#I can't believe this is chapter 50

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 50

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Rape, torture, body horror, loss of body part, violence, forced pregnancy, infertility (Seriously heed the warnings. This one is dark.)

Worse

Warthin had fallen asleep next to you. If you weren’t chained, you could have bashed his head in with the weight if the seastone. The first hit would disfigure his face, lacerate his skin. The second hit would cave all his facial bones inward, maybe exposing the tan, jagged edges of bone, and the indent would fill with blood and viscera, appearing like a bowl of soup. The third hit would splash this soup everywhere and crunch the rest of his skull. Gray-pink, gelatinous brain would squeeze out of the cracks from the force of impact. This is what you replayed in your head when he woke up and raped you again. 

He left and came back some minutes later with some “good” news and breakfast, which you refused. The “good” news was that you weren’t pregnant with a Kid Pirate baby and your womb was open for business for his own. He tried to feed you and you moved your head away or knocked it from the fork. He didn’t like that. He forced your mouth open by squeezing your jaw and shoved food in your mouth before covering it with his hand so you couldn’t spit it out. He wasn’t very gentle and you gagged a few times, but eventually he had force-fed you the entire plate and then some vitamins, “nourishment for his child”.  

He visited you a lot throughout the day, alternating between raping you again and force-feeding you. He got quite frustrated with you by the time dinner came around. This time when you refused to eat, he had a pair of pliers handy. If you didn’t want to eat then you didn’t need teeth. He loosened some up by punching you square in the jaw, then he took the pliers to one of your molars and pulled. It hurt. It felt like he was yanking your whole jaw out. You screamed and pulled against your shackles. You could feel blood run down your arms from the metal digging in to your skin. When your tooth finally came loose, your mouth was filled with blood. At that point all your screaming and struggling had made him hard, so he fucked you again, a little rougher than he had been. You knew it would only be a matter of time before his rapist instincts overtook the procreative ones. Afterwards, he fed you cold dinner, which you had to choke down because chewing hurt too badly.

Later, you vomited from all the blood you had swallowed. You didn’t have enough chain to lean over the edge of the bed so you were forced to vomit next to you. You couldn’t even wipe your mouth. Warthin accused you of doing it on purpose to starve his future child and proceeded to beat you for the transgression. He didn’t even let you clean up or change the sheets. You felt like an animal. You felt dirty. 

This cycle repeated. Every time was a little bit rougher, until you were covered in bruises. Every part of you was sore. There was dried blood in many different places and dried semen all over your thighs and between your legs. It wasn’t that bad. You could take it. You could survive this. Only a few more days you before they would come for you. You could last a few more days. I hope.

“Look at me.” Warthin demanded as he fucked you. “You never look at me, my darling.”

You ignored him. 

He grabbed your head by the hair and slammed it into the headboard behind you. “Fucking look at me, you pirate fucking whore.” He slammed you into the headboard again. “I bet you looked into their eyes when they fucked you. Didn’t you? You liked being violated by their diseased, dirty cocks.”

Tears spilled over your cheeks. Your head still hurt from him ripping out your tooth and all the times he had hit you already. 

“LOOK AT ME, CUNT!” Warthin choked you out until your consciousness faded. 

You blacked out and woke up to him still on top of you, not sure how much time had passed or if this was even the same rape.

”There you are.” He was holding a small, sharp blade. “I’ve thought of something that’s fair for both of us. You don’t have to look at me, but you’ll never get to see anything ever again either, especially not those pirates you give yourself away to.” He pressed the blade below your eye.

”Please don’t.” You rasped, throat raw from screaming. You felt the point of his blade cutting into you. Losing one eye was bad enough. Losing both would be your end. You had no observation haki. You would never be able to sense your surroundings. You would be rendered useless. If he removed it completely, you wouldn’t be able to use your power to bring it back. And then what worth would you have to Kid? What worth would you have to yourself? 

He withdrew the blade. “You’re right. I have to take the other first so you can see me crush it.” Warthin roughly stuck his fingers into your right eye socket, taking out your log pose and inspecting it. “So this is what you used to track us. You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” He held it up for you both to see before crushing it in front of you. “All gone.” He took the small blade back out.

”No. Please. What do you want? I’ll look at you. Please don’t do this.” It was rare for you to beg, but you would have no pride left if he took your eye anyway. You would have nothing left. You would be nothing. The Kid Pirates wouldn’t take you back. What use would you be? You would be an extra mouth to feed with no benefit to the crew. Even your devil fruit power would be dubious since you needed to visualize things to make it work.

“It’s too late. You had your chance, darling. And as much as I love seeing the hate in your eyes, I want to be the last person you ever see, so that I’m burned into your mind.” He slowly pushed the knife under your eye.

”NO! NO!” Your pleas devolved into screams as you felt the worst pain of your life. You could barely struggle under his weight pinning you to the mattress. The restraints were pulled taught until your hips and shoulders ached constantly; you couldn't move even if his weight was absent. Hot, semi-vicious liquid dripped down your cheek and onto your chest. The sickening sound of wet, tearing flesh reached your ears. 

“Oh fuck yes keep screaming. Just like that.” Warthin didn’t want to rush this but it was difficult to resist finishing. “Fuck!” He came inside you again but didn’t stop. He was enjoying this too much. He grabbed the collar that was still around your neck and ripped it off, noticing for the first time the writing on the back of the tag. “If found, return to Kid Pirates.” He had a tone to his voice that you didn’t like. “They won’t want you back when they see how much you’re enjoying yourself here.”

You didn’t know what he was doing. The pain was so intense that it was all you could feel. You were pretty sure your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t hear anything either over your own screaming. You blacked out from the pain soon after that. Welcomed into a dream state by familiar faces, you were happy to see them, and that you could see. Their faces weren’t welcoming. They were frowning. Kid was there telling you how useless you were to him, nothing better than a set of holes now. Killer wouldn’t even look at you, your face too grotesque. Your hope was faltering.

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Kid and Killer were reunited with the Victoria the day following the incident. Everyone immediately knew that things were dire when they returned with Mini, and you weren’t accompanying them. They expected Kid’s rage, not Killer’s. It was rare that the first mate got angry, but when he did it was scary. Kid was very outward with expressing his. Killer held it all in. He answered in clipped tones and few words. They could tell he was boiling inside and no one could tell when it was going to erupt. 

They met with Heat and Wire to explain their plan and afterwards, made themselves scarce. Kid was in his workshop, facing away from the door that led to the infirmary. It made him too upset when he looked at it and expected you to be there. Killer was in his room, unable to come out again until Kid came to check on him. When he did, he saw a crumpled metal ball. A blue and white metal ball. Killer had crushed his own helmet in his rage. He kept thinking about his regret that he hadn’t told you more about how he felt, and he may never get the chance now. They were both emotionally triggered by the event, reminded so much of Victoria. 

Kid returned Killer’s helmet to its original state. “Are ya ok, Kil?” 

“I’m fine,” he lied. Killer was far from fine. He was pissed at himself for not being there for you or for Kid. If they had taken Kid too, he didn’t know if he could come back from that. “Wish I had told her that I cared about her. Wish I could have done more for both of you.”

”Ya can tell her when we get her back. And I’m here, aren’t I? Ya still saved me from being taken prisoner.”

A few days passed. They used your clothes and the blood of Warthin to track in the right direction. Mini would sniff the items and then point in a direction that they would follow. Sometimes the trail dropped off when the wind changed and it delayed them greatly. It frustrated Kid to no end. He was thinking too much. Left alone with his thoughts, he was ashamed that his mind kept creeping in the direction of questioning your loyalty. The doubts crept in the more he was left alone. Maybe this was all a setup. Maybe you planned it all from the beginning, stealing his heart just to lure him to his capture. 

Killer joined him for dinner, bringing it to the workshop, where Kid had been holed up. “What’s wrong?” Kid had skipped lunch earlier.

"Maybe we shouldn't be trying this hard."

"What?"

"M'sayin that I have doubts."

Killer narrowed his eyes, feeling his blood starting to boil. "What do you mean 'doubts'?" His skin got hot at the mere thought of Kid turning his back on you. His temper was getting the better of him, yet he was torn between his loyalty to his captain and his protective instinct when it came to you.

”Don't ya think this could be a setup?” He stared down at the plate of food. “Maybe she wants us to follow her so the marines can capture us. Don’t ya think it’s weird that they didn’t kill her right there, but they tried to shoot me in the head?” He felt guilty for asking it, but he had to know if he was being rational or irrational at this point. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping his anxiety about the situation.

Killer slapped him across the face, not hard, but not gentle either. “KID! She tried so hard to earn your trust, don’t you dare question it when she needs us the most!” Killer’s voice cracked. His index finger dug into Kid’s chest. “You saw how scared she was, Kid! You think that was fake?” Killer put his fist down on Kid’s workbench. “YOU WANT TO QUIT ON HER BECAUSE OF A SCENARIO YOU CREATED IN YOUR HEAD? WHEN SHE’S SUFFERING AND PROBABLY BEING-“ Killer didn’t finish, putting his head in his hands and letting out an anguished growl. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to explode at you. I just-“ He didn’t know if he did it because of fear or anger, or some combination of both.

”I know, Kil. Yer right. Sorry.” Kid shook his head and rubbed his cheek. “I needed that.” Kid felt bad about piling so much of his own feelings on Killer when Killer was dealing with the same anguish. And he felt worse that he questioned your loyalty.

They ate in silence. Neither of them could truly comfort the other. They were both hurting. Killer tried his best to stay strong for Kid, as he had in the past, but he was in pain, too. He didn’t have the capacity to carry the pain of two people. He struggled with his own, ready to lash out again at any moment. They spent the night curled together in Kid’s cabin, before sleep vowing not to let the same thing that happened to Victoria happen to you.

In the following days, tensions rose significantly on the Victoria Punk. They were stalled. The scent stopped coming back to Mini and she was unable to track you further. She paced back and forth across the deck with just as much anxiety as anyone else. Kid and Killer poured over maps with Wire, trying to figure out where they may have gone, where they may have taken you. They argued about what the best course of action was. Kid's intrusive thoughts only became more intense. Killer was snapping at everyone who got in his path. It was looking bleak. Then in the afternoon, about five days after you had been stolen, the Kid Pirates received a package.

There was a scream that rattled the windows on board the ship. Quincy was the one who grabbed it, thinking maybe it was something she had ordered on the last island, or maybe new wanted posters. Heat rushed to her, being that he was the closest, eyes drifting over the package on deck. He froze. Staring back at him were three eyes: 2 belonged to a video transponder snail and the other was irrevocably yours.

Heat hurriedly grabbed the box, suppressing the urge to vomit or cry or both. He didn’t want the rest of the crew to see it. Quincy followed closely behind him, worried about her friend. The four commanders and Quincy stood around the package. Killer pushed Quincy and Heat aside, zeroing in on the jar. He knew what it was when he saw it, and still brought it closer to make sure, to ensure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. There was a Y/E/C iris staring back at him, complete with the trailing optic nerve and attached muscles. Kid, on the other hand, assumed it was a gag, a fake, some kind of taunt. Everyone was waiting for the other foot to drop, for Kid to explode. When he didn’t, and instead went off about cheap tricks, Killer delicately explained that it wasn’t a trick. Then, Kid went ballistic.

“THEY TOOK HER FUCKING EYE?! THEY TOOK HER EYE!” All Kid could think was how devastated he would be if his remaining arm was taken from him, and applying that same feeling to you. 

Heat quickly grabbed the jar containing your eye before Kid could smash it in his rage. 

Killer attempted to quell Kid’s anger. “Kid, if they’re sending us this, it’s likely she’s still alive.” Albeit, alive purely for the purpose of torturing. 

”AND SHE PROBABLY DOESN’T WANT TO BE ANYMORE! WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT TO HER, KILLER? WHY?” Kid let himself be enveloped by Killer, burying his head into Killer’s shoulder. Kid felt hot, angry tears roll from his eyes. He was pissed on your behalf, upset that someone would maim you in this way, more upset even, by thinking of the pain you must be feeling. It brought him back to when he woke up after losing his arm. He had been livid, scared, and he did question his ability to be a pirate captain. But he had another arm. And he could make a prosthetic. You had neither equivalent. 

”That may be so, but that’s all the more reason we have to get her back.” Killer embraced his captain. “We have to change her mind.” He held onto Kid until the broader man pulled away.  Kid scowled, but said nothing. Who was he to try and change your mind? Keeping you in a state of misery just so he wouldn’t lose you would be selfish. He pushed that line of thought from his mind. He didn't want to explore that possibility until it was a reality, if it became one at all. 

As soon as Wire saw the transponder snail, he told Quincy to leave, even with her protests. He knew nothing good would come from it. She didn’t need to witness whatever happened next. He didn’t want to entertain whatever taunts would surely come from the other side, but he wasn’t sure what would happen if they ignored it either. Before they did anything though, he was going to figure out how to use it to pinpoint your location. It was a feat to keep Kid from calling on it right away. Wire convinced him to hold off until they could create a device to track the signal. 

A bad feeling settled in the pit of Killer's stomach. He could only imagine what they would see on the other side of the transmission. It was already difficult to keep himself from replaying the terrified look on your face when you tried to warn them about Warthin. What if he saw something worse? And what if that was the last thing he saw of you? Bile burned the back of Killer's throat. 

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Time was a continuous stream. There was no start or stop, no beginning or end. You couldn't say how long you had been here or even when the start of a new day was. At first, you could, but lately Warthin had been depriving you of sleep. He almost never left, constantly feeding you either his twisted perception of reality and how you were going to be the perfect wife and mother or cruel depictions of how worthless you were now. He went on and on. You were starting to believe him. Maybe you would be better off pretending to go along with his sick fantasy. At least he would want you. 

Tears pricked the corners of your empty eye sockets. Falling between the skin of your eyelids into nothing instead of rolling down your cheeks. Even if they found you, the Kid Pirates would leave you there once they saw your sorry state. You were weak from being chained in bed. Your face was swollen, probably beyond recognition. They would see how you've been used and how could they ever look at you the same again? You wouldn't blame them. You were disgusted by yourself, allowing yourself to be caught and abused, becoming the very thing you had been trying to protect. You were too pathetic to be a Kid Pirate. Maybe they would be so kind as to put you out of your misery before they left, if they were even looking. 

All fighting it did was exhaust you and excite your captor, so you had given up. You stared at the ceiling, well, that's what you imagined you were doing. You did your best to ignore the soreness between your legs, the movement of the bed, the horrid breath against your neck. In a way, you were glad you couldn't see. You didn't want to see the satisfied look in his eyes when he was done defiling you, or any part of him at all. Instead, you tried to remember the molten iron orange of Kid's eyes and how they burned with anticipation when he looked at you; you tried to remember the crystalline, icy blue eyes that you could tell were looking at you with amusement and patience from behind Killer's mask when you tried to do anything in the kitchen. Every night, or what you thought could be another night, you went through the faces of the crew in your head. That stubborn part of you refused to let Warthin's face be the last thing you saw and you were afraid if you stopped, their faces would fade from your memory altogether. 

The lines of your sanity were beginning to blur as you went from wanting to die to desperately wanting Kid or Killer to break through the walls and scoop you up to safety. As much as you told yourself you weren't worthy of them anymore, a small part of you hoped they could look past this and they could still care for you. You had finally gotten a taste of what it felt like to be loved, not just romantically, platonically as well. Hanging out in silence with Wire, joking around with Heat, gossiping with Quincy, listening to Dive's wild stories, all of it was precious to you. The shame of what was happening to you was what held you back from embracing the desire to return. They knew you as a strong, ruthless, independent pirate. You didn't want them to know you as a victim, not strong enough to help yourself.

There was an intense pressure around your neck and you struggled to get a breath, coughing and sputtering. For a minute, you thought maybe you would be granted the release of death. There was no way to know since you could no longer tell if your vision was going black. You experienced flashes of color as your brain was deprived of oxygen and fired neurons at random. Then your throat was released and your lungs greedily expanded with air. 

"Angel, you're not paying attention again." Warthin grabbed your face, licking his lips as he took in the dark maroon blood around where your last remaining eye used to be. It pooled under the skin and went nearly all the way down your cheek.

You spit at him. "Fuck you." If he really pestered you to react, you tried your best to make him snap. You knew he had it in him to kill you. You wished he would. 

"Come now. Don't be like that." The back of his hand trailed down your cheek. "Don't you think a child should be made with love?" 

Every word made your throat ache. "I fucking despise you."

"But I love fucking you." He laughed and grabbed your breast roughly. "I wish we didn't have to chain those long legs down. I want to see your ankles next to your ears. Maybe I'll chain them up by your arms instead. That way your pretty little pussy would always be wide open and welcoming for me." 

You had to fight the urge to dry heave at the feelings of his fingers playing with your cunt. Sometimes you wished you weren't so revolted by him so you could get wet. The dryness made every time he entered you painful. If you were lucky, he would spit first. You winced as he pressed his cock against your entrance.

"You know this hurts me, too." Warthin removed the pressure against you and brought his fingers back instead. "Why don't you imagine what those pirates did to you? Make it easier for both of us. Let me guess. Obviously, you fucked the captain and he's a large guy. Did he split you open on his fat cock?" He moved his fingers inside you, testing to see if anything he said made you react. "I bet you liked feeling him fill you up. I bet you liked when he chained you up. How is this any different?" 

Was there a difference? Kid was mean to you. He had fucked you under dubious circumstances. You did like being chained up. Had you just been manipulated to believe that there was a difference? You had an emotional connection with Kid didn't you? What if that was just a tactic to keep you around longer? 

Warthin leaned down to whisper in your ear. "You stupid girl. We're the same. You just like being used. So let me use you." He pumped his fingers. "What else did they do? Did Eustass share you with his pals?" His fingers felt the beginnings of wetness. "You were passed around to Killer, hmm? Heat? You open your legs for any freak, you filthy whore." He could feel your pussy twitch. "And what... they weren't enough to be stuffed by so you let Wire fuck you, too. I bet his cock is huge. Just look at the guy." He chuckled as he felt his fingers become more slick. "That's it." 

"S-stop." Your lip trembled. You hated that the memories you held close were being used against you. You hated that you could feel yourself become wetter. It was an involuntary response. "Please." You would be forced to forget even those treasured moments just so he couldn't use the images in such a sick way. He was taking everything from you.

"Good girl. Cry some more for me." He removed his fingers and was about to rut into you, when he heard the transponder snail ring. "This is perfect timing." He got off you to answer it.

That was out of the ordinary. He usually ignored everything when he was with you. 

"Hello, Captain Kid. I've been expecting your call."

Your heart froze in your chest, cold tendrils of fear snaked through your veins. 

"WHERE IS Y/N?! WHAT HAVE YA DONE TO HER?" The sound of Kid's voice made your heartbeat quicken.

"Oh what haven't I done?" Warthin sneered. "Would you like to see her? We were just in the middle of enjoying ourselves." 

See her? It dawned on you that he might have a specialized transponder snail. You heard him get closer. "No. Please don't." Your voice shook. 

"What's wrong, my love? You don't want him to see how much fun we've been having together?" 

You thought you could hear a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. "Don't look. Please don't look." Tears spilled down the sides of your eyes as you turned your face away. 

"Uh uh." Warthin tutted. "You look at them." He roughly grabbed your face and turned it back.

"DON'T YA DARE TOUCH HER LIKE THAT!" 

"What do you want?" Killer's voice was calm, but cold.

Warthin laughed. "I'm not sure I understand. I have what I want right here."

You yelped as he pinched your nipple through the silk of your nightdress. Although you wanted nothing more than to see their faces, you were simultaneously glad that you couldn't. The immense shame you were feeling couldn't be hidden except to your own eyes.

"What do you want in exchange for her?" Killer questioned.

You could hear Kid in the background screaming unintelligibly as someone tried to calm him down. 

"Nothing. I think you've misunderstood the situation." Warthin pulled the fabric of the dress until it ripped from your form. "She isn't my hostage. She's my prize, and I'm gloating." 

You felt the mattress shift under his weight and you understood what was about to happen. "L-leave them out of this. I'm- I'm begging you." 

"Sweet Y/N. They called me. They put themselves in it." Warthin snickered. "And now they're gonna watch while I put a baby in you." 

"YA STUPID SICK FUCK, SHE CAN'T EVEN HAVE KIDS. LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE." 

Your stomach dropped at Kid's words. That was the only layer of protection between you and the true cruelty of Warthin. 

"What does he mean by that?" Warthin picked your head up by the hair and slammed it back down when you didn't answer. "I SAID WHAT DOES HE MEAN BY THAT?!" 

Kid and Killer were hurling threats through the transponder snail. You could tell by the tone of their voice. You couldn't make out any of the words through the ringing in your ears. The chains rattled and were pulled taught as you instinctively tried to cover your face with your arms. Hearing Kid and Killer's voices again, how they wanted you back, washed away all the feelings of despair that had brainwashed you. Desperately, you wanted to be back with them and everyone else. You wanted to survive in the hope that this could be your future. But even that small flame of hope would be snuffed out.

"YOU LYING FUCKING SLUT." Warthin punched you in the gut. "You let me believe all this time, that you could give me a child?! There are consequences for lying." He leaned down over you and spat in your ear, "Your wretched crew are going to watch me rape you." His voice was slightly quieter, like he was addressing someone else. "And if any of you look away, I'm killing her right here." 

"BASTARD! PRAY THAT I DON'T GET MY HANDS ON YA BECAUSE WHEN I DO, I'LL BE TAKIN MY TIME KILLIN YA! AND I'LL KILL EVERY LAST FUCKER IN MY WAY." You could picture how viciously Kid's golden-orange eyes flashed as he said it. 

The dread that closed in around you was suffocating. You turned in the direction of Kid's voice. "You can look away. It's- It's okay." He was going to kill you anyway now that he knew the truth. The least you could do was spare them from seeing you be violated in your last hours. You tried to smile, but the tears that had been flowing turned to sobs, enough for salty streaks to finally coat your cheeks. "I- I- love you." It pained you to choke the words out in this setting. "Please don't remember me like this." You gagged when you felt your mouth forced open and fabric be shoved inside. 

"That's ENOUGH. You were supposed to love ME!" Warthin grabbed you by the throat. 

"We're coming for you, Y/N. Please don't give up," you heard the sad, sweet voice of Heat.

You could hear the low growl of Killer's voice, "You have no idea what's coming for you, you bastard." 

Their promises were like a shell coating what little was left of your resolve. They did want you and they were coming for you, but that also meant they weren't going to let Warthin make good on his threat, and they were about to see what brutality he was capable of. 

NEXT

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

[mailrebel]

To Capture the Heart of a Hero - TP Zelink Fanfic

I've been writing this TP Zelink longfic since last year and I just made it to my 50th chapter! 🥳 I've never promoted this fic on here, but I figured now's as good a time as any lol. This story contains all of my love and passion for TP Zelink, as showcased through a lot of fun, a lot of humor, and A LOT of ✨drama✨ If this interests you, feel free to give it a read! :)

[solradguy]

This evening I wrote (in my notebook) 4 pages for the Interlude chapter 7 draft. We are so back, gamers

[vroom--vrooming]

Me: I don't really like the fics I wrote in the past

Also me: Giggles like a teenager as I scroll through the comments under my fics

[splinter-cat]

In a world where the supernatural has been known to humans for decades, the law is harshly enforced against those who use their powers to commit crimes. After being convicted of aggravated assault, a werewolf is given a choice: go to a supernatural prison—a fate considered by many to be worse than death—or work off his sentence by helping the police solve murders. Unfortunately for him, the cops aren’t inclined to go easy on their new helper.

Beasts in Blue Chapter 30 - Pack

Rating: E

Pairings: Werewolf/Detective

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con, lots of whump

[fluffykitteninabox]

when fanfiction does Endeavor's character arc better than canon

[simonxriley]

I don't think 50 chapters is gonna be enough for Jade Helm, I have way too many events that happen from now to when the fic ends 🙃

[httpsserene]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⌕ prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | sip of sunshine | next ↻

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

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

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

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

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“¿Qué?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”

Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat. 

He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes. 

“See you next summer.”

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[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART EIGHT

previous chapters | yall are absolutely fucking incredible. truly. i never could have ever expected the response to the last chapter and i'm so so SO grateful to everyone who's been contributing their thoughts and theories over the past week. your engagement and passion for this story means the world to me. so many people wanted so many different things for this chapter and i know i can't please everybody, but i hope this satisfies most of you. thank you so much for being here and for loving this story. here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: you don't know what to think after catching joel at the bar. tasha wants to help in the best she knows how - getting fucked up. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexual assault (nothing to do w joel), alcohol, almost penetration word count: 13.6k ao3

You've never felt like this before.

Tasha practically has to drag you into a cab, gripping tight to your hand with an arm around your back as she gives the driver the address of where you're both staying. He barely bats an eye to the fact that you're practically inconsolable, tears streaming steadily down your face as you gasp and sob and stare at the floor with wide eyes. He's probably picked up countless passengers in similar situations and it's not like you can bring yourself to feel any sort of embarrassment over it.

"Shh," she soothes you, still rubbing your back and peering down at you with empathy in her eyes, an expression that somehow makes you feel even worse - she'd told you this might happen. She'd known all along, but you hadn't wanted to believe anything she said about the lack of definition in your relationship with Joel. You'd chosen to believe differently, believe that he was different than the guys your friends have encountered.

How could you have been so stupid?

It's your own fault you're even in this position now, crying in the back of a cab while Joel makes out with some woman in a bar you don't belong in. Your own fault for putting any ounce of faith in someone else for once, for choosing to be blind to the obvious - of course he doesn't want you. Of course you're not his priority. You're not his girlfriend. You're his fuck buddy. You're a warm body and nothing more.

You don't speak for the entire drive, just cry and try desperately to control your breathing. By the time you reach the Airbnb your throat hurts from the sobs, although throwing up on the sidewalk could also have something to do with it. You're just a mess, lightheaded and distant as Tasha guides you into the house and helps you settle on the couch.

"Stay here," she says softly, grabbing a throw blanket and carefully covering your loose and exhausted form, "I'm gonna go get some necessities, okay? This place doesn't have shit."

You nod slowly, just to let her know you acknowledge her words, though you're unsure exactly what necessities she's talking about. She reaches her hand down and strokes your cheek, still looking at you with that sad expression.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she repeats to you for probably the fortieth time in the past hour.

You close your eyes; you can't stand to see the pity on her face.

--

Tasha returns shortly after with her "necessities", which mainly consist of junk food and alcohol. You haven't moved an inch from where she'd left you, still laying on the couch with bloodshot eyes and a quivering mouth. You listen as she busies herself in the kitchen, putting together some sort of snack platter for the both of you that you already know you won't eat. You're not hungry. You've never been less hungry in your life.

"You were right," you finally manage to croak out as she seats herself beside you on the couch, placing the food on the coffee table and turning to you with that familiar look of pity, "He's just like the rest of them."

She shakes her head, "No, that's not true, I never said that," she rips open a bag of chips and starts munching, seemingly lost in thought.

"Oh, we're gaslighting now, are we?"

She raises an eyebrow, "Girlie, tell me when I said what you just said."

"Boys are mean," you quote hastily, turning a bit on the couch to stare up at the ceiling.

"Yes, it's true. Boys are mean. And so are men," she sighs then, dropping the chips back on the table, "Look, I'm not defending him, I promise, but-"

"Tasha," you state coldly, still staring at the ceiling, "Do not continue that sentence."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say."

"Yes, I do," you shut your eyes and bring your hands to cover your face, feeling the tears starting up again, "You're gonna tell me we never defined what we had, that he was never my boyfriend, that this can't constitute as cheating because there was no relationship to begin with."

She's quiet but you can still feel her looking at you with that sadness, that sympathy, the look of someone who's been here before and knows how it feels. And it makes you so angry. Because-

"Joel wasn't supposed to do this," you continue, softer now, voice shaky as the tears flow down your temples and into your hair, "He's not a boy, he's not like the guys you date. He- he was different, I-" you choke, throat tightening at the thought of him, the image of him with her at the front of your mind again, "I thought he- I thought that we-"

You can't continue, words turning into cries and sniffles turning into sobs. You feel Tasha's hand on your calf, stroking your skin gently despite the fact that you just criticized both her own judgement and her taste in men in the same breath.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," she says soothingly, "That's the last thing I wanna do. If anything I'm trying to tell you that this doesn't necessarily make him an asshole."

You scoff at that, "Right. Makes sense," you finally pull your hands down to look at her through your tears, brow furrowing, "Tasha he was kissing her. That- that woman, he was- he touched her face."

"I know he did," she murmurs with a frown, eyes casting downward, "And I know it hurts, but-"

"But nothing," you find yourself tossing the blanket to the floor and standing up shakily, not bothering to even look at Tasha as you stomp toward the bedroom. "I don't need this right now," is the last thing you say before slamming the door behind you.

She doesn't follow you. This is the first time you've ever yelled at her, the first time you've ever felt truly mad at her, and even though you know deep down that this isn't her fault... you still feel betrayed. Betrayed by Tasha's nonchalance, betrayed by Joel's actions, but worst of all - betrayed by yourself.

Because how did you manage to get into this mess in the first place?

You practically rip the too-tight and too-short pink dress off your body and stagger to the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. You still feel sick, lightheaded and woozy as you press your face to the cool pillow and try to collect yourself. You can't get the image of the woman out of your head; you hadn't even seen her face and yet it's like she's somehow consuming every fiber of your being. All you can see behind your closed lids are those long, perfectly styled braids hitting her bare waist, skin a deep and rich brown that almost sparkled under the bar lights, the way her bare ankle traveled up and down his leg, the soft curve of her cheek as he'd cupped it in his hand-

A sob wracks through you and you pull the other pillow toward yourself, wrapping your legs and arms around it like a koala, remembering how less than twenty four hours ago you'd been in a bed just like this one - except it hadn't been a pillow you were cuddling. And now, what? Who's in that bed now? Another woman? That gorgeous woman who you don't stand a chance against?

You're sure Tasha can hear you crying but she doesn't come, staying in the living room and giving you the space you need. You already feel awful for snapping at her like that - you know she means well, that she's just trying to alleviate the situation in her own way, but you barely even know how you feel about it.

And how do you feel? Hurt? Sad? Angry? Of course you feel all of those things, to a degree you've never felt them before, but underlying all of those emotions is something else entirely, something you can't quite put your finger on - or would rather not put your finger on, because doing so would mean finally admitting something you're not sure you're ready to admit yet.

You try to think about your relationship with Joel up to this point, try and pinpoint the exact moment it went from being something frivolous to being something real, but you find that it's impossible to do so. For you, you could say the moment you walked past his threshold was when it became official. Or when he touched you for the first time. Or when he kissed you. When he made you come. When he called you his babygirl. When you touched his cock. When he put his mouth on your pussy. When you woke up this morning completely naked in his bed.

Any of those moments could have been the moment. But a gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminds you that any of those moments could have equally not been the moment as well. Maybe there was no moment. Maybe this really has just been a whole lot of nothing.

But then you think about the way he looks at you. The way he treats you.

The way he'd comforted and reassured you last night, held you, made you feel safe and secure - "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

The way he'd shared his insecurities with you over the phone, been vulnerable, honest and open - "I don't want you to look at me differently".

The way he'd dressed up just in case your mother took you to your lesson, looking like he was ready to attend a church service, purposely putting himself in uncomfortable clothing to make sure things went smoothly - "I wanted to make a good impression."

The way he'd told you about his past on his back deck, related his own childhood to yours, tried to calm your own fears and tell you things would be okay - "You gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think".

