in search of each other, in search of more, in search of love. 

You pulled back, panting heavily. He did the same. He offered you a soft smile, and suddenly you were much more sober. You didn’t hate Logan. You hated not being with Logan. You hated not being the one to make him laugh. You hated not being the one he hugged, kissed, and fucked. 

You ran out of there. It was all too much, too fast, with little time to process. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“You good?” Lando asked, staring at you. 

“All good, nice to see you Logan, bye guys,” you smiled, trying to just get out of there. 

“Fuck!” he cursed. “I knew I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“You didn’t though,” Oscar argued. 

“I insinuated it, come on,” Logan argued back. 

“Jesus dude, you must really like her-” Lando started 

“I don’t like her-”

“Exactly, you love her,” Oscar sighed. “We need a new plan.”

“You two have a race to win, I’ll think about it,” Logan promised. “Good luck.”

He was left to think over everything, how did he get you, and get you back?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi @linnygirl09 @lanadelray1989 @teamnovalak @gleeblegnarp

[l4ndonorizz]

BET - lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

warnings: suggestive talking maybe?

song: april27 - prayer1

summary: Lando is very competitive and will take the prize even if he doesn't win

wc: 1.3k

Lando leaned on his golf club, eyes fixed on the ball in front of him. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the course, but what should have been a relaxing day was instead buzzing with tension. You and Lando, as always, were ridiculously competitive. Maybe a little too much.

„So,” Carlos said, resting beside you with a grin, clearly amused by the brewing competition between you and Lando. „Wanna bet on who’s winning this one?”

You shot a playful look at Lando, who frowned, pretending to be offended. „I mean, it’s obvious. My ball’s going to be closer to the hole than his.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, smirking in that cocky way that made your stomach flutter. „You? Closer than me? In another lifetime, baby.”

Max, standing by the golf cart, chuckled, shaking his head. „You two are the worst,” he said, giving Carlos a knowing glance, who simply nodded in agreement.

Lando adjusted his stance, gripping his club tightly as he prepared to swing. With a calm breath, he hit the ball, sending it soaring through the air before it landed neatly near the hole. He shot you a smug look, leaning in close to whisper, „You’re not beating that.”

You crossed your arms and laughed, pretending not to be fazed by his teasing. „Just watch.”

Carlos and Max were now full-on laughing. „They’re like kids,” Carlos said, shaking his head, amusement clear in his eyes as he watched you prepare for your shot.

Lando’s competitive streak had always been a problem, but today, it seemed worse than usual. Maybe it was the sun, or maybe it was the way he looked so damn good in that black tank top—tanned, fit, his muscles flexing every time he swung the club. You found yourself watching him more than you should, and it was distracting. The way his toned arms moved, the way he smirked when he knew he was winning—it was driving you crazy, and not just in the game.

You stepped up, lined up your shot, and with a smooth swing, sent the ball flying. It landed a little closer to the hole than Lando’s, and you couldn’t help but grin smugly.

„Better luck next time, Norris,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you turned to him.

Lando’s jaw clenched slightly, the competitive fire burning in his eyes. „Alright, alright,” he muttered, clearly not enjoying being beaten. „How about we raise the stakes then?”

You tilted your head, intrigued. „What do you have in mind?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. „If I win the next hole, you owe me something… personal.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his tone, the weight of the suggestion hanging in the air between you. But you weren’t about to back down. „And if I win?” you asked, smirking.

Lando’s eyes darkened with playful mischief. „Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Carlos and Max, oblivious to the tension, laughed loudly in the background. „This is going to be good,” Carlos said, clearly entertained by the whole situation.

The next few holes were tense, with you and Lando both trying to outdo each other. Every swing felt like it carried higher stakes, every glance between the two of you crackling with more than just competition. Max and Carlos laughed on the sidelines, but you and Lando were locked in your own little world, focused solely on each other.

