#Which golf ball to use

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

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

2. Use adverbs.

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

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, bye!

[rafesfawn]

🪽🧺 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋

𝜗ৎ⋆｡˚ when rafe sees a precious little doll on the side of the road with a broke-down car, how can he resist out of the kindness of his heart offering her a ride? just a ride home, that's all...

or how trailerpark!angel!reader and rafe met!

warnings: use of the nickname pet & little one, reader! is eighteen-nineteen! bit of perv!rafe, barely proofread!

a/n: first time writing a rafe fic/blurb! im so excited, also this is based on this ask and thank you so much for sending something I really appreciated it and I hope u like it mwah! I would say you two meet in like early season 2 (right before the cross storyline) also for the format slight ib to others on here esp @rafesangelita (sorry for the tag!)

this was based off of this ask! which tysm i literally love requests and rafe and trailerpark!angel!reader is my new obsession <3

a small, meaningless kick was made to the tire while you huffed and groaned, putting two hands over your frustrated features as all you wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

“piece of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking the tire once more, but immediately a whimper fell from your lips. the pain shot from your toe up to your spine. making you sniffle and tip-toe in pain. in your denim ruffle skirt, white socks, and pink converse, you sat down on the asphalt, on the side of the road, leaning against the side of your broken-down car.

she wasn’t the best car, but she surely got you around most of the time. most of the time. it was a little volkswagen beetle, light pink in color, covered in so many stickers some wondered if it was passing inspection. it wasn't.

sitting with your head against the car for what felt like hours (it was maybe ten minutes), but spending even that on the side of a main road in kildare island was torture. especially with the beating sun late august provided.

rafe was speeding down the road on the way to play golf and get drunk with topper and kelce. “ah shit, i don’t know, man.” he said into his phone, holding it up with one hand; his voice gruff and confident, topper on the other line. “you really think i won’t kick your ass today huh?” a smirk grew on his already smug expression.

letting out a short chuckle at toppers response, nothing anybody ever said meant more than a laugh to him. or that's what it used to be like anyway, his act wasn't together if anything, it was worse than it'd ever been. his father condemning him to disingenuous "discipline" to forget about the possible death of his golden daughter.

"the fuck?" he mutters into the mic, his voice laced with confusion. as he sees up ahead on the road, a pink car broken down, with the most precious thing sitting against it. a pout on the angels soft lips and the most defeated look in her eye. aw, you just fell right into my lap, didn't you? little angel.

your eyes glued on the pavement, your entertainment of watching a little ladybug try to make it to safety in the distance, was shortly interrupted.

a nice black truck coming into view it came to such a short stop it almost took your breath away, the breaks slightly screeching at the haste. a tire replaced the spot the ladybug once was.

you stood brushing the dirt and gravel off the backsides of your pale thighs, left bare by the short fabric of your skirt.

the man stepped out of the truck. he was tall, and the sleeves of his polo looked like they were about to burst at the seams, not able to contain the biceps beneath. his features strong and statue-like, his deep sea eyes hidden behind the curtain bangs that hung over his forehead. a grin that seemed too genuine, too good to be true.

you removed your heart-shaped sunglasses, placing them on top of your head to see him more clearly. your possible savior, but he was anything but.

he stepped a bit closer, seeing the state of her already pretty beaten car, "having some car trouble?" rafe asked as if he wasn't stating the obvious.

you pretended he wasn't either as you nodded, the frown only slight now but still on your lips as your eyes remained looking up into his.

"aw.. poor thing we can't have that, what happened?" his voice, a mockery of sympathy. as he inspected the piece of shit car she loved so much. his care coming from a place of ownership, of burning ache or want.

still, in slight shock, you hadn't answered him, following behind him as he reopened the hood like he owned the car. not even realizing you'd been rude and not replied till he spoke again. "little one, i can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." a heady mix of gentle and firm that made your mouth go dry and your head dizzy.

"oh- it's been on her last limb for like ever, i guess she finally called it quits... right on my way home." you said with a little sad laugh that rafe wanted to bottle the sound of and listen to on repeat. "and I really need to get home," you added fiddling with your fingers in front of you.

a sweet girl all out of options, rafe was so glad he was here to provide her with his help. "tell you what, I'll take you home and come back and fix this thing up for you, huh?" he offered, there goes his saturday plans he presumed. it'd be worth it. he told himself he'd make it worth it, with those shy eyes and the expression you carried like a lost puppy. you'd owe him he'd make sure to get something in return.

just like he figured, you shook your head. never wanting to accept such a grand favor. "I can't ask you to do that, I mean, I don't even know your name." nerves, curiosity, and a glint of something else tinged in your voice, so many wonders in that head as soon as his truck came to a stop for you. why? the only question running through your mind.

"It's rafe, can I help you out now?" his genuine grin turned almost smug at his own remark, brushing that bangs out his face, the effort pointless as they immediately fell back again.

you paused. picking at the already chipped white nail polish on your sore fingertips, a larger-rougher hand covered your own, stopping your movements with that firm gentleness he carried around her. you looked up at him, he was so much closer. the scent of some cologne that probably could pay your rent, and a tinge of smokey wood filled your senses.

"pet?" he questioned with an expecting tilt of his head, calling you that like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your body and mouth responding before giving another second for your brain or anxiety to think it over, you nodded. "can you please give me a ride home?" you hesitantly asked, it felt weird. getting help, and even asking for it felt foreign, he offered it so graciously like it was nothing.

looking down upon her, his grin turned genuine once again, his eyes seemed almost proud it was a soothing balm to her nervous heart. a rosy hue to her cheeks as his palm covered the side of her neck, making a few pats to the flesh before leading her to his truck.

you'd owe him. something he was sure you were ready for.

[chxrryhansen]

okay but rafe shamelessly peeking up your skirt is something so personal to me

omg omg wait s1 golf frat boy rafe x cutesy kinda bimbo reader??? COUNT ME IN. p.s- i have no idea how to play golf so i wrote my best interpretation😭

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

you sat in rafes private golf caddy watching as he lined up his next shot, his backwards cap keeping his hair out of his eyes and his muscular legs spread wide as he takes the shot.

rafe had asked (told) you to come watch him play, he thought it would be a cute date idea for you both to get out of the house since it was way too hot to stay cooped up inside all day… when in reality he just wanted to show off his skills and impress his girl.