What did any of it mean? What does any of it mean? Has it just been sex this whole time or does he actually care about you? And if he does, why would he kiss someone else?

And what if he's been kissing someone else... fucking someone else... this entire time? What if it's not just you he's been seeing? The thought makes you want to throw up all over again.

You hear a peal of laughter from the other room, a sound that feels odd in the silence and sadness of the bedroom where you lie. Tasha must have put on a movie or something. You feel bitterness rise in your throat, a sudden urge to run out to the living room and grab the remote and toss it out the window, scream at her for finding something to laugh at when you're literally falling apart at the seams.

But the bitterness fades when you hear her laugh again; you love that laugh, have missed it ever since you came home. Tasha has always had such a free and fun way about her, a natural joy that you've always envied. You'd watched her go out night after night over the past three years, come home with the most bizarre stories that you were never able to fully relate to, and yet she always tried to include you in some way, ask you questions, make you laugh.

You remember the looks of shock you'd received from the other girls when you'd first shared that you were a virgin, that you'd never done anything except kiss. She'd sensed your discomfort immediately, seen your embarrassment, and had quickly flipped the conversation to something else more shocking, more embarrassing - at her own expense. Easier than flipping a light switch. And any time it was mentioned after that, she'd always emphasize how lucky you were, how she wished she'd taken her time, how all you were missing out on was bonehead losers who didn't know how to please a woman.

She's always reassured you, always listened, and has always been your number one fan, even when you had nothing to give. You'd told her all about your upbringing, about the way you'd begun to question everything, and she'd given you her own two cents and made you feel better for the first time in a long time. And when you'd told her you were coming home for the summer she'd said, "Are you sure that's gonna be okay for you?"

You trust her. So why are you in this room avoiding her? Why aren't you listening to what she has to say?

With heavy limbs you manage to climb off the bed and tug on your pajamas, wiping your eyes and letting the sadness and humility settle for just a moment. Yes, this is a fucked up situation. But Tasha wants to help you. Let her.

A few moments later you find yourself back on the couch, this time with Tasha's arm around you as she pours you a glass of wine and shakes away your apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she tells you softly, "You're upset, I get it."

You sigh deeply and take a sip, wincing at the bitterness but making no move to put it back on the table. "So," you murmur hoarsely, "Why is he not necessarily an asshole?"

--

You stay up late talking for hours about the situation and listening to Tasha's theories, most of which center around a lack of communication - based on her own personal experiences. She also has to factor in the fact that Joel is a lot older, a detail she's still beyond surprised over.

"I just can't believe he's fifty six," she faux whispers the number with wide eyes, shaking her head. "Like... this man knows things. How to take care of you, ya know? You're luckier than you realize."

"Lucky," you scoff, "Yeah, that's one way to describe how it feels."

She slaps your hand playfully, "I'm serious. This is yet another reason I think you just got your signals crossed here. I refuse to believe he's trying to hurt you, especially after how considerate he's been with you up until this point. If this was just about sex he would have dropped you ages ago, honey. I mean, no offense but you're not exactly making it easy for him, are you?"

She's certainly blunt. But she's also right. Joel has been nothing but patient with you this entire time, never expecting anything more than what you've been willing to give. If it was just about sex, this thing between the two of you wouldn't have gone beyond that first day in his house when you'd told him you were a virgin.

You slowly begin to come to the conclusion that you should give him the benefit of the doubt. As much as what you saw hurts, as much as it makes you want to crawl in bed and never get up, you were never Joel's girlfriend. There was never an establishing conversation, never a moment where you laid your heart on the line and told him exactly what you wanted, mainly because you haven't been sure what you wanted up until this point. But now you do.

"Communication," Tasha repeats for maybe the fifth time, "Communication is key. He doesn't know what you want, so you need to tell him. You need to stand up for yourself. And if he doesn't take you seriously, you move on. Simple."

"Simple," you echo, your third glass of wine already getting to you as you peer at her hazily with an upturned brow, "Communication."

"Communication," she repeats, "Simple."

Communication. Simple.

It's what echoes in your head over and over after your head hits the pillow that night, and continues to repeat the following morning as Tasha rouses you from sleep to get you ready for your "lesson". You don't feel as hungover as you'd expected - "That's because we didn't get totally fucked up like we were supposed to," Tasha says to you with a roll of her eyes - but your face is puffy from all the crying.

You're splashing your face with cold water when you hear Tasha call out, "Hey, I think you have a text."

Heart pounding in your chest you run back to the bedroom and grab your phone from the nightstand, the first time you've checked it since you got back from the bar. Your eyes go wide when you see not just one but two texts from Joel. One from last night, around midnight:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

And one from this morning, around seven:

You get home ok? Let me know x

"Don't text him back," Tasha advises over your shoulder, "Keep him sweating a bit, you're leaving soon anyway."

You nod slowly, still staring at the messages, especially the one from last night. When had he sent that? Had he still been at the bar? Still with her? Did he take her home? That familiar sadness and betrayal from last night bubbles in your throat again, tears pricking in your eyes.

No. You will not cry anymore.

You let your phone fall onto the bed and turn on the spot, marching back to the bathroom like a woman on a mission.

"Tasha, make me fucking hot."

--

The Plan: Go to your lesson with Joel. Talk to him about what you saw. Tell him how you feel. And look good doing it.

Communication. Simple. It certainly seems easier said than done; you've never been very good at communication. Your whole life has been spent suppressing your true feelings and your true self for crying out loud - the concept of being completely vulnerable and honest with someone is terrifying. But you know that it's necessary for your heart, and you also know that if you're going to be able to be vulnerable with anyone, it's Joel. He's already seen glimpses of the broken parts of you, not to mention seen you completely naked. How much harder can it get?

And nothing can be worse than how you felt last night.

Tasha essentially makes you her very own doll for the majority of the morning - doing your makeup, styling your hair, choosing your outfit - and you're surprised to find that you don't hate any of it, have no notes or critiques or changes to make. You stand in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with your eyebrows raised, lips parted in admiration at a job well done.

"I look good," you say with a smile, and Tasha grins at your reflection, "I mean it, Tasha. Like, I still look like me, but..."

"All I did was accentuate what you already have, my love," she replies, reaching forward to fix a piece of hair that's not sitting quite right, "You're just a gorgeous human, inside and out."

You can't help but feel touched at her words, lips turning down into a pout as your hands come up to touch your heart, "Tasha-"

She waves you away, shaking her head, "Bitch, do not get sappy on me right now. Save those doe eyes for Mr. Miller."

Twenty minutes later you're winding through the suburban streets of your neighborhood. You're about half an hour early; Tasha had wanted you to be fashionably late but there's only so much of yourself you can alter in such a short amount of time, your punctuality being one of them. You figure you'll just drive around for a bit to build up your courage, plan out your words.

Joel, I saw you at the bar last night. I saw the woman. And I'm not mad, I'm just....

Joel, my feelings were really hurt last night...

Joel, I can't believe you would kiss another woman after everything we've been doing. Do I not mean anything to you at all? Do I-

Nothing really seems like the right thing to say. You figure once you're standing in front of him the words will just come naturally, flow easily in a way that makes sense and articulates your feelings properly. You can only hope.

You've still got about fifteen minutes before your lesson but you figure there's no point in continuing to circle the area - you're just delaying the inevitable. With a heavy sigh and a few quiet words of encouragement directed at your rearview mirror, you turn onto Joel's street, gripping the wheel tightly and trying to keep your breathing as even as possible. You can do this. You can do this.

You're a few houses down from his when you see it.

Panic turns to shock. Shock turns to confusion. Confusion turns to anger. Anger turns to sadness.

You're already pressing Tasha's number in your contacts before you can fully collect your thoughts.

"What is it? Did you go in?"

"There's a car in his driveway," you hiss through your teeth, feeling the tears spring to your eyes again, your hand coming up to cover your mouth, "She stayed the fucking night, Tasha. He fucking slept with her."

"You don't know that," Tasha replies quickly, calmly, already trying to calm you down, "Maybe it's his, maybe he has another car."

"He doesn't have another car, Tasha," your voice is stoic despite the lump in your throat, "He has his truck and that's it. Joel Miller doesn't drive a purple fucking convertible."

"A purple convertible?" Tasha repeats, voice faltering now, processing the information, "Jesus Christ."

You stare at the driveway, at the car in question - you're still a few houses down so it's hard to see any specific details, but you're sure you can make out a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror inside. This is definitely not Joel's vehicle by any means. Your stomach is in knots, unsure what the fuck you're supposed to do now; you'd thought briefly of the possibility that he'd slept with her, and up until this moment you'd been prepared to hear him admit it to you. But you hadn't expected it to really be true, to almost come face to face with the woman herself.

"I don't understand," Tasha suddenly says on the other line, "He knows you're coming for your lesson, why the fuck would he still have her in the house?"

"I don't know," your voice is almost a whisper, thick with sadness and disbelief, "I- oh shit." You cut yourself off and sink deep into your front seat when you catch the front door of his house opening, eyes going wide as you watch two figures emerge out onto the front step.

"What's happening?" Tasha asks frantically - you can practically hear her pacing on the other end, "Talk to me!"

"They're coming out!" you hiss, "They're on the fucking front step."

"Oh, honey, you gotta leave. You're not gonna wanna see this, you need to just turn around and come back," her voice is full of disappointment, anger that mirrors your own, "I'm serious, this is just-"

"Shhh," you peer over the dashboard at them, squinting against the sun. You can make out Joel's broad back in the early morning light, can recognize one of his band t-shirts and his signature bedhead, pointing in all directions. You can see him, but it's difficult to make out the figure he's with, his body blocking her almost entirely from you. "I think she's leaving."

You watch with a mix of rage and horror as he suddenly leans down and wraps his arms around her, her own winding around his broad form as her hands interlock together behind his back. Your eyebrows raise in confusion, mouth dropping open.

"It's not the same woman," you whisper.

"What do you mean it's not the same woman?"

"Literally that," you breathe, shaking your head and feeling a few tears begin to make their way down your cheeks, "It's not the one from last night, it's someone else."

"How do you know?"

"Because the woman last night was black and this girl isn't, I can see her arms," you snap, a sob threatening to burst its way past your lips, "And this one's shorter, he has to bend down to hug her."

"To hug her?!" Tasha echoes, "What the fuck?"

You watch as they separate from one another, watch with rage burning in your chest as she walks down the steps toward her car. You can see her better now, get a good look at her in the few seconds it takes her to reach the driver's side door. She's wearing a pink dress, frilled at the bottom with a pair of white sandals - she looks young. You're already redacting your prior statement about her not being black - now that she's properly in view, you can see the brown softness of her skin, her afro textured hair plaited neatly into two rows. But it's not the same woman.

"So, what, he had two girls in one night? Is that what you're telling me?" Tasha is saying in your ear while you continue to stare at the woman, watch her open the car door and climb inside with one last wave to Joel, "Hello?"

"I - I don't know. I'm-" you watch Joel wave to her and then head back inside the house, presumably to wait for you to arrive. Your stomach is tight and painful, bile in your throat all over again. "You were right," you whisper, tears cascading down onto your bare legs, "I didn't need to see this."

--

So much for not crying anymore.

You're back on the couch again, wrapped up like a burrito staring at the wall while Tasha paces back and forth around the living room in front of you, talking a mile a minute.

"It was a whole different story when it was just the one girl," she's ranting, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in anger, "But two? Two girls. In one fucking night. And one of them is half his age," she scoffs, almost a growl, "So what, he just does this in his spare time? Fucks around with girls' hearts and bodies and then acts like some tough, macho contractor with a busy schedule? Please."

You don't need to remind her that you're also half his age - you know she'd come up with a reason why you're different, why you're the exception. And you do appreciate that, but the more she talks the more you're starting to realize that maybe that's never been the case. Maybe you weren't some beautiful coincidence that wandered into Joel's life - maybe he's been doing this for a long time.

Your gaze follows her as she walks around, pacing the same circle over and over again around the coffee table; it's typical Tasha - you've seen her do this on numerous occasions before, but never on your behalf. Your phone suddenly vibrates on the table and your heads both snap toward it, plunging the room into silence. You already know it's him - who else would be texting you this early? You reach over and unlock it, eyes scanning the message:

Where are you?

"He's wondering why I haven't shown up," you say quietly, voice still hoarse from all the crying.

"What a fucking prick. Do not reply," she resumes her pacing, "Two girls the night before he's supposed to have a date with you. Who does that? Who actually does that? Men, that's who. Men do that. I'm swearing off them forever after this. Seriously, I mean it. What the fuck."

You appreciate her concern, appreciate that she's no longer arguing on Joel's behalf, but her words cut you deep regardless. The whole situation still feels surreal. How is it that just over twenty four hours ago he was kissing you softly, sweetly, peering at you with those beautiful brown eyes and telling you he had something special planned for your lesson? What had he wanted to try, a fucking threesome?

"I don't know him at all," you whisper softly, sadly, "I never did. He's a stranger. A complete stranger who I was stupid enough to trust."

Your words seem to touch something in Tasha. She stops her pacing, slowly turns toward you with that empathetic look again and then carefully steps toward the couch, sitting down on the end.

"He just... he was there," you continue, lip trembling, "My parents were being so controlling and I was literally thinking about just... just leaving, finding some way to get back to campus without them knowing and then I heard that fucking guitar and-" you hiccup through a sob, clutching your hand to your chest, "I should've known then. I should've just kept walking. He asked me to come in, Tasha. He wanted to fuck me, then and there. And when I said no I guess I... I became some sort of challenge. Just a stupid, naïve little Catholic girl he could fuck and dump. And I fell for it, hook line and sinker."

She places a hand on your calf, just like she had last night, stroking gently up and down, "You're not stupid," she murmurs, "You're just a girl. A girl experiencing something really special for the first time. And I'm sorry he took that experience from you."

You manage to smile at her, soft and sincere. Despite everything, it feels good to have a friend, to not be alone when you're feeling like this. To be validated and comforted. You have no idea how you'd be processing all of this without Tasha by your side, if you'd have even been able to leave your bed this morning.

"This is so not what I wanted this weekend to be," she suddenly sighs, putting her head in her hands, "I wanted you to have fun, be free. And here you are feeling like shit about yourself. It's not fair."

She's right. It's not fair.

You take a deep breath, then carefully pry yourself out from underneath your blanket, rolling off the couch and coming to stand in front of Tasha with a determined expression on your face.

"You didn't dress me to the nines just for me to cry and feel sorry for myself on the couch," you say confidently, doing your best to wipe away your tears without completely smearing away Tasha's hard work, "I don't wanna think about Joel anymore. I don't wanna cry about Joel anymore. You know what I wanna do?"

She looks up at you, a grin slowly spreading across her face, "Go have fun and be free?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

--

You never thought you'd be the kind of person to go day drinking, but here you are. Tasha had fixed your makeup and then gotten all dolled up herself, ready for a whole day of doing exactly what you'd both set out to do this weekend: have fun.

Your first stop is a little bistro within walking distance of the Airbnb; you already know that neither of you will be fit to drive by the time this is all over, so you stick to places that are relatively close to the house. As you sip your cocktails and dig into a plate of sandwiches, Tasha informs you that she'd purposely booked this house in particular because of its proximity to the local club scene - you're not surprised in the slightest.

Your phone vibrates a few times while you're eating but you don't check it, forcing yourself to avoid reading anything else Joel has to say to you. It's only when it actually rings, two cocktails deep and plate empty, that you briefly consider picking it up.

"Nope," Tasha says, grabbing the phone from you and canceling the call before you can answer, "No more Joel today, we agreed."

"No more Joel," you repeat, nodding. You let her slip your phone into her own purse after putting it on silent - you know she'll keep it safe, and you know it's for the best.

--

You spend the majority of the afternoon popping in and out of local bars and boutiques, shopping and chatting to your hearts content as your body adjusts to the constant thrum of alcohol running through your system, making your head a bit foggy in the best way. It's like nothing really matters except this moment, right now, the beat of live music here and there as the sun gets lower in the sky, the conversations drifting past, the smell of food wafting out of restaurants. Tasha is a constant presence at your side, arm linked with yours as she dishes on all the drama of her life you've missed thus far this summer.

You don't think about Joel.

It's obvious throughout your little adventures throughout the day that people - particularly men - gravitate to Tasha very easily. You're not sure if it's simply because of how gorgeous she is - all curves and plump lips and dark curls down to her waist, purple cowboy hat askew above her perfectly applied makeup - or because she's simply a light. She's so bubbly and completely herself, smiling and laughing and dancing, never apologetic or ashamed. It feels good to have a girl like that in your corner, helping you out of your shell, only wanting what's best for you.

You realize as the day passes that you're beginning to mimic her behavior a bit. Whether it's due to the alcohol or your admiration for her, you're not sure, but either way you can feel yourself loosening up, allowing yourself to be more uninhibited, less insecure, not caring if people are looking at you. And people are definitely starting to look at you.

"Dude over there is staring at you," Tasha says quietly to you as you sip margaritas on the back deck of a country bar. You're now wearing her cowboy hat, stolen it after what can only be described as a predictable turn of events where she'd rode the mechanical bull and lost it in one particularly hard buck. You'd picked it up off the floor and placed it on your head, laughing hysterically as the bull threatened to launch Tasha across the room.

"Where?" your eyes go wide as you take a long sip, waiting for her to point him out. She nods at something behind you and you do your best to slowly turn around, not wanting to be too obvious. In your drunken state, however, it's not very smooth. You almost topple off the chair as you spin in place to find who she's talking about.

Through your laughter you spot him. Typical young Texan - floppy blonde hair and a strong jawline, sun-kissed skin and a white smile that practically glimmers against the sunset. He nods to you when he sees you looking, tilts his head to the side a bit and winks.

You turn back to Tasha, shaking your head, "He is not looking at me," you feel your skin heating up, not just from the alcohol, "There's no way."

"He is looking at you," Tasha reiterates, placing her empty glass down on the table, "You're fucking hot."

Your mind can't help but flash back to freshman year, that godforsaken party when another boy with a similar appearance had looked your way. The hope you'd felt, the desire, the confidence... all of it fading when he approached and chose your friend to talk to instead, not even bothering to glance your way despite standing right there beside her. You can't help but worry that it's happening all over again.

But then you hear a deep voice behind you, southern and sexy: "Pardon me, but I just had to tell you, I think you're the prettiest girl I ever saw."

Your eyes widen and you spin back around, still half expecting him to be talking to Tasha, not you, but his green eyes connect with yours instead. His gaze holds you there, your lips parting with no words coming out as you stare up at him in shock.

"She was just telling me that you're not so bad yourself," Tasha offers with a smile, nudging you under the table with her heel, "Right?"

"R-right," you manage to stammer out, still staring open-mouthed at this gorgeous specimen that has somehow decided that you're the girl he wants to talk to right now. The prettiest girl he ever saw.

He smiles at that, toothy and beautiful, "I'm Noah," he puts his hand out for you to take and you do, grasping it tightly and trying to hold on to the reality of this moment, the way his soft skin feels against yours, the way your brain is buzzing with amazement - and tequila.

Tasha's foot hits your ankle again and you quickly splutter out your name, releasing his hand and awkwardly placing yours back in your lap. You feel the bare skin of your thigh and you're suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you are right now - this dress certainly doesn't leave much up to the imagination. Your thighs and breasts are practically spilling out of it, pink material clinging to your body. But he isn't looking at any of that - he's looking at your face.

"It's real nice to meet you," he says with another smile, "Can I buy you a drink?" he suddenly looks at Tasha, like he's only just remembered she's sitting there, "And one for your friend too, of course."

"She'd love one," Tasha answers for you, nudging her arm against yours gently, "We'll both have another margarita."

Noah nods once, sets his gaze to your face again with a smile, then disappears inside the bar to go order the drinks.

The second he's gone it's like you're released from some sort of spell he'd put you under. Your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest, breaths coming shorter as you turn to Tasha with utter horror.

"What happened to swearing off all men?" you hiss, brow furrowing.

"Please, Noah isn't a man, he's a boy," she scoffs with a smile, twirling her hair between her fingers, "And I know alllll about boys."

--

You don't know how it happens, somehow lost the plot about halfway into your second margarita, but Noah is going to the club with you.

You are drunk. You know this for a fact. You hadn't been expecting to already feel this fucked up upon setting foot in the club but here you are, Tasha on one arm and Noah on the other. Tasha's had just as much to drink as you but doesn't seem anywhere near as intoxicated as you feel, continuing to be her excitable self when the bass drops and the neon lights start to dance across her skin. She's stolen back her cowboy hat but you've somehow gained your own - you think it might be Noah's.

"LET'S DANCE!" she screeches, pulling you away from Noah and dragging you onto the dance floor. You watch with slightly blurred vision as he goes in the opposite direction, toward the bar, probably to order more drinks.

The music is loud, the dance floor full of people, bodies swaying back and forth, people jumping up and down, grinding on one another, screaming conversations over the heavy bass. The lights are bright and it feels like all of your senses have been heightened, like you can feel, taste, see, and hear everything in your immediate vicinity to the utmost degree. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but you can feel it in other places too - your feet, your kneecaps, your skin.

"I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG!" Tasha screams to you, throwing her hands up in the air and spinning on the spot, smile wide and joyous as she starts to dance, "DANCE WITH ME, COME ON!"

Your senses are overloading but you try your best to match her energy, copy her movements, focus on just this instead of everything else that's going on around you. This is what you've been missing all these years; this is what you've been waiting to experience. Enjoy it. You let your inhibitions flow and just exist in this moment, having fun with your best friend, far away from anyone who would ever judge you for being here. Far away from your parents and your neighbors and Bethany and -

No. You do not think about Joel.

You and Tasha dance to about three songs before she's tugging you away from the dance floor and over to the bar, back to where Noah is leaning with a beer bottle perched against his lips. He smiles when he sees you approaching, gestures to the little mini drinks beside him, small enough to only have about a thumb of liquid in each.

"Shots!" Tasha squeals, clapping her hands together, "Shots, shots, shots!" She picks one up and hands it to you, then grabs her own, "Come on, Noah, do one with us!"

Noah still can't seem to keep his eyes off you, though you've begun to notice that he's no longer just looking at your face anymore. This time his eyes fall to your breasts as he puts down his beer bottle and replaces it with one of the shot glasses, gaze falling down to your legs before finding your eyes again.

You catch a glint of something darker there, something seductive, and as you bring the glass to your lips you're suddenly aware that beneath the alcohol you feel a bit... uneasy.

--

You're fucked up. You're really fucked up.

Tasha doesn't leave your side, something you're extremely grateful for. You're starting to have difficulty seeing straight, even walking is becoming confusing, let alone dancing. You grip Tasha's shoulders tightly on the dance floor as you both sway to the music, unsure exactly how long it's been since you arrived at the club. She's looking at you with hazy eyes, much drunker now than she was earlier, and your very intoxicated brain is wondering if you're actually going to leave at some point or whether you're just stuck here for the rest of eternity.

You can feel Noah against your back. He's grinding against you to the song, hands on your hips as his groin presses firmly into your ass. It's weird, being in a Tasha-Noah sandwich that you didn't really sign up for. You're too drunk to really know what you want, actually. You feel fine having Tasha this close, feel safe in her embrace, but Noah's presence is starting to make you feel a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm really drunk," you slur, but it's too quiet for either Tasha or Noah to hear you. Tasha just nods as if she understands, head tilting back and mouth popping open as another song begins. She mouths something, probably I love this song, something she's said about ten times tonight.

Noah pulls you in closer, almost like he's tugging you away from Tasha, but your voice is too faint under the music for your protests to be heard. His arms come up to wrap around your middle, and you feel the unmistakable shape of his cock dip down between your cheeks through your dress. At first you think maybe it's unintentional, but then he does it again, and again, like he's using your body to get himself off. On the fucking dance floor.

"Let go of me," you breathe, but it's lost to the music. You watch as Tasha gets further away, your arms dropping completely from her shoulders as she turns and starts to spin on the spot, still staring up at the ceiling, unaware of what's happening. "Stop," you mumble, feeling his clothed cock rub against you again, a sensation you're now familiar with but certainly not in this context. And certainly not with someone who isn't Joel Miller.

The thought of Joel is what does it.

"STOP," you practically scream, yanking yourself away from him and taking a few heavy steps back, shaking your head frantically, "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME."

A few people are turning to look and Noah seems more than embarrassed, hands going up quickly. He's drunk too, you can see it in his face, in his eyes, but you already know he's certainly not the harmless young Texan you thought he was. That feeling of unease earlier sure as hell hadn't been the alcohol talking.

You feel a hand at your waist and you flinch but only for a second, gaze coming to rest on Tasha who's now standing beside you with a look of pure horror on her face.

"What'd he do?" she asks, voice panicked and quick, almost like she's not even drunk anymore, "Are you okay?"

You nod but you can feel tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any second. Your ears are ringing like they had last night, but it's different this time, almost like you're underwater as Tasha grips your arm and leads you toward the front of the club, away from the loud music and drunk people. Away from Noah.

"Oh my fucking god, I am so sorry," her voice is shaking with emotion when you get out onto the street, hand holding tight to your arm, "I didn't even notice what he was doing. Jesus fucking Christ," she pulls out her phone and dials the number for a cab - through your bleary eyes you see a few teardrops dribble down the bridge of her nose, "We're going home, I'm so sorry, honey."

"S'okay," you manage to garble out through your tears, flowing heavily now in your drunken state, "It happened really fast."

"Doesn't make it okay," she replies, bringing the phone to her ear.

No, it doesn't.

--

"I want Joel," you whisper through your tears once you're settled in the back seat of the cab, Tasha beside you with her hand resting soothingly on your arm.

"What, honey?" Tasha asks softly, "Say it again, can't hear you."

"I want Joel," you repeat, words slurred as your hands come up to cover your face, "I don't wanna go home. I want Joel."

"We can't go to Joel's," Tasha murmurs, stroking your arm, "It's almost three in the morning, he's asleep."

"I want Joel," you repeat, "I wanna see him."

"I need an address," the cab driver says over his shoulder; he's already started running the meter, "Don't got all night, girls."

Before Tasha can say anything you're spluttering out Joel's address through a sob. Tasha starts to protest but you shake your head furiously, tears scattering everywhere, "I'll just walk," you mumble adamantly, "If you change it I'll just get out and walk."

"But-"

"You owe me," you practically spit, "You owe me after what just happened." You don't mean it, but your brain is nowhere near sober enough to fully realize that. And neither is hers.

She doesn't say anything else.

--

It's very strange being back in your neighborhood not sober. Your mind is still ridiculously fuzzy from the alcohol but part of you is able to acknowledge how crazy it is that you're back here so late at night in such a drunken state, driving through the dark streets while your parents are none the wiser. The cab passes by your house and you find yourself ducking down into the seat, afraid they might see you despite it being almost three o'clock in the morning.

"Can you just keep the meter running?" Tasha asks the cab driver quietly as you approach Joel's house, "I'm not staying, I just wanna make sure she gets in okay and that someone's here to help her."

"You're not coming in," you mutter, voice still slurred and heavy. You don't look at her as you say it.

"I'll just wait in the car for a few minutes then," she says quietly, just as the cab comes to a stop in Joel's driveway.

His truck is here, just like this morning. Except this time there's no purple convertible blocking him in, no other woman standing on the front step hugging him, waving to him.

Anger rises in your chest at the memory.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Tasha says softly - what happened earlier has clearly sobered her up, almost no trace of drunkenness in her speech, "He's asleep, there aren't any lights on."

"Then I'll wake him up," you mumble, opening the car door and stepping out into the cool night air.

"I'll wait here for a few-," she calls out to you but you slam the door before she can finish her sentence.

You're not sure why you're suddenly being so mean to her. That is, until you stagger up Joel's front steps and feel even more rage bubbling inside you at the thought of standing where he'd stood this morning, where she'd stood this morning. Where the woman from the bar had probably stood too. Oh. You're an angry drunk.

Without any hesitation you push down on the doorbell. You don't bother to wait in silence; you just keep pushing it and pushing it over and over, hearing the dull sound of the bell dinging inside the house. You're vaguely aware of a light being turned on behind the frosted glass as you lean your hand against the door, suddenly feeling dizzy now that you're standing again.

The door opens and you practically fall through it, squinting against the sudden bright light and bringing your hands up to your face as you stagger inside. You feel someone catch you, big hands coming to rest atop both of your arms, and then your name being said in a deep voice, husky with sleep.

Joel.

"Are you okay?" he asks somewhere above you; your ears are ringing again and his voice is loud and muffled, that underwater feeling coming back. You try to mumble something but it comes out an incoherent garble.

You feel him pull you inside, hear the door shut behind you as he kicks it closed with his foot. He guides you inside the living room and your eyes shut tightly against the brightness of the overhead light, shining down on top of you like a spotlight.

"Too bright," you manage to mumble out, bringing your hands up to cover your face. You find yourself being seated on the couch before the light is switched off, plunging you both into total darkness.

"Baby, what happened?" you hear him ask, voice still swimming thickly through your muted ears, "I've been so fuckin' worried about you, where've you been? Where'd you go?" you feel his hands take yours, gripping them tightly. They're so rough and callused, nothing at all like Noah's, and it makes you smile.

"Feels nice," you mutter, already forgetting what he asked you.

"What'd you take?" he asks, and you suddenly realize that there's a very frantic edge to his voice, thick with worry and... fear? "Huh? Tell me what you took so I can help."

"D-didn't take anything," you hiccup, shaking your head slowly.

"Christ, babygirl," he mutters, squeezing your hands again, "Where were you? I called you so many times, I texted you, I-"

"Tasha's got my phone," you mumble.

"Where's Tasha? She alright?"

"In the cab."

"Jesus," he releases your hand and stands up, turns on a dim lamp in the corner of the room so you're not in total darkness anymore. You watch with hooded eyes as he opens the front door again, walks out onto the step and starts gesturing something into the darkness. He looks ridiculous, waving his arms like that - it makes you giggle.

He turns around and walks back over to you with long strides. You can see his face more clearly now, expression lined with worry. He looks tired. He probably is.

"Just wanted you," you mutter, staring at him.

Before he can say anything Tasha is suddenly walking in through the door, expression stoic as she passes the threshold. She avoids Joel's gaze completely, looking only at you.

"What the fuck happened?" Joel asks her, any sort of introductory pleasantries gone out the window, "Where's she been? What'd she take?"

"Nice to meet you too," Tasha grumbles, hitching her purse over her shoulder and walking over to where you sit on the couch, "She's fine, we went clubbing and she got drunk. I'll take her back."

"No you fuckin' won't," he says indignantly, moving to stand directly in front of you with his arms crossed, "How could you let this happen to her? She's never done shit like this before, you know that right? She's never been drunk in her fuckin' life and you bring her back like this? You ever heard of takin' it fuckin' slow?"

"Oh please, like I'm gonna take advice from you," she snaps back, walking around him and reaching down to take your hand, "Come on, honey, we need to go. Now."

"She's not goin' with you, she's stayin' here," his voice is loud, louder than you've ever heard it. In fact, you don't think you've ever seen him mad before. It's strange, seeing the way his eyes narrow, his mouth downturned into an angry frown, fists tight against his chest.

"I only brought her here because she said she'd jump out and walk if I didn't," Tasha argues, voice firm, "She's safe with me."

"Safe, huh?" he scoffs, "So why the fuck do you have her phone? Do you know how many times I've tried to call her in the past fuckin' twelve hours? I was this close to callin' the fuckin' police."