Finally, it came down to the last hole. You were tied, and your next shot would determine the winner. You could feel Lando’s gaze on you as you lined up your swing, his smirk still in place but his eyes serious now. He didn’t want to lose, and neither did you.

You took your swing, the ball landing perfectly, just a few feet from the hole. It was nearly flawless.

Carlos whistled. „Damn, that’s going to be hard to beat.”

Lando stepped up, lining up his shot carefully. His usual confidence seemed a little shaken. The ball soared through the air, but when it landed, it wasn’t quite as close as yours.

Max clapped Lando on the back, laughing. „Tough break, mate.”

Grinning, you turned to Lando, feeling a little smug. „Looks like you’re all mine,” you teased, the satisfaction evident in your voice.

Lando’s eyes darkened, a look that sent a shiver down your spine. „Don’t get too comfortable, it was just one hole.“

„Don’t be mean, cabrón. It was a fair win,“ Carlos shouted at him, at which Lando straightened up and gave her a slightly more pleasant look.

„So are we wrapping this up? It’s quite hot already…“ Max complained when he got behind the wheel of a golf cart.

"Yeah, let's call it a day," Carlos agreed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Before someone melts out here."

You shot Lando a sideways glance, your grin still in place, enjoying the small victory. His competitive streak was something you were more than familiar with, but today, it seemed to push him even further. The look in his eyes told you that losing, even in something as simple as golf, wasn’t sitting well with him.

As the group gathered their things, Lando stayed silent, his eyes never leaving you. That same intense gaze from earlier hadn’t softened—it had only deepened. You felt a slight pang of nerves, knowing he wouldn’t let this slide so easily.

Once everyone was settled in the golf cart, Max drove back toward the clubhouse with Carlos making jokes to lighten the mood, but your attention remained on Lando. He sat beside you, quiet, his leg brushing against yours, making it impossible to ignore the tension that lingered between you two.

"That win of yours... It’s not over," Lando muttered, low enough for only you to hear.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smirk. "You think you can change the outcome now?"

His hand slid over your thigh under the pretense of readjusting himself, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. "Oh, I plan on making sure you don’t feel too victorious for long."

You felt a rush of heat at his words, the teasing edge in his voice sending shivers down your spine. The bet had been innocent enough, but there was nothing innocent about the way Lando was looking at you now. You knew that the real competition was just beginning.

By the time Max parked the cart and everyone was unloading their gear, the air felt thicker—charged with unspoken promises. As you all headed inside, Carlos and Max distracted by a conversation about their plans for the evening, you felt Lando's hand brush yours, tugging you gently to the side.

Without warning, he pressed you against the side of the building, out of sight from the others. His face hovered close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. "You might’ve won today, but tonight," he whispered, voice dropping to a dangerous low, "I’m taking my win back."

Your pulse quickened, the playful banter from earlier gone, replaced by something much more intense. His hands slipped down to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your knees weaken.

"And what exactly does that mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of excitement and nerves tightening your chest.

Lando smirked, leaning in so close that his lips brushed against your ear. "You'll see."

With that, he pulled away, giving you one last dark look before rejoining Max and Carlos, who were blissfully unaware of the shift in energy between you two. You watched him walk away, heart pounding in your chest, knowing that tonight was going to be anything but relaxing.

This competition wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

il/licit

words: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, unprotected p in v sex, drug dealer!reader and drug dealer!rafe, brief mention of death, marriage, pills

“so proud of you baby.” you press your lips against rafes, smiles barely dropping off either of your faces to kiss.

“thank you princess.” rafe says, giving you another peck before walking to accept his trophy and prize.

when the local country club started their private golf competition, you encouraged rafe to join, never expecting that he would win the whole thing, but he had a perfect game, all the conditions falling into the right place to bring him to the top of the leaderboard.

you watch with pride in your eyes as rafe takes various pictures with the president of the country club, someone of the wives of the other players, all elite members in the country club and prominent business figures in the outer banks, congratulating you with a pat on the shoulder.

you take in the situation as the sun beats down on your face, an idea sparking.

it's not until a week later that you bring it up to rafe, not wanting to spoil his win by admitting while he posed with his trophy that you were forming a plan.