“rafeeeeey.” you whined in a high pitch tone.

he turns to look back at you with a sour expression, wiping the sweat from his brows with one arm, using the other to lean against his golf club. “quit distracting me. what dya’ want?” he pants in the summer heat.

“i’m boreddddd” you moan again, standing from your seat in the cabby and bouncing over to him.

his free hand reaches out to grip your face, smushing your cheeks together tight “what’ve i told you about the whining? daddy’s tryna’ play a game here, sweetcheeks.”

you look up at him with big puppy dog eyes “can you teach me? please rafey…i’m so bored just sittin’ here, daddy please.”

he lets out an irritated groan, knowing you were too ditzy to understand how golf works and way too uncoordinated to actually putt a ball. he looks back at you giving you a once over, a smirk appearing on his face.

“you know what? sure pretty girl, c’mere.”

you yelp with excitement, moving to stand infront of him, your short pink skirt barely reaching your thighs as you bounce over and your tits jiggling, practically spilling out of your tight shirt.

rafe stands behind you as he passes you the golf club, quickly showing you the correct way to hold it before he moves onto your position. kicking your feet apart and pressing down on your back with his thick fingers, forcing you to arch your back as he bites his lip, his cock already growing hard.

“that’s it baby, stay just like that. now, lift your arm up like this, and strike.” you beam at him while he instructs you before focusing on the ball.

you raise your arm holding the club tight before you strike it. not even noticing rafe bending down slightly, his legs still spread wide around your figure and his fingers lifting your short skirt, peeking at your cute, pink panties underneath, he lets out a low “fuckkk.” at the sight, not loud enough for you to notice seeming as you were concentrating.

“rafey! look! i hit it. look how far it went!” you gasp, raising one arm to block the sun as you search for the ball with your eyes.

“yeah babe, daddy’s super proud of you.” he mutters, not paying attention to a word you said, instead focusing on the slightly damp patch on your panties.

he brings his thumb to your pussy, rubbing over the soaked material. your panties beginning to stick to your cunt as he thumbs your sensitive slit.

you whimper in surprise, your head spinning to look at him in shock. “daddy! wh-what are you doing?!” you hush, eyes wide, looking around quickly to see if anybody had noticed what he was doing, which they hadn’t… yet.

rafe hushes you before pulling your skirt back down and giving your ass a harsh smack. lifting up from his bent knees and looking down at you with a large smirk.

“nice panties, baby. where’d you get em?” he asks rhetorically, a sly smile appearing on his face.

knowing for a fine fact he bought them, as he does everything else, your clothes, food, shoes. you name it, he bought it. because that’s what wealthy daddy’s like him do. and rafe is without question, wholeheartedly, your daddy.

[airyairyaucontraire]

#I am feeling strangely comforted by this#because there are three post offices#within a 20 minute walk of my house#and I not only know where they all are#but have used all three#and I know where to find two near my office as well#so I feel like I am winning some kind of navigational quiz here!

goblins versus readers of The Hobbit cricket match and you just hit a sixer!

JRR Tolkien, writing The Hobbit: The passages there were crossed and tangled in all directions, but the goblins knew their way, as well as you do to the nearest post-office…

Me, a child, reading it: Oh dear. I’m not sure I do know the way to the nearest post-office. It sounds as if that’s absolutely something I’m supposed to know. I can’t know less than a goblin. The book will be disappointed in me.

Me, a little while later, figuring out the location of a nearby post-office: oh thank goodness

Me for the rest of my life: feeling vaguely comforted and affirmed by knowing the location of the nearest post-office, a facility I almost never use, because I am at least the navigational equal of a goblin

[starkeysprincess]

thinking about tagging along with Rafe to watch him play golf for the first time.

warnings: hint of exhibitionism, cockwarming, rafe referring to himself as “daddy” (i mean he is sooo), 18+ mdni

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

You’re sat on the golf cart, looking all pretty with your tiny skirt that barely covers your ass. As you’re watching him, you can’t help but get turned on and it doesn’t help when all you can focus on is the grunts and groans he makes with each swing of the club. You can feel the way your arousal pools in your panties, making you press your thighs together, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend when he turns his head to look back at you.

After a while, he can hear you squirming in the seat, causing him to turn around, “Quit squirming”. His stern tone makes you pout in return, “How much longer are you going to be playing?”.

“What are you in a rush for, baby?” he cocks his head, knowing exactly why you’re in a rush. “Rafe, come on” you whine, to which he huffs before gathering his things and loading them onto the cart before hopping in next to you, “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”.

“N-nothing” you mutter, your fingers playing with your skirt, “Nah, it‘s not nothin’, you couldn’t quit fuckin’ squirming around” he snorts, “You gonna tell me what you’re thinking about or not?”. You huff, muttering under your breath, “Just need you”, making his ears perk up at your words.

"Need me that bad that you can't wait?" he teased, receiving a nod from you. He lets out a chuckle, "Fuck, baby...you must need my cock inside of you that bad, huh?".

He can feel his cock twitch in his pants at the mere thought of you being desperate and needy for him. He looks around before grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap. His hands move to lift the back of your skirt, pushing your soaked panties to the side while he fumbles with the zipper of his shorts.

You barely get a word out before he’s lifting your hips up, a gasp spilling out of your mouth when he pulls you down onto his thick length. His large hands adjusting your skirt to make sure it’s covering the two of you. “R-Rafe…someone might see” you stutter and if Rafe knew any better, he’d think you were worried about being caught but with the way you were clenching down on him, told him otherwise.

“You like this shit, don’t you? Like the idea of possibly getting caught with my dick buried deep in your little cunt?” he breathes against your ear.

You start to roll your hips, earning a groan from him before he’s firmly gripping your hips, stopping you from fucking yourself on his cock. “Nuh uh, you’re just gonna sit here, lookin’ all pretty, keeping my cock warm while I drive us off the course, got it?” his words not leaving much for an argument.