"If anyone here needs the fucking police called on them it's you," Tasha's voice is louder now, every word echoing in your brain, "Fucking creep."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

Your drunken brain can't process much of what's going on at all, both Tasha and Joel's voices blending into one constant loud noise. You bring your hands up to your head and cover your ears, though it can only do so much to block out their voices. What they're saying still manages to come through, albeit muffled and distant.

"You heard what I said. Fucking. Creep." Tasha repeats, "She knows what you've been doing, you asshole."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"What, don't have the balls to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"Stop," you say loudly, bringing your hands down from your ears, "Stop yelling, you're hurting my head."

Joel crouches down, picks up your hands and takes them in his again, peering into your eyes. You can't see him properly anymore and you hate it, can only make out bits and pieces as your eyesight just continues to get worse the longer you sit here. You feel sleepy, almost like you're on the edge of unconsciousness.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, thumbs stroking yours gently, "I'm sorry, babygirl. I'll stop yellin'."

You close your eyes, nodding and breathing deeply in and out, loving the feeling of having him touching you again. It's almost like last night didn't happen, like this morning didn't happen.

Last night. This morning.

You suddenly yank your hands away from him, eyes going wide as you remember exactly why you're even here in the first place, why you wanted to get fucked up to begin with. His face comes back into view again, expression confused.

"I know what you've been doing," you hiss, echoing Tasha's words and scooting away from him. You reach your hand up for her to take and she grips it tightly, helping you get up.

"Babygirl," he says softly, brown eyes tender and soft as he eases himself up from the floor, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"We saw you," Tasha says then, linking her arm with yours, "At the bar last night." She means business now, you can hear it in her voice, "We saw you kiss someone else."

His expression changes instantly. Worry, anger, concern... all of it gone in a single second.

"That's what I thought," Tasha says firmly, then carefully eases you out of the living room, walks with you as far as the porch before you hear Joel speak.

His voice is quiet, shaky, "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it, exactly?" Tasha turns then, rounding on him again while you cling to her arm, "You're not playing her? You didn't waste weeks of her life making her feel special only for it to turn out you're just like the rest of them?"

He doesn't say anything and you can't bring yourself to look at him, heart in your throat and tears in your eyes once again as you stare at the hardwood floor.

"I didn't... that's not what..." he finally breathes, "It's not what you think. That's all I can say."

"That's all you can say?"

"Well, I can hardly fuckin' explain myself when she won't remember it, can I?" his voice is raw, hitching on the last few words, "Nothin'... nothin' happened other than some kissin'. It didn't go any further, I swear."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?"

"I'm not askin' you to believe me," he breathes, "But that's the truth. That's the fuckin' truth, swear on my life."

"And what about the girl she saw leaving this morning?"

He's quiet again for a moment. You're still afraid to look at him, can barely even comprehend that this conversation is even really happening right now.

"That was - Jesus, I never wanted you to find out like this," he mutters, and Tasha laughs without humor.

"Yeah, you thought it'd just stay your little secret, huh?" It's hard to believe she's had just as much to drink as you have tonight - you wouldn't know it by the way she handles herself now, the way she speaks to Joel like she already knows him. She's done this before. She's no stranger to confronting men who did her wrong, or in this case, her friend.

"That was my daughter," he says softly.

Tasha freezes.

The words do their best to seep into your skin, to make their way into the sober depths of your brain that lie dormant, somewhere hidden. You still feel so fuzzy, bleary eyed and heavy and confused, but the words register somehow.

You slowly unhook your arm from Tasha's to finally look up from the floor, moving your gaze to Joel's still form. He's standing there by the couch, arms still crossed across his chest but not angry anymore, a look of pure sadness and shame on his face. He looks small.

"Y-you have a daughter?" you whisper.

"Yes," he replies softly, eyes slowly lifting to meeting yours, "And the woman at the bar, that was her mother. My ex wife." You see tears shining in his eyes, watch as his lip trembles as he softly whispers, "And I swear - I swear it never went further than some kisses. And it won't go any further than that ever again."

You feel Tasha reach down and squeeze your hand. What she's trying to communicate to you, you're not sure. You just stand there staring at him, unable to process this information in your current state, head swimming and ears still ringing.

"I'll tell you everything," he continues quietly, taking a slow step toward you, "When you're feelin' better, I swear. Anythin' you wanna know, I'll tell you." He takes another few steps until he's standing directly in front of you and Tasha, leaning down so he can peer directly into your eyes, "I'm so sorry it happened this way," he whispers, "I never thought - Jesus, I'm just so fuckin' sorry."

You swallow tightly around the lump in your throat, completely unsure of how you feel, of what you're supposed to say or do. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is computing properly.

"You need to take her home," he murmurs, pulling back and turning his attention to Tasha, "Look, I'm sorry for-"

"No, I'm sorry," she suddenly breathes, "I was- wow, that's... I mean, I wasn't expecting that. I'm sorry. I just, I thought-"

"It's okay," he replies, voice still a bit stiff, "Just get her back safe, okay? She's-" he cuts himself off to look at you again, eyes peering down at you sadly. "She's special."

Tasha nods, "I know she is."

The last thing you remember, the last thing that's at least semi-clear in your mind, is the soft look of affection on his face as he stands on his doorstep and watches you go.

--

You're not sure exactly what time it is when you wake up on Sunday. The only thing you're sure of is that your head is pounding and the sun streaming through the window is only making it worse. You roll over in bed and press your face into the pillow with a low moan.

You're never drinking that much ever again.

There's movement beside you and you open your eyes briefly to see Tasha laying in a similar position, still in her dress from yesterday, face smooshed into her own pillow. You can't remember how you got back, memories extremely hazy and shrouded completely in too much alcohol. The last thing you can remember is being at Joel's house, of the brief conversation he had with Tasha, the words he'd said to you...

My ex wife.

It never went further than some kisses.

That was my daughter.

Now that your brain isn't under the influence, you can finally think straight, can finally process everything he said to you last night. Or at least what you can remember. You roll over again with another moan, sensing nausea in the pit of your stomach.

"The hangover is the worst part," Tasha mumbles, and you turn your head to see her looking at you through messy mascara, smudged and smeared all over her eyes, "But you'll be okay."

You stare at her for a few seconds, everything else from the night before slowly coming back to you in bits and pieces. The club, Noah, the way you'd snapped at her...

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, "Tasha, I was so fucking mean to you."

The part of her lips that you can see curve upward into a smile and she shakes her head slowly, "It's all water under the bridge, babe," she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep, "You had every right."

"No, I didn't. That stuff with Noah, that wasn't your fault."

"I should've known better than to invite him along," she sighs deeply, "I just wanted you to have fun, you know? I wanted you to forget about..." she trails off, biting her lip.

"I know," you breathe, "And I did, for a while. You couldn't have known about Noah, he certainly had me fooled."

She nods, closing her eyes and nuzzling the pillow a bit. You both lay there in silence, the elephant in the room growing bigger and bigger the longer you go without talking about it.

"So, Joel's got a daughter," you finally whisper, "And an ex wife."

She opens her eyes again, raising an eyebrow, "I'm surprised you remember that. You were pretty fucked up."

You wince, "Did I completely embarrass myself?"

"No, not at all," her hand comes up to touch your shoulder gently, thumbing the skin there, "You stood your ground, you did good. And now... now we know the truth."

"The truth," you echo.

More silence. It's like neither of you really knows what to say to the other. You're sure Tasha has already formulated her own opinion, has probably known since last night exactly how she feels about the whole thing. And that scares you a bit - because what if she doesn't feel the same way you do?

And how exactly do you feel about it anyway?

"I think he texted you again a little while ago," she finally says softly, pointing toward your phone on the night stand, "I heard it when I got up to use the bathroom. And there's a lot of texts there from yesterday. He, uh-" she bites her lip, "He was really worried about you, honey."

You reach over and pick up your phone, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and looking at the damage: 9 texts. 18 missed calls.

Shit. You suppose it makes sense. The last time you'd talked to him was on Friday morning in his kitchen, when you'd told him you were planning on going out with Tasha and having a girl's weekend, finally having your college experiences. He hadn't known anything that happened between then and last night, hadn't known you'd seen him at the bar, that you'd gone to his house on Saturday morning and left again, not giving him any explanation as to why you hadn't shown up for your lesson. To him, it had just been complete radio silence.

With a shaky finger you press his name, heart pounding as the unanswered text messages flood your screen. First, the three you've already seen:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

You get home ok? Let me know x

Where are you?

And everything else:

???

Hey, I'm worried about you. Give me a call or a text ok?

Please call me.

I'm outta my mind over here baby. Please let me know you're alright.

I'm scared for you. Last I heard you were going out with your friend and then nothing since. Please call.

Just a text is all I need honey. I promise. If you're not feeling this anymore that's okay. Just wanna know you got home safe last night.

I'm so worried about you. I can't sleep. Please call me.

I don't know what to do angel. Can't stop thinking about you. Wish you were here in my arms. Please be safe.

Please.

The most recent text was sent this morning, around ten:

I'm so sorry. Words can't even describe how fucking ashamed and embarrassed I am. I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore, but I want to tell you everything, if you'll let me. I hope you're feeling okay today, angel. Drink lots of water, stay with Tasha. Text me whenever you're ready.

"Did you read these?" you ask Tasha softly, eyes unmoving from the last text, scanning the words over and over.

"No," she replies, "Just saw the notifications."

You scroll back up and read them again, and again, like you'll somehow be able to rewind time if you just keep reading them. You can't believe there's this many, can't believe that the man who'd been so distant the past week is the same man who sent you all of these.

The same man with a whole other life he never told you about.

"What do I do?" you whisper.

Tasha sighs, then carefully pulls herself up to lean against the headboard, crossing her legs and looking over at you, "What do you wanna do?"

You lock your phone again and sit up beside her, exhaling deeply, "I don't know."

You both sit there in silence for a few moments, lost in thought. You can't explain it but you feel nowhere near as betrayed or angry as you'd felt yesterday. Rage is no longer present - and neither is sadness. The only way you can describe how you feel is... relieved.

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," you state.

"He does."

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," somehow saying it again makes it feel more real, but the words still don't trigger any strong emotions. You sigh and look at Tasha, urging her to say something else.

"So, other than that, what's changed?" she asks.

You bite your lip and turn away from her again, shrugging your shoulders slowly, "I mean, that's... that's a lot."

"It is," she agrees softly, "It is a lot."

You swallow, fingers playing with the edge of your dress, reminding you that you're still wearing the same outfit from yesterday. God, you need a shower. You need to wash this entire experience off of you.

"You remember where we landed Friday night?" Tasha asks suddenly, "We talked about the possibility of him kissing someone else and we agreed that communication was the way to go, right?"

"That was before we knew he had a daughter and an ex wife, Tasha."

"Yeah, well... now we do know. And we know he's willing to talk to you about it," she twists her mouth in thought, "So do you wanna talk to him about it?"

"...I don't know."

She suddenly eases herself off the bed, stretching her arms above her head and yawning loudly. You watch as she assesses her pillow, grimaces at the dark makeup stains on the white cotton.

"I'm scared," you admit softly, avoiding her gaze.

"What are you scared of?"

You don't know how to answer that, biting your lip and sniffling a bit. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them and leaning your face into your warm skin.

"You're falling in love with him, aren't you?" she asks quietly, absolutely no judgement in her voice, "That's it, isn't it? You're really starting to fall and that's why you're scared."

You can't speak, unable to say anything because you know you'll burst into tears if you do. Instead, you nod your head slowly, up and down against your knees.

"Then you gotta talk to him, honey," she kneels down on the bed, places her hand on your shoulder soothingly, "You gotta hear what he has to say."

You groan, bringing your hands up to cover your face as you stretch out your legs again, turning on the bed and scooching downward to smoosh your face back into the pillow.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Tasha murmurs softly, "I feel disgusting."

"Welcome to the club," you mumble into the pillow.

You're vaguely aware of Tasha moving around you, grabbing things from the nightstand and puttering around the room as she gets ready for her shower. You sense her standing close to you for a bit longer than necessary, like she's just staring at you without really knowing what to say. With a roll of your eyes you turn to face her, and you catch the briefest moment that she places your phone back down on the nightstand.

Your brow furrows, "What are you doing with my phone?"

"Nothing," she says quickly, turning around and leaving the room without another word.

--

You fall back to sleep without meaning to, and when you wake again, it's only because you hear someone talking in the other room, someone with a deep voice. Tasha must be watching a movie. You curl in on yourself a bit, rubbing your eyes and wincing when you feel the makeup smudge across your face. You really should get up and shower.

You suddenly hear footsteps in the hallway, getting closer. But there's something different about them, something heavy in the way they sound against the floorboards.

The door opens and there's just silence for a few seconds, no movement. Then the footsteps return, closer now, slow and unsure.

You know it's him before his weight sinks into the bed.

Oh, Tasha. Of course you did.

You close your eyes as you feel his arms snake around you from behind. You allow him to pull you in close, feel his nose against the back of your neck, his scruff against your shoulder. He smells like his cologne, feels warm and solid against your back, the denim of his jeans brushing against your bare legs.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

You immediately turn within his embrace, coming face to face with the man who you've spent the past twenty four hours hating, being angry at, feeling betrayed by - he's looking at you with a tenderness you can't describe, lips downturned into a soft frown that says everything. He's upset. He's ashamed. He's sorry.

"Why did you kiss her?" you whisper.

He takes a breath, "We have this... arrangement," he murmurs, "We've had it for years. Whenever she's in town - which isn't very often, maybe once every three years or so - we sleep together. It's been goin' on for over twenty years now, it's just.. it's just what we do."

You nod slowly, eyes falling to his mouth and then back to his eyes, "But you didn't this time."

"We didn't," he breathes, "I swear to you, we didn't. We went back to my place, we... we were kissin'," he winces but doesn't close his eyes, keeping his gaze on you, "I.. I went to grab a condom out of my bedside table before things got heavy and I-" he cuts himself off, taking another breath.

"What?"

You watch as he reaches down into his pocket, fishes something out. He brings his hand up and extends his fingers, shows you what's sitting in the palm of his hand.

Your crucifix.

"I saw this," he breathes, "And all of a sudden, I just... I just knew I couldn't."

You stare at the gold cross, watch it glint in the sunlight still cascading through the windows. His breath hitches and your gaze goes back to his face, the lines and wrinkles and grey whiskers, his soft brown eyes and curved nose.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I don't expect you to, but I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry that I did."

He closes his fist around the crucifix again and slowly brings it downward to your own hand, urging you to open it. He slips the chain past your fingers, goes to pull his hand away, but you stop him. You grip his hand tightly, the cross digging into both of your palms.

"We never established anything," you whisper softly, "We... we've never said that we're anything. It's just been sex."

He doesn't say anything, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he waits for you to speak again. He's so handsome, so unreal in a way that doesn't make sense to you, and probably never will.

"I wanna be yours," you breathe, meeting his gaze, "I don't want you to be with anyone else."

He leans forward to gently brush his nose to yours, eyes closing as he breathes deeply, the tears spilling over onto his cheeks.

"Okay," he whispers.

You know there's more for him to explain, so many more details you don't have yet that you do want to know. But in this moment, you don't care about any of it. You just want him.

It doesn't take long for you both to be completely undressed, clothes tossed over the sides of the bed as your naked bodies press warmly up against each other, soft and eager. He presses kisses to your neck, breathes you in, runs his fingers through your hair as he hovers above you with absolute need in his eyes, a look you're sure mirrors your own.

He knows you're still not ready without you having to say it. Knows this isn't the right time. There's no need for any words of reassurance or any questions. He knows what you need. You know what he needs.

His cock moves firmly down against your tummy beneath the sheets, his shaft settling perfectly against your pussy, already wet and aching for him like it had been the second he walked into the room. He puts both hands above your head, leans down to kiss you as he drags himself up and down within your folds, up and down, up and down.

It feels incredible, just having the thick length of him rubbing back and forth against your clit, the wide head catching at your entrance every now and then, eliciting a deep groan from Joel and soft whimpers from you. You grip his back tightly, broad and firm and yours, fingertips digging into his skin as he fucks himself against you.

"Feels so good," you whisper in his ear, voice trembling with every thrust, "Feels so good, Joel."

"I know it does, babygirl," he whispers, kissing your ear and grinding himself against you even deeper, moving his hands down to grip your hips as his cock continues to slip back and forth against your folds, "You're so sensitive, aren't you? That big cock feels so good against your little pussy, hm?"

You nod frantically, arms moving up a bit to wrap around his neck, your cheek brushing against his.

"You want a bit of my cock inside your hole, baby?" he whispers softly, secretly, pushing your hair away from your face, "Huh? You want the tip, honey? Just a little bit?"

You don't even have to think.

"Yes," you moan, "Yes, please, put it in, please."

"Okay, baby," he murmurs, pulling back a bit to look down at the mess you're making together, reaching his hand down to position his cock at your entrance, "Just the tip, babygirl, I won't go any further than that. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," you breathe, and you absolutely mean it, looking up at him with what you're sure is a completely wrecked expression, "I want it, Joel. Please."

He places the head of his cock against your hole gently, very gently. Then he takes your hands from around his neck and holds them in his, presses them up against his chest as he looks deep into your eyes. You look back, gaze never leaving his as he slowly pushes himself inside you - just the tip.

You gasp.

"Shhh," he breathes, squeezing your hands and continuing to peer into your eyes, never breaking eye contact, "Shhh, you're okay," he murmurs, "You're okay, angel."

You lay completely still, lips parting and eyes going hazy as you focus all your energy on experiencing this moment, on feeling the way the head of Joel's cock feels inside of you. It's pulsing, warm and wide and big inside your pussy, throbbing against your walls.

It feels fucking amazing.

"Joel," you whimper, eyes still locked completely on his.

"You're mine," he breathes, jaw tense and eyes alight with something you can only describe as pure passion, "You hear me? You're the only one I want. Don't want anyone else, baby. Nobody."

You nod desperately, thighs shaking as the fat head of his cock pushes inside just a little more, making you squirm. He stills his hips, still holding your hands against his warm chest.

"Look at us," he murmurs, "Just look."

Your gaze finally unlocks from his, eyes trailing downward to where you're connected, where the thick length of his cock juts out from between your legs. You rise a bit on the bed, whimpering as you look down at exactly where he sits inside of you, wet and dark and filthy and fucking beautiful.

"You can take all of me," he whispers, "I know you can, babygirl. But not now, not here."

"I know," you breathe, swallowing and looking up at him again with tears filling your eyes.

He pulls himself out of you then, places his thick and throbbing shaft against your pussy again and begins to thrust, moving downward so he's pressed up tightly against you, your hands caught between each other's bodies, the crucifix still hanging between your fingers.

"I'm gonna take you away with me, okay?" he says, almost a whimper as he stares into your eyes again, intense and focused, "We're gonna go away and I'm gonna tell you everything you wanna know about me, alright? And I'm gonna fuck you, baby. I'm gonna fuck you so good."

You're nodding as he speaks, whimpers and whines flowing continuously from your mouth as you near closer and closer to your orgasm, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger.

"I'll fuck you in the bed, I'll fuck you in the shower, I'll fuck you on the fucking floor," he groans, eyes suddenly shutting and breaking the eye contact he'd managed to hold for so long, his face coming down to bury itself in your neck, "You're mine, angel, you're mine."

"I'm yours," you cry as your climax hits you, knocks the wind out of you as you start to shake beneath him, your hole fluttering against the length of him, "I'm yours, Joel, only yours."

You feel his come hit your stomach, painting your skin as he releases a deep groan into your ear and puts his entire body weight on top of you. You just close your eyes and feel him, exist in this moment for as long as you can, just listening to his breathing match your own as you both come down from your high.

He nuzzles his face against the heat of your neck, squeezes your hand in his between your bodies. The crucifix digs into your palm but you barely feel it.

"I want you to keep it," you whisper in his ear, and he doesn't have to ask what you're talking about, just presses a soft kiss to your neck and finally pulls back to peer down at you with total adoration.

"Okay," he murmurs with a soft smile, "I will."

[suguru-getos]

| Bully! Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Part 4 |

Part: 3 / 2 / 1

Summary: You had just transferred schools, and your first day was an encounter with your new bully. He’s mean, terrifically hot & absolutely a menace. Though there’s more to that personna.

Chapter Summary: After the cafeteria incident, Gojo denies to accept your money in halves, and your primal urges of snapping at him come out after suppressing them for weeks. He’s bored of being a bully because it’s not fun anymore. Why would you give him money like that? Jeez… 🙄

Warnings: Reader is mean and Satoru is mean T_T A/N: Can’t do more than 50 mentions in a post 😭 I’m sorry I will be adding the rest of yall in the comments in the next part. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. 🥰

Taglist: @mc-reborn @tvdumarvelhpsimp @alula394 @getoxmahito @knanamii @he4rts444mi @localginger22 @animeisforkings @ran6ia @creative1writings @lenaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @zoemaelol @shoutascoffeepot @whydohumansss @nyahctrl @a-trashbag @yoontaedotin @tojisworm-5 @mo0nforme @luciledreamz @camilo-uwu @sassyfoxunknown @bitchyinternetinfluencer @bakananya @mizzowizzo @k1y0yo @bl0odycutz @daidaiseam-blog @flirtyjen @jihyuniepark @stupiditystaar @lu-lynds @aymasakusa @creative1writings @roscpctals99 @eravariety @nanananananaiknow @b4tm4nn @milkm4nz @millimacis @bubera974 @ranhanabi777 @bleachisfood @thealphagirl @pinkprincessglitterzombie @tojisslxtt @chilichopsticks @deegausserr @tremendousdinosaurpizza @shittyhair234 @trisharay13 @luvvmae @tremendousdinasourpizza @stuckinaoaktree @ropickle @onlywaytobesane @mayumemehhh @lovernatashaa @rott3npoetry @ilovebattinson @qxdlx2 @herelegancy @megumisthirdog @k-sv @lyah17 @roscpctals99 @polarbvnny @eyes-ofhell @kazuahhh @theitchbbbb @millimacis @victoria1616

To be honest, your guts were excruciatingly high yesterday. You essentially ruined everything there is. All your efforts & hardwork to get rid of Gojo’s clutches in vain because you couldn’t control your mouth. After kicking the guy down in the cafeteria, you were called by Yaga and suspended. What else did you expect really? A freshmen kicking a senior? Nope. When Satoru does it you’re sure it wouldn’t have anyone bat a single eye to the ordeal. Another grumpy reminder that — you & the Honored one, are different. Satoru didn’t need to prove it himself.

Cowardice and your name are rhymes right now. All that classes for Taijutsu paid off to recover your leftover shred of dignity, however, you couldn’t fathom the expression in Gojo's face. He looked amused, impressed… weird. Satoru looks weird. He didn't respond when you told him to shove the money up his ass. Now you have to walk the talk. Staring at the wall, you try your best to think of a believable excuse to ask your mom for the sum of money. You check your savings, only 700 dollars. You should probably kill yourself. You can't really ask your mother about this… what were you thinking?

The thoughts are cut off by Satoru's blade like voice in your head. God you hate him so much. So much… if you were ever forgiven for a murder, it would be his. Your mind was tired with everything happening and you could feel the force in your heavy lids lulling you in bed. School next day…

You take your 700 dollars with you, you will tell the bastard that you will return the rest of the money tomorrow. Once you're outside Tokyo Tech, you take a deep breath. Walking inside and ready to be mauled. There he was, standing at the entrance and waving pathetically cheerfully. He loves making you suffer doesn't he? You grit your jaw, walking towards him. "Good morning, Gojo san." You could almost choke yourself for adding the honorific.

"Morning lil shit." He muses, leaning in closer to you until his breath fans over your face. "We were bein' a little too bratty yesterday." He muses, and your face lacks colour instantly. His eyes were launched at your frame without a care in the world. He likes making you suffer, doesn't he?

"So?" He clicks his tongue, smirking in his usual charming way, looking at you through his glasses. "Kneel down and apologize, and I'll forgive you. We can start again, no biggie. See? I have such a big heart." You bite your lip, he has no regards for your self-respect whatsoever.

You finally meet his eyes, gathering your courage to withstand his insults once again. "I have uhm, seven hundred dollars with me right now." Oh you look pathetic fiddling with your bag and giving him the cash you saved for your new laptop. "I will return the rest tomorrow." You sound determined, at least your mom wouldn't pay the full sum of it. It would be bearable.

"I can't shove it up my ass s' too less." Satoru laughs, clinging on to what you said to him. He almost feels sick now. This was unnecessarily dragged to the point of no return, he thought you would apologize and beg him to leave you alone, and he would. Then you'd see how amazing he is and why everyone is in love with him. Why girls wish they could go on a date with him pft- even if he talks to them, they feel grateful.

Here you were, holding a sum of money for the richest boy in school, in the city even. "I'll pay you the rest tomorrow." You managed to speak, and Satoru HATES this.

There is a difference between bullying and teasing and abuse. He crossed that line, not backing down because he hoped you would. You're the first one not to. He feels his chest tighten and a pinching in his throat as you hold his wrist, bringing it closer to you and putting the sum of money on his palm.

His baby-blues widen at that, and it feels like the money is practically burning his skin. It's a reflex with which he yanks his hand away. As if its burning him.

"I don't take half-payments." He managed to come up with that pathetic lie, growling and enraged, walking away.

What a fucking cunt… but hey; at least he didn't bother you for the rest of the day.

During the lunch time, you almost feel liberated that you don't have to report to him anymore. His problem he didn't accept the money. His fucking problem. You stood on your words, almost… you will give him the rest of the money tomorrow and be free of him for good. How amazing… how beautiful to imagine that.

Everyone fears him, everyone loves him. What kinda dude even. Maybe he doesn't have any real friends because he bought them all with money. Tsk…

You take your food and walk to the area where your classmates stood. You are like a walking marvel to them, someone who stood up to her senior and kicked his ass. What you don't know is Satoru Gojo ended all chances of revenge coming your way. What does it take? A simple: 'You have beef with her you have beef with me'.

Lunch is… peaceful, until you notice Satoru walking in the cafeteria, drinking Cola and with his pathetic group of friends. They can rot too.

You looked down, evading eye contact is the best way to avoid any unwanted conversations after all.

You were eating secluded, your only friend sitting beside you who doesn't mind being judged to be around you sitting next to you. "Uh oh, he's coming here." She hummed, getting nervous. You sighed, looking at her and holding her hand gently. "Thanks for your company, I can handle from here, I promise." You wouldn't let her be stomped by the Prince charming. She's been kind to you. "Are you sure?" She asked, and you nodded, patting her shoulder.

Before she could lift her plate, Satoru sat next to you. "I don't remember allowing anyone to leave? Did I?" he smiles, all childish, feigning a harmless look. "Sit. Down." He warns and she instantly sits down. You could feel her hands shiver. No, you wouldn't let her be dragged into this.

"What is it? Gojo san." You looked at him, making eye contact. "Just came to check if you had a spine." His hand lands on your nape, touching and probing the spine bone peeking out. "You do, no?"

You shudder, leaning away a little only to have him hold your neck and pull you close, whispering gravely, "If you haven't paid me back then you can't run off from your job, Pet."

You snarled at that nickname again. "I told you to take the fucking money today and tomorrow." Struggling gravely and looking at him like a wounded lion. He's wounded your pride, your self-respect.

"And I said, I do not pick up pennies. Until then, you do what I say." He chuckled, "Or you're dumb and lack common sense?"

It's been weeks. Literal weeks and you're at your breaking point. Frustration bubbles in your eyes and they gloss up. You don't want this jerk to see you like this. Fucking hell you don't!

"What did I even do to you I don't understand…" You mumble, watching him lean his hand away.

At this point things have been too rotten, and Satoru hates to admit but he just wants to hang out. He can't admit that now after raining hell on you and he's too prideful to. It's not fun anymore, it stopped being fun the moment he asked you to fetch ice-cream and the moment you looked at him with 'expected' eyes when he pulled that stunt in the cafeteria.

"You've been a bitch that's all." He shrugs, looking away. His tone surprisingly tender. "Maybe if you can apologize for being one instead of all this drama and cryin' and victim bla-"

A loud smack echoed through the hall, and Gojo's cheeks had your handprint crisp and clear. "I'm fucking sorry I wouldn't suck your cock and wag my tail around you pathetically." Oh you're losing all of the carefully supressed rage, your patience waning off to nothing. You've been supressing and supressing and supressing…. and now it's erupting out. Dangerously.

Tears fall from your eyes as you look at him, "I hate you so much I wish you could just fucking die! Not everyone's as rich as you ASSHOLE! MY MOM WOULD FREAK THE FUCK OUT AND CALL ME A USELESS PIECE OF SHIT FOR BORROWING MONEY ON RUINING SOMEONE'S HIGH CLASS SHIRT! Not everyone's born with a silver spoon!" People look at you and Satoru both judgementally. You know things have sprung out of hand. "You fuckin- GO! GO AND ASK MY MOTHER AND MY FATHER AND MY BROTHER AND EVERYONE IN MY LAST NAME TO PAY MISTER GOJO SATORU BACK BECAUSE HIS SHIRT GOT RUINED AND HE DIDN'T GET AN APOLOGETIC COCKSUCKING BITCH IN RETURN!!"

Before your senses could take over, you took your bottle and put it on his hair, drenching him. You can't let Karma take care of him, you are Karma.

Satoru only stays silent and Suguru snorts from the sidelines. In a weird, sadistically twisted way, he likes what happened. You just removed some of his guilt with this.

"R-right.." He hummed, "Okay so…" He stood up, extending an arm. "Now that we're even. I think we are…. let's restart. Nyeh?"

"Gojo Satoru." He extends his hand, as if he is introducing himself for the first time ever. Your eyes will fall off your fucking sockets and you will die of an awkward mouth-agape heart failure.

What the fuck was wrong with this dude?

"ROT IN HELL!"

[wttcsms]

if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | TWO

ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn’t get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn’t just a pro soccer player, but also your ex’s rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )

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pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 5.9k chapter synopsis the busier your schedule, the less time you can spend thinking about rin. the only problem is, you see something you can't unsee. nothing a bottle of tequila can't fix, right? (spoiler: tequila isn't fixing a broken heart) chapter contains partying and drinking to cope, diet culture author’s notes i have nothing to insightful to add rn, but send me any asks discussing this fic and i will have a lot to say LOL

From: fumiko.gima@apextalentgroup.com To: [USER EMAIL HIDDEN] Cc: wfitch@everlanefitch.com, mai.sasaki@apextalentgroup.com, hideakitakeda@titansecuritysolutions.com, benji1968@gmail.com + 3 others Subject: 6/19 — [NAME] [SURNAME] AGENDA Attachments: 📎 [6.19 AGENDA.pdf]

All — 

Attached is the PDF copy of [Name]’s itinerary for today. Reminder that these times are STRICT. Stay on schedule. 

Fumiko Gima

Get Outlook for IOS 

Your first alarm goes off at 4:50 AM to what you assume is the noise they play on repeat in hell (By the Seaside, an Apple classic). After waking up, you roll over in your king size bed (the problem with always choosing to go big instead of just going home is the fact that when you’re all alone, the luxury of extra space just becomes empty space) to promptly hit the snooze button. You’ll allow yourself five more minutes of sleep (as a treat). When the second alarm you set up goes off at 4:53 AM (By the Seaside, once again), you scream into your pillow, and shut it off for real this time. You knew you weren’t going to give yourself the full five minutes, but it felt really good to trick yourself into believing that you would. You always start the day with this tiny disappointment; that way, no one has the privilege of being the first person to piss you off. 