“i think we should legitimize. get away from selling to teens and work upwards. you know all those housewives have pill addictions already, we could become their suppliers, and then you'll have an in with their husbands.” you explain to rafe, hands gesturing as you continue your already thought out plan, a look of genuine interest on rafes face.

“can your supplier get those kind of pills?” rafe asks. he figures you'd already inquired.

“yeah. for cheap as shit too. this is better than coke and weed, rafe.” you finally sit down, having begun pacing like you always do when explaining a plan to rafe.

“then let's do it baby.” rafe nods.

you met through dealing, having sidestepped barry to deal directly with rafe when you saw his potential to reach a whole new higher class kook market, never expecting to fall in love with him at the same time, but you made the ultimate power couple, you supply, rafe deals, you both get paid.

--

“have you found your first mark?” rafe whispers in your ear, seeing the familiar look in your eyes as you scan the crowd.

“notice how mrs mitchell keeps sneaking off? she hates these types of events, shes popping pills just to keep herself from freaking out.” you whisper back, eyes on the woman as she begins to sway again, a telltale time it's ready for her to sneak away and down more pills from the tiny container in her purse.

you smirk as she excuses herself, just as you predicted.

“be right back.” you take a deep breath before walking away from rafe, a comforting squeeze of your waist in encouragement before you go.

you follow her towards the restroom before she ducks into a hallway. you round the corner just as she's digging into her purse.

“you know, if you had something stronger you wouldn't have to take so many.” your voice ringing out makes her jump, snapping her purse closed.

you don't give her time to react, pulling the bottle of pills out of your own purse. you hand it over, a cautious look on mrs. mitchells face as she takes them out of your hand, reading the label. it's the same drug she's already taking, just as a much higher dosage. you got the scoop by plying one of the other members of her book club with drinks at the country club until she spilled.

“how much?” mrs. mitchell asks, and you smile, glad she's not stupid, but it's why you chose her as the first.

“you owe me nothing for this bottle. just spread the word. ive got better than whoever is currently supplying you. get the word around and there will be more where that came from.” you glance to the bottle in her hand before leaving her to swallow her pills by herself. you already know who her dealer is of course, a crooked pharmacist who writes fake prescriptions, but has to keep them in extremely low doses to not rouse any suspicions.

you enter back into the main ballroom, quickly finding rafe chatting to one of the businessmen in town. you stride up, politely introducing yourself are rafe wraps his arm around your waist, well aware that some of the older men may look at you with a predatory gaze and not wanting them to get the wrong impression that you were open to any advances.

“how did it go?” rafe whispers when you get a moment alone.

“good.” you glance at mrs. mitchell through the crowd, her eyes glossed over but relaxed. “she’s gonna get the word out. we’re on our way up, rafe.”

--

“you look so hot.” rafe groans, pressing kisses to your neck as you finish adjusting your dress in the mirror.

“too hot? should i change? it is just bookclub.” you sigh. when mrs. mitchell invited you to join her bookclub, you knew exactly what she was really asking you there for, especially when she slipped you a piece of paper with names and preferred drugs.

“nah, very respectable.” rafe says, reaching around you to do up one of the buttons on the top of the dress, covering up more of your cleavage.

“we should be thinking about next steps. once i have the in with the housewives, whats the next play?” you question, more thinking out loud than anything else, not expecting rafe to have a solid plan yet.

“cameron developments. ward left it to me.” your hands pause over smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you turn to face rafe. he hasn’t spoken to you about his deceased father much, all you know is that he died in a different country and that it was tragic. you never wanted to pry, but couldn’t resist googling a bit about ward cameron, and the business he used to run.