“I’ll fuck this tight little cunt so good if you stay. Think you can be a good girl for daddy?” he pats your thigh, “Mhm” you nod.

He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you still while he puts the gear into drive. As he starts to drive around the course, he accidentally drives over a bump, making his hips thrust up into yours.

You can’t help but let out a moan, subconsciously grinding your hips down against him, only for him to slap your thigh harshly, making you yelp. His voice is stern as he speaks, “Keep doin’ that and I won’t let you cum when we get home”.

He can’t help but smirk to himself at your reaction from him driving over a bump, which causes him to purposely drive over any bumps and dips. His hips thrust up with each bump and dip he goes over, making your eyes flutter shut, whimpers just barely leaving you.

Your hands grip onto his thighs, nails digging into his skin and he can feel your slick coating his length, dripping down to his balls as he continues to drive through the golf course.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

stargazing m.list

tagging: @oceandriveab / @babygorewhore / @xxbimbobunnyxx / @sturnioloshacker / @rafesthroatbaby / @drudyslut / @rafecameroninterlude / @nemesyaaa / @hallecarey1 / @heartsforvin / @rylie-m / @eddieslut69 / @kisses4angel / @hyperfixationgirl / @emilysuperswag / @flvredcas / @rafeinterlude / @starkeysheart / @starkeyisthelastname / @fae-of-prey / @amandabbbbb / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @spid6y / @chimindity / @rowans-posts / @twinklstarrrr / @lilacheavenn / @zyafics / @ihe4rttwd / @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/2

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half

A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.

very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!

AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I’m kidding) (I’m not)

You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.

You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 

No school? Check.

Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.

Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.

But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.

A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 

School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.

It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.

It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 

But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.

Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.

You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.

You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 

It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.

You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.

Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 

But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.

Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.

But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.

It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 

Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.

She deserves better. 

Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.

Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.

In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.

This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 

Luke Hughes loves summer.

He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.

The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 

He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.

He does love living with his brother.

Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.

Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 

He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.

A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.

A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.

And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.

Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 

He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.

Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”

“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 

“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”

“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 

It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 

“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”

Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.

But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.

You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.

“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 

Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.

“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”

And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 

“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 

“You know her?”

“We had a class together. I know of her.”

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.

He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 

He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 

He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 

He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.

But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.

“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”

“No,”

“And I let you live with me all year?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 

“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”

If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.

You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.

“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”

And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.

He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.

Since when do you work here?

He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 

He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.

But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.

If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.

Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.

Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 

It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”

“Five minutes of your time?”

The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.

His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.

He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”

“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?

He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.

It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.

He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 

“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”

“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 

“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”

Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.

He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!

“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”

“I know who you are.”

So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.

He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”

“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 

“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”

“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.

“What about ‘em?”

“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”

“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”

Us. Oh, he likes that.

“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”

You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”

“A nudge, then?”

He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.

If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”

“How profound.” 

“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”

“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 

“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.

“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”

“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.

“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”

“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”

“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”

You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.

“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”

Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.

This is fun. 

There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.

“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”

“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.

“We could make a competition out of it.”

“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.

There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.

“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.

“It’s what you want that concerns me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”

You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”

Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.

Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.

“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”

If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 

But God, you were pretty. 

Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.

“I’m Luke.”

“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."

“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”

And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.

He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.

He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 

He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.

And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.

He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 

And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.

At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.

He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 

He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.

And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.

You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”

The bet.

Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.

He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 

If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.

He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 

“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.

He has you figured out, by now. 

“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 

“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”

You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.

The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.

He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.

“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”

“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”

“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”

“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.

“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”

“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 

Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.

“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”

If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 

“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”

Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.

It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.

And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.

But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”

You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.

If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.

Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.

Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.

And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 

You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 

Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.

And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.

It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.

So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.

You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 

He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.

You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.

You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 

You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 

You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 

And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.

Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.

“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.

“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.

“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”

You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.

Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.

“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”

He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 

“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”

“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.

“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”

“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.

“You wish.”

“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”

“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.

“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”

You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”

This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 

Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 

You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.

“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”

“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”

And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 

It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.

“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”

“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”

Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?

“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.

“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”

“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 

“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”

You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.

“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”

“Can you find out?”

“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 

By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.

Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.

Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.

Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 

Much better.

Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 

You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.

And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 

You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 

But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 

So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.

You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”

You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.

“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”

“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.

“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”

“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”

And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.

You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.

A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.

Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.

“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 

You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”

“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”

He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.

“To get his hair cut.”

Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.

“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”

“And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 

You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.

“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”

“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”

“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”

You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 

“Thank you.”

It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.

“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.

“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.

“Any food?”

“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”

“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”

You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.

“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.

“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”

“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”

“Won’t he complain?”

“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”

“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”

She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.

“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”

“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”

“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.

He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 

It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 

You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 

You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”

You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.

He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 

And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.

The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.

That would usually drive him crazy.

He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.

You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.

You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 

You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.

You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.

And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.

You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.

He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 

“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”

“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 

He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.

“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”

“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”

“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”

Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.

You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 

But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”

Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 

“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”

You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”

“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”

He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.

“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 

Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 

“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.

“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.

“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”

“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”

Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 

“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”

“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”

“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”

“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”

“She started it!”

“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”

He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 

“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”

And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.

He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.

Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.

“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”

“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”

“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”

There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.

Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.

So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 

You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.

You can’t wait.

The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.

“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”

Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”

He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.

He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?

“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”

There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”

“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”

Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.

“Like what?”

“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 

You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.

You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 

“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.

There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.

It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.

It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.

Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.

And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  

You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.

And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.

Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 

“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 

“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.

“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”

You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.

“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”

“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”

“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 

“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”

“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”

“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.

“You don’t see him even in the summer?”

“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”

You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.

Interstellar. 

You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.

“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 

“Me too. I love space movies.”

“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 

“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”

“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.

“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”

“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”

“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”

“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”

“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”

You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.

“What about you? What movies do you like?”

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”

You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”

The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.

And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”

Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.

“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”

“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”

Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.

It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 

You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 

“You tell anyone I did this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”

You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.

another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!

this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!