At 4:54 AM, you slide your feet into your Ugg slippers, readjust the loose straps of your silk camisole, and shuffle into your marble-floored bathroom. You rub the sleep from your eyes, brush your teeth with your pink electric toothbrush, and wash your face. By the time you’re done with your morning skincare, it’s 5:06 AM. You honestly can’t remember the last time you did your own makeup, but you bring your makeup bag with you anyway. If there’s downtime between shoots, you’ll post a faux-GRWM TikTok where you apply three miniscule dots of concealer on your seemingly already flawless skin and add a fresh layer of the brand new, limited edition Rhode peptide lip treatment that Hailey Bieber’s team gifted you. They also gave you twenty grand to do so, with a personal “hey girlie, would love to catch up with you one of these days!! life has been so hectic, sorry for not keeping in touch x btw, i just came out with a new shade of my…” text from Hailey herself. (You replied back with a “yessss, we need to meet up soon!! Also, LOVE LOVE LOVE the new shade omg 😍” — neither of you have any intention for planning a meet-up, and you don’t “LOVE LOVE LOVE” the new shade as much as you “LOVE LOVE LOVE” to deposit a fat check.) 

You’re sliding into the backseat of the glossy black SUV parked in front of your driveway at 5:14 AM. Your chauffeur, Benji, holds open the door for you. 

“Good morning, Ms. [Surname],” Benji never drops the formalities with you, except for when he’s lecturing you. Thank God he doesn’t own a smartphone; if he saw half the things Daily Mail wrote about you, his voice would be gone from scolding you so much. Even if he’s technically on your parents’ payroll and is paid to make sure you get to and from places safely, it still feels nice to have someone who cares about you enough to call you out on your shit. 

The first stop is an exclusive, members-only pilates studio. If you’re home, you have to work out in the morning, no matter what. You like your routine. Out of all the things online magazines put out about you, it’s kind of embarrassing how the most accurate one is revealing how you stay “fit ‘n flawless even after going out every night.” Most people didn’t believe it. Rin got it, though. Rin would actually work out with you, when the two of your schedules aligned, and— Time to start your workout early! Nothing takes your mind off of matters more than focusing on the burn of your core and arms. 

By the time you finish your private session, you’re walking out the studio with your puffy tote bag slung over your shoulders. Your body is still a bit damp from taking a quick shower but not drying off properly, and Benji drops you off at your first business stop of the day — ELLE Japan.

You smile brightly as the team of makeup artists surrounding you shower you with compliments. One of the girls brushing on your foundation tells you that you have really nice skin. When she goes in for a second layer, you almost consider rescinding the thanks you gave her.

The set is hectic, as expected. No matter how long these people have been in the industry, no matter how big the host is, something always seems to be going wrong. Apparently, there’s been a mishap over in wardrobe, and ELLE’s people are not very happy with how this is going to delay everything. With your hair and makeup done, there’s nothing for you to do besides sit down, be quiet, and look pretty. 

Downtime is the last thing you want. You’re used to a busy schedule, but you convinced Fumiko to accept as many projects as possible. If you have to rank at the top of the list for celebrities who emit the most CO2, then so be it. You’ll pollute the whole damn planet if it means you won’t have a single second to be alone with your thoughts. 

At 9:00 AM sharp, you go on your phone to inform your manager that the agenda is fucked. ELLE Japan is definitely going to push back this session with you for at least a good hour, which means Fumiko is going to have to explain to Your Style (the YouTube channel name for a famous fashion commentator who’s amassed nearly twenty million subscribers) why you’re going to be late for the Zoom debrief on what you two are going to talk about in an upcoming video. At 9:02 AM, you receive a text.

juli ᡣ𐭩: u know i love u 

It’s two in the morning in Paris. When Juliette said she was going to visit her father, she said it was going to be a much-needed vacation — just something chill and lowkey, like going to all the designer stores and eating croissants on a balcony. Those were her exact words. 

juli ᡣ𐭩: [photo attachment] 

Somehow, from the neon strobe lights, bodies pressed against one another’s, and the way the image is blurry because she couldn’t get her phone to focus, it feels like Juliette’s “something chill and lowkey” morphed into club-hopping all over France. You roll your eyes with affection. You should’ve known her vacation was going to turn into this; as if Juliette would eat bread for pleasure — she’s been quoted for claiming that carbs are a necessary evil. She probably hasn’t even touched a croissant for the past week she’s been there.

juli ᡣ𐭩: showing u before TMZ posts it juli ᡣ𐭩: [video attachment] juli ᡣ𐭩: do not freak out. not worth it. juli ᡣ𐭩: ugh i knew this club sucked ass for a reason 

You wait for the video to load. It’s almost as blurry and unfocused as the original image she sent, but you can tell she had to zoom in pretty hard to capture what she wanted. It’s two figures with a minimal amount of space between them. One of them is definitely a girl; she has the build of the usual French models. A thin, leggy brunette who has mastered the intricate art of Just Had Sex hair. Perfectly messy, but could never be considered sloppy. She’s wearing a sparkly, tight minidress. The fabric shimmers when the strobe lights pass by her body. The person she’s practically pressed up against is a man. Tall, lean. He’s leaning down, presumably so he can hear her better. When the video clip ends abruptly (someone bumped into Juliette, and the video ends with shaky footage and a loud “putain!”), you replay it. And replay it. And then you play it again, just for good measure.

Each time you watch the stupid video, you find something new to notice. Her red lips brushing against his ear. The way his hand hovers near her hip. The way you’re certain she’s smiling when she speaks, like the smirk of a victor. The exact same self-satisfied, smug grin you sport whenever you get a guy right where you want him. Upon every rewatch, though, one thing remains the same: you’re constantly fixated on him.

Right now, it’s two in the morning in Paris. You know that when you weren’t in this fucked up headspace you’re in right now, you’d be in bed, snuggled underneath your blankets, by 11:30 PM. You know that when you felt your best, you could be in bed, whispering in the dark to the person you felt safest with, at 10:00 PM (at the latest, because you both would have a busy day ahead and needed the rest). He likes sleeping early because he likes being well-rested. 

So why the hell is Rin Itoshi at a club right now?

At 9:39 AM, ELLE Japan gets right back on track. Before your editorial shoot for a special anniversary edition of the magazine, they get you to sit down to do a video interview that they plan on posting all over their social media. 

“This is a very special edition that will be coming out, and you are not only having the biggest spread dedicated to you, but you’re also going to be on the cover. Knowing this, how are you feeling right now, [Name]? This might be the most high-profile photoshoot you’ve done so far in your career, and that’s saying something. You have quite the impressive resume.” 

The ring lights are shining directly in your eye. The stool they have you sitting on for this interview is uncomfortable, and you have to focus on remaining balanced. Your back is perfectly straight, and your hands are folded in your lap. You blink, and you see the video playing in your mind. You have God knows how much makeup caked on right now, and you still have a long day ahead of you. Rin is at a club right now. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl, and they’re basically grinding against each other, and he might just have forgotten all about you.

You smile brightly. At 9:40 AM in Japan, you let everyone know, 

“I honestly think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been before in my life! This is a great way to establish a sort of, I guess, new era of my life and my career.” 

You turn to face the camera directly, giving them a dazzling view of your pearly whites. “Not trying to rush the process or anything, but I am definitely looking forward to seeing how this will all play out in the future.” 

You’re operating on autopilot for the rest of the day. The ELLE shoot wraps up close to noon. You forgo lunch, but knowing you and your tendency to skip meals, Benji refuses to start the car until you eat the lunch his wife packed for you. It’s light and refreshing — they want you to eat well, but they’re not cruel. Even if they want to bring you a feast of a nice, hot, home cooked meal, you’ll eat it out of obligation and then suffer the consequences on set when everyone asks why you’re so bloated. You don’t even taste what you’re consuming. 

At 12:30 PM, you hop on the Zoom call and pretend to care about discussing matters such as the lack of personal style affecting the younger generations. Every topic is a trivial topic to you. The only thing worth dissecting is that damn video. You should’ve asked those twenty million subscribers to help you analyze that, instead of nodding along when the YouTuber starts going on a rant about how Shein and other fast fashion brands are ruining everything. 

Late in the afternoon, you get another text. 

kenyu: So the team wants to host a belated birthday party for me lmao. Team’s planning on having it at 10 tonight kenyu: Sending you the address right now

A party is exactly what you need right now. Endless drinks, no need for rational thinking, and you’ll be (mostly) surrounded by people who think models are all vain and vapid. No one there is going to expect a decent conversation from you, and with the state you’re in, it’s a wonder how all your sentences are even making sense. 

You give Kenyu’s next message a like in response. You were expecting a club, but when you click on the address, Maps reveals that it’s residential. Rin is gallivanting around European nightclubs, and meanwhile, the best you can do are house parties. This is how the future is playing out? 

At least even at your worst, people still think you’re on top of the world. 

Maybe life without a man dragging you down and invading your space is for the best. After all, once you got done with all your professional obligations, it’s only eight at night. You’re used to going out with whatever makeup they did for you on set at your last shoot of the day, which is a shame. You have shelves full of makeup that’s been sent to you by different brands, and one of these nights, you plan on just messing around at your vanity. 

You like living alone, you decide. You can leave all the lights on if you want, and no one complains about it hurting their eyes. You have full control of the thermostat. You don’t have to fight for counter space in the bathroom. Plus, no one can see how you’re living. 

At 9:13 PM, you’re sprawled on the cool marble floor of your bathroom (squeaky clean thanks to the housekeeper you have come once a week), and instead of rewatching that dreadful video and subsequently crying, you had a quick retail therapy session. Your new Prada heels should be coming within the next two days. 

You don’t get Benji to drive you. Nobody bats an eye at a rich girl having a driver, but it does seem kind of weird to have him drop you off at a party as if you're a tween girl getting taken to the mall. If the house is owned by one of Yukimiya’s teammates, surely it won’t be too awkward if you had to leave it there because you got too drunk to drive yourself back home? 

Because — no offense to Yuki, you’re happy he’s getting another birthday celebration — the whole point of even going to this party is to get fucked up. You already know that Juliette had a point — if not TMZ, then at least Daily Mail will be all over Rin and that girl in the club. If that gets leaked, then you might as well have your own headline to combat his. Sure, lately you’ve been out partying, but that was with other models so it doesn’t raise too many eyebrows. Rin being caught at a club is basically him hard launching the breakup. You need to raise some speculation on your side of things, too. 

you: can you get someone to pick up my car from this address tomorrow morning? you: please :) 

When you see three dots appear, you smile for real. You can practically hear her sigh and see the shake of her head.

Fumiko Gima: Yes. Fumiko Gima: Be safe.

Aw, maybe your manager does have a heart. Right before you can send her a heart, she adds:

Fumiko Gima: Don’t stay out too late. You have your first shoot at 8 AM. 

This is the message you give a heart reaction to. Maybe everything really is just business with her. 

You suppose you can’t fault Fumiko for always seeming cold. She’s your manager, not your best friend. 

In this industry, her honesty is refreshing. You normally find this to be the case, but you really feel it now when you step into the mansion and hear a cacophony of laughter swarming you from all sides. At every turn, there’s a celebrity with a drink in hand. Everyone’s leaning towards each other, as if they’re so captivated with the other’s words. 

You see an actor leading a stumbling model up the spiral staircase. To your side, you see a baseball player chatting up the daughter of one of the baseball league’s board members. Upstairs, someone’s probably snorting a line off Yukimiya’s teammate’s bathroom counter. There are only three reasons why people in your social circle attend these parties: to get fucked, to get fucked up, or to make business deals. Considering the fact that you’ve been here for nearly five minutes and have yet to see a birthday cake — or the belated birthday boy himself — you’re pretty sure everyone here has lot the damn plot for the original celebration.

When you venture some more, you end up in the massive backyard. Some people are drunkenly making out in the pool, some people are watching them, and in a table in the corner, you spot a group of girls giggling and cheering as they all do shots. Perfect. This is exactly where you need to be. 

One’s a model; you’ve seen her on a couple pages you flipped through in Harper’s Bazaar. You go up to the table and give her a bright smile.

“Hey, girl! Or should I say Miss Bazaar?” You greet her like how you think people would tease a friend. She’s not your friend; you don’t even know her name. You know she knows your name — everyone here does. And it’s because of the fact that everyone knows you that she lights up when she realizes you’re speaking to her. 

A photo op with you guarantees that even if the headline coming out tomorrow is centered on you, she’ll still be in the frame. Daily Mail will add a caption naming everybody from left to right, and she’s planning on being the one captured right next to you. 

“[Name]!” She squeals, giving you a quick side hug. “How have you been?”

All your friends, the grand total of exactly two people, know how you’ve been. You grin, pointing to the bottle of tequila they have on their table. 

“After how this day has been, I honestly just need a shot.” You play it off like a joke, and as someone pours you one, you add, “Or maybe like five.” They all giggle before throwing back the tequila straight. They might think you’re joking, but this table full of strangers are the first people you’ve been honest with all day. 

At 12:15 AM, they aren’t strangers anymore. In fact, you think they might be your best friends in the whole world. You don’t know the lyrics to the rap song blaring through the bass boosted speakers, but you’re laughing as you take another shot. The Harper’s Bazaar girl is doing another shot with you, but she has her phone in her other hand. She makes sure that the both of you are in the frame together, and a second later, she’s tagging you in an Instagram story you don’t bother to view. You’re not even following her. 

“Okay, so out of all the guys here, who looks the most fuckable?” One of the girls leans on the table for support as she asks this question. You can’t help but notice how glittery her lipgloss is. Wow, even after all the shots she’s taken, there’s no transfer. Impressive. “I say Theo Sachs.” 

“Who the fuck is Theo Sachs?” Harper’s Bazaar asks, and the whole entire table giggles. Honestly, at parties like these, laughing comes easy. In fact, you’re giggling right with them, even though you also have no fucking clue who Theo is. There’s just something so freeing in tequila-induced joy. 

“Um, the host of this party?” Glittery Lipgloss says. “Oh my God, girl, he’s like, one of the players for Bastard.” 

“The fuck is Bastard?” Another girl asks, adjusting her blue minidress. 

“The soccer team!” Glittery Lipgloss is too drunk to be fed up, but you’re sure she would be rolling her eyes if she could. 

“I didn’t know we had soccer players here. I only saw baseball players.” Blue Minidress frowns, before adding, “I would totally fuck one of the baseball boys, though. No preference whatsoever. Matter of fact, I could take the whole team.” 

Harper’s Bazaar laughs. “What about you, [Name]? Who are you taking home tonight?” 

Before you can think of something to say, Glittery Lipgloss groans. “Oh my God, she has a boyfriend.” She looks at you for confirmation. You don’t give her any, but thankfully Blue Minidress has her own insight to add to this conversation. 

“So what the fuck does that have to do with her question? [Name], who are you taking home tonight?” 

Nobody. Out of every party you’ve gone to this past month, you went back home, completely and utterly alone each and every time. It’s not even because nobody offered — they have — but because no matter how lonely you may get or feel, you don’t like strangers in your space. It took you three months of dating Rin to let him into the penthouse you were originally staying in, and that was with you being in love with him. 

Once again, you’re saved from answering when someone behind you goes, “[Name]?” 

You turn around, only to come face to face with Yoichi Isagi. On second thought, maybe this isn’t the rescue you thought it was. Drunk You can’t hold back your frown when you see him. He’s wearing a dark blue polo shirt and chinos. He looks perfectly business casual and could pass off as an off-the-clock investment banker instead of the world class athlete you’ve heard he is. Then you let out a little snort of laughter, which only makes him look more confused. You don’t want to tell him that it’s kind of funny how normal he looks. 

Not in a bad way. You’re surrounded by models for practically the whole day. Looking unattainably hot or having ethereal beauty is the one non-negotiable job requirement. Even Rin, with his stupidly long lower lashes and impossibly high cheekbones and his pretty boy resting sulking face, is serving standards some male models can’t achieve. Isagi looks like the type of guy you would have a crush on if the two of you were completely normal and attended regular high school together. 

But that’s not the reality you’re living in. Right now, you’re getting drunk with girls you don’t know, and every night, you’re making headlines. He’s a professional athlete that everyone at this table would gladly fuck just for a chance to be declared social media’s favorite WAG of the Week. The both of you could have your pick of anyone at this party, but you refuse to let anyone in, and you think Isagi might be one of those intense athletes who only care about their sport.

If that’s the case, he’s doing every girl a favor by not pretending he can commit to anything but soccer. You know someone who could use a few pointers. 

“Hi,” you mumble, and then you want to slap yourself because why the fuck are you acting like you’re nervous? But for some reason, you feel like you're a kid caught with their grimy hand in the cookie jar, like you’re doing something wrong.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

“Well, it’s Kenny’s birthday party. Of course, I’d be here.” You cross your arms against your chest, feeling like you have something to prove. Before Yukimiya became his teammate, Kenyu was your friend first. Like, real friend, not just someone you leave supportive comments on their Instagram post type of friend. 

Isagi actually smiles when he hears that. “Funny. I think everyone but Yukimiya actually wants to be here.” 

You sober up a bit when you hear that. “Yeah, I couldn’t find him anywhere.” Not that you looked very hard. The minute you found this table of girls, you didn’t bother exploring the rest of the mansion. 

“He was upstairs with some of the guys. You know that he, uh, doesn’t really like these types of parties.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You don’t seem like the type to like these parties either.” If he was anyone else, you’d be saying this to flirt. You’re honestly not sure what your intention behind this comment was, either. You’re too drunk to decide if you wanted it to be an insult (some way to defend Yukimiya’s behavior?) or just you trying to make conversation for once (you’re not normally one for small talk). 

“Caught me.” Isagi smiles easily. From now and thinking back to Yukimiya’s birthday lunch, Isagi is rarely not smiling. You wonder if he means it. Surrounded by people who only let you drink with them because being seen with you elevates their own status, you decide that the answer to that is a probably not. “I was about to head out before I thought I saw you, and I wanted to come by and…” For a second, he pauses to choose the right words to say. “Just wanted to see if it really was you.”

“Well, you saw me. Guess your business is done here.” Then you swiftly turn your back to him, as if to abruptly end the conversation. Instead, you’re drunker than you realize, and your heel ends up being wedged deeper into the grass than you expected, and you lose your balance. You think you might fall, which would be so embarrassing, but maybe not as embarrassing as what actually ends up happening.

What actually ends up happening is that Isagi is quick to wrap his arm around your abdomen, pulling you close to him as he attempts to keep you steady and upright. The girls looked shocked, but then they burst into another round of giggles, and since you’re not joining in the laughter, all you can think about is how annoying they are. You squirm around in his grasp, ignoring the whiff of fresh laundry you get from being all up in his personal space (not by choice!!!; he’s the one that pulled you in, after all!), and he releases you. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks you. It’s hard to glare at him when he looks so genuinely concerned. 

“Never better.” 

“Do you have a ride home?” 

What does it matter to you? Is what you want to say. 

“I’ll call an Uber.” You lie, hoping that this will end the conversation once and for all. Seriously, Isagi just killed the whole vibe of the party for you. You want to go back to drinking. 

“But I thought you didn’t do Ubers.” When Isagi calls you out on your bullshit, you soften momentarily. You almost forgot that he heard about your weird thing of having strangers know your home address. Then, you go back to giving him the cold shoulder. Sometimes, it’s a warm and gooey feeling to be known. Right now, you want to drown your sorrows in tequila and be showered with fake affection by girls who probably don’t even like you sober. You didn’t come to this party to be known. You came here for revenge. 

(You’re not going to acknowledge how drinking your sadness away isn’t necessarily showing up Rin, but for nearly an hour straight, you hadn’t thought about him, and that’s good enough.) 

When you have no response to that (wit doesn’t come easy when you’re in the condition you’re in right now), Isagi looks at you imploringly. 

“Let me take you home.” 

You shake your head childishly, almost saying nuh-uh. “Just because you don’t like this party doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m staying right here.” 

He finally frowns. “Fine. I’ll wait for you to finish up here, then I’ll take you home.”

“I’m with my friends right now. Leave me alone.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Which friend is going to make sure you get home safely? Yukimiya already left early.” Despite the two of you not knowing what the other is thinking, you both give wry smiles about that statement for the same reason. The party is still going on strong, despite the guest of honor not wanting to show his face and leaving early. 

“These are my best friends.” You gesture to the trio of girls you know nothing about, besides the fact that they can keep up with your drinking habits. They all smile at Isagi, who waves back before turning his attention back to you.

“Really?” He asks. “What’re their names again?”

No one has anything to say to that, especially you. When the silence gets too awkward, Isagi clears his throat and also puts his foot down.

“I’m taking you home, [Name].” 

You look at the trio of strangers you just spent hours with. Harper’s Bazaar shrugs, and the other two look away. The sting of not knowing who they are, despite them obviously having enough notoriety to be invited, makes your “best friends” not your friends anymore. Whatever. 

“Fine.” You grumble, following Isagi to his car. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” Is what he asks you as he signals to make a turn. The clicking of the turn signal is the only thing that fills the silence in the car. 

No. 

Sometimes, it’s fun in the moment, but that’s only when you’re drunk enough to trick yourself into thinking you’re having a good time. You’re more like Yukimiya (and — gross — Isagi) than they know; the whole “It Girl dominates the party scene” vibe you’ve got going on… It’s just bullshit that your PR team mixes together to get people talking. The high of being adored by everyone in a room vanishes almost immediately the minute you go home and wash off your makeup. In the bright lights of your bathroom, you stare at the sad, lonely girl in the mirror. It’s too dark outside for you to see anything out the window, but you lean your head against the cool glass, and before you know it, you’re waking up…

To Isagi groping you?

You’re groggy and confused and trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes, but Yoichi Isagi is definitely all up on you. You’re shocked, honestly. He looks like such a sweet guy! No wonder he was so pushy in getting you home.

He’s holding you in some awkward side hug, and he’s patting down your waist, trying to slip his fingers through the fabric of your dress, and finally, because he must be a novice-level pervert who doesn’t know the first thing about female anatomy, you speak up. 

“Gross! You can’t even feel up a girl properly! No wonder you take advantage of drunk, vulnerable girls!” 

“Ah!” He jerks back, shocked that you’re awake. Serves the pervert right. He should be backing up. You took a month of kickboxing classes (your modeling agency thought it would be the next big thing, since all the Victoria Secret models kickbox — they were wrong). “I-I wasn’t feeling you up!” 

“Then why were your hands all over me?” 

“I was looking for your key! You were asleep, and you looked like you needed it, so I just carried you to your door, but it’s locked.”

Oh. Likely story. You’re not letting him off the hook just yet. 

“Obviously my front door would be locked, dumbass. Who doesn’t lock their house?” You point to the perfectly trimmed hedges by your door. “Key’s in the bushes.”

Since you’re making no moves to get down on your knees and rifle through the bushes, Isagi sighs and does it himself. When he holds up the key, you nod in thanks, take it, and then proceed to unlock the door using your fingerprint. 

He blinks. “What?” 

“What?” You repeat back, innocently. 

“You didn’t even need the key to unlock the door!”

“Yes, Isagi. Modern technology is something, isn’t it?” And because you feel kind of bad, you offer him the chance to wash up before driving back. 

“You’re really something, you know that?” Isagi says from the kitchen sink. You’re sitting on a stool by the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s nothing bad.” He clarifies. “It’s just… Rin’s a pretty private person. We always wondered what his girlfriend must be like. Sorry.” He shuts off the faucet, dries his hands. “Ex-girlfriend, I guess.”

“How do you know that?” You’ve been racking your brain, wondering if Yuki spilled your secret accidentally. Or — even worse — Rin himself confirmed it. Rin never even told anyone explicitly that the two of you were dating, so it’s not plausible that he would go blab about the breakup. 

“Well, I didn’t really know for sure until I drove you home that first time.” He admits. “I just thought you made a weird face when I mentioned Rin during lunch, and then you started acting funny afterwards. Just had a hunch, that’s all.” 

Great. So, Isagi, who’s basically a stranger to you, could read you to filth. Is there anyone else that you haven’t been fooling? How embarrassing. Being perceived sucks. 

You don’t say anything else. You can hear Isagi mumbling about something, and you make a half-hearted noise in reply, but you’re sleepy and drunk and coming to the realization that you can’t keep fooling everyone around for long. There’s no point in dancing around the topic of your breakup. It’s getting tiring, anyway. 

It is pretty exhausting to be pining after someone who’s not coming back. 

Because that’s why you’re trying so hard to keep the breakup a secret. Partly for pride, but mostly because… You’re hoping that after learning everything there is to know about you, Rin Itoshi wouldn’t go so far to cut you so deeply by leaving you. Right? He understood your level of loneliness like no one else, and he related to it. For the first time in both of your lives, the two of you suddenly found the right person to fill in all the empty spaces. 

And then he left, and the emptiness just continues to grow in infinite amounts.

You groan as you move around, only to find that you’re moving on top of your bed. You’re tucked into your sheets, and your hair is splayed across your pillow. You turn your head and see a shadowy figure exiting out your bedroom door.

“You’re leaving, too?” 

Your throat is dry, and the words come out small. You hate this feeling of hopelessness and vulnerability, and the figure pauses in his steps. 

He hushes you gently. “You should go to sleep. You’ve had a long night.” 

“Fine. Don’t stay. I don’t care.” You burrow yourself further into your blankets. 

“Do you really want me to stay?” 

At one in the morning, covered in the darkness of your bedroom, you turn every shadow into Rin Itoshi. You don’t know what you mumble in response, but you know that whatever you said, it’s directed towards him.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Beach Daddy VI. One Last Time

bfd!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 13,941

summary: you find yourself in Joel's arms once more, torn between the love you share and the dreams that pull you apart.

warnings: 18+, age gap, finally finally unprotected p in v, some cute stuff goin on here, uses of the names darlin and babygirl, this involved a lot of me going "ahhhh" and "whyyy" and then "yesss" I didn't leave you with a mean cliffhanger this time.

notes: thank you to everyone for your love on this fic, I truly never thought this would be as loved as it is <3 I can't thank you guys enough for your support and the likes, comments and reblogs. Truly you guys have made this that much more fun to write. AND thank you to everyone who has been so so patient with me as I finished this chapter. I only have one hand to type at the moment so this took 50 years. ty @saradika-graphics as always for the divider

Why don't you stay with me, share all your secrets tonight

We can make believe the morning sun never will rise

Come and lay you're head on this big brass bed. We'll be all right as long as you stay with me

YOU.

The dark sky seems even darker through the tinted windows of the black car that Joel has sent to pick you up. He sounds urgent on the phone; when you tell him that you need to talk, he tells you that you have a lot to discuss, but he doesn't want to talk over the phone.  Eventually, you agree to have his driver pick you up and take you to his penthouse. Secretly, you're glad that he suggested meeting in person. You don't want to go over everything and why you left without saying goodbye, with your two roommates listening to every word of your conversation. Lin acts as though your life is more interesting than all of the reality TV shows she binge-watches every weekend.

The car is just as luxurious as you should have expected after seeing all of the amenities that the Miller family is used to, but you're still surprised at how supple the leather seats are as you slide across them for your long ride across New York. It's nice to spend the drive relaxed and not on the edge of your seat, afraid the cab driver is going to hit a pedestrian trying desperately to cross the street. You remind yourself not to get comfortable with this type of luxury; it's not going to last.

“Is there anything I can do for you to make the drive more comfortable, Miss?" Joel's driver calls back from the front seat.

“No, everything is perfect, thank you," you answer.

“There are snacks and beverages stocked for you if you change your mind."

There's sparkling water in the cupholder next to you, mysteriously maintained at the perfect temperature. You crack the seal and let the bubbles tickle your throat as you watch the skyscrapers pass by your window. You should have guessed that Joel's penthouse would be on the Upper East Side, but you can't help but stare at the buildings and how extravagant everything seems compared to your dumpy little neighborhood. The driver pulls to a stop in front of a tall building and gets out to open your door for you.

The night sky is littered with stars, which are muted by the bright lights of Joel's building. A doorman dressed in a uniform opens the front door for you and escorts you to the elevator, where he presses the button for the penthouse and backs out with a lift of his hat. You ride the elevator in silence, your heart beating increasingly faster as you pass each floor with a ding of the elevator. You can't help but wonder if Joel is angry with you for leaving the Bahamas without so much as a word. You hope it hasn't hurt him, but after your fight with Sarah, you couldn't stay, and you knew that Joel and you could never have a future together, especially when his only daughter hated you. Worst of all was the reason you were at his home in the first place. You couldn't let him risk his reputation for you. That photographer didn't need to have the opportunity to take more pictures of you together. You're convinced you're not worth the risk. The elevator stops at the top floor, and the doors slowly slide open to reveal Joel's front entry, a set of floor-to-ceiling glazed glass doors. You ring the small buzzer, and a few seconds later, Joel's unmistakable form approaches the glass.

“Darlin'," Joel says with a warm smile as he slides the door open to reveal his face.

You're relieved to be greeted so warmly. You had told yourself over and over again on the ride over that you couldn't pursue anything with Joel, but as soon as you see him, you have to fight to suppress your feelings for the man. “Joel, it's nice to see you again. Thank you so much for sending a car, although you really didn't have to."

“I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to," Joel says, reaching out his hand to you.

After a slight hesitation, you take it, and he leads you into his penthouse. The interior is decorated in a modern style with sleek lines and crisp edges, giving the entire space a clean and wealthy feel. A large statement dining room table takes up a large portion of the space.

It's glowing from the tiny flames of tealight candles spanning the entire length of the table. The light flickering off all of the surfaces adds a subtle softness to the sharp lines of the room. Joel pulls out a chair for you.

“I don't know if you've eaten, but I had my chef prepare a little something before he left for the night."

“I can always eat," you say with a small smile of thanks before he disappears into the kitchen.

He returns with two artful plates of filet mignon and asparagus spears. He sets a plate in front of you and the other in front of the chair directly across from you. He pours a generous glass of wine for each of you before taking his seat.

“This is absolutely beautiful," you say as you glance around the room.

“It is, isn't it?" Joel says looking around the room, too, before continuing. "Honestly, I tend to forget how nice this place is. Typically, when I'm in New York, I get so wrapped up in work that I forget to enjoy it."

“Well, you should slow down more often," you say, not exactly sure how friendly to be with the man you'd almost slept with and then ghosted.

“Well then, to more happy nights," Joel says, raising his glass to you.

You sigh, not picking up your glass to meet his. “Joel, don't you think we should talk about the photographer? We can't act as if nothing happened."

Joel sighs, too, and sets his glass back down on the table. “I know that we need to talk about what happened. I am sure you have a lot of questions for me. I'm honestly surprised that you even agreed to come here after everything my family and guests put you through. I just wanted to spend some time with you before we had to talk about all of that unpleasantness."

You're shocked that Joel is worried about you not showing up; he always seems so confident and put together. The entire time you had been worried he wouldn't want to see you again when he was worried about the same thing. “I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me again," you admit sheepishly.

“Babygirl, I would have to be crazy not to want to see you again."

Heat bursts into your cheeks, and you're thankful that the light is low enough to hide your blush.

“I have mentally kicked myself every day for not going to you right after I got back from chasing off that photographer. Then, when I woke up the next day, I found out you were gone, and it was too late. After that, I figured you needed some space, understandably. Your vacation was anything but relaxing," Joel says as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I should have at least stayed to say goodbye, but at the time, I didn't feel as though I could stay."

“I found out from some of my staff that you and Sarah were heard getting into an argument. No one knew what it was about, and I couldn't get a straightforward answer out of Sarah. What did she say to make you feel like you needed to leave?"