“are you sure baby? we can start our own thing.” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body to his as a physical comfort. rafe puts on a strong face, but you know sometimes he needs it.

“its already established, has all the proper documentation since we are trying to get more legit. we could always rename it cameron and y/l/n developments though.” rafe smirks.

“what, you don’t want me to take your last name?” you raise an eyebrow.

you can see the surprise on rafes face. you’ve never spoken about marriage before, but you’ve been together for a long time now and are clearly planning for the future as a couple.

“i always thought you were more traditional than that, rafe. i guess i could hyphenate.” you hum, but rafe aggressively shakes his head.

“no, baby, i’m making you mine. all the way.” rafe presses your back against the mirror as his lips find yours, glad that you’re just wearing a clear lip gloss as he makes a mess of your mouth.

“mmm.” you hum, pushing at rafes chest. “can’t be late. would look bad.”

rafe groans, but he knows you’re right, knows you need to give a good impression to all the prominent book club members. “i’ll drive you.”

you nod, grabbing your purse, the one with a hidden compartment in the lining where you’re hiding all the drugs you’re going to distribute, but you’re not worried, not when one of the women is the wife of the police commissioner. 

“you know, it would also look really good to everyone else if we got married. seems so silly to say boyfriend and girlfriend when we are surrounded by all these old married couples.” you tell rafe as he drives you towards mrs. mitchells house.

“baby girl, you don’t have to convince me to marry you.” rafe says, looping your fingers together. “i’ve already been looking for a ring.”

--

“why are half the people you're inviting to the wedding old as hell?” your friend asks as she helps you sort through wedding invitation envelopes, somehow able to stay blissfully unaware of the fact that you are not just a drug dealer but the most prolific one on the island and are working your way up.

“it’s important now that rafe is restarting cameron developments that we stay on their good side. it’s respectful to invite them.” you explain with a shrug. you never idealized weddings, didn’t really have any grandiose ideas for it, and you never thought you’d feel the excitement about getting married like you feel now that you’re with rafe.

“i guess.” she shrugs. “i just don’t want them to be boring.” “boring?” rafe calls out, entering into the dining room, the entire table covered with envelopes and pieces of paper. “is any party we throw ever boring?” he questions, making your friend shake her head and giggle as rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“how is planning going?” he questions, rubbing his thumbs over your shoulders, glad that you haven’t seem too stressed, trying to manage a wedding along with everything else under your belt.

“really good.” you admit. “although i still haven’t chosen a dress.” “budget is no issue, you know that right?” rafe says. he knows you grew up struggling, which is why you turned towards dealing in the first place, but the money is flowing now, not just from the pills you’ve been pushing towards the upper crust, but from cameron developments getting started again.

“i know.” you sigh, grabbing your binder filled with printed out pictures of wedding dresses you like as inspiration. “i just feel like i want so many different things. i think i might do one dress for the ceremony and another for the reception.”

“you’ll look beautiful no matter what.” rafe says, bending down to press a kiss into your hair, pretending to nuzzle into your side as he whispers. “mr. johnson talked to me at the country club today. his wife has some friends who want the same shit she’s on.”

rafe straightens out, glancing over to your friend to make sure she didn’t hear anything before pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “have fun, ladies.”

--

“mrs. cameron.” rafe says, hands rubbing over the sole of your foot after he took your heels off for you, sat on the edge of the bed in your reception dress.

“husband.” you coo back, eyes fluttering closed, partly from the exhaustion of the party, partly from how good it felt to have rafe rubbing your sore feet.

“wife.” rafe leans forward, kissing your shin before moving upward, head hidden under the skirt of the dress as he pushes your thighs apart. his teeth bite down on your garter before tugging it off, flinging it away before standing, tugging at his tie.

you reach behind yourself to work on undoing your dress as you watch rafe undress, baring his muscles to you. “i almost don’t want you to take the dress off. you look so beautiful.” rafe says as you work the dress off of your shoulders before standing up and letting it drop to the floor.