[withjaejae]

Hole-in-one | JJK

A day of golf goes better than expected despite being ditched by your bestfriend and spending the afternoon with your so-called rival.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

High society of sorts, Richie Rich type of wealth.

Warnings: Oral (m/f), sexual jokes, dig bick Jk, playful banter, unprotected sex, squirting, throat fucking, sexual tension, one-shot. (Did I miss something?)

A/N: I wanted to write more but I thought it ended ok. My knowledge on golf is based on Wii which I stopped playing a long time ago. So bear with me.

I have no way to know how long but enjoy.

Because some of you asked nicely

PART 2 PART3

++++++

You groan in frustration as you read Namjoon's text saying he left with the girl he met at the club lobby.

It was a nice sunny afternoon, perfect for golf. At least Namjoon was gonna fill holes either way and that irks you the most. He's had women, left and right, while you struggled with your types.

All you want was a man who shared the same things you like. Golf was your thing, Namjoon came for the women who thought they were stealing him from you. When in fact, Namjoon was your cousin/best friend.

"Alone today?" The attendant, Jean, always met you with a smile and your golf clubs.

"Yeah, unfortunately my cousin can't last a second without a mouth around his dick." Her face flushed a deep crimson. "No offense." Yup, she and Namjoon did it too.

"None taken, I'm over it." She shrugs and grabs the golf kart key from the shelf. "Shall we?"

"I think I wanna go solo today, Jean. Thanks." You take the key from her and she nods. She knows better than to say no to you.

Your custom lavender colored Kart waited for you, your initials in mettalic purple on the front. It was parked next to several other custom karts.

You arrived at your first course. A man was already standing there, setting up his own stuff. No caddie in sight, you notice his arms and very much know who he is. You look at the deep purple colored kart next to yours.

"No girls to fuck on this fine afternoon, Jeon?" You smirk as you step out of your kart.

He stands up straight at the sound of your voice, he doesn't need to turn around to know its you.

"I wondered why the birds stopped singing." He continues to set up his tee. "No dicks to suck?" He quips.

"I don't fuck on the weekends." You're unfazed having been bantering like this for about a year now.

"Oh look, we do have things in common." He calls 'fore' before swinging his club.

You both watched as the ball lands near the hole. Out of respect you clap your hands, that was a good swing.

"Namjoon?" He finally turns to look at you, his eyes rake over your legs, your skirt is too short for golfing and your top hugged you so well he could outline your tits.

"Found a poor soul in the lobby before he could even touch some grass." You snort and pull out your own driver and ball.

He steps back, clearly you both could use the company even if it meant mean retorts.

You take position, he doesn't even try to be subtle about oggling at your ass.

You and Jungkook are neighbors but you studied abroad for middle school and highschool. Why you chose to come home for college, you're not sure. But you and Jungkook are in senior year now and you have common friend groups but not really that close until...

A year ago, you finally joined your parents to the Jeon's hunting weekend, it was an annual thing. It was going smoothly for the most part but when you and Jungkook shot the same boar at the same time, that's when the mean comments started. It was a rivalry of sorts, one trying to become better than the other.

Contrary to what he said earlier, you have too many things in common being raised in high society.

You see each other all the time at sport events and even charities but nothing beyond those events.

To be here with him, without anyone else is a first. You both won't admit that you've been crushing on each other but your society knows there's tension between you two.

"Nice ass." He comments just as you swing. Your ball landing a bit far from the hole.

"You did that on purpose." You frown at him, he was already smirking with that cute bunny looking face, his nose scrunched up.

"I did. Now look, looks like you need two more strokes to make it." He snorts as he walks towards his kart and you groan as you follow him.

"Title of your sex tape." You comment under your breath, he laughs.

You both drive down the path towards the hole.

You study the distance of your ball to the hole and his distance. You can make it in one, if you're lucky.

He lines himself up.

"Nice ass." You say back as he swings and it goes right in. You roll your eyes.

"Two strokes." He winks and moves to stand next to you. Shoulders touching, suddenly it feels warmer.

You stop to feel the wind, you work on your angle and with one stroke, it goes in too.

"Impressive." He claps his hands too and you made a little curtsy. "Never thought you'd be this good at golf."

"You see me here all the time. Doesn't that make sense?" You take both balls from the hole.

Instead of putting the ball in his palm, you make a bold move of standing in front of him while slipping both in his pockets.

"There, now you have a pair of balls." You look up at him, for a second his eyes darkened but the smirk was back.

He leans down, lips nearly touching. "YN, if you wanted to touch my balls, all you need to do is ask."

Your cheeks feel hot and it doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook. But you never back down.

"I thought you didn't have any." You lean closer, one more move and your lips would be touching.

"I can show you right now." Your face moves back. "All talk and no walk, a shame." He stands up straight. "But if you want it so badly. When I do a hole in one, you be my caddie. And if you do a hole in one, I'll fuck your brains out."

You snort but can't help feel the rush of wetness from between your folds.

"You say that like fucking you is a prize." You step away from him. "The only hole you'll get to fill today are on the course. But..." You flip your hair to the side, a mischievous glint in your eye. "If you wanted to, all you have to do is ask."

"Oh? Then, YN, can I fuck your brains out?" Oh, he's bold. You roll your eyes and walk back to your Kart.

He follows you, with a grin plastered on his face.

"Are you scared you might actually like it?" You scoff and look at him. Your heartrate suddenly spiking.

"I'm afraid I might get disappointed." You start to feel hot. Its only been one course, if you go back now. Jean will definitely say something.

"Oh baby, I could live up to your gold standard. I am gold standard." He's cocky and arrogant but god it would be a lie to say you're not turned on.

"See you at the next course, Jeon." Your kart starts backing up and he rushes to follow you again.

You both arrive at the same time, this time at a more difficult course.

"The next course we should do is intercourse." He hasn't even reached you yet and he's already teasing.

"Shut up before someone hears you." You forcefully stick your tee on the ground.

"Why? Its not like we're both kids, plus nobody is around." He looks around, the next group of golfers are a hectare away.

You sigh and face him again. He loves riling you up, it was just playful banter before and now that you've entered this kind of teasing, he loves your reactions.