You look down at your plate and take a slow bite, trying to decide just how much of the fight with Sarah you want to disclose to her father. The meat is so tender it feels as though it melts in your mouth; you swallow reluctantly before speaking. “Sarah found out that I was Todd's previous girlfriend. She obviously wasn't happy about it, and things got pretty heated. I didn't want to stay after that."

Joel stares at you as though trying to get you to go into the horrible things his daughter had actually said to you. It's hard for you to understand why you still feel the need to protect Sarah from her own shitty behavior, but you hold your tongue anyway. “I know there is more to it than that."

“None of that matters anymore," you say, looking down at your plate again to avoid his piercing gaze. “We are going in completely different directions in our lives, and I doubt that we will ever cross paths again. We are from completely different worlds."

“You are right," Joel responds, watching you carefully. “You two are completely different. She is turning into everything I hoped she wouldn't, and you, well, you are… real."

The silence between you is only interrupted by the soft clinks of your silverware against your plates.

“I wasn't able to catch up with that photographer," Joel says softly, almost ashamed.

“I know," you respond, finally lifting your eyes to meet his.

“What do you mean?" Joel's eyebrows furrow together, clearly confused by what you are alluding to.

“Right before the flight I was on took off, an unknown number sent me a picture of us in the cove."

Tears start to well up in your eyes. Joel jumps up from his side of the table and is next to you in an instant. He grabs your hands from where they are resting on your lap. Even as upset as you are, the feeling of his hands on yours makes your entire body feel warm.

“Baby, why on earth did you keep this to yourself? If I would have known that he was blackmailing you, I would have had someone standing guard at your apartment day and night."

“I thought that if I disappeared, they would leave you alone, but whoever it was, they found me. That's why I came to find you at your office."

“What do you mean they found you?" Joel asks, concern flooding his eyes.

“Someone followed me back to my apartment. I ran down the street, but they must have noticed where I lived because the next time I opened the door, there was a box waiting for me.

Joel stares at you, absorbing every word you speak.

“The picture was inside of the box with a note that said, 'Tell Joel he is running out of time.' That's when I decided I needed to come and find you. I am so sorry, Joel. I thought this would all just go away if I walked out of your life."

"That son of a bitch," Joel curses, releasing your hands as he stands and strides toward the balcony. Your hands, now devoid of his warmth, feel empty and cold.

"Who?" you inquire as Joel retreats, opening the door to step outside onto the balcony. You rise to your feet, fully intent on following him when he doesn't respond to your question. You make your way out to the balcony slowly, a sense of awe washing over you. You've never been inside a home as luxurious as this one.

The balcony sprawls out before you, offering an incredible view of the New York skyline. The distant buildings cast a glow that lights up the night sky like stars anchored to the earth. It would be breathtaking if not for the tense conversation hanging in the air between you two.

Joel settles onto an outdoor sectional in front of a fire pit nestled within the coffee table. The lavishness of such amenities never fails to astonish you. You take a seat next to him and look at him with expectation in your eyes, but when he still doesn't answer your question, you press further.

"Joel, who is trying so hard to drag you through the mud? Surely, it isn't just about money. If that were the case, they would have sold the photo already, and it would be everywhere by now." You pause for a moment before continuing with conviction in your voice. "I'm sure someone would pay a lot for that picture. This seems much more personal."

"You're right, babygirl," Joel responds with a slight smile playing on his lips as he gazes into the slowly flickering flames before him: "You are very perceptive; you really will make an excellent lawyer." 

Your eyes meet his with determination: "I hope I get to be one," you say thoughtfully before adding with concern. "But I don't know how focused I will be if I am constantly having to watch over my shoulder or fend off journalists curious about our situation." 

Joel sighs at your comment and looks out over the cityscape below—a silent acknowledgment that perhaps you were more direct than he expected. Even though you're not in the public eye like he is, this situation still has the potential to jeopardize your future career.

"I am sorry for dragging you into my messy family drama," Joel finally offers, his eyes softening as he turns to face you.

"Someone in your family is trying to blackmail you? Who would do that?" you ask, your shock evident in the way your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline. You watch as Joel struggles to articulate an explanation.

"I believe I mentioned a bit about my father and our strained relationship while I was growing up," Joel says, his gaze drifting away from you.

"Yes, a little, right after we watched the dolphins," you recall, encouraging him to continue.

"Well, a significant part of our issues was his constant absence. When I was younger, I convinced myself that his work kept him busy, but after his death, I discovered that it was likely due to an affair he was having."

"Oh, Joel, I'm so sorry," you say, at a loss for words. The thought of discovering infidelity after already grieving the loss of your parents is unimaginable to you.

Joel continues, "I don't know how long the affair lasted, but at some point, the other woman became pregnant. I found out about Blaine some time ago—my half-brother, the product of my father's long-hidden affair. I don't even know if my father ever met his other son."

Curiosity piqued, you ask, "Have you ever met him?"

"No, I searched for him for years without success. Once I finally located him, I had my security team investigate him. To put it mildly, he's made some very poor life choices. So, I never pursued a meeting with him."

You reach out and take Joel's hand in yours, feeling the tension in his fingers as they intertwine with yours. He looks at your joined hands, seemingly finding it difficult to meet your gaze.

"It wasn't long after he discovered a connection to the Miller family through a DNA match that I started receiving messages demanding money. My father made it clear that Blaine was to inherit nothing. When I didn't respond, he began threatening my family members."

"Oh no," you say, your voice laced with sympathy as you run your thumb lightly over his.

"I had my security team focused on protecting my extended family. I was naive to think he wouldn't have me followed to the Bahamas. My oversight led to us being photographed. Blaine, my delinquent half-brother, must be the one trying to use you to get to me," Joel concludes, his guilt apparent in his eyes.

"Joel, this isn't your fault," you reassure him, squeezing his hand and trying to catch his eye.

"It is my fault. I'm the reason you're being dragged into this blackmail," Joel insists, finally meeting your gaze.

"If it weren't me, it would have been someone else," you counter, trying to alleviate his sense of responsibility.

"Don't you see?" Joel asks, frustration creeping into his tone. "If there had been another woman he could have used against me, he would have. There's never been anyone I cared for enough. I believe Blaine had us watched for quite some time before you left. He must have realized there was something more between us that he could exploit."

"What is between us?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as you grip your hands together tightly in your lap.

Joel hesitates, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He looks at you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. "There's enough between us that I couldn't bear the thought of him hurting you," Joel finally admits, not breaking eye contact.

A pang of disappointment hits you, but you push it aside. "Oh," is all you manage to say, feeling a sense of deflation. You chide yourself for harboring such feelings. You know better than to want him in that way. He's older, and he's the father of your former friend. A relationship between you two could only lead to heartache. Yet, despite all logic, you can't help but yearn for him to feel more for you.

Joel stands with you, gently taking hold of your arms and turning you to face him. He pulls you close, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours as you place your hands on his chest.

"Babygirl, you are... irresistible," Joel confesses, his words sending a jolt through you. "I found myself seeking you out, just to spend a few moments with you. I tried to keep my distance, but I couldn't resist my desire to be near you, to hear your laugh, or to be the reason for the smile on your beautiful lips."

His words ignite a flutter in your chest, and you struggle to steady your breathing, your hands moving up to caress his neck as your fingers thread through his hair.

"And that day I took you to watch the dolphins, I knew all my efforts were in vain. I gave in to my feelings for you, despite knowing it was wrong. I wanted nothing more than to take you right there on the sand of that beach."

Joel's lips graze yours, the proximity of his mouth making it hard to concentrate on anything but the possibility of what might come next.

"I let my guard down because I thought it was safe. Safe for both of us. I liked the man I was when I was alone with you. On the yacht, I was more myself with you than I had been in a really long time. You awakened a desire in me that I didn't know was still there."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," you whisper, your lips brushing against Joel's, your body instinctively leaning into his.

His urgency matches yours as his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. You explore the contours of his chest and neck with your hands, finally allowing yourself to indulge in the moment. His tongue slips into your mouth, and a soft moan escapes you, prompting him to pull you even closer. After a few intense seconds, you regain your senses and pull back, your breath coming in short gasps as you stare into his face, taking in his handsomeness.

"What's wrong?" Joel asks, a frown forming on his lips.

"I'm moving in two days," you say, trying to rationalize your hesitation. "I just don't want to start feeling more for you just to have to leave again."

"I have a home not far from Harvard. I travel constantly all over the world. This isn't really about the distance between us, is it?" Joel challenges gently.

"No," you admit reluctantly.

"Then what is it about?" he asks, moving closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

"It's about how complicated this is, with Sarah and Blaine... it's all just so much," you confess, unable to trust yourself to look at his enticing mouth.

"What if we stopped worrying about how complicated this is and just... gave in?" Joel suggests, brushing a lock of hair from your face. He leans in and kisses you sweetly once more before pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“Just for tonight”, you whisper, biting your bottom lip. Sleeping with Joel, even for just one night, is probably a bad decision, but you don't care at the moment. You are so caught up in the emotions he sends spiraling through you that you can't bring yourself to say no. At his touch, your skin is on fire, and the taste of him lingers on your lips even after he pulls away.

It's all the invitation he needs to pick you up and kiss you again and again. He trails a soft touch up your side, and your skin prickles at his wandering hand. He lays you back against the soft cushions, and you catch a brief glimpse of his skin as his shirt billows. You can't help but run your hand up his stomach, feeling each well-defined ripple of muscle. Goosebumps appear in waves along your body as the heat of his chest travels up your arms.

You help him out of his shirt as the firelight sends dancing shadows across his skin. His linen shirt falls to the floor in an unwanted pile. Joel leans down to you and settles his hand upon your cheek. The gesture is adoring, which makes your heart ache with happiness. You have never been looked at the way Joel gazes at you.

"You are so unabashedly beautiful, baby," he says, his eyes narrowing in a hungry gaze that leaves you wanting more. His thumb traces the soft contour of your mouth, melting away your thoughts of anything but him. His deep eyes penetrate your soul, warming you to your core. You have to have him.

You reach for the waist of his jeans, but he stops your hand and grins at you. "Slow down," he says. "If we can only have this one night, I want to remember every second of it. I want to memorize every curve of your body, every sound that crosses your gorgeous lips, every look on your face." If you are only going to allow me one night, I am going to make it count."

His lips meet the nape of your neck, making your entire body shudder. Every kiss and soft touch of his lips along your collarbone has you melting. Joel's hands slide to your waist, and he tugs up the fabric of your shirt. He gently eases the garment over the top of your head. You feel his eyes devour the sight of you in your black lace bralette.

A gust of wind sneaks through the holes of the lace, making your nipples even harder than they already are at the sight of him. Joel's lips trail down your neck and to your breasts, teasing you with his tongue. He kisses along the upper barrier of your bra, leaving you panting and writhing beneath him as you long for him to take your hardened peak between his lips.

Again, you reach for his belt and busy yourself undoing it. Your fingers fumble with the clasp, and he chuckles softly at you, but eventually, it gives way, allowing you to access his top button and zipper. You want to rip the fabric from his body, but you remember that he had told you to move slowly, so you do your best to keep your trembling fingers calm.

The moon continues to rise higher in the sky as you slowly and methodically abandon each piece of Joel's clothing. You are ready to follow his lead, but Joel insists on slowing everything down for you, making your body physically ache with desire for him. He unclips the clasp of your bra and lets it fall to the floor at his feet. His soft kisses trail every part of your chest as he makes his way down to your belly button. Your arousal burns inside of you even as the cool breeze of the evening nips at your naked body. Joel pulls you closer to him. The heat from the fire only warms one side of your bodies.

"Are you cold?" he whispers against your neck, his breath fanning out and warming your flesh.

Shivers continue to move down your naked body in response to him and the breeze, but you do your best to give him a verbal response, even though your ability to speak has evaporated when his lips met your bare skin. You can only manage a slight shake of your head. However, Joel sweeps you into his arms and back into the house. His bare feet are soft on the cold tile of the hallway, and he uses his back to push open a door. You can barely make out his bedroom in the dark, a skylight offering the only light in the room directly over the bed.

The bed is covered in a white goose-down duvet that flutters in response to Joel helping you into the pillows. Then, as the blanket settles around you, he crawls over top of you. You grab the sides of his face and pull him closer to you, your thumbs massaging against his cheekbones.

"I am so lucky to have met you. Taking that trip was the best decision I have ever made," you pant, and you kiss him hard, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, your teeth clamping down on the soft flesh, leaving him leaning into you with want. You can feel his hardness against your thigh, which only serves to spur you on to kiss him deeper. When you release him, he smiles down at you, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

"I’m the lucky one. I will always be the lucky one." Joel's fingertips brush your cheek as he moves a loose lock of hair away from your face.

He kisses you back and lowers his body to meet yours. You lift yourself up to him, wanting to get as close to him as possible. You need him so badly; the thought of there being any distance between you at all is unimaginable. His need for you is also apparent, and he presses himself closer to you, his hardness poised at your entrance. The heat of your bodies mingles in the warmth of his bed.

You grip the duvet cover in both of your hands, anticipating him pushing inside of you, but he is still gazing down at you, taking his time.

You are unable to fight your longing for him for another second, so you don't. With both hands, you grip his muscular back, spreading your legs wider to welcome him in. His smile shifts to a smirk, and then, he is moving inside of you. Your head tips back, and an ethereal moan leaves your lips as he fills you completely.

Joel takes his time with this as well, creating a smooth, steady rhythm that has you hanging onto him as your only grip left on reality. Your hands trail down to his firm ass, and touching him in such an intimate place sends another shiver of pleasure through your body.

Before long, you feel your body begin to spasm around him, and it is all you can do to keep oxygen in your lungs. Joel's lips are on your neck, and you can feel him increasing his pace to match your moans as you tumble over the edge, crying out his name in a voice you don't even recognize as your own. Joel keeps you at your peak for what seems like an eternity. By the time he tightens up and grunts a few times, filling you with warmth, you can hardly handle the intensity of what he is doing to your body.

After Joel finishes, he doesn't move off of you right away. Instead, he kisses you softly, taking his time, his tongue dancing around yours, as if he were savoring the taste of you. When he finishes, he kisses you a couple of more times, quickly, and then moves so that he is resting next to you.

He pulls you to his chest, cradling your head against him and running his fingers through your hair. You nestle against him, wrapping an arm around his chest. You want to tell him all of the emotions you are feeling in your heart, but you don't dare. You had said just once. How could you lie in his arms and tell him you love him when this wasn't just your first time making love, it was also goodbye? You can't do that to him. So, instead, you lie there in his arms, letting your heavy eyes close, listening to the rhythm of his heart and his breathing, wishing this was just the first time and not the last, but nothing can be done to change your circumstances.

This will have to be the end.

You wake up a few hours later, and Joel is still awake. You know by the look in his eyes that he wants you again. Your instincts say no, you shouldn't do this again, but the fact that you have already made love once, and the night isn't over, spurs you on. Before you can stop yourself, you are mounting him, and with him buried deep within you, you rock your hips, letting that feeling of euphoria wash over you again. You continue for hours until you are both exhausted. 

Finally, you begin to fall back to sleep and settle next to him, but your mind is too busy to let you fall asleep completely. You watch the look in Joel's eyes as he looks over at you. Your breath slowly starts to settle back to an average pace. He stares at you as though he can't look away.

—

The soft glow of early morning dusts the starlit sky. He kisses your lips so softly you aren't sure if it's real or if the entire steamy night has been a dream. He lays his head back on one of the many pillows and closes his eyes. A small hint of a smile still lingers on his lips. Joel wraps a soft blanket around your naked body in a protective way. You melt into his side and can feel his heartbeat. You listen to the steady rhythm of his breaths until they slow. You know he has fallen asleep. Despite the heaviness of your eyelids, your mind doesn't want to rest.

Joel has a way about him that makes you feel safe, wanted, and, dare you think it, loved. You haven't felt that way in a long time. This one night with Joel puts three years with Todd to shame. You can't see yourself ever finding any man as wonderful as Joel again. You feel a piece of your heart break, knowing this can't last… that you won't let this last. Knowing that everyone in Joel's life will make sure that you won't even get a chance to try. You don't want the ugliness of reality to ruin the perfect night you have shared.

Joel was right. If you were only going to have one night together, you needed to make it count. Rather than giving in to your thoughts, you close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms.

When you wake up, it takes you a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the morning light streaming through the skylight. You're at Joel's house, in his bed. The smell of his sandalwood cologne lingers on your skin and the silky sheets. You roll to your side and realize that you're alone. You sit straight upright, holding the sheets to your bare chest, as you look around the room. The door is cracked open, and you can hear the clinking of dishes coming from down the hall.

You drape your legs over the side of the bed, scanning the floor. After an unsuccessful search, you realize your clothes are still on the balcony. You make your way into what you assume is Joel's ensuite, pull one of his shirts from the closet, and slip it over your shoulders. After rinsing your face in the sink, washing away yesterday's makeup, you silently make your way down the hall back to the kitchen.

Joel is humming a light tune while he's scrambling eggs in a frying pan. You stand and watch him as he continues cooking, humming to himself, and occasionally smiling. Your heart lifts at the thought that those smiles are for you.

“Good morning," you say in a lighthearted tone, pretending as though you hadn't been watching him.

“A very good morning," Joel answers with a small wink.

“I hope you don't mind that I borrowed this. I couldn't seem to find my clothes this morning."

Joel laughs and splits the scrambled eggs onto two plates.

“It looks a lot better on you. You can borrow it anytime you like," he says, not taking his eyes off of you.

“Oh wow, you cook too. What can't you do, Joel?" you ask and take a bite of eggs into your mouth.

Joel pulls out a paper bag full of pastries and places each one carefully on a plate.

“Eggs are just about the only thing I can cook. I usually have a black cup of coffee on my way out the door, so my cook doesn't come until later. I always like to keep a few of these on hand, from the bakery down the street." Joel passes you the plate full of pastries and you pick out a fluffy croissant. When it's just Joel and you, it's easy to forget that he's insanely wealthy and amenities such as personal chefs are his norm.

“I would love a cup of that black coffee if you have it on hand." You smile and break the croissant in half, inhaling the buttery scent.

“How did you sleep?" Joel asks, pouring you a mug full of coffee.

“I slept amazingly. You'll have to tell me where you got your sheets. They are so soft," you tease.

Joel chuckles and sits down next to you, placing the coffee in front of you. He brushes back a piece of your hair and tucks it behind your ear. The simple action sends another wave of heat through you, and you have to remind yourself not to get used to this. You swallow hard.

“How did you sleep?" you ask.

“The best night's sleep I have gotten in a long time," he says with a smirk and a glance in your direction. You feel your cheeks burn at his insinuation.

“Me too," you admit, thinking about how great it felt just to sleep next to him.

You take a sip of the steaming coffee and continue working on your plate.

“So what have you been up to since I last saw you?" Joel asks as though you hadn't run away without saying goodbye.

“I have just been packing up the apartment and trying to remember everything I need to do before the move."

“Did you get everything taken care of that you needed to?"

“Yeah, for the most part," you say, glancing at him. You can't stop thinking about your night together.

“Have you gotten everything packed?" he asks with a hint of sadness in his voice, keeping his eyes on his food.

“Not everything, I am close, but I still have a few more things to sort out."

“I would offer to come to help you if I didn't have to work today. I have a meeting with investors, which I can't get out of."

“Oh, no, I would never ask you to miss work. I will just call a cab," you say quickly.

“Nonsense. I will have my driver take you home."

—

Joel helps you collect your clothes from the balcony and you use his bathroom to freshen up before he walks you downstairs. The same black car is waiting for you on the street in view of the lobby.

“I will call you later, babygirl. I promise," Joel says.

You nod and look up into his eyes with a small smile. Joel bends down and touches your lips to his. The kiss is soft and sweet; the heat lingers on your lips as the car pulls away from Joel standing on the sidewalk, watching you leave.

The drive goes fast on the way back to your apartment because you keep replaying the events of your night with Joel over and over again. You can feel your face heat up by the time you pull up to your building and Joel's driver opens your door for you.

“Thank you so much for the ride," you say with a smile, the driver nods but does not get back into the car.

“Is there something else?" you ask, confused.

“I have strict instructions to make sure you get into the building safely, Miss."

You give a weak smile and head into your building and up the stairs. As soon as you put your key in the lock, the door flies open. Both of your roommates are standing in the doorway with grins plastered on their faces.

“Somebody didn't come home last night. That better mean you have something to tell us," Lin says, she's nearly vibrating with excitement.

“I don't know what you mean. We just had a nice time catching up," you lie with a sly grin, and already know your roommates can see right through it.

“Oh, you two caught up last night alright. You slept with him, didn't you?" Aubrey says, and her smile gets even bigger.

“I did," you say barely above a whisper, your smile filling your face at the admission.

Both Lin and Aubrey squeal as they usher you inside and close the door.

“We need every single detail," Lin says.

“Fine, but I really need to shower first," you say, chuckling.

After your shower, the three of you sit down so you can spill the tea. You start off with the not so interesting parts and let it build.

“So everything started out on his balcony, where he kissed me. I was ready to rip his clothes right off his body but he wanted to take things slow. He said he wanted to memorize everything about me," you say, warming at the memory. “Since it was only for the night, I'm glad he made me slow down."

“And how is this man single?" Aubrey asks with a giggle.

“Honestly, I have no idea. The way he made me feel was like nothing I have ever experienced before. Plus, he made me breakfast this morning."

“We don't care about the breakfast! How was he?" Lin asks, waving her hand to make you move on.

“He was absolutely amazing, I think I actually left my own body at one point."

“How big is he?" Lin asks, leaning in closer with a grin.

You smack her arm lightly and start laughing, hard. “No way in hell am I going to tell you that!"

“It was worth a shot," Lin says with a mocking smile.

“Honestly, the sex was the best I have ever had. And it wasn't because of his size or his amazingly toned body, which it is by the way. It was the way he looked into my eyes that made me feel like I meant so much to him. I felt like he was seeing me for who I actually am, and adored every part of me. I haven't felt that way in such a long time," you gush as you wrap a towel around your wet hair.

Lin lets out an audible moan and falls back onto her unmade bed.

“Oh, you are so lucky. I don't know if I will ever find a man to look at me like that. Although, right now I could do with one with rock-hard abs," Lin says.

You laugh and toss a pillow over to Lin, and it flops onto her.

“It was absolutely amazing!" you continue daydreaming.

“So when are you seeing him again?" Aubrey asks.

“I kind of told him that it was a one-time thing…" you trail off.

“Why the hell would you do that?" Lin shoots straight up and practically shouts at you.

“In case you forgot, Lin, we are moving in just two days. How am I supposed to continue a relationship with him while he's living in New York?"

“You can't really believe that. The man is a billionaire, I am sure you would see him all the time if you really wanted to. You are just using moving as an excuse," Lin says. She stares you down until you can't take it anymore and look away. You make eye contact with Aubrey and can tell she feels the same way.

“It's complicated."

“We just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy," Aubrey says and reaches out to hold your hand.

“I want to be happy too, but there is so much standing in our way. I am moving away, his daughter absolutely hates me now, and not to mention our age gap. Plus, the creepy stalker situation."

“It doesn't matter how messy it is if he makes you happy," Lin offers.

You sit in silence as you soak in their support. A knock on the door echoes through the entire apartment, making your heart beat faster. You all look at each other with apprehension.

You rush to the door expecting Joel to be on the other side. You're ready to tell him that you want to give this, to give it a shot. There's no one at the door, so you stick your head out and look down the hallway, but still discover nothing. Just as you're about to shut the door, you notice a small piece of yellow paper taped to it. You peel the tape off of the door and turn the note over. In tiny, extremely neat handwriting are five words. These five words make your heart drop and chase all thoughts of a relationship with Joel from your mind.

You can't run from this.

JOEL.

Everything about you had been so wonderful, and Joel couldn't get the memory of your intimacy out of his head. He sighs, resting his cheek on his fist as he rides along in silence, anticipating a busy meeting with investors. Vultures, all of them, but they were a necessary evil. The only thoughts Joel wanted to have today were of you. Unfortunately, he didn't always get what he wanted.

He watches as buildings whiz by, the scent of street vendors and car exhaust heavy in the air. People wander along the sidewalks, chatting happily with one another, arms full of shopping bags. He sees a couple lean forward and lock lips, a sadness stabbing into his gut. That could be us, Joel thinks to himself, letting out a sigh and shaking his head. Things had to be so complicated. Money could solve most, if not all problems, so why not this?

The car pulls into the building, and the door is opened for him so he can make his way inside. Bland colors like muted whites, greys, and blacks greet him as he exits the elevator and walks down the halls in his formal tailored suit. He gives an absentminded nod toward the secretary, not thinking much of either this meeting, the people here, or the day, as his thoughts are strictly locked on you..

Well. That was until he recalls a rather recent memory regarding the secretary. He remembers her words regarding the wonderful, intelligent woman he had in his bedroom only last night. Before entering the meeting, he gives her a harsh glare out of the side of his eye, something she doesn't notice, as she is busy typing on the computer. Perhaps something would need to be done about her unfair and unwarranted treatment of you.

Joel smiles to himself, the thought of being rid of this new problem tantalizing. First, however, he needs to handle the circus that is the investors. Thankfully, the meeting goes quickly, the bored expressions of the investors only mildly infuriating. It takes a lot of determination and hard work to run this company, so to see people a bit less enthusiastic makes his stomach clench with annoyance. Now he can move on to more important matters. His hand flies toward his pants pocket as he feels a vibration, raising a brow. Could it be you? He wonders, at this point excited like a lost school boy. He's a mess. Joel Miller, a highly successful man in this dog-eat-dog world. Brought to his knees by a woman twenty years his junior, but what a woman you are. To him, that doesn't matter. Joel brings out his phone, his heart fluttering and a grin widening across his face as he realizes the message is from you. Perhaps you're texting in order to work things out? He's been interested in you before, with obvious worries due to the age gap, but is now convinced that if you both wanted to, you could work things out. He would never force you to do so. However, after actually reading the texts, his heart clenches, and he feels a pit in his stomach. His hopeful smile melts into a deep, angry scowl. That bastard is still active, more than ever now. Blaine needs to be stopped, his antics this time included leaving a letter for you that reads;  You can't run from this.

Joel will make damn sure that he can't, either. He needs to figure out the status of this situation with his head of security. He clenches his jaw and resists the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Reacting that way wouldn't be helpful. Joel ignores the secretary's wary, surprised look as he briskly walks past her. No doubt, she sees his expression and posture. He will deal with her later.

Sending a text, he makes his way to another meeting room, this one private. He waits for Bruce to enter, taking a seat himself and leaning back in a cushioned chair. Bruce does, after what feels like hours but could only have been minutes.

“You want updates on the Blaine situation, sir?" Bruce asks, causing Joel to give a curt nod. Bruce sighs, shaking his head. “I have good news and bad news. Bad news first, we have no idea where he is located."

Joel puts a hand over his forehead and lets out a soft groan, the stress of the situation spawning a minor headache. “What could the good news possibly be in this situation," Joel asks, his voice laced with frustration.

The security head isn't phased, likely having expected this reaction. Rather, he dips his head, taking out his phone to turn toward Joel. His expression is grim, and there are shadows under his eyes. Perhaps this situation is taking its toll on him as well. Joel will bear that in mind for bonuses. Bruce will get a big one, if he can coherently help Joel take Blaine down, of course.

“We're sure the pictures have not been released to news outlets. My team has been watching this issue like hawks. No sign of the media getting their grubby hands on this. Your reputation is safe for now, sir," Bruce explains.

Joel sighs, muttering, “It isn't my reputation I'm worried about." He shakes his head, holding his face in his hands and thinking for a moment. After composing himself, Joel looks back toward Bruce and gives a nod. “Thank you for your hard work. I hope we'll be able to find him soon. He's been making my life a living hell, and I need to put a stop to it." Anger swells in Joel's chest at the lack of progress despite the 'good news', and not at the head of security by any means. He knows that the team is doing their best. Those not doing their best, however, are about to get punished, and hard. Joel runs his fingers through his hair, making his way out of the room and dismissing Bruce back to his current position.

Now, Joel is headed toward the front desk, his jaw tightened and his expression twisted into an incredibly deep scowl. He approaches the secretary, who is leaning back, likely slacking off as she sometimes does. That's whatever to him, as long as she gets her work done. Insulting you, however, is not included in her job description, and it tells him how she thinks of, and treats people in general. 

Joel snarls at her, “You. You're fired."

“What? But, sir, I–"

“Did I stutter?" Joel asks dangerously. “Out. Now. You have five minutes to grab your things and go. If I return and see you here, I will address this with my head of security."

“Can you at least tell me what I did?" she asks, pouting as she stands up.

“Yes. You insulted someone who is very important to me because you thought you were better than her. Maybe this will teach you a lesson about treating people poorly. Now, out!"

She stares at him with a mixture of anger and horror, the latter expression doubtlessly winning out. There's no way she can touch him, not with the amount of power he holds. One moment she was on top of the world, abusing those below her, and the next, she's below the woman she mocked. Hopefully, Joel isn't emulating that. He ponders this for a split second, but then shakes his head. No. She deserved this after the treatment of you, but beyond that, it again shows that this behavior was likely not limited just to the one woman he cared for.

Joel makes his way into another room, taking a few turns in the hall before arriving at his assistant's desk side. His angry expression fades into one that is far more apologetic when he sees her typing away, stacks of papers to be organized on her desk. She looks up, puzzled, and tilts her head. “Sir?" she asks, taking her hands off the keyboard and leaning back.

There's no fear in her gaze, like some when they look upon him, given the position he holds. She knows him well enough that if she's actually diligent with work and a good person, he will return the kindness. Unfortunately, she's about to have something added to her workload. Guilt twists in Joel's stomach, but nothing can be done about that.

“I need a new secretary," he sighs. He adds, quickly, “I'll compensate you for your stress. I promise. A large bonus. I know it's a lot, and I truly appreciate your work."

His assistant sighs, glancing back to her computer. The slightest hint of frustration crosses her face, and Joel could have sworn the circles under her eyes got just a bit darker. Then, however, she smiles, letting out a chuckle. “Sure, Joel, I will get right to it. An extra day off or two added onto this bonus may help all of this stress, though."

“After we sort out the secretary thing and other pressing problems, yes. A week off, fully paid, and that bonus. How does that sound?" Joel asks hopefully.

She grins, giving him a thumbs up. Joel sighs in relief, glad that at least, that was taken care of.

Glancing at the time on his cell phone, he realizes he has lunch with Todd and Sarah. What fun that would be. Seeing Todd again after everything he's learned about him is less than appealing. Joel gets into his car, leaning against the door and staring out into the bright, sunny day.

What he wouldn't give to be with you right now, learning even more about you, talking about plans for the future. Joel licks his lips, shaking his head. Speak of the devil, though. On his way to the restaurant for lunch, his phone rings once more, and it's you.

His heart flutters seeing your name, but he knows this is serious. “Hello?" he asks, a hint of caution in his tone.

“Joel," you breathe from the other line. “You got my text, right? I'm so scared. Can we please talk? I really want to see you again to go over this."

“Yes, we can," Joel confirms, happy to be able to see you again, but sad to hear the stress in your tone. Given the circumstance, it's understandable. “I'll have Bruce pick you up. See you soon."

YOU.

Your heart pounds with anxiety as you wait on the sidewalk, leaning against a brick wall and shuddering despite the warmth of the sun. Your reputation is currently at major risk. Your stomach clenches, swirling with negative emotions and sheer, utter fear. You've worked so hard to get where you are, to lead a successful life, and now this could ruin it all. You don't want to be stuck in a low-paying job, barely scraping by. Is Joel a curse or a blessing at this point? No, you can't think like that. Blaine is the one causing issues, not Joel.