“mmm, thank you baby.” you press your lips against his, pushing his hands away as you undo his pants and push them down his legs along with his underwear. “you’re gonna have to help me get the bobby pins out of my hair before we go to sleep.” you giggle, hair pinned up with a few face framing curls falling free.

“can i help you out of this lingerie first?” rafe asks, rubbing the white lace covering your skin.

“of course you can, husband.” you use the name again, so glowing from the day that you don’t even think about all the pills you have to distribute, or that cameron developments is acquiring some land next week. it’s just you and rafe in your honeymoon suite.

rafe works his hands carefully over the lingerie, for once being patient and not just ripping it off of you. when you are finally completely bare for him, he helps you lay back on the bed, taking a second to pause and look at you lying there, shiny diamond on your finger.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” rafe says honestly. he’s sure if it wasn’t for you he would still be getting drunk or high every night, and low level dealing at house parties.

“i can’t take all the credit.” you hum. “we make a great team.” “forever and ever.” rafe says, draping himself over your body as his hand laces with yours, feeling your ring against his fingers.

you spread your legs before wrapping them around his waist, raising your hips as your cunt rubs over his length teasingly.

“forever and ever, husband.” you nod to confirm, pressing your lips against rafes as he sinks inside of you.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0

[russellsppttemplates]

For blurb night, carlos and lando taking the kids golfing together

Note: I don't know that much about golf, so please excuse if some term is correct or some technicality isn't quite right!

"You requested to karts, is that correct?", the lady at the front desk checked, "they've been packed like you asked, here are the keys", she smiled as Carlos accepted them, heading outside to see Lando just about containing all six kids into the safe perimeter.

"Sainz little ones, you go with your papa! Norris little ones, follow me!", Lando said after catching the key for his kart, helping Charlotte to the seat next to him so he had more control over his youngest.

"Off we go!", Carlos cheered as she started driving to the first spot.

The idea came from Carlos' wife, suggesting you and her should have a spa day to enjoy yourselves, so your husband's decided to take the kids from you and play golf with them.

"Daddy, do I get to swing?", Matilda asked once they stopped and Lando gave each of them a smaller club.

"Yes, Tilly, after uncle Carlos lets Benjamín have a go first", he said, "let's all take a picture so we can show mummy!", he suggested, setting the phone on the kart and gathering your children. Lando managed to find little matching golf kits for the kids and one of his own that looked nice along with theirs, "looks great guys!", he said after he checked the photo, not helping his smile when he noticed how much the kids looked like him - his little clones, you would say.

"It's my turn!", Matilda yelled, going up to her spot and looking at her father, "I need your help, daddy!", she waved him over.

"You do it like this, careful - yes!", Lando clapped, "Good job princess, that was a very good one", he offered her a smile.

"Clara, amor, you can't be so harsh with it because the club will hit the sand and that's no good", Carlos stated, helping his daughter with it.

"Daddy, am I winning?", Fraser asked as they drove off to the next spot of the course.

"I think you're third, buddy", Lando mused, "the last one you did wasn't so good, but I bet you'll be able to get this one really well! It's very similar to that one we did at the beggining".

"Papa! I got it, I got it!", Mateo clapped as the ball he hit fell on the hole, "I did it! Take a photo so I can show mama!", he asked.

By the time they finished, Carlos and Lando decided to stay in the course for a little longer, the rest of the people playing already beyond that spot which allowed them to get the kids to have some snacks, juice and water before they made their way back.

"We were a daycare for an afternoon, two of us for six kids", Lando stated as he zipped the kids' backpack.

"We did a good enough job, but at least this will tire them out", Carlos reasoned.

"My little rocketship does not look like she has a low battery", Lando argued as they watched Charlotte run around in the grass, giggling and squealing loudly.

"What is it they say? What goes around comes around", the spaniard patted his friend's back.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)