"Okay." You declare. His grin ceasing a bit, his eyebrows raised. "I'll tee first, if I do a hole in one, you get on your knees and..."

"Beg for your forgiveness? Princess I don't beg." He smirks again, he licks his lip piercing.

You step even closer, your tits touching his chest and he loves the feeling. "No, I want the golden boy to get on his knees and show me what that mouth can do other than tease." His throat runs dry.

Shit. "Is that supposed to be a punishment? You'd probably beg for more once I'm done." He kicks his leg, hopefully to free some space in his pants for his growing boner.

You hum. "Another thing we have in common, I don't beg." Lie, you always beg in bed.

"Deal. But if I make a hole in one, you're the one getting on your knees." He's confident. Given your 'punishments' aren't really punishments. He'd love to eat you out, but he won't tell you that.

But you know this course, you've hit holes in ones in this. Yout heart is beating loudly almost clouding your senses. Jungkook has a permanent teasing smirk on his face you'd like to kiss off.

Out of all the places you could have teased each other into fucking, you didn't expect it to be at the golf course.

"Don't worry princess, I'll be gentle... At first." He chuckles.

You take a deep breath and swing. You both watched the ball as it flies over the field. You bit your lip at it lands an inch away and it falls right in. Your hands fly in the air cheering for yourself.

"Are you this excited to have me eat you?" He was standing directly behind you, his warmth and scent engulfing you. "My turn."

You step away and wink at him. He takes a deep breath and swings. You both watch as it takes the same speed and the same arch and his ball lands the exact same way yours did. A hole in one for the both of you.

He turns to you with a satisfied grin.

"I hope your throat is ready for me princess." Your nerves are going haywire at his voice. Did it get lower?

You quietly head to your kart, you nod to the side, gesturing him to follow you and you drive away.

The thing with this club house is, both your parents are partial owners, hence you have access to the many rooms the place offers if you asked.

Lucky for you, you already planned on staying the night since it was a free weekend.

You barely parked properly, tossing the key to the valet. You meet Jean and you ask for a room key, she eyes you then behind you, sure enough Jeon Jungkook was standing there, watching your ass again.

She hands you the key card. No more words exchanged between you, sexual tension builds in its wake.

You head to the elevator and head to the third floor. The suites.

Your breathing is starting to get ragged as you feel the fragile tension inside the elevator. Jungkoom just stood there, eyes forward, hands in his pockets. He refrains from moving since this place had security camers and your neighborhood would have a field day if you fucked in the club elevators.

But all he can hear is his heartbeat, all he can smell is you, and all he can feel is the tightness in his pants.

He follows you down the hall, and you swipe the key card. The moment the two of you cross the threshold and the door securely locked. You turn to face him and his hands are already on you, pulling your face into feverish kiss. You moan into the kiss as he lifts you up, your legs wrap around his torso.

He takes you to the couch. He grins into the kiss.

"What?" You pull away, you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

"I was thinking who should get their prize first." His hand was on your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip. You take it into your mouth and suck on it. "fuck." He mumbles and his breath gets caught in his throat.

"Since I'm being generous." You get off him and get on your knees in front of him. "Wouldn't want to keep my goldben boy waiting." The way you called him yours made his heart skip a beat.

It was a joint effort to take his pants off. What he didn't expect was for you to take your top off, a sexy lace bra underneath it. Usually, you wear a sports bra but you didn't feel like it today. Now you know why.

He's huge. Your wetness growing in your panties. Eager to have him, you take a hold of his base and rub his dick over your face.

You moan and finally take him into your mouth. He hisses and moans.

His fingers weave through your hair. The way you look up at him as you take him deeper almost made him cum. Fuck, for years you basically ignored each other despite everyone teasing you about ending up together since your parents were basically best friends, had you known that his dick would fit perfectly in your mouth.

You moan around him, the vibrations sending Jungkook into pure bliss.

"Keep going." His head was thrown back as he moans loudly. "So fucking needy." You took him deeper to show him how needy you can become.

He takes your hands and places them on his thigh. "Double tap if you can't take it." You nod knowing what he'd do next. He did say he'd be gentle at first.

He weaves both hands into your hair this time and fucked your throat. Your tears and drool flow freely, you look like a fucking porn star and Jungkook loves it. You're taking him so well he moans out loudly.

"I'm gonna fucking cum down your throat." He forces his words out and you simply take in his thrusts. With one last shove he shoots his load down your throat, you swallow around him. "Holy fucking shit, where the hell have you been all my life." His breathing was ragged as you pull off him, grinning like the slut you are. "Who knew that a princess like you loved to be treated like a whore, my whore."

He makes you stand up, you use your shirt to wipe off the drool, you avoid your tears that made makeup run down your cheeks, that's going to stain.

Jungkook kisses your pelvis as he rids you of your skort. The lace thong that matches your bra peek through and he's starting to get hard again.

He takes off his shirt and pulls you down for you to land over his shoulder. He stood up like you weigh nothing, you shriek and giggle at the way he's handling you.

He literally throws you onto the bed, but the way you landed seemed so graceful in Jungkook's eyes. So pretty, so delicate, like you were made of porcelain with the sex drive of a succubus.

His eyes were glassy, hazed from the mindblowing head he received. Crawling towards you as you scoot up to the headboard.

"Time for your prize princess." He uses his teeth to pull down your thong and expertly unclasping your bra.

"I better get my money's worth, Mr. Gold standard." He captures your lips in his before slowly kissing down on your skin, your eyes roll to the back of your head as he finds the sweet spot near your clavicle.

Your scent is addicting, what he'd give to get a taste of you everyday. He can make that happen, he will make that happen.

After all, high society is all about marrying each other to keep the weath from seeping out of your grasp. He's hypnotized by the way your chest rises and falls as he inches towards your needy pussy.

You've lost it the moment his tongue comes in contact with your folds. He wastes no time devouring you, you sound so good.

This is bad, so bad that he hasn't even fucked you properly and he already wants to marry you. Keep you close because nobody else should see what he's looking at right now.

His tongue works wonders, lips sucking on ever inch. You were chanting his name like it was a prayer. "Holy fuck baby." The petname sounds so nice coming from you.