The memories of kissing and fucking Joel flood back, and you recall how good it felt, how cared for you felt. You lick your lips, remembering the way Joel ravaged you in bed, allowing your eyelids to droop just a little. For a moment, you cap the fear, but that only lasts briefly before the wave of negative emotions crashes over you again. You start to pace, trying to reassure yourself that everything will work out. Surely your life can't be ruined by one picture, can it? But deep down, you know the truth. This is terrible.

By the time Bruce arrives to help you into the car, tears are streaming down your cheeks. You quickly wipe them away, not wanting your emotions to be so plainly visible by the time you arrive. It will be hard to hide your feelings from Joel, but you're too distraught to care at this point. You click your seatbelt into place, lean against the leather seat, and stare out the window, trying to distract yourself from the inevitable. 

Above, the sun begins to be obscured by clouds, a fitting metaphor for your mood. The greys of the asphalt mix with the bland white and black buildings you rush by, their windows dark, mostly covered by curtains from the inside.nYou pass a murder of crows picking at roadkill, twisting your stomach at the sight. Though all of this is mundane, it only serves to worsen your mood. The patter of rain on the windows confirms the approaching storm, accompanied by distant rumbling. You hug yourself, close your eyes, and try to calm down.

When you arrive at Joel's house, the sight of it in all its extravagance would usually excite you. You adore seeing Joel. But with the recent problems caused by your complicated relationship, it doesn't feel the same as when you left. Bruce leads you to the door and politely steps back, waiting for Joel's protocol. You hesitate but eventually knock, convincing yourself that texting would be silly given you're right here.

Moments later, Joel opens the door. Your breath catches as you stare up at him, momentarily lost in his eyes before snapping back to reality. Memories of your night in bed come flooding back, distracting you, but you know you need to stay focused. This is a horrible occasion, but even within this tiny pocket of time, you convince yourself that surely he can help. You make that decision just by looking at him, even if it feels a bit naive. After taking a deep breath, you reach into your purse and pull out the note for him to see in person.

A mixture of emotions crosses Joel's face. His lips twist into a scowl, his brow furrowing, reflecting the mood of the storm. Another rumble of thunder causes you to jump a little, but Joel has no reaction. He slips the note into his pocket and fixes his eyes on you. His scowl fades into a worried frown, his deep eyes gleaming with concern.

"Babygirl," he begins, biting his lip, probably searching for the right words. A silence stretches as he seems to lose his words again. You break the silence after placing a hand on your forehead and dragging it down your face. You will the tears to hold back this time because you need to keep your tone steady and convey how you're feeling.

After taking a deep breath, you say, "Joel, I'm frightened about what this could do to my reputation. That note definitely indicates action will be taken soon. I really want us to work out, but with that horrible person causing all this stress and danger to my life as I know it, I'm on edge and losing it."

This time, you can't stop the tears. They well up in your eyes and slowly glide down your cheeks. Joel stares at you for a moment, probably at a loss for words. Once again, silence stretches. Say something, you think to yourself, biting your lip and quickly reaching up to wipe away more tears. You raise your eyebrows, hoping he has all the answers. Sadly, he appears as lost as you are, his head hanging slightly, his body tense.

"I will take care of you. Just put your career aside, for now. Not forever. Let me help you. It will be fine, we can work this out," Joel finally says, causing you to inwardly groan.

That's not what you wanted to hear. You don't want to have to rely on him all the time. You don't want to put your dreams aside for some storybook relationship that may not work out, leaving you with nothing. You've worked too hard in life for this, spending countless hours in school to become a lawyer. Your dreams are crumbling right before your eyes. Is it because of Joel? An inner voice tells you no, it isn't. He has nothing to do with this. By how he treats you, you know he loves you back and wants to do everything in his power to make this work. But this situation has escalated beyond his control.

You shake your head, crossing your arms as he motions into the house. "Please. Follow me, at least. Let's talk this out," he pleads. You oblige, the pit in your stomach growing heavier.

You walk through the house, your eyes falling upon the fancy carpeting and light fixtures, still finding some comfort in them despite this situation. Truthfully, you need to start letting this go. You need to let it all go. With your mind stuck here, with him, there's no way to move on with your life and advance the way you want to. As much as your heart breaks having to admit that, you know you need to be a lawyer more than anything.

You take a seat at a table across from him as he raises a brow. "Eggs?" he asks sheepishly, causing you to smile despite the circumstances.

But that smile quickly fades into a frown as tears begin to flow once more. This time, you don't bother wiping them away. You take a deep breath and make the decision you need to. Steeling yourself, you look him in the eye and say in a very serious tone, "Look, Joel, we can't do that. I can't do that. I have to do this for myself. How can I rely on you all the time? How can you take care of me through all of this?"

"Baby, I have plenty of money and resources. I can easily take care of you; you don't need to worry about all of this," Joel says, his voice tinged with a pleading tone.

"I am not some child in need of being taken care of. I can't spend my days longing for the beach billionaire only to have my independence and dreams threatened. I want to be a lawyer for myself, not for the money. If my reputation is shattered, so is my life. I am sorry it has to be this way, but this has gone too far, and I need to say goodbye."

"What? No, wait, I–"

You're not listening at that point. Tears are pouring down your cheeks as you stand up quickly, whirling and bolting down the hall. You don't care if you're running away from your problems now. You don't care if you're running away from him while at the same time wanting to fall into his arms and tell him you'd drop everything so that he could care for you. You need to do this for yourself and not be caged by this nightmare.

The expression on his face, that brief glimpse of utter grief, has your heart pounding. You burst out the front door and hurry down to Bruce, sniffling and letting out a few whimpering sobs. You feel as though you're melting. The pattering rain makes you sopping wet, which does the opposite of helping the situation. You lock eyes with Bruce and gulp. "Please. Take me home. Just take me home."

He nods, thankfully asking no questions, and opens the door for you. You get in and rest your forehead against the window, shuddering with sobs. Bruce graciously raises the privacy screen, though you catch a sympathetic glance from him in the rearview mirror.

Strands of your hair fall into your face, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to calm yourself down after that horrible decision. How could you just walk away from Joel? He was so great, but you were just too scared. Scared of losing what you've worked so hard for, even if you do love him. You had to do this for yourself. You hate how much you still love him. You hate how you want this to work out. But most of all, you hate that you need to leave him. All of this is what's best for you, though.

As the car pulls out of the driveway and drives off, you glimpse Joel standing there, watching you leave, his shoulders slumped. He stands in the rain, not moving, letting himself get soaked. He watches you drive away until you can no longer see each other. 

You manage to calm yourself down at your apartment, telling Lin and Aubrey that you really can't talk right then because your head isn't in the best spot. You drown yourself in books, particularly those of law, to remind yourself just how important this is to you. You can't let some lovestruck incident stop you from chasing your dreams. When you finally look at the clock, it's 11:03 PM. You gasp, surprised at just how well losing yourself in rounding out your studies has worked to eat up time.

Tossing and turning in your bed, you can't get Joel's expression out of your head. Everything about that situation makes you feel horrible. 

Did you make the right decision?

You still feel that strong urge to contact Joel again and apologize for how you behaved. Running back would achieve the opposite of what you want, though. You have to let this all go. You can do that, right? Judging by how closely you clutch your pillow that night, imagining it's Joel, you aren't so sure.

The next morning, you wake up, yawning and rubbing your eyes. The smell of fresh bacon hits your nose, causing your stomach to rumble. Through all of this stress, you find yourself eating less than you should lately. You really should pay attention to your health. All of this stress is, no doubt, horrible for you. You enter the kitchen area, looking over to Aubrey. Her eyes sparkle with concern as she stares you down, tilting her head.

“How are you?" she asks with hesitation, as if concerned the question would shatter you to pieces. 

You respond with a shrug. “Been better. My focus is on packing. We have a lot to finish," you offer. 

Aubrey nods, finishing breakfast up and serving you at the table. She sits down across from you, munching on the scrumptious bacon and gesturing for you to help yourself. That you do, something you definitely don't regret. Cooked to perfection and warming your stomach at least a little bit, the bacon helps ease you even if only a smidgeon. You're grateful for the silence during eating, though, as you're still gathering your thoughts.

When all is finished, you return to packing. You haul some books and pack them into some boxes neatly, letting out a light sigh. Lin joins you soon, her cheerful expression fading upon seeing your face. Are there circles under your eyes? Probably. You went to bed at a less-than-reasonable hour. Not to mention, you tossed and turned all night, which probably contributed to how slow you are right now.

You break the awkward silence first. “I was very harsh with Joel yesterday," you begin. 

Lin gasps, taken aback by this. “The same guy you said you had amazing sex with? But why?" she asks. Aubrey leans forward, flabbergasted by this knowledge as well. You nod, biting your lip and feeling tears coming on again. You cry a lot lately, don't you?

“Because it isn't working out," you say with a short tone, gathering your bearings. A few items in boxes later, you decide to elaborate. “My reputation is at risk. I really want to become a lawyer, guys. I am so scared. I got a threatening note, and if pictures get out of us together, I'll be done for. You know how the media is. I will never be able to practice. My dreams are at risk of being completely destroyed," you mutter.

Aubrey and Lin exchange a glance, probably debating how to approach this. You glance up toward them, waiting for their response. Your arms are a little bit achy from moving some of the heavier objects into the boxes, but you make do. Probably best to rest after these final days of packing.

“And you're sure, dude, you're completely miserable." Aubrey asks softly. You hesitate but slowly nod. Her eyes have a skeptical spark to them, but she dips her head. “I'll take your word for it even if you seem a little unsure. The stress is getting to you. I can tell."

“Yeah," Lin agrees. “The way you talked about him was hot. I still wish I had a guy like that, but if it's not going to work out, then it's best to move on. Moving will probably be the best thing that can happen."

“New York isn't a good place to be right now," Aubrey adds, her nose wrinkling. “So many problems, and on top of all this? Thank goodness Cambridge is quiet. At least, it should be quieter. Look, I'll hold the fort for you here. You promise to stay in contact, though?"

Realizing you're losing one of your close friends, you tear up all over again. The best you can do is nod. You spread your arms, and your two friends rush over to you. One group hug and many tears later, you pull away from them. You place your hands on Aubrey's shoulders. “Lin and I are going to miss you so much, we will absolutely stay in contact. How could we not, you're like our sister?"

You all hug again, crying at splitting up. It had been you three against the world for so long. The sadness is interrupted by your need to load the Uhaul. That's even worse than carrying all of the heavy boxes around, admittedly. The conversation turns from the obvious panic-inducing subject of the Joel situation to brighter, happier topics. At least there isn't a cloud in the sky above this time, making the move a bit more pleasant.

You smile and enter the apartment, wanting to take one last break before heading out with the final boxes. The stormy mood hanging around your head is at least starting to dissipate. 

Lin and Aubrey take a seat before you, munching on some ham sandwiches for lunch. Lin eyes you and asks, “You ever think about writing a book or something? Your life sounds like a movie."

After a harsh look from Aubrey, Lin grins sheepishly and coughs. “Er, this will hopefully be a happy ending."

You chuckle, shaking your head and wiping away some sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. “No, but I should, shouldn't I?" You chuckle.

Then, you sober a bit. “We don't need to avoid the subject if you have questions, though. I can tell there's something on the tip of your tongue."

Lin glances over to Aubrey, who shakes her head. Evidently your friend decides to ask the question anyway. “Do you think he will follow you? How bad was your fight, anyway? You said very harsh but that could mean a lot."

Aubrey leans over and elbows her, and Lin gives her a look that says, What? We were both wondering that.

You sigh and shake your head. “I don't think he will. At least, I hope not. I will put my foot down and tell him to go away if he does. Even if I really, really don't want to."

Aubrey's eyes sparkle with sympathy as she stares at you. “Still in love, huh? Not every day you find a man that looks at you the way you described. But, again, you should do what's best for you. Before everything else. There will be other men out there! If you think this won't work out, yeah, moving on is good. Not awesome, but good." You nod, wanting to take your friend's advice to heart and not put yourself in any more danger.

“We are really going to miss you Aubrey, life won't be the same without your great advice and support," you say and Lin nods in agreement.

“Yeah, who's going to keep my mouth in check now?" Lin says with a grin, though tears are in her eyes.

“No more crying!" Aubrey says, and you all laugh. It's going to be hard to leave this, your friendship means so much to you all. You try not to think about what Lin said. But you can't stop the thoughts running through your mind now.

What if he does follow you? Will you really tell him to go away? Or will you cave? This really isn't his fault, at all, but regardless of who's causing the issue, you together can't work.

You feel your heart clench at that, really, really not wanting to accept it. Thankfully, there's no way he would show up anywhere soon. He's too busy, right? 

You finish up your break with the other two, exchanging hugs again. They each take a few heavy boxes and head out to the Uhaul, grunting at how heavy they are.

As Aubrey passes you, she says, “You really take your studies seriously, huh? I'm glad you did what's best for you in that case, because just by all of this, your career being in danger would obviously crush you. Even more so than these heavy boxes are crushing me."

You have to laugh at her antics.

Placing the last box at the bottom of the moving truck, you wipe more sweat from your brow and smile to yourself. You can look to the future, leave this place behind, and start anew. You have so much going for you. All of this drama will be behind you soon. So will Joel. You bite your lip, not liking that thought. Maybe you should have been nicer as opposed to storming out like that. “Very harsh," you whisper to yourself.

“Uh…hey?" you hear Lin's voice. 

You're resting there, staring at a box, lost in thought. Letting out a sigh, you wave your hand without turning around. “Give me a minute, please," you respond, wanting to gather your bearings once more. All of your swarming thoughts keep contradicting you, after all.

“I don't think we have a minute. Someone is here to see you," she says. You furrow your brow and roll your shoulders back, turning to see what in the world she could be talking about.

Your eyes widen and your jaws drop as you spot a very familiar face. Your entire body tenses, and your breath catches as you take in the man standing before you. The man you'd driven away from and left there in tears only a day before. He wears a forlorn, lost expression, guilt seeping from every pore.

“Joel," you breathe. “What are you doing here?"

JOEL.

Seeing you again, so gorgeous in every way, brought back painful memories that, just hours before, he had said goodbye to. Yet here he is, staring you down with likely an incredibly pleading expression. A pit forms in his stomach as he wonders if this is disrespecting your wishes about space. He doesn't walk any closer to you, even though he very much wants to take you into his arms and hold you close. He swallows and lets out a soft sigh, opening his mouth to start.

“Babygirl, I–"

“Joel, what are you doing here? You–"

“I know, it–"

“Seeing you here again, I–"

“I wanted to talk about–"

You both stop, getting nowhere since your words are being tangled by talking over one another. He has the delight of seeing an amused glint in your eyes. You bring your hand up to your lips, covering your mouth for a moment in amusement before clearing your throat and letting out a sigh. Your expression hardens as, no doubt, you decide to stand your ground. Rolling your shoulders back, you lift your chin, regarding him with a small degree of wariness.

“Go ahead, Joel. I'll hear you out," you say, nearly causing Joel to collapse with relief. He has one last chance to make things right, and he needs to make it count. This isn't about him; this is about you. You deserve the life you've strived for. You're an intelligent, beautiful woman, and it's not his place to get in the way of that. Steeling his resolve, he does as you ask, nodding and refocusing his mind on the issue at hand.

“I was wrong," he starts, watching as you raise a brow. “I should have never asked you to put your dreams on hold for me. It was selfish. I was blinded by my feelings for you, which in the end, would have harmed you. You will still have the position at the law firm I helped you obtain, though your merits were more than enough. I understand none of this is about the money. It is about you being you, going out there and helping people like you have always wanted to. Making a name for yourself. I apologize for being too dense to realize that."

Tears brew in your eyes that you reach up to quickly wipe away. He watches your shoulders sag and listens to the little sniffle you give as you process everything he's telling you. Several emotions flash across your face right then. The first is surprise, followed by acceptance, and finally cautious happiness. You wear a soft smile, moments later not bothering to wipe away the tears.

He has a feeling they turn from panicked and sad to tears of a more positive nature right then. He can't help but feel hopeful at this and a smile slowly creeps across his face.

“Thank you," you breathe, taking a few steps forward and hesitating. “Can I give you a hug?" His heart skips a beat, and he nods, delighted for this chance. It will likely be among the last ones you and him exchange, as he is not going to get in the way of your dreams, though he has deep feelings for you.

You continue, “I'm really happy you came to see me. I tried letting go of everything, but it was so hard, Joel."

He wraps his arms around you as you bury your face into his chest. The smell of sweet perfume wafts into his face, causing his entire body to relax. Everything about you is angelic, beautiful, and perfect. He wants to sweep you off your feet and take you away, to treat you like the princess you are, but he knows those thoughts are unreasonable. Rather, he holds you there for several moments before finally breaking the silence after a thought of seeing you for longer comes to him.

“Would… you like to have one last bit of extravagance with me before you start your new life in Cambridge? No strings attached. Just a night of fun for you, to rest your mind after all the stress you have been dealing with," he says.

Even if the stress was due to him, in some part at least, perhaps this all would help. You would know you were going to a better place following the night, if you accepted, anyway. He knows you don't want him to ruin your chances at law school, but he really doesn't want to let you go. The thought of never seeing you again after tonight makes his heart ache. He looks at you, trying to hide his desperation to be with you from his expression.

After a long pause, you pull away and look into his eyes. His heart drops, considering the high possibility you will decline. You have every right to, after all, given all that has happened. He opens his mouth to assure you that he would understand entirely if you said no, but you raise a hand to stop him, your smile widening. “Yes. I think that would be good for me, Joel. Thank you. Plus… I miss you. I am sorry for storming out the way I did," you mutter.

“Oh, I deserved it," he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was not putting you first or thinking of how hard you worked to achieve your goals. But I am delighted you decided to come with me."

Right then, rounding the corner are two women, your roommates. Seeing him, your jaws drop for a moment. One walks up to you, quickly, putting herself between him and you. You say, “Lin! What are you doing?"

Lin replies, “Making sure you're alright! You came home a wreck, and now this guy is here? He's the one you left, isn't he? Looks like how you described him."

“Yes, but we talked it out. I… want to spend one last evening with him. It's something he offered to do," you say.

Lin steps aside, crossing her arms and furrowing her brow. She looks over to the other girl and gestures to him and you.

“What do you think, Aubrey?" Lin asks.

The other girl, Aubrey, shakes her head, looking toward you. “Is this healthy? Are you sure you are not in danger? He clearly seems to care, but what about the stalker?" she says, side-eyeing him. “We just want to make sure you're okay."

He can't blame them, and this is not his place to intervene. He steps aside, waiting for you to explain the situation. Trying to interject and defend himself would not be wise at this point.

You give your friends a very sad smile. “Hey, I appreciate how much you two care. I know. I was a mess. I still am. But Joel apologized, he understands my dreams come first. It's goodbye after one last night. I'm not changing course or anything. I'm not dropping my plans. I just can't deny my emotions for him anymore. Really, I need this," you tell them.

He blinks in surprise, honored you would defend him in front of your friends the way you did.

Lin appears skeptical as she exchanges a glance with Aubrey. The sun shines down on all four of you, just a few clouds in the sky right now. The temperature is mild, so the atmosphere itself at least isn't making things worse.

A car rumbles by, its mechanical growls breaking the silence that had settled on your group. You're out of the way and on the sidewalk, so you're not disrupting anyone, at least.

Finally, Aubrey speaks up. “If you think this is what's best for you, then we support you," she says. “I know you won't walk away from your dreams for anyone, no matter how dreamy he may be. But be careful, okay?" Her eyes fall upon him, and there's a dangerous glint to them he rarely sees in any expression from another toward him that doesn't relate to his wealth. “As for you, don't play with her emotions or steer her away from what she truly wants. Understand?"

He nods, aware she is dead serious and wondering if that was a threat. Not that he's opposed. This is a caring gesture for you, and he's relieved you have friends like this that care deeply. “I do," he replies. “I know I was wrong, I was just scared for her and tried to protect her the only way I know. It wasn't the right way, though. And it will never happen again."

He hopes they believe him because it's all true. He would never ask you to sacrifice your dreams for him; it isn't fair to you.

“I will arrange for someone to drive your belongings to Cambridge and set up your apartment while we spend one last night together. Lin, if you'd like, they can set your stuff up there as well."

Lin and Aubrey exchange another glance and nod. Lin says, “Thank you, I'll take you up on that! Remind me to find a guy like you when I have to move again."

This lightens the mood, causing all of you to laugh. Thank goodness, the situation could have turned fairly complicated very fast. True to his word, he makes a call to his assistant, arranging for your things to be taken care of. One last thing to worry about.

When the other two women leave, you and he are left there together, silent and just staring into each other's eyes. He finds himself lost in yours, tilting his head and cupping your cheek.

God, you are beautiful. His breath catches just looking at you. He can't believe just how lucky he was to have found you, and that you found it in your heart to forgive him even if he's drowning in guilt over not putting your wishes first.

“Kiss me?" you ask in a hush tone, and he can't help but to oblige. He leans down and presses his lips against yours, stars practically rushing through his entire body. He is lost in all of you during that kiss, emotions swirling and skin crackling with chemistry. You eventually have to pull away for air, sadly, and you let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you," you whisper.

He smiles at you, taking you into another hug. “No. Thank you, babygirl."

He will make it count and see your smile light up the area again. Nothing is too much for you, and he is going to pull out all the stops. He looks at you and smiles. “One last night together," you sigh and smile up at him.

One last night together.

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[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT - 1. The Night Shift

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Preview: "Well, it was a virus, and as I looked into the problem, I had to explore every avenue to ensure I pinpointed the issue, you know, for my report to Tess. I went into your history to see if it might have been a site that caused you to have the virus. I may have casually peeked into a few files to ensure they weren’t corrupted…” you admit, “…and I might have stumbled upon-" your eyebrows raise in embarrassment, "Something personal." “Something personal?” He questions, his brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t have anything personal… oh, shit.” His eyes widen as the realization dawns on him, hands covering his face as he groans in embarrassment. "Look, about my internet history... and the list-" You slowly nod and bite your lip, mostly to hide your own embarrassment. “… yeah. Um, it was quite... informative about your... sexual preferences.”

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No Outbreak! Joel Miller, Mentions of intended smut towards the reader, Boss x Employee Relationship, Virgin Reader, All of the yearning, Joel Miller is a silly flirt, A small-ish age gap, Joel is too forward for his own good, Tess is a boss (and should not be fucked with - or you get the horns).

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: Well, hello there!

I honestly have no idea where this idea of a (somewhat crack) fic came from, but I had an idea and I ran with it! A lot of the character development came from my own anxieties of feeling behind in life, and if you feel that way too, I feel you! Don't worry, I promise it won't always feel like this. Time is just that- time, and it's never too late to follow your dreams! I believe in you!

To: IT@millerconstructiongroup.com

Fr: J.Miller@millerconstructiongroup.com

Subject: I think I have a Virus?

12:50 AM (10 min ago)

Hey Sugar,

I know it's late, but my computer fritzed out an hour ago (a shit ton of pop-ups) and I have that presentation with The H Hotel tomorrow morning. Well, do you think you could do me a solid and help me... not have any more of those darn pop-ups? I called the number that popped up asking if I needed assistance with the virus and they asked for my credit card information but they haven't replied back.

Shit, was that a scam? Fuck. I should call Amex.  

Anyway, do you think you can help me get out of this bind, Sugar? I'll be forever and eternally grateful. If you don't, well... I'm sure Tess will rip me a new one, and I would like to not have a Servopoulos-level meltdown at 9 in the morning. Not after last time. Sorry about having to be a part of that, Sugar. At least Maria was able to pay for your dry cleaning and get you a new shirt? You should have let me check your chest for burns, I sure as hell wouldn't want scalding hot coffee being thrown in my direction either. Shit. Not check your chest as in checking out your... breasts, just the burn site. Yeah. That's what I meant. 

(Also, sorry for emailing you last minute. Shit. I'm desperate, baby.)

Thanks,

Joel Miller 

Owner and CEO, Miller Construction Group

(512) 123-4567

To:J.Miller@millerconstructiongroup.com

Fr: IT@millerconstructiongroup.com 

Subject: RE: I think I have a Virus?

1 AM (0 seconds ago)

Good Evening Mr. Miller,

I got your request and will work on it shortly. I can't make any promises, but I will try to get you out of your "bind".  

Don't worry about that thing with Tess. She was rightfully upset, and I just so happened to be caught in the line of fire. If it had to be one of us, I am glad it was me being pelted with boiling hot coffee, and not you in front of your clients. You didn't have to have Maria buy me a blouse from Neiman Marcus, nothing a little tide-to-go can't fix, right? Also, I knew what you meant about my chest, and I didn't think you wanted to look at my... breasts. Let's not refer to any of my body parts moving forward.

Also, I am not completely comfortable with the terms of endearment that you continuously call me, Sir. Please refer to me by my actual name, these emails are monitored by Tess and I would not like to be scalded with hot coffee again for a little misunderstanding.  

Please let me know if you have any other pressing questions or concerns.

Goodnight!

IT Specialist 0926,

IT Department, Miller Construction Group

(512) 765-4321

"Ok Bubbles, let's see what mess Mr. Miller got himself into this time."

Settling by your coffee table, you access your remote portal and insert your portable SSD, initiating various programs to gain entry into your boss's laptop. Securing your hair in a messy top bun with a claw clip, you find yourself biting your bottom lip in concentration. Simultaneously, you switch on your TV, finding solace in the ambient noise that fills your dimly lit apartment—a space shared with Sir Bubbles, your British Shorthair companion since your college days. There's a marathon of Criminal Minds airing on TBS, Spencer Reid's adorable face on screen as he rattles off another theory for why the unsub was an abuse victim by his prostitute mother. You turn the volume down a bit, drowning out his voice.

It's near silent in the little shoebox you call home, the only decent place you were able to afford with your meager savings- after slaving away as a Geek Squad IT Specialist for the majority of your twenties at the Best Buy down the road from your parent's house. Despite graduating with your MIS at the University of Texas - Dallas, finding a decent job in your industry was brutal, and, honestly, quite embarrassing after receiving 30-plus rejection emails in a span of a year. Downtrodden and desperate for a job, you settled on working at Best Buy temporarily, but by the time you hit your mid-30s, it's been eight years working for barely minimum wage, and absolutely nothing to show for it. 

"Do you remember those sweet Miller boys who fixed our roof ten years ago?" your mother asks during a Sunday dinner six months ago, sliding a boat of gravy your way as you absentmindedly drizzle it over your mashed potatoes. "I ran into the older one... Joeseph? James? He owns his own company now with his brother, quite the feat, right? They're working on that hotel down the road... anyway, Josh-"

"Joel," you correct her, nudging the over-steamed carrots around your plate. "I think his name was Joel, Mama."

"Yes, Joel," your mother dismissively waves her hands. "Well, I told him about how you were on the job hunt, you know, with your master's and all. Oh, remember when you used to have that silly little crush on him? He's grown to be quite the looker, you know? Anyway, he told me that they were looking for someone to replace their old IT person—apparently, they retired—"

"Mom," you groan, "get to the point."

"Well," she grins conspiratorially, "he wants you to apply, baby. He remembers you and your little crush, and he said he could never forget someone as cute as you. If you're as good as I claimed you were, well... the job's practically yours!"

Your fork slips from your grasp, the metallic clang against porcelain causing Bubbles to leap in surprise, hissing at you in irritation. "Wait, what?" you blurt out, your eyes wide with a mix of shock and confusion.

Your mother beams at your reaction, seemingly pleased with the bombshell she just dropped. "I told him all about your IT skills and how you practically run the technology world from your bedroom. He seemed really interested, sweetie. And, well, it wouldn't hurt to at least consider it, right?"

You sit there, a swirl of thoughts and emotions whirling in your mind. The unexpected twist of Joel Miller, the older Miller boy you once had a crush on, remembering you and possibly offering you a job—it's surreal. Bubbles, having recovered from the earlier disturbance, casually resumes licking his paw, completely uninterested in the familial drama.

"I... I don't know, Mom," you stammer, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. "I mean, working for the Millers? It's a bit... complicated."

She leans in, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sweetheart, this could be a fantastic opportunity. And who knows, maybe that little crush of yours could turn into something more... professional, of course." She cuts into her meatloaf, humming in contentment as she chews. "Oh, and Sweetie? Wear the red sweater with your pleated skirt, with something other than those sneakers. You're turning thirty-six in September; you can at least do yourself a favor and start dressing your age for once! I'm sure Joel would appreciate it!" she winks at you as your father grunts in displeasure, rolling his eyes, muttering "meddler" under his breath.

"Mom, it was just a crush from a decade ago. Besides, mixing work and personal feelings is never a good idea."

She chuckles, reaching across the table to pat your hand. "Well, think about it, okay? Joel seemed genuinely interested in having you on the team. It's worth exploring, don't you think?"

A wink, a handshake, and six months later, you find yourself on-call indefinitely, catering to Mr. Miller's every technological whim and folly. It's not a bad job, you reason — getting paid triple what you made at Best Buy, monitoring everyone's browsing history in the office, and fielding the incessant IT requests Mr. Miller sends your way- which was often.  Way too often.

[My laptop won't turn on.]  Did you charge it? Try doing that first.

[Why does the volume not work on my Zoom calls?]  Did you make sure that you're not on mute or that your computer volume is up? Check that first.

[Since when did we put a parental blocker on the internet?]  It was per Tess, who said that employees should be working instead of looking up anti-feminist manifestos on Reddit. I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Miller. [Oh, well shit. Do you think you could unblock it for me? I am... having a hard time accessing my... bank account.] I mean- I could, but I would have to run it by Tess first. [Do you think you could... for me? It'll be our little secret, Sugar. Don't worry about Tess, I'll handle her.]  Sure, Mr. Miller... Right. Our little secret.  [Sugar, for the last time, it's Joel. Besides, I thought we were past having a silly little crush on me, you've grown into a... rather nice young woman. Please, call me Joel.]  Uh, sure Mr. Miller.

You are broken from your silent reverie by the unmistakable ding, ding, ding of the pop-ups Joel- Mr. Miller - you correct yourself, mentioned in his email. You scoff, biting into a piece of beef jerky. Typing in a command, the pop-ups halt, the black screen granting you developer access popping up as you run diagnostic after diagnostic trying to catch the little sucker - a virus, as Mr. Miller claimed - in the act of corrupting your poor boss' laptop once again.  There you are, you little shit, you mutter under your breath as you furiously type in more commands, eradicating Mr. Miller's bane of existence for good (or so you hope).

After running what felt like the tenth diagnostic of the night and downing three cups of coffee for the last three hours, the dawn of a new day streaks through the sheer curtains against your window. With bated breath, you restart Joel's system once more, closing your eyes until the familiar chime of Windows 11 booting up reaches your ears.

Please, please, please for fucks sake... no more pop-ups...

Joel's home screen pops up in an instant, the photo of him and his two girls smiling back at you as you breathe in a sigh of relief. "Fuck yes! Finally!" you silently exclaim, a drawn-out yawn and a deep stretch escaping your body as you settle your laptop on your couch. "Okay, let's just run a few programs and check a few documents to make sure they're not corrupted and then I can finally hit the sack..." you squint at the digital clock of your microwave, "and sleep for an hour before I have to get ready for work," you groan, eyeing the jar of Cafe Bustelo in the distance. Yep. No sleep for me, you think bitterly.  Another night, another one of Mr. Miller's computer meltdowns... 