It wasn't long until your moans become more high-pitched as you fuck yourself on his tongue. What threw you over the edge were the two fingers he inserted. You were squirting all over his face, your body shaking like a leaf.

"That was hot." He smirks up at you, putting both hands on your face as you tried to control your breathing. "You okay?" He moves up to hover over you, prying your hands away.

"I've never... I—I haven't..." Squirted but you can't seem to say it. Jungkook captures your lips again, you taste yourself.

"I'm honored, princess." He teases and you blush. How can he make you feel giddy when you literally just came all over his face.

Something inside you tell you that you'll never find another man who can make you feel like this, who can make you cum like that. No, you need this everyday.

"Jungkook." You reach down towards his erection. "I want you to fuck my brains out." Referring to your earlier conversations.

"Fuck yes baby." He dives in to kiss you with much more need than the previous one.

The tip of his head was rubbing against your opening, he was waiting for you to protest and ask him to wrap it up but you dig your heels on his ass instead.

"Fuck me." Your fingers scrape through his hair. "Please, baby." He chuckles.

"I thought you didn't beg?" He finally pushes in you, your mouth falls open but you don't make a sound other than a small squeak. "You're made for my cock. So fucking tight." He grunts.

You start begging him to go faster and harder, Jungkook happily obliges. With your thighs thrown over his shoulder, his hand wrapped around your throat, he could get used to this. You feel so good and he wasn't holding back from telling you what a good whore you are.

He lifts your ass up just a little hitting you at an angle you never knew felt so fucking good you're cumming again.

He fucks you, over and over. One orgasm after the other, you've lost count of how many. It wasn't until he spills his load all over your tits that he finally collapses next to you.

After care be damned, you both fall asleep in each other's arms covered in cum.

Your phones ring at the same time. 6pm sharp.

"Hey dad." He groans into the phone.

"Mom." You pick up your own phone.

Legs still tangled around each other as you both spoke to your parents. You both answer the same thing.

"Let me guess, dinner?" Jungkook tosses his phone on the night stand as you lay yours gently.

"Yeah, at your place." You mumble. "I think we passed out." You giggle.

"Fuck yeah we did." His bunny toothed smile. "Wanna shower together?"

With your body aching like crazy you decide to shower here. The warm bath helping you recover, of course you two fucked again.

He drops you off at your house before parking his car at their mansion next door. He waves at you as you both enter the house.

Your mom was standing by the window with a huge grin on her face.

"Did Jungkook drop you off? I though you weren't close like that?" She asks as you step up the stairs.

"Yeah, but we... We went golfing today. It was fun." You smile, and your mom simply nodded.

It was more than fun. It was definitely gold standard. The best hole in one you've had.

-----------

Part 2 Part 3

[lovifie]

Price and his lovely caddy girl. 🏌🏻‍♂️

Smut | 896 words | Back to masterlist

Every time that Price has free time, he plays golf. 

He picked up the sports a while back, when during rehabilitation after a special shitty injury his doctor recommended light walks. 

So he started to play. Sundays in the morning until noon, then a pint, then home. 

It was nothing more than doctor's orders at first. 

But then he met you. 

The little caddy girl with dangerously short skirts and a sharp tongue to get the juiciest tips. 

That's what he thought it was at first, that you were just doing his job. 

He felt perverted on the way he would look at your young body, how his eyes would lay on your pink lips when you bite your nail. How he wished to slide his-

“Mr. Price.” Your sweet voice draws him out of his trance.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asks in a beat, seeing how your face lightens at the nicknames. 

“It's your turn.” You say, pointing with your head to the ball. “Which club?”

“Whichever you think is best.” He says, handing you the one he had on his hand from the last hit. 

“Hmm… letting me choose, Mr. Price? What a privilege!” You exclaim, walking the couple of steps back to the cart. Leaning over the seat to pick the club.

And Price's shameless eyes roam the back of your legs all the way up to your cheeks spiking from the skirt.

“How about this one?” You say, pulling it from the bag and handing it to him. “I'm sure you'll get it in… the ball, I mean.”

He shakes his head, taking the club and getting in position. Slightly swinging his hips as he gets the motion, hitting the ball swiftly but too soft to actually reach the hole. 

“Aw, Mr. Price… I expected better aim from the military…” You say, a teasing pout on your face as you look up at him, using your hand to cover your eyes from the sun. 

“My aim is perfect, mind you, little minx.” He says, walking to the cart to grab a water bottle. 

You skip after him, a mischievous chuckle leaving your mouth. “You call that ‘good aim’? I’m sorry for your lovers, Mr. Price.”

“Oh, shut up!” Price exclaims, making you laugh again. “All my ‘lovers’ are perfectly happy with my aim.”

You hummed, satisfied with the raise you got out of him. “I bet they are.”

Price scoffs, looking at you; checking your face for any joke hidden in your features. 

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

“Maybe I do”

And maybe Price thought he was perverted, but if you are just as filthy as him… what's the damage?

That's how you found the two of you hiding in the maintenance closet back at the resort, with you squatting down and with Price rolling his cock deep into your mouth.

“Fuck… just like that, sweetheart… suck on it like the good girl you are, fuck!” He lets his head drop back, his hands keeping your head in place as he slowly slides his cock deeper and deeper, hitting the back of your throat with ease. The lewd noise filling the small space. “I bet you are fucking soaked, aren't ya? Hm? Play with your little cunt, love, let me hear how fucking wet you are…”

You move your hand under your skirt, pulling it up and sliding your hand inside your underwear. And the moment you peel your lips apart, the sound of your juices gets to Price's ear, urging him to fuck your throat faster. 

“Just like that, darling… fuck your pretty little cunt while I fuck your mouth… such a good girl, letting me do what I please with you… Look at you… so fucking pretty…” You look at his eyes, seeing the hungry stare on his face, making you clench around your own fingers. You feel his thick digits dig into your skull, making you wish so badly that it was his fingers inside of you.

“C’mon, pretty girl… make yourself cum… let me feel you moan around my dick, yeah, just like that… such a good fucking girl.” His thrust emphasises every word, making your eyes tear as your spit rolls down your chin. 

And it's the way he is talking you through it, how he slows down his pace to keep himself from cumming, making sure you do first, making sure you follow his orders. But he still holds your head so dearly, his thumbs caressing your head as if his dick wasn't bruising the back of your throat. 

But it's the promise of what will come after this, after today, that has you spilling over the edge, soaking your hand and underwear, and your throat clenching around his lengths. 

He cums so deep into your throat that you only manage to get the taste on his way out, making sure to clean his shaft sucking him in just for a second making him hiss. You let it go with a sonorous pop, and sit back on your feet taking your hand out. 

He stands in front of you, an intimidating 6ft man, wide and strong, looking down at you as you kneel between his feet. Your chin wet from the spit of sucking him off and the little mischievous smile still on your face. 

“I think I just developed a new kind of appreciation for golf."

[erwinsvow]

rafe’s the jealous type, though you had never seen it coming. he was your friend, just like topper and kelce, but somehow, it was never really like it was with the other two. you tried to ignore it for as long as you could, for the sake of the friendship, but it was getting to be too much.

you weren’t even his friend first. working as a summer intern for topper’s mom had led to a few chance encounters already with the boys when they’d drop by. it wasn’t until his mom insisted he take you along that you got to know them a little bit more. you were surprised at how well the four of you got along, even though rafe seemed opposed to you tagging along at first.

but you think you’d won him over in the next few weeks, and now months later, you could easily argue that you were the closest with rafe now. it was pretty apparent—he drove you everywhere, picked you up first and let you have permanent shotgun. when you need to crash after the party runs late, you always end up back at tannyhill, topper and kelce passed out on the couch downstairs or the floor of the guest room, always leaving the bed empty since they think you’ll be crawling in—though you never do. no, you’re asleep next to rafe on his bed, tangled limbs and sheets, waking up wondering if cuddling with your best friend was normal for everyone.

but you’ve never really had guy friends, so you ignore some of the warning signs. you think they’re overprotective, overcaring. you shove aside the thought creeping up, reminding you that only rafe acts like that towards you. you’ve convinced yourself it’s normal.

you’re always invited to tee time—though you mostly sit in the cart with your legs resting on the dash, reading your book and daydrinking. you think the outfits are cute, tiny golf skirts and matching caps, and it gave you an excuse to take the boys shopping—your favorite activity. 

rafe steps away to take a call and comes back to find you on the course, hands slowly trying out a nine-iron while kelce stands behind you, trying to guide your position. 

“no, plant your feet. firm, and then when you swing, twist like this-” it only takes another second, kelce’s hands barely settling on your waist to help you move, when rafe snaps.

“you’re shit at golf anyways, kelce, why’re you showin’ her?” you’re a little taken aback that he’s being so mean, but kelce just rolls his eyes, walking over to top while rafe heads to you. 

rafe doesn’t hesitate at all, doesn’t try to be polite and not creepy like kelce was. his hands go straight on your waist, lower to your hips. he presses himself right behind you, taking your hands in his to help you swing. with his help, you actually hit the golf ball this time, sending it flying in the distance. you squeal, jumping up and down and hugging rafe. you don’t catch the way kelce and topper exchange a look.

other days it’s a little more confusing. you think rafe just changes his mind a lot. 

you pack enough lunch for an army—which is just a necessity with the way these boys eat. topper’s just gotten some new fancy boat, and sarah’s busy so he invites you and kelce to take it for a spin instead. 

“rafe’s not coming?” you question on the phone, looking at the strawberries and peaches you’d cut up specially for him. you don’t know why you feel so disappointed—top says he’s busy with his dad, which is more important. your mood dampens up a little but picks up soon—you love spending time with kelce and topper anyways! you think you’re single-handedly fixing tops’s relationship with sarah and turning kelce into boyfriend material for this girl he’s had a crush on forever.

at the marina, you walk around looking for this new boat, the words top had used to describe it meaning little to you. you’re a little dolled up already, a pretty white coverup hiding a yellow bikini, a new one you’d just gotten. actually, rafe had bought it for you. he said he wanted you to have it.

“what you lookin’ for, kid?” you hear a familiar voice call out from behind you. you turn to see rafe, stepping off the druthers onto the dock with you.

“i thought top said you’re busy?” you ask, looking around.

“i am. what’re you doin’ here?”

“top said he’s bringing his new boat out. i’m supposed to meet kelce and him here but i can’t find it, wake, uh, something. i packed lunch,” you finish, holding up the picnic basket. “but i know he said you can’t come, such a bummer-”

“i’m comin’.” 

“huh? he just told me-” “i’m takin’ the druthers out. c’mon, hop on. i bet those idiots sunk that thing already.”

you end up spending the whole day on boat with rafe—reading your book and eating slices of peach while talking to rafe about everything under the sun. top and kelce blow up your phone but you don’t even see it until you pick it up to take a picture of the sunset.

you finally realize something’s going on at the house party at kelce’s. rafe picks you up and you play with the skinny straps of your dress, wondering how to tell him what you’re thinking. he’s a good friend though—he always knows when you get like this.

“spit it out, kid. what?”

“well, i was thinking maybe i should crash at kelce’s tonight.”

“why?” he questions, like it’s the stupidest thing in the world. you don’t catch the way his grip tightens on the wheel. 

“well, last night.. everyone was saying it’s weird that i always crash at yours. and kelce always offers, he’s got that pull out bed-”

“y’not sleepin’ at kelce’s. or top’s.”

“why not?”

“‘cause i said so. don’t ask again.” and though you’re used to getting your way, you listen. at the party once you get a few drinks in you, you find your way back to the sofa where rafe’s exchanging packets of white powder for cash. you end up next to him, legs splayed over his and dress riding up, watching kelce and topper play pong with some people you don’t recognize. 

“m’tired,” you mumble, playing with your empty red solo cup. only rafe hears you.

“shouldn’t have drank so much so fast. what’s wrong with you, hm?”

“just tryna feel better.. and you won’t let me try coke so-”

“shut up about the coke. not gettin’ anywhere near the stuff.”