Your eyes scan his desktop, opening up the PowerPoint file he needs for his presentation. It opens up with a slight lag, something you can optimize later but you breathe out another sigh of relief anyway. You check his internet browsing history, his late-night extensive porn viewing not a surprise to you anymore as you snort at the ridiculousness of it all.  At least it's not as bad and kinky as Tommy's browsing history, you tell yourself, because you'll never quite get used to all of the roleplay porn he watches religiously, you think. Closing out of Google Chrome, You scan his desktop for a random Word doc for you to open, not checking its title as you double-click on the first one that you see, slightly hidden by the Recycle Bin icon to the bottom right.  Wants? What kind of a file name is that?

The Word doc pops open, and it seems to be a running list of random things. You blearily scan the line items, your eyes widening in shock as you read on.  

Fuck her against my office door as I cover her mouth to muffle her screams.

Spoil her with a shopping spree at Neiman's with my Amex black card.

Fulfill my breeding fantasy by convincing her to get off of her Birth Control (do you think she's on one?)

Fuck her from behind against Tess' desk (serves her right)

You quickly exit out of the document, pushing your laptop away as if it were cursed. You look at the document title once more.  

Wants.

What the fuck was this? Who is he talking about? you ponder, the guilt of your negligence weighing on you like a weight tied to your ankles as you sink into the depths of the Atlantic. You shut your laptop for good measure, covering it up with your quilt as you shake your head in disbelief.  

What the fuck did I just read?

“Mr. Miller? Do you have a moment?”

You knock on the office door once more for good measure, standing timidly as you try to occupy yourself by smoothing out your dress - sensible, a decent length, work appropriate, you think to yourself. You try to not occupy the idle time of waiting for your boss, Joel Miller, one half of Miller Construction- and the thing you found while remote logging onto his computer last night - I think I have a virus, his email stated - only to stumble upon something rather telling and personal - but he was your boss, and you were a professional, and you weren’t going to think about the list… 

Kiss her in the rain.

Make love in my truck as she rides me. 

Bend her over my desk and take her from behind.

Marathon sex

Eat her out as she works at her desk.

No, Joel was unequivocally your boss—older than you by at least a decade (and maybe a few more years, give or take), and the document titled "Wants" was clearly personal, likely intended for someone else, and certainly not meant to be seen by anyone, especially not an overly curious IT specialist like you. No, you reckon that this list was meant for someone else in the office - someone beautiful, sexy, and confident— someone decidedly who isn't you. Certainly not for someone who dresses like she’s still in college, who only recently began living on her own in a shoebox of an apartment (if you can call it that) after living with her parents for the majority of her adult life, and who barely has her life together. It’s pathetic, being a woman of a certain age and with nothing to show for it, still painfully single, nothing substantial to your name, only getting your life together now while everyone around you has done everything right.  I feel so behind in life, you think to yourself.  Who would want someone so pathetic as me?

It’s not like it’s a crime to have wants, you think to yourself. Everyone has them, including you, you reason. So what if you just so happen to stumble upon your boss's deepest (and somewhat depraved) desires? Doesn’t everyone have a bucket list of their desires written somewhere? So what if your older, attractive boss with his Gen X tendencies has it typed out on his work computer? It’s not like he meant for you to open up the Word doc, right?

You knew he was single. You also knew that he had kids, at least two—Sarah, his eldest, was the head of HR, and Ellie, his adoptive younger daughter, an apprentice working under Tommy, the other half of Miller Construction—a serial flirt who asked you about your dating life in your interview a few months back. No, you didn’t think about your boss and the sheer mass of man that he was, that he smelled like cedar and sandalwood, that he winks when he tells you good morning as you pass him in the parking lot while stumbling out of your less-than-impressive shitty Corolla. You also didn’t take note that he drinks his coffee black with a sprinkle of sugar—the one in the brown packet—or that he eats in his office instead of the employee lounge because he’s a messy eater. The deep red blush trailing down his neck as Tommy scolded him about his lack of table manners during a company-mandated team-building day wasn't proof enough of that.

There wasn’t a ring on that tell-tale finger, not even a tan line, no photographs of another woman on his desk—besides his daughters, of course. Not that you were looking. Tommy had his wife Maria come down to the office often enough; wouldn’t Joel be the same with his own?

Miller Construction prided itself on being a family-run company, with Joel and Tommy at the helm and their best friend Tess as VP—more the boss than the actual Miller brothers. While Joel and Tommy preferred the hands-on work on-site, Tess ruled over the office with an iron fist. No one dared to cross her.

"You've got one job, and one job only," she declared during your office tour. "Make sure no one spends the majority of their shift watching porn, and keep Joel from messing up his computer with his boomer-isms. We can't afford to keep replacing a laptop every six months."

"Isn't he in Gen X?" you ask. "... at 56 years old, he's still considered to be in that generation, right?"

"Technically, yes," Tess replies with an exasperated sigh. "But you know what I mean. Sometimes it feels like Joel is stuck in a time warp with his 'boomer-isms.' Just keep things running smoothly here, alright?"

As the days pass, you notice an unusual trend in Joel's computer issues. It seems that every time his laptop malfunctions, it coincides with a spike in suspicious internet activity. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots, and you can't help but shake your head at the irony of it all.

After a particularly eventful morning filled with more than the usual technical hiccups, you decide it's time to address the elephant in the room. You knock on Joel's office door, half-expecting him to be engrossed in some spreadsheet or construction plans.

It's not like you have to tell him about your snooping - he would be none the wiser judging by the way he was so technologically inept - you weren't about to tell him that the reason for the virus on the computer was because he was looking at some rather specific porn - boss fucks unsuspecting secretary from behind- his internet history had listed, nor did he probably think that his computer is being monitored, including his internet browsing history- company policy, as stated on the employee handbook that every employee of Miller Construction signs on the day of their official hiring- nor does he think that it sends reports to her at the end of the day.

You don't think about how the sudden uptick of his secretary porn viewing increased since a week after your hiring.  It's just a coincidence, right?

“Mr. Miller?” You call out once more. “It’s about your IT request last night? I have an update?”

“Yeah? Sorry! Come on in!” you hear from behind the door, accompanied by the frantic shuffle of papers and a silent curse. You take a deep breath as your hand turns the doorknob. Silently, you shut the door behind you, offering a small smile as you smooth out the skirt of your dress once more.

You fidget in place in front of the door as Joel—Mr. Miller—in his green flannel and dark jeans slung just right—it really should be criminal, looking this ruggedly handsome for someone his age, you think—as he ungraciously flops onto his desk chair, motioning for you to take the seat in front of him as he clears his throat nervously. “Take a seat.”

You situate yourself in front of him, refusing to meet his eyes as you fiddle with your hands on your lap, wondering why he, out of all people, would be nervous. It's not like he stumbled upon something so... intimate. You are a professional, and you were only doing your job, you tell yourself like a mantra, trying to ground yourself. What's the worst that could happen? It's not like he would fire you over your accidental snooping, right? You nod to yourself. “So…”

“So…” he replies, Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a drink of his coffee. “Thank you for taking a look at my computer last night.” He begins, smiling at you. “I know that it was late, and I’m willing to compensate your time by giving you time and a half…”

“Oh,” you nervously reply, shifting in your seat. “No, Mr. Miller—”

“Joel.”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Please. We’re all family here. Call me Joel. Mr. Miller is my father for fuck's sake—”

“Right,” you chuckle. “Sure. Joel. Listen, you don’t need to compensate me for last night, let alone give me the overtime rate—”

“I emailed you at midnight; surely you were already busy, or I probably irritated your husband—”

“No.”

“No?” 

“No,” you mumble solemnly, “there’s no husband, just me and my cat-“

He barks at that, the laugh so loud it makes you jump in your seat. He gives you a look, almost as if he was relieved with that bit of information. “Well, disturbing your cat, then-“

"Oh," you reply casually, waving your hands in dismissal. "I'm sure Sir Bubbles didn't mind... and I don't sleep much, really—"

"Oh?" He straightens himself, his face serious. "Is it because of all of my requests? Shit. My girls give me such a hard time about not being with the times, I'm not really interested in technology— So no husband? Boyfriend, then?"

"Uh, no," you reply quickly, not eager to delve into the details of your lackluster love life. You clear your throat, adopting a professional demeanor. "Joel, as you're aware—or maybe not," you chuckle nervously, "I receive reports of all employee internet histories at the end of the day. Being the sole IT specialist on your payroll—perks of the job, outlined in my duties—I keep an eye out for any... irregularities."

"Irregularities?" he replies, his demeanor shifting into something resembling guilt. "What are you trying to get at?" he presses.

"Well, I monitor employee computer usage to make sure that they're not... distracted from their work," you reply. "Tess was explicit about not having any employees using company time for any unnecessary personal... dalliances."

Joel gives you a hard look. "Dalliances?"

"Yes, dalliances. Tess told me it was an issue before, with employees browsing social media and visiting questionable Reddit threads?"

"I don't follow," Joel replies. "You gotta spell it out for me, Sugar. What does that have to do with my request last night? I had a late night at the office, and after... checking my emails," he gulps, "I suddenly get bombarded with these pop-up things, so much that I just... unplugged my laptop... and, well-"

How is he so oblivious about this? You bite your cheek in frustration, not knowing how to get to the point without having to spell it out for him that you caught him browsing porn last night, secretary porn at that, and although it's highly inappropriate, you hardly think he was watching it because of Gladys, his actual secretary, who is old enough to be his mother.  Not unless he has some weird mommy kink...

Unable to endure the suspense any longer, you decide to rip the bandaid off as soon as possible. “I’m sorry!” You exclaim, “I didn't mean to look at your browsing history, I mean, I had to, but only because I had to find the reason why a virus got on your computer, but that is not the point! I had to open a file to make sure it wasn't corrupted, and I swear, I didn't mean to open it!"

“Open what, sweetheart?” he smiles at you, leaning forward towards you.  

"Well, it was a virus, and as I looked into the problem, I had to explore every avenue to ensure I pinpointed the issue, you know, for my report to Tess. I went into your history to see if it might have been a site that caused you to have the virus. I may have casually peeked into a few files to ensure they weren’t corrupted…” you admit, “…and I might have stumbled upon-" your eyebrows raise in embarrassment, "Something personal."

“Something personal?” He questions, his brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t have anything personal… oh, shit.” His eyes widen as the realization dawns on him, hands covering his face as he groans in embarrassment. "Look, about my internet history... and the list-"

You slowly nod and bite your lip, mostly to hide your own embarrassment. “… yeah. Um, it was quite... informative about your... sexual preferences.”

Joel visibly pales at your confession. He adjusts his collar, unbuttoning the second button as if he were being strangled by your scrutiny. “I just want to let you know", he starts, looking you in the eye with an unreadable expression. "I respect you as a woman, and Tommy, fuck, he wouldn’t let it go, with all that teasing about you being exactly my type and all, and well, your mother did remind me about your little crush on me back then-“ he rubs his hands through his hair as he rambles on, “… and I know that this looks bad, with you being my employee and all-“

“Wait, what?” You cut him off, a confused look on your face. “What do you mean? I mean, they're your personal preferences, and the list, well, I'm sure whoever you're writing about must be some woman, not that it's any of my business-”

“Fuck. You didn’t read all of it?”

“No!” You exclaim, practically jumping out of your seat. “I quickly closed it once I realized the nature of the document…”

“Well.” He stands up suddenly, pacing behind his desk. “I wrote that drunkenly one night after the company dinner, you know, the one when you wore that dress… do you remember?”

“Yes,” you reply breathily, “… the night where-“

You vividly recall that night. It was a dinner at the recently completed new hotel project. After a few glasses of wine and an impulsive, rather expensive purchase at Nordstrom.com a week prior, you endured most of the evening in an uncomfortably tight and overly revealing dress—a poor choice for a company party, for fucks sake. You believed Joel approached you at the end of the night out of sheer pity, not because—

“Well… after seeing you in that dress, and how stunning you looked in it, sitting by yourself, biting your lip in a way that makes me-“ he stops himself, giving you a small smile. “I was drunk, and I was thinking… I was contemplating how, if I were to have you, if you, by some miracle of fate… were interested, that I would do things right, you know? That if I had a second chance at… I would do it right. Treat you right.”

“You do know I’m not a secretary, let alone your secretary,” you roll your eyes. “I’m in IT… the only person in IT actually, and you’re not the first person I caught looking at questionable porn…”

Joel bristles at that. “Shit. Let me guess… Tommy?”

That gets a small smile out of you. “I can neither confirm nor deny, but… he’s partial towards a certain porn actress, and let’s just say he is really in love with women who looks like his wife.”

He smiles. "Shit, I thought I was being obvious enough, being that Tommy has teased me about it enough... I thought you knew. I know you work with computers, Sugar. I’m not completely senile, and I know Tess has been on a warpath about people getting their rocks off at work, I figured you would look at all of my… perusing.”

You're left stunned, your mind racing to process what Joel just revealed. It's not the revelation about his desires that leaves you speechless, but the unexpected admission of his feelings toward you. Your mind flashes back to the list, the desires that seemed so out of reach for someone like you. You never thought Joel would be harboring any feelings for you, let alone express them so openly.

"I... I had no idea," you stammer, still grappling with the revelation. "I thought that list was for someone else, someone... not me."

Joel walks around the desk, his eyes never leaving yours. "You thought wrong, sweetheart. I've been trying to drop hints, but I guess I've been subtler than I thought."

A myriad of emotions wash over you — confusion, surprise, and a hint of something you can't quite place. The professional boundary between boss and employee seems to blur, and you find yourself in uncharted territory.

"But," he continues, "I get it. I'm your boss, and this is complicated. I didn't want to put you in an awkward position. I should've been more direct."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Joel, it's not about being direct or indirect. This is just... unexpected. I never thought someone like you would... feel that way about someone like me."

He reaches out, gently lifting your chin so you meet his gaze. "Someone like me? What does that even mean, darlin'? You're intelligent and beautiful, and I've seen the way you handle your work. I've noticed you, and I can't help how I feel."

A mixture of vulnerability and sincerity in his eyes makes it hard to doubt his words. You start to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, your insecurities have clouded your perception.

"I don't want to pressure you, and I understand if you're not comfortable with this. I just needed you to know. The last thing I want is for things to be awkward at work," he says, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

You take a moment to absorb everything. Joel's revelation, your preconceptions, and the unexpected turn of events. The office, once a familiar space, now feels like uncharted territory.

"I need time to process this," you finally say. "It's a lot to take in, Joel. I never expected... any of this."

He nods understandingly, his hand dropping to his side. "Take all the time you need. I'll respect whatever decision you make. And hey, if you're not interested, we can go back to being boss and employee, like nothing happened."

You manage a small smile, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. "I'll... let you know. Just give me some time, okay?"

"Of course," he says, moving back toward his desk. "And, for what it's worth, I meant every word on that list. Whether it's a rain kiss or making love in my truck, I want it all with you."

You nod, silently acknowledging his sincerity. As you leave his office, you can't help but wonder how a routine IT request led to such a revelation. The office dynamics have shifted, and you find yourself navigating uncharted waters, unsure of where this unexpected revelation will lead.

As you walk away from Joel's office, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts consumes your mind. The revelation about Joel's feelings for you is a shock, but it's not the only thing echoing in your head. The list of desires he had penned down only magnifies your own insecurities. The voice in your mind grows louder, whispering that you're not the woman he deserves—too much of a mess, too behind in life, and certainly not beautiful enough for someone like him. The echoes of your perceived inadequacies replay like a broken record, drowning out the possibility that someone could genuinely see something valuable in you. You glance at your reflection in the office window, critiquing every imperfection, every perceived flaw. The dress that seemed sensible before now feels like a sad attempt to disguise what you believe is a lack of style or grace. The weight of self-doubt becomes an invisible burden, and you can't shake the feeling that you're not enough, that you may never be enough for someone like Joel.

As you grapple with your internal struggles, a small spark of defiance begins to flicker within you. Perhaps it's time to challenge those self-limiting beliefs, to be bolder than your insecurities allow. Joel's admission has opened a door you never expected, and you find yourself at a crossroads. Despite the echoes of doubt, a newfound courage whispers that maybe, just maybe, you can be more than what you perceive.

Embracing this sudden surge of determination, you make a decision. Instead of letting fear dictate your actions, you choose to confront the uncertainties head-on. Swallowing the apprehension that threatens to hold you back, you turn on your heel and head back to Joel's office. The faint thud of your own heartbeat echoes in your ears as you push open the door.

"Joel," you say, your voice steadier than you anticipated. "I've been thinking about what you said, and I need you to clarify something for me."

He looks up from his desk, curiosity etched across his features. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

You take a deep breath, suppressing the self-doubt that still lingers. "Is that list something you genuinely desire with me, or was it just a drunken fantasy?"

Joel's eyes lock onto yours, a mix of surprise and sincerity in his gaze. "Every word of it is something I want with you. Why?"

A daring smile plays on your lips as you respond, "Then let's not leave it as a list, Joel. Let's see how many of those desires we can turn into reality."

The room seems to hold its breath for a moment as Joel's expression shifts from surprise to a slow, understanding smile. The air thickens with anticipation, leaving the next steps uncertain but filled with the promise of something new and exhilarating. As you stand on the precipice of this unexpected journey, the uncharted waters of possibilities lie ahead, and you find yourself ready to take the plunge.

Taglist: @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115

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[seospicybin]

PROFESSIONAL COURTESY.

PROLOGUE

Felix x reader. (s)

Chapters: Part I / Part II

Synopsis: Discovering that his new boss is someone he had one night stand with, Felix struggles to separate work life and personal business. And at times, finding himself mixing those two as he works under your dominance. (9,8k words)

Author's note: I hope you like it. I hope you really do because it's only the prologue hehe

Felix works at a sports news outlet, Sports One.

Initially, he wanted to become one of the contributing journalists in the team but he got hired for a different position instead. As long as he got in, the only thing to do was work his way up to get to that.

However, the climb to the dream job isn't easy.

For the last two years, he's been working as an assistant to the editor in chief and recently, the one he worked for got fired for money and sex scandals which brings disadvantages to the company as the name swirls around with his name along with the many indecent things he did.

The position now is vacant and that leaves Felix's future uncertain. In his defense, he did nothing wrong, he got interrogated as well because of the scandals and proven to have no connection whatsoever to the scandals which secured his job for now. But it seems like he has to wait until someone takes over the position to find out his fate.

There's a rumor going around the office that the managing editor will be appointed Editor in Chief, not only because he's been loyal to the company for the last eight years but he's been indirectly taking the role while the real one was busy embezzling fund and using the money to party with underage girls.

Rather than moaning about his uncertain future, Felix helps around the department and he likes it, it gives him an idea of what it's like when he becomes a contributing journalist.

"You're working harder than most people here," the managing editor, Mr. Kang, says.

Felix shyly smiles as he continues typing on one of the contributing journalists' computers, "I take it as a warm-up session because I'll be working for you soon," he teasingly says to him, hinting at the rumor.

Mr. Kang lets out a sonorous laugh, "I'm afraid I'll be taking Yoon with me," he says.

Yoon is his assistant who has been working for him for three years, the most loyal but also the most mouthful, she's responsible for the 90% of rumors spreading around the office.

"But you know what, I like seeing where you're sitting now, Felix. I think you belong in this chair," Mr. Kang adds with a sly smile and eyebrow raised.

His future suddenly gets so bright and hopeful, he can see how beautiful it is but still out of his reach. Nevertheless, he only needs the rumor to come true so he can have this chair.

Yoon may have been responsible for the 90% of the rumors spreading around the office but the accuracy is below 50%, the rumor could be 50% true or 50% rumor, he also can't ignore the possibility that Yoon started this rumor just to build people's opinions to favor her boss.

In other words, Felix's future is uncertain still.

For the first time, Felix chose to believe in the rumor and manifest it hard because who knows? If he thinks of it hard enough, the universe may grant his wish, and the climb would be over.

-

It's Friday night and Felix has planned his night.

First, he's going to his friend's for his housewarming party which reminds him to buy wine as a present. The perks of being an assistant to a vacant position are not only that he can leave work early, but he can also ride his bike to work.

He puts on his leather jacket, gets on his bike, and turns the engine on, the bike is roaring alive as it's vibrating between his legs. He then puts on his helmet to finally ride his bike out of the building and into the world.

There's nothing like it, the feeling of riding through the city streets as adrenaline adrenaline surging all over his veins as he pushes the speed closer to the limit.

Arriving at his friend's house, Felix parks his bike next to the gate since the driveway is packed with cars already. His friend doesn't even own the house, it belongs to his girlfriend who recently bought it with the money she makes from working as an art dealer.

The house is in the most luxurious and exclusive suburb, sitting on the hill that overlooks the city so Felix can't lie, he's impressed.

The house seems average from the outside but once he gets inside, it's so big and spacious, filled with expensive shiny, furniture.

"It's a nice house," Felix says as his friend welcomes him in.

Suddenly, the wine he bought for a housewarming gift feels so cheap in his hand. He hesitates to give it to him but his friend has seen him carrying it and it would be rude not to give it to him.

"A housewarming gift," he says, awkwardly handing it to him

"Thank you," he takes it from his hand and proceeds to take him on a house tour.

It doesn't take long for him to feel overwhelmed by everything he's seen inside the house, also, he doesn't see anyone he knows in there except for the host of the party.

Felix decides to step out of the fancy house and head to the garden, he sees a group of people there, smoking and chatting. Tempted, he comes up to them and politely asks for a cigarette. Not only did they give one to him, but also lit it for him.

Not wanting to bother them more, Felix heads out of the gate and walks around the area while taking slow drags of his smoke.

It's the most luxurious piece of land yet they provide such poor streetlights, if it wasn't for the full moon that shines so brightly, it would be dimly-lit streets.

His phone beeps with a new notification, and he checks it with the cigarette dangling in the corner of his mouth. It's a text from his other friend, telling him to join him at the bar. He composes a reply before shoving his phone back into his leather jacket pocket.

When he looks up, he senses the presence of another person there but he can only make out the shape of a figure that walks toward him from the opposite direction. He can't see the person but he hears the clicking of their shoes against the pavement then a loud, cracking sound.

"Fuck!" A voice says.

Felix stops walking and takes the cigarette dangling between his teeth. Just because it's an exclusive real estate doesn't mean it's free from criminal acts. He feels alerted as the voice keeps cursing and sighing but he waits there to see if the person will eventually reveal himself.

A light shines out of nowhere then he notices it's coming from a phone screen and there he sees, a face, a beautiful face that he believes belongs to a girl.

"Hello, yes, can I order a taxi?" You talk on the phone.

The voice confirmed it, you are a girl. Felix immediately tosses his cigarette butt onto the pavement and steps on it.

"Hi, hello?" He hesitantly greets.

With your phone still pressed close to your ear, you immediately step back in horror, realizing that there's someone else there.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overhear, I..." he starts explaining but you keep retreating as if he'd hurt you.

Felix raises his hands to show he doesn't bring anything with him and doesn't mean to harm you, "I'm here for a party and I was just walking while smoking when I found you calling for a taxi," he explains.

You remain cautious and hold your phone in one hand, ready to call the police if you need to. While the other hand is carrying your broken shoes which he guesses, you won't hesitate to fling it to him if you need to.

"Yes. And?" You ask with a glare at him.

"It's tough luck to get a taxi here, even if you get one, you will have to wait for at least half an hour," he says, keeping his hands visible at all times, or that shoes will fly at his face.

"And that's if you're lucky," he adds.

You put your hands down to your sides and let out a sigh, "What are you suggesting?"

"It seems like you need help to get somewhere, I mean, I can give you a ride," Felix carefully says, he doesn't want to sound like a creep saying that but there's no other way to say it.

You look at him, scanning him up and down with laser eyes that could see through him.

"Why?" You ask with a voice that is heavy with suspicion.

Somehow, Felix finds the whole situation funny and can't help but let out a laugh. But that seems to give you the wrong impression, he quickly gets ahold of himself and puts on a normal expression.

"I was about to leave the party anyway so I don't see why not," he simply answers.

Seeing that you're still suspicious of him, he decides not to force the help on you, "But if you have ordered a taxi then I'll just..."

He pretends to walk away just to give you not much time to think about his offer, he starts to regret it though that after a few steps away, you don't call for him.

"Fuck. Why did I bother?" He sighs to himself as he digs his hand into his leather jacket pocket, "This is so fucking—"

"Hey, wait!" You finally call for him.

Felix is having a moment of triumph, he quietly smiles and slowly, turns around on his feet and keeps a coy expression on his face.

"Yes?"

"Can you please give me a ride?" You ask, suddenly turning into this girl with puppy eyes that shine even under the dim light.

Somehow, that works to melt his insides and he can't find it in him to say no to you.

"Sure," he says with a smile.

You come up to him while hugging your purse and shoes in front of you.

"I hope you don't mind we have to walk a little," he says.

"It's okay," you mutter, even though it doesn't seem comfortable to walk barefoot on a cool night like this.

The walk back to his friend's house is quiet with the moonlight that shines through the tree branches illuminating both of your faces and the occasional sigh you let out from walking barefooted against the cold pavement. He thinks of offering himself to carry either your purse or your shoes for you, but that would only make you suspicious of him again.

Arrived at the gate of his friend's house, Felix turns around to face you, "You can wait here while I—"

"I don't mind walking a little more," you insist, hugging your purse tighter in front of you.

Well, Felix can't stop you but it's a good thing that he didn't park the bike far from the gate. The keys are jingling as he fishes it out of his jeans pocket.

"So, where did you park your car?" You ask in confusion while craning your neck to the row of cars parked in the driveway.

"Uhm... actually," he scratches his head as he walks over to his bike to show you what he rides.

There's an unreadable expression on your face but he sees how one corner of your mouth slightly quivering, not pleased with what you're seeing.

Felix unlocks the trunk under the seat to get a helmet for you, he then gives it to you.

"I'll drive safely," he assures you before you can say something about it.

-

The bike launches forward as it stops right in front of the hotel and Felix is more than glad for the journey to end. The front of his jacket is crumpled from how you've been clinging to him for dear life and he didn't even ride in high speed.

He pushes his visor open and looks over his shoulder while offering his hand as a support to help you get off the bike.

When you take his hand, your hand is cold as ice and he feels bad for not insisting you to wear his jacket.

"Are you okay?" He asks as he sees you slightly staggering backward the moment your bare feet touch the pavement.

You use his shoulder to steady yourself and let out a sigh, "I'm okay," you tell him.

You take another step back and that's where he can see fully see you. You're wearing a silk blouse with a tight skirt, he notices the flimsy stocking and the expensive designer purse but the strap is a little torn, either from overuse or someone yanked at it too hard.

Wait, it reminds him of how his former boss likes to have a lady escort wherever he goes and they usually dressed exactly like this.

"For the ride, can I... pay you with money?" You suddenly ask then rummaging inside your bag, accidentally exposing a bundle of cash inside.

"No, no, it's okay. You don't have to pay me," he quickly refuses.

First the hotel, then the way you dressed, and now the cash... could it be true?

You pull your hand out of the bag and hug it close to your chest, "Then how can I— Can I at least buy you drinks at the hotel bar?"

The hotel surely has better alcohol than the bar where his friend is waiting, but then again, what if it's true? That you're a lady escort and you ask for money at the end of the night?

"No," he refuses again, he's smiling but eagerly shaking his head, "No need. I'm just happy to help."

"Are you sure?" You ask again while hugging yourself.

"Yes," he hastily replies.

"I don't feel good knowing I owe someone something," you tell him.

"You don't owe me anything," he assures you, "I'm just happy to help."

You feel dejected by it then slowly nodding your head in understanding, "Then, I have nothing else to say but thank you," you sincerely say.

"No problem," he coyly says.

You look at him and hold his gaze for a moment before looking away, "I should head inside."

"Yeah, it's cold," he says, seeing that you're shivering the longer you stand outside with no shoes on.

You turn around to leave but he calls for you, making you turn on your feet right away.

"Yes?"

"My helmet," he says, pointing to your head.

"Oh?" You shyly laugh, realizing that you still wearing it.

Noticing that you're struggling, he gets off his bike and stands in front of you to help you unclasp the straps under your chin, then slowly take it off of you.

"Thanks," you say with a sheepish smile and quickly fix your hair.

Felix holds the helmet on his side and standing there looking at you. This is the first time he can see you wholly under the bright light of the hotel entrance. Your hair is flying around from the wind and your eyes are flickering, offering warmth that he didn't know he sought.

Suddenly, he doesn't feel like going, he wants to follow you inside and lingers in the warmth of your gaze.

"Once again, thank you," you mutter with a smile, the sincerest smile he ever seen on you.

It gets him so flustered out of nowhere that he looks down and holds the helmet in one hand, "Don't mind it."

You seem to have something else to say to him but decide not to say it out loud. You gulp air and stifle a nod, "Have a good night!"

"You too," he says back.

This time, you turn around and keep walking without looking back, entering the hotel with the doorman politely greeting you and opening the door for you.

And that's the last he's seen of you.

-

Or that's what Felix thought.

He forgot about your shoes until he stopped at the bar and opened his trunk to put his helmet inside. It's a pair of strappy, black sandals with one of the heels broken and flapping open on the back of the sole.

If this is expensive, you would have asked for it but since you didn't, he guesses it's better to throw it into the trash. It's broken anyway.

Felix carries the shoes with him to the side of the bar where the dumpster is and as he's about to toss it in, a girl who smokes there notices what he's about to dump.

"Wait, wait, wait!" She comes running to stop him from whatever he's doing.

"Yes?" He asks in confusion.

"Are you throwing away those shoes?" She asks with eyes widening in slight horror.

"Excuse me?"

"The shoes," she points at the shoes.

"Uh... yes," he stammers with the shoes still hanging in the air around his hand.

"Just give it to me, please?" The girl says she's not even asking but urging him to give it to her.

"Why?"

"I want those shoes," she simply answers with a fake big smile just to soften him.

But he senses that she knows the real value of the shoes and that's why she wants it so badly. Felix puts down his hand and hides the shoes behind him.

"No, I'm not throwing it away," he says.

"Why? Why?" She stammers, trying to peek behind his back for the shoes, "How about I buy it from you?"

"No, I was... I was mad at my girlfriend and threatened her with the shoes. I didn't plan on throwing it away, I'm just... just trying to scare her," Felix made up a story on the spot just to get rid of the girl.

The girl doesn't buy it or she's simply persistent on buying the shoes from him, "Well, I'll buy it still and you can—"

Felix hides the shoes inside his jacket and hugs it close to his body, "No, I'm sorry. I can't do that. This is not for sale."

The girl keeps following him and insisting on buying the shoes, her persistence is admirable but it starts to scare him as she almost follows him into the restroom of the bar. He even locked the door just in case she tried to barge in.

Felix takes a moment to breathe after putting down the shoes on the top of the sink. Seeing how much the girl wanted to buy it from him, makes him curious about how much it costs.

He pulls his phone out to do a quick internet search, he takes a picture of it to get a definitive result and he lets out a gasp from finding out how these shoes cost a fortune, like a whole lot of fortune.

A lady escort can't afford this, he reckons. Let's say it's a gift from someone but it's a lot to be considered as a gift a rich person gave to their favorite lady escort.

He suddenly treasures the shoes more than before, he clutches them close to his chest and protects them as he walks through the crowded bar.

"Oi, Felix, we're here!" His friend shouts from across the room.

"I have to go!" He shouts back.

"You just got here. Where are you—"

He can't hear the rest of the sentence as his voice is drowned out by the music and the chatters, and he pushes through the packed hallway, and then out of the door.

Felix has a new plan tonight: Return the shoes to you.

-

How many people walked into a hotel barefooted though? Surely not much so it shouldn't be a problem for the lady at the reception to identify you. She gets suspicious of him instead for not even knowing either your first or last name.

"I'm not allowed to share our customer's information," she says.

What is it with people being suspicious of him tonight?

"I'm not asking for her information," he reminds himself to keep calm, "I just need to return these to her."

Felix puts the shoes on the top of the counter and he knows these are broken shoes but he has an explanation prepared if she gives him a funny look.

"You can leave this with us and we'll make sure to hand it to the rightful owner," she says with a courteous smile.

But that's not what he wants, he wouldn't even bother coming here just to give it to the lady at the reception. She's not who he wants to see.

Felix puts on his charming smile and leans forward on the counter, "I'm planning on handing these personally to her so can you help me?"

Instead of winning her over, the lady seems a little creeped out by it so she slowly takes a step back.

"Can you call her room and tell her that I want to return her shoes," he pauses to lean closer and amplifies his charm before saying the magic word, "Please?"

Felix is cringing inside but he keeps his smile on for another second and it works, he's still got it.

"Let's see what I can do for you," she says.

He intently watches as the lady calls your room and talks to you through the phone, asking if it's okay for him to come up to your room to hand you the shoes.

The lady eventually hangs up the phone and Felix looks at her with hopeful eyes, waiting for her to say something.

The lady cracks a smile and then says, "She's on the 25th floor, suite 15."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Felix grabs at her hand in joy and quickly lets go once he notices.

In the elevator that takes him to the 25th floor, Felix starts to get a bit nervous. He's aware that returning the shoes is a weak reason for him to come here when the truth is, he wants to take what you offered him earlier.

He fixes his leather jacket and then the collar of his shirt next, he brushes his hair as much as he can just to make it look less of a mess.

He raises his hand then it stays hovering for about a few seconds as he musters up the courage to finally knock on the door.

Felix's foot anxiously bounces against the carpeted floor as he waits by the door and holds your shoes with both hands in front of him.

A moment later, the door finally opens and there you are, standing behind the door dressed in a white hotel bathrobe.

"Come in," you say, leaving the door open for him as you head inside the room.

It takes Felix a few seconds to come to his senses as the door is slowly closing, he hurriedly stops it with his hand and then gets inside.

As you stand there in the middle of the room of the suite you're staying in that is too big for one person, he notices that you're not wearing the bathrobe for the sake of being in a hotel room, you've just showered. There's no speck of makeup on your face and your hair is damp, it feels like he's seeing a different you from the one he met earlier, pristine and bare.

"I'm sorry, but what is your name again?" You ask with a hand on your waist.

As a matter of fact, you both haven't gotten the chance to introduce each other and he blames that entirely on his haste judgments for thinking you're something that you're actually not.

"It's Felix," he eloquently answers.

You look at him then eyeing the shoes he's been holding on his side, "Well, Felix, you can put them down somewhere," you tell him.

It would be rude to just drop them anywhere, he opts for a piece of furniture he sees for the first time and carefully puts your broken shoes on top of the dresser.

"Please, have a seat!" You tell him as you waltz to the bucket of ice and a bottle of liquor he guesses you have ordered even before he came here.

There are so many options to sit but he decides on the long sofa that could fit five people and sits on the far end of it, fiddling with his jacket, wondering whether to take it off or not.

"I hope you like cognac," you say as you come up to him with a drink in hand.

Felix immediately aborts his plan to take his jacket off to take the drink from your hand, he hesitantly takes a sip as you sit so close next to him when there's so much space left on the sofa but you choose to corner him.

"So Felix," you shift your body to face him and gracefully cross your legs, "what made you come here?"

If you can afford to stay in a suite at a 5-star hotel, then you definitely can afford the same pair of shoes you broke tonight. He stares at his drink for a while as if it would tell him the answer to your question because he doesn't know what made him come here, but he knows it's not because of the shoes.

"The drinks," he settles on a safe answer, "You offered me drinks and I took the offer a bit late, I hope you don't mind.

"I don't mind at all," you say with one corner of your mouth raised higher than the other, "I got a feeling that someone is coming. That's why I ordered a bottle in the first place."

He nods and takes another small sip of his drink, funny that he can't taste the alcohol at all, it tastes oddly sweet and light, or maybe the effect unknowingly has taken over him.

"It's nice to have drinks with someone," you add.

Yet Felix is the only one with a drink in hand and you're only watching him drinking his alcohol with your fingers pressed against your temple.

The way you're looking at him makes me feel like an object that is being studied, but he likes that it makes him feel fascinating to you. He'll like it more if your eyes look a little less intimidating.

You suddenly let out a low chuckle "Want to know something?"

Felix swallows his drink first to answer you, "Yes."

"I was having a really bad night tonight," you share with a sad smile, "Until you came."

He doesn't know how to react to that because that came out of you unexpectedly, catching him off guard. The only thing he can do is smile and have another sip of his drink.

Noticing that he almost drains his glass empty, you hurriedly take the bottle and refill it for him, "Then you refused my offer about the drinks and I must say I felt a little dejected."

You settle yourself back to your seat and somehow, you sit closer to him, leaving just enough space between your bodies.

"But here you are, making my night a lot better," you continue with a voice that turns lower than before, almost like a whisper.

For the first time, Felix braves himself to look at you and sees how you're staring back at him with eyes that know no fear, unwavering. It makes him nervous, but at the same time, it inexplicably arouses him.

"You get me wondering..." You take the drink from his hand and have a long sip without your eyes straying away from his.

Your eyes get him thinking of filthy things and wanting to do those things to you, he deeply wishes if that's what you've been wondering, if you allow him to do those things to you.

He swallows air as you put the drink away and put your attention back on him, he's dying to know the rest of the sentence.

You reach for the collar of his leather jacket and slide your hand down the lapel, you're only touching the jacket but he's shivering as if you're touching his skin.

"I wonder if things could get any better than this," you finally finish your sentence.

Your eyes meet again in a gaze and you grab the front of his jacket, pulling him close so you can crash your lips against him.

Felix pulls himself together to return the kiss, putting all of him to impress you because that's all he can think of, he wants to impress you. To do that, he dares himself to have a little control, putting his hand on your jaw to angle your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss.

You let out a low moan as he parts your mouth open with his tongue and slips it inside, tasting more of you. Your hand is crumpling the front of his shirt and pulling him closer as the kiss goes deeper.

There's no way he doesn't enjoy kissing you, the way you keep letting him in and responding to his kiss, oh... he can't stop even though he feels a little lightheaded from running out of breath.

You notice it too as you slowly pull away but keep your lips lingering only inches away from his lips, teasing, tempting him to kiss you again.

You lean in with your mouth slightly parted open, brushing your lips against his repeatedly so that your warm breath is the only thing he's inhaling.

Felix boldly decides to be the one going for it now so he leans in only to find you slowly backing away from him.

"I can make things get any better than this," you confidently mutter to him.

With a sly smile, you get up from the sofa as you dramatically take your hand off him, you take the bottle of alcohol in one hand and a glass in the other hand, walking away from him to show him where to go so he can follow. You slide open the two doors that lead to the bedroom and leave them open for him.

There is it, the answer he's been looking for, he came here not to return the shoes, not for the drinks but it's for whatever is waiting for him behind those doors.

-

With the doors left ajar, Felix can see you sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed with your thighs exposed and a drink in hand. The eyes you're giving him are different, they're fierce and full of anticipation as if you're expecting something from him.

After a moment of just looking at him with those eyes, you put down your drink and rest it on your lap.

"You can take your jacket off," you say.

But it doesn't sound like a choice, you want him to take his jacket off, it's an order and he's more than fine to oblige. He pulls them down and shakes the jacket down his arms, tossing it to the chair nearby.

There the eyes again, you sip your drink with your eyes staying on him.

"I like the shirt," you say after swallowing your drink.

That's not a compliment, to him, that translates as you want the shirt off him too, and again, he obeys without complaint, working open the buttons on his shirts one by one with his eyes looking back at you.

The pupils in your eyes dilated as Felix parts open his shirt, revealing his toned body with the room providing proper lighting to showcase his abs. He then tosses the shirt onto the chair, piling on his leather jacket.

Your eyes straying away from his face, they're traveling down his body and he notices the eyebrows raise, a sign that tells him something piques your interest.

For the last piece of clothing, Felix wants you to try a little or at least, make it fair. He knows that you're wearing nothing under that bathrobe and that's fair to him, but he wants to uncover you first because you've been showing a lot yet so little at the same time.

"Want to know why I came here?" He asks you, walking up to you to get the drink out of your hand.

You look up at him as he gulps the rest of the alcohol, he winces as he forces it down his throat and puts the glass aside to get it out of the way.

"I came to make things better for you," he mutters.

He leans down, propping his arms against the mattress and caging you in between them. With him leaning so close and half-naked, he expects it does something to you but you don't falter, not even a little.

Instead, he finds you looking back into his eyes and then you take his hand, placing it on the belt of your bathrobe, allowing him to undress you, in other words, satisfying his need to see your body.

He becomes the one who's nervous for both of you, he tries to remain calm, slowly untying your bathrobe with one hand as tension rises in the room. He has to prepare himself well before parting them open, uncovering your beautiful mounds to him with your nipples erected from being exposed to the cool night air.

Just before he puts his hand away, you take it in your hand again and use it to touch you. Tilting your head to the back, you use the back of his hand to touch your neck and drag it down your front, stopping right on your sternum, you steer his hand to the side.

Now you're using his palm and making him cup your breast in his hand, keeping it there as you lock his eyes in a gaze again.

"You see that?" You ask him as you hold your breast up with his hand, "It looks so perfect in your hand."

Felix is tongue-tied, speechless, his eyes can't catch up to what he's touching but indeed, the way your breast fits perfectly in his hand, he can't help but think that it was made for him.

"Mmh..." you lowly moan as you knead on your breast using his hand.

He can no longer resist himself but uses his hand, touching you as he wants and you eventually let go of your hand, letting him do as he pleases.

You pull him by the neck so you can kiss him, keeping his mouth busy as his hand fondling on your breast and pinching at your nipple once in a while.

Without him realizing, your hand is making its way to the waistband of his jeans. You use both hands to pop open the button and then swiftly unzip his fly, wasting no time to put your hand inside his boxer next.

He has to admit that was impressive, considering that you did all that without looking but he has no time to tell you that when his tongue is in your mouth and your hand is palming his semi-hard cock.

With the current position no longer comfortable for him, he climbs onto the bed and you seem to be more than okay with him hovering above you, if anything, it gives you more reach inside his pants.

That applies to him too, he moves his hand down your front, and he moves slowly as he knows that he's close to where he wants. He lets out a low sigh the second his hand makes contact with your sex, it's soft and delicate like touching a flower.

It's a good thing that he knows how to treat such a beautiful, fragile thing. So he touches you there with so much gentleness and care, that he can feel it blooming under his touch.

It works wonders as you can't seem to keep up with his kisses and your hand is pausing a few times at stroking his cock. You suddenly take your hand out and pull him close only to flip him over, forcing him to take his hand off you.

As you sit straddling him, you take the chance to remove your bathrobe, exposing your naked body to him and only him. Then you crawl over, not stopping until your cunt is right above his mouth, and carefully, you sit on his face.

Felix is not prepared, let alone ready for it but he knows how to use his mouth, especially with how wet and warm you are on his mouth. Just because he's not ready, doesn't mean he's giving up the chance to please you with his mouth.

As you move your hips back and forth against his mouth, you take his hands and place them on your breasts again, guiding him to where you want to be touched. Then you drop to the back with your hands propped against his thighs, continuously thrusting your hips against his mouth.

"Oh, fuck..." you breathlessly curse as the profanity echoes in the room.

His fingers circle on both nipples as his mouth takes more of you, sucking on your clit and then using his tongue to drill into your entrance.

"Oh..." you loudly moan, now moving your hips in slow, circular motions.

Felix let go of your breasts, deciding to curve his arms around your thighs to firmly hold you close, sucking on you harder and intentionally pressing his nose against your clit as breathing is not his main concern at the moment.

He knows you're getting closer to your release as you whine and moan, sometimes both. He loosens his hold around you as a breather, repeatedly running his tongue down your slit as he inhales air to fill his shrinking lungs with lots of oxygen.

However, you decide to spice things up by planting your foot against the mattress, giving more space for his mouth and also, so you can see how well he is at using his mouth. You intently watch as he slips his tongue in and out of you with his half-shut eyes looking up at you,

"You know how to use that mouth for good, mmh?" You mutter at him with your hand in his dark locks and tugging at it.

He smiles with his mouth full of you and with your essence dripping around his mouth, and you think you've never seen something as filthy yet sex like this.

Another profanity falls out of your parted mouth along with a breathless moan, you tug at his harder and harder, he's taking them as a sign that you're close to your release.

This is not what he had in mind when he decided to come here but did he regret it? Not a fucking chance. Felix feels like living in one of his wild fantasies but it's real, he can taste it on his tongue and it tastes so fucking good.

With your head thrown to the back, you let out a mix of a mewl and moan at the ceiling, signifying that you indeed have reached your high.

He rubs his hands up and down your thighs as he watches you slowly descending from your high and back to him, where you can see his mouth is drenched with your bodily fluid. You reach for his face, using your fingers to gather your juice, and then shove them into his mouth, not letting them go to waste.

"I must say you're good with your mouth," you say, watching him lick your fingers clean. You flash him a satisfied smile as you pull your fingers out of his mouth before leaning in to kiss him.

Felix is more than relieved to give you that and surprisingly, he doesn't expect anything in return, he's getting pleasure just from pleasing you, he doesn't know if that makes sense.

You slowly retract yourself and straddle him again, this time you sit right on his crotch. When your hand is wrapped around his cock again, he changes his mind immediately, he needs to have his release, preferably with your help but the how is entirely up to you.

"I don't have any condoms with him," you inform as you lightly rub the tip of his cock with your thumb, "But I'm on the pill and I'm clean."

He always carries a condom in his wallet, just in case something like this would happen and his wallet is inside the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he could get up and get it but would he risk this comfort of your hand wrapped around his swollen cock and more importantly, skipping the chance to feel you wholly.

So he nods and opens his mouth to speak, "I'm okay with that."

But you seem too focused on watching your hand pumping his cock as it's getting impossibly harder in your hand.

"So hot..." you sigh while looking at him with eyes filled with bewilderment, "and so hard..."

"So perfect in your hand," he continues your sentence.

You shake your head in disagreement, "I think it's going to be perfect inside me," you murmur.

Hearing you say that makes him think it, imagine it, and wish those words become true. He's confident with both his body and his skill, but remembering that it's going to be his first time doing it raw, his confidence shrinks a little.

You take his hands and pin them above his hands as you're hovering above him, "It's my turn to give you a ride."

Even though the ride in this context is a different thing, Felix should give you the chance to return the favor, right? He keeps his hands there as you kiss him and slowly pull away to shift your focus to the next thing.

You hold his cock upright and slowly rub your cunt against it, wetting it with your essence. Oh, just feeling your wetness around him is enough to make his brain short-circuit.

"Mmh..." you delightfully hum as you repeatedly rub his shaft between your folds.

When you stop, he knows that it's going to be the time. He quietly takes a deep breath and watches as you aim his cock into your entrance, then slowly, you ease yourself down on him.

It's overwhelming to see and feel his cock going inside you, but try not to explode at the same time. Somehow, he keeps watching as his length disappears into you little by little until he's fully sheathed inside you.

The moan that escaped his mouth is raw and hoarse, you smile catching yourself hearing that. You place your hands flat on his chest and look down at him.

"I like that," you lean in to give him an open-mouthed kiss, "that's the most beautiful thing I ever heard."

Felix can't remember the last time he moans during sex because most of the time, the partner does that part for him, but he takes that as a compliment and it's a good thing that you like it.

With eyes closed, you slowly roll your hips to feel his length inside you and he can feel his cock rubbing against your velvety walls. You're so warm, so tight and so good around him, he doesn't stop himself from moaning to tell you that.

"It's that good, huh?" You say with an eyebrow raised and a cheeky laugh.

Unable to answer verbally, he stifles a nod at you.

You gently cup his jaw and mutter, "I want you to keep moaning for me."

And he finds himself nodding at you.

It's not hard to fulfill your request when you're fucking him so good, You're not going fast or slow, you set a steady pace but he's already getting close to his release.

Without protection, he can feel every drag of his cock against your wall as you bounce on it and watch it slips in and out of you making it harder for him to hold himself back.

Aware of it, you slow down and pull him out of you, hurriedly wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock.

"No, not yet," you tell him between your pants.

He can't decide whether he should be thankful that you abruptly stopped or glad that you're doing that, for now, he decides on the latter.

"I haven't had enough of you so you can't cum yet," you say with a hint of assertiveness in your voice.

To his surprise, he finds himself nodding to you again.

After a moment, Felix managed to calm down and gain some of his senses back. He kisses you back as you kiss him while your hand is keeping his cock pumped for the next session.

The second time isn't getting any easier for him, he feels even more sensitive than before and just being inside you strips away all of the senses he just gained back.

"We'll take it slow this time," you mutter with a mischievous smile.

You stick true to your words, rolling your hips back and forth in painstakingly slow motion. You prop your elbows against the mattress to watch his reaction with your face hovering only inches away above him.

"Do you like it?" You ask with a smile, knowing exactly what you're doing to him.

"Yes," he hastily replies.

"So you like it slow, huh?" you say with an easy smile.

Felix starts to think that it's not about the pace, you're just too good at this and it's truly impressive since you're doing all the work while all he's doing is just lying there on his back and moaning for you.

"Getting close, mmh?" You say with a kiss pressed on his jaw.

Indeed he is and you're showing no sign of stopping even though you know, he's afraid that he's going to cum for real this time.

"Just a bit more," you murmur, adding intensity to your thrusts.

It's obvious that you're getting close as well, he can feel you tightening around him and giving him no choice but to—

You pull him out again right on time, you do the same as you did earlier, holding the base of his cock while you're straddling him.

At first, you seem to him like any other girl, beautiful and delicate, wanting to be treated, and spoiled. But here you are, breaking that notion and showing him that you're not just any other girl.

"Can we continue now or do you still need more time?" You ask with your head tilted to the side and a coy smile that lingers on your face.

And how do you have this much stamina in you? He does nothing but he feels exhausted from how you're giving him all sorts of sensations in those two intense sessions.

Maybe Felix likes being the one treated and spoiled like this and only figured it out now because you're the first person to ever do that to him.

"Do as you please," he says, completely surrendering himself to you because he believes you're going to give him what he wants.

Your smile grows wider hearing his words and on the third time, Felix has prepared himself for it but that doesn't stop him from whimpering as you slide him in again.

"Mmh... I like that you're only getting harder inside me," you hum.

You're reaching down for your clit to rub on it, pleasing yourself with him inside you and letting him watch it. He has the best seat in the house for it but his eyes widen in horror once you start clenching around him.

He's torn between letting you continue pleasing yourself or stopping you before it gets too late. He tries to stop you but all that comes out of him are incoherent words.

"Oh... I– Mmh..."

You stop touching yourself and look at him, "What did you say?"

He's shaking his head instead, not wanting to sound like a blabbering buffoon to you.

You let out an amused chuckle and peck his lips, "Very cute."

That one compliment makes him flutter inside and—

"Oh!" You gasp, "I can feel you twitching inside me."

You lean in to give him a long peck on his lips with your hand steadily holding his chin, "You're very, very cute."

Oftentimes, he doesn't like being called cute, he prefers to be seen as this cool guy, and his deep voice supports that title but suddenly, he doesn't mind that at all. He likes being cute, very, very cute for you if that means being a moaning mess under you as you're incessantly fucking him at a fast pace.

You don't stop yourself from moaning as well, grunting as you keep moving with all the strength you have to take him to his high.

Felix's hands fly to grip each side of your waist out of reflex, it's unclear whether he tries to stop you or guide you, either way, there's no way he's making it this time.

"Just a bit more," you breathlessly mutter with your head tilted up at the ceiling.

But Felix is on the brink of exploding into a million pieces with all these overwhelming sensations going on all at once. His nails dug into your flesh and his moans are turning into helpless cries as you tirelessly move.

"I can't, I can't," he repeatedly says, so close to hitting his limit.

You immediately pull him out and this time, you keep your hand wrapped around him, pumping him at a fast pace and concentrating hard on keeping the pace.

He's growling and his fingers clawing at your thighs as your hand does the job of keeping the pleasure going and ultimately, taking him to his release.

It only takes him a few pumps to finally come undone.

"Oh..." his voice breaks.

He can feel everything but at the same time, his body feels numb until he opens his eyes and sees that his legs are shaking and his cum is making white streaks on your stomach.

"That was close, eh?" You say with that coy smile of yours with your hand coated with his seed.

Felix can't remember the rest of the night but one thing he knows for sure is that things can't get any better than this.

-

It feels like he's been sleeping for ages that when he comes to his wake the next morning, he has to force his eyes open like they've been glued shut for a long time.

He slowly rises on the bed, propping his elbow against the mattress, and looks around, the bed is empty, it's just the quiet that hangs in the room that greets him.

He rubs his eyes like it would help him clear his mind and when he hears the footsteps coming, he suddenly pretends to be still sleeping.

But he sees through his squinted eyes, that you're walking into the room in your skirt and bra on, taking something out of your bag, then walking to the mirror that hangs on one side of the wall.

He watches as you meticulously put on your earrings one by one and then fix your hair by brushing it with your fingers. There's something about watching a girl getting ready, it's like he's watching a movie where the character is unaware of the audience in the room.

You head to the bathroom and he lets out a breath of relief for not getting caught watching you getting ready but that's a haste thinking.

"I have to go at 8," you announce as you come out of the bathroom with your blouse still unbuttoned.

Felix scrambles on the bed, pulling the duvet close to his chest, and is busy covering his body like you haven't seen him butt naked last night. Realizing how stupid he makes himself seem, he lets his hand drop and acts casual.

"I'll see myself out in a few minutes," he says, after checking the clock and it's half past seven.

"Take your time," you tell him.

You walk to stand at the side of the bed while tucking the hem of your blouse into your skirt.

"You can stay and order breakfast," you add, smoothing your skirt as you speak.

"My treat," you add.

This time, he can't tell if that's an order or just a courteous offer, so he just sits there on the bed.

"Okay," he innocently answers while blinking his eyes at you.

The phone rings and you gracefully pick it up, pressing the handle to your ear.

"Yes, I'll be there in five minutes," you talk to the phone.

You take your blazer from the hanger and put it on, going around the room to collect your things, shoving them into your bag as you head out of the room.

Felix thinks you're already out of the door but he doesn't hear the door being closed. But he starts dragging himself out of the bed and getting up, sending the duvet slipping down his body.

He stands looking out of the window that offers the city view from this height, butt naked. He stretches his arms out and fumbles when he sees you coming back.

"Felix," you call him from the doorway.

It's too late for him to cover himself so he acts like it doesn't bother him, "Yeah?"

"It was nice meeting you," you say with a smile.

Indeed, it was nice meeting you as well and you made quite the first impression on him, one that he'll likely remember all of his life.

Despite how much he enjoyed last night, the night has turned to day and he has to continue living his life knowing that he'll never see you again.

-

The news that his new boss is coming to the office today doesn't affect Felix's exceptionally good mood.

Yes, he is disappointed that Mr. Kang is not appointed as the new Editor in Chief, not because that means he won't get the promotion he implied a couple of days ago, but because he knows how much he deserves it.

Felix takes his cup of coffee with him to join everyone heading to the auditorium to welcome the new Editor in Chief and he patiently waits until the group of people gathers at the entrance to disperse to get inside, he's not in a hurry anyway.

However, it's at a time like this his mind starts to wander to that night, he can't seem to forget it, not in his wake or even in his sleep.

"I don't think you'll be smiling in the next few minutes," Yoon appears from behind him, her glasses slump down the bridge of her nose and her bangs are perfectly curtained on her forehead.

He gets so used to her appearing out of nowhere just to spread her negative aura and ruin his day, but he tolerates her because if there's one person who knows how much this job takes a toll on him, it's Yoon.

"And here comes the sunshine," Felix says with a forced smile, he has to keep his coy even though she caught himself smiling by himself.

"You can say that promotion goodbye," Yoon says, crossing her arms together in front of her.

"At least, now we know the accuracy of your rumor decreased by 20 percent," he remarks, starting to get in line to enter the auditorium.

"At least, now we know you get to keep the job," Yoon gives a rather too-honest comeback.

"Touche!" He responds, not having anything to say back to that.

Felix chooses to sit on the farthest row from the stage and Yoon occupies the seat next to him, clutching her cardigan together, looking fidgety as always.

"So, you got any dirt on my new boss?" He curiously asks while casually taking sips of his coffee.

"The usual," Yoon says as she leans back on her seat.

"Nepotism, Ivy League graduate, interned at the Finance Times, worked as a contributing editor at Club 9 magazine for a year which is a sports magazine centered around golf by the way, and..." She's rambling on and on, spilling information at a light speed.

Felix often wonders how Yoon acquired all this information, he can't even keep up with the things around him, let alone having the time to learn about someone.

"I wonder why her family sent her here to handle the—"

Felix catches something that he doesn't expect to hear, he quickly swallows his coffee and asks, "What?"

Yoon rolls her eyes and turns her head at him, "She's engaged to this– Was– engaged to another nepo baby—"

But that's not the part he's asking about, "No, I mean... she? My new boss is a she?"

Yoon glares at her this time, glaring as if she's not pleased with what she heard, "You're not going to be a misogynistic fuck who objects to having a female boss, right?"

"No," he quickly denies and Yoon's glare softens a little.

"I'm not expecting my new boss to be a woman," he holds his hands up at her to stop her from attacking him and lets him finish talking first.

"I don't mind at all. I'm just a little... just a little taken aback," he explains, emphasizing that he doesn't mind whether it's a male or a female, his only hope is that his new boss isn't going to give him hell.

The applause erupts in the auditorium as Mr. Kang enters the stage, he sees someone lingering by the side of the stage which he assumes is his new boss.

"There she is. The one you'll be working for," Yoon informs while weakly clapping her hands together.

Felix can't see the face as she stands with her back to the side, but in his opinion, she's dressed a little too neat considering that she's going to work for a sports media outlet.

Mr. Kang finishes with his short speech and it's finally time for him to call the person who stole his chance at leading Sports One.

"Let's give our new Editor in Chief a warm welcome," Mr. Kang leads the applause as he takes a step back for the new Editor in Chief to take the podium.

"I hope it's not someone I knew," Felix jokingly says, standing up to see her.

Yoon snorts as she stays on her seat, amused by what he said, "Pfft... you wish!"

When he sees his new boss take a stand behind the podium and then speak into the mic, his heart skips a beat. He recognizes that face, that voice, and ultimately that smile, it's you, the one he had sex with and indeed, someone he knew.

Felix swears that he meant it as a joke but he wonders, could things get any better than this?

-

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[yelenasdiary]

The Perfect Surprise

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: Wanda and Maria surprises you with a baby shower with Nat having an extra surprise

Translations: Detka (baby),

Warnings: Slight Language Warning, Pregnancy Talk | 0.9K

AC: As always, I have used a random generator to pick the baby’s gender! I hope you enjoy this x

Waking up to the gentle soft hand of your wife rubbing your baby bump was something you quickly grew to love, every morning when Natasha would get back from the gym, she would whisper sweet things to your unborn baby which eventually would wake you. You couldn't help but smile softly as you watched her hand move up and down your stomach with care. 

"Good morning darling" Natasha whispered before placing a kiss on your cheek, "Are you ready for today?" she asked. You nodded. Yesterday Maria and Wanda had told you that they planned a baby shower for you and Natasha. "Are you ready for today?" You asked Nat knowing she hated having attention put on her. She chuckled with a nod, "I also have a surprise for you today" she replied.

You tilted your head slightly, "is that so?" You questioned. 

Natasha had this planned for a while, but she wasn't sure how to go about delivering the surprise so when Wanda and Maria came to her four days ago and poked her about the baby shower, she decided to give the women the scrap of torn paper the doctor gave her months ago, she never looked at it no matter how much it tempered her. 

You didn't want to know the gender of your baby unless Nat wanted too so when she said she wanted to wait, you believed her. Little did you know, she had the doctor write the gender down and she's been carrying it in her purse since. She told Wanda and Maria to get creative as the gender would be a surprise for the both of you. 

"What do you have planned?" You questioned when Nat just smirked and placed a kiss on your baby bump. "You'll find out later today" she said softly before pushing herself off the bed and walking into the bathroom. 

----

Everybody from the Avengers to your friends and family were gathered outside at the back of the compound looking over the city of New York. Plenty of laughter and chatter filled the air as you took some time to talk to everybody who had come up to you and Natasha, congratulating you both on the next chapter of your lives. 

The outdoor entertainment area was decorated with plenty of blues, pinks, yellows, greens and other gender-natural-colored items, a large board was placed near the sweet candy treats for guests to write their guesses down for what you and Nat might call the baby, the length, weight and gender and whoever would get the closest to the correct answer would win a $50 online gift card once the baby was born. 

"I sure hope there isn't a knife in that box Yelena" you chucked as you watched Yelena place the gift on the table among the other gifts, "do you think so low of me? To give my niece of nephew a knife to welcome them into this world?" the blonde replied as she came up and gave you a hug. 

"It's debatable" you chuckled. 

"Don't worry, I made sure it wasn't a real knife" Kate inserted herself, reaching in for a hug and congratulating you. Yelena playfully rolled her eyes before listening to the small talk shared between you, Kate and Natasha. 

Wanda came out carrying a rather large cake that caught your eye, watching as she placed it in the center of the table full of finger food. It was rounded, one half blue and the other half pink with a red hourglass symbol in the middle with the words "Super-She or Super-He?" On top. 

"Surprise" Natasha whispered as she gently rubbed your baby bump from behind. 

"I thought you said you wanted to wait" you turned to her. 

"I know but we literally can't set up the nursery without knowing, it's driving you crazy" the redhead admitted. Playfully, you slapped your wife's hand, "I think I've been doing great with all the gender neutral items and colours" you replied but you couldn't deny that you were just as curious and excited to know the gender as much as Nat. 

Natasha just shook her head and placed a kiss on your cheek before the two of you continued to talk with guests until Wanda got everybody's attention. "Nat, Y/n, we hope that this next chapter of your lives is everything you expect and more. Not only is your beautiful baby already so loved by the two of you, but they're loved by everybody here today. I'm not going to drag this on because I know you're eager to know little widow's gender but also because Steve is sweating that he's not giving a speech" Wanda said causing everybody to laugh at her fun at Steve who just shook his head. 

"Both of you take a knife and cut into a side of the cake each" Wanda added. Excitement made your hands slightly shake as you brought the silver knife to the blue side of the cake, Nat's knife hovering over the pink side. 

"Ready?" Nat looked at you with her famous smirk. You nodded, "on 3?" You asked. 

"Always"

On 3 you and Nat cut into the cake, slowly Natasha pulled out her slice to relief the cake's red valet color while you slowly pulled out your slice to a blue color. "Congratulations guys!!!" Kate bursts with joy as Natasha pulls you in for a deep kiss, smiling against your lips, "we're having a boy!" You whispered, letting the news sink in. Everybody applauded and congratulated you both with the news. 

"You owe me $20" Natasha chuckled, reminding you of the bet the two of you made during your second trimester. You rolled your eyes playfully before kissing her once more, "I love you so much" you whispered. Tears of happiness filling your eyes only for Nat to wipe away, "not near as much as I love you detka" she whispered in reply.

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