“you let kelce and top do it-”

“you’re not kelce and top. how much clearer do i have to make it?” your eyes fill with tears—you’re trying so hard to not be such a girl, but everyone has their limits.

“well, you’re not my boyfriend, so i don’t have to listen to you-” it comes out louder, getting the attention of your friends. kelce and topper exchange a look, wondering if what they’ve been waiting for is about to happen. you don’t want them to see you cry, so you run off into the opposite direction towards kelce’s empty room.

“nice going, rafe.”

“yeah, man, she’s definitely gonna fall in love with you after that.”

“shut up.” 

rafe follows you, knows where you went. he knocks on the door, twisting the handle even before you get a chance to respond. 

“go away, rafe.” you sit on kelce’s bed, staring down at your shoes. rafe come and crouches near you, putting his hands on your knees to keep you firmly in place, even though you try to pull away.

“hey, c’mon, kid. m’sorry. there, you happy now?”

“you’re a dick. leave me alone-”

“i’m fuckin’ trying, here, okay-” you stand up, pushing him away. “trying to do what? make our friendship all weird? mission-fucking-accomplished, because i can tell you don’t want me around, so i’m-” you get interrupted, rafe rushing up to you and forcing you into a kiss. his arms tighten around your waist, holding you hard. you melt into his touch, kissing him back. things are making more sense now.

“and watch your mouth with me.”

“shut up. you don’t know anything.” you lean back for another kiss.

“guys,” kelce yells out from outside the door. “please do not have sex on my bed.”

[puck-luck]

explodin' (like a golf ball) | quinn hughes

warnings: fem!masturbation, fem!receiving oral, a sliver of dom!quinn pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes request: @captainlexaproluvr "quinn catching his gf getting off while watching one of his interviews (then perhaps him going down on her but forcing her to keep watching the video).... yeah" wc: 1470

It’s the black button-up, black dress pants, and pristine white sneakers that do it for you, really. Or maybe it’s Quinn’s perfect new haircut and his big, genuine smile, which he so rarely shows in interviews, that are the minor catalysts in your current predicament. It could be his focus, how quiet he is as he lines up his shot and prepares to swing, to bury that ball as far down the range as he can. 

You realize suddenly that you’re biting your lip hard enough to leave a mark.

You’ve got the video memorized at this point, the way he murmurs out an “Alright” before he swings at the ball, how he freezes in his stance and does a double take when the ball explodes, how he looks around to make sure everyone just saw what he did. 

You find yourself particularly endeared by how excited your sweet boyfriend is, excited to the point that he can barely string together a sentence before starting a new one. He calms down after a moment, his voice returning to its normal, controlled tone as he marvels over the moment to the main interviewer. 

Still, you watch over and over again to see your boyfriend light up like a Christmas display. It’s so rare that you see him act that way in front of the cameras, still a little shy despite his star-status. He should be used to the media by now, years into his career, but he still struggles with coming out of his shell. He overthinks it. But, sometimes, he gets caught off guard and the world gets to see the real him.

It is one of the most attractive interviews you’ve ever seen of Quinn. 

You remember him coming home the day of this shoot, beaming and bragging about how strong he was. You remember him picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder and taking you to the bedroom, so giddy and on a high from his great feat that he needed to get his cock in you and make you feel good. 

And the memories of that make you slip your hand into your shorts, into your panties, and pet over your folds. You’re wet already, just from the thought of Quinn pushing his thick cock into you, hovering over you and watching your face as he causes you to contort and moan recklessly from the pleasure. You jolt as your finger comes in contact with your clit, the bundle of nerves receptive and aching for a repeat. 

The video is still playing, on a low volume but next to your ear regardless, and you can hear Quinn speaking over and over. It’s a recording, but it’s like he’s there, breathing meaningless words into your ear and praising you. 

On a loop, your heart jumps with his repeated “I have… like, come on” because he’s just so precious and such a sweet boy and you want him to be that happy all the time. You want him to be so elated that he’s speechless, that he’s smiling wider than he ever has in front of a camera.

“What’s this?”

Your eyes flash open, finding Quinn in the doorway. His eyes are scanning your body, devoid of emotion and dark. Your fingers still over your clit at the look, then you draw your hand out of your shorts. You rest your hand on your stomach, your shirt riding up so that Quinn can see the soft skin of your belly and love handles. 

“Touching what’s mine?” Quinn asks, his voice low and scratchy. “I was just down the hall, baby, you could’ve called for me.”

He approaches the bed, and suddenly, you remember that his voice is ringing out of your phone speakers on a loop. You go to grab your phone and silence it before he reaches the device first, but you’re too late. He scoops up your phone, planning to just turn it over and place it on the bedside table, but he’s stopped in his tracks when he comes face to face with himself on your screen. 

He watches the video twice, only looking up at you briefly between plays, a smile growing on his face.

“But you already had me here, I see,” Quinn teases. “Have I spoiled you that much, pretty girl? You can’t get yourself off without me talking in your ear?”

“Don’t be mean,” you plead, reaching for him.

Quinn shies away from your touch, opting instead to turn up the volume on your phone and place it, face down, across the room. He returns to your side, chuckling as you stare up at him from your position, then Quinn kneels at the edge of the bed. Your eyes follow him, taking in each of his movements.

Quinn reaches up and dips his fingers into your waistband, gently pulling your shorts and panties down. He reveals your wet pussy, humming in approval as he spreads your legs to get a good look. He pulls you closer, strong hands dragging you by your ankles until your fluttering entrance is a mere breath from Quinn’s mouth. 

“Now you get the best of both worlds,” Quinn mumbles, interrupting himself to plant a kiss on your clit. “I get to take care of you down here, and I can still talk to you from all the way over there.” He nods back at the phone, still repeating the same audio. “I’ve legit never seen anyone break a golf ball before.”

He dives in, tongue first like he’s trying to catch a melted drop from a popsicle before it drips and stains his pants. His hands hold your hips down, keep you from moving underneath him, squirming away from the contact. He groans into your slick, like he’s never tasted anything so lovely before. 

Your hands find his hair, neck craning to catch a glimpse of his focused glare through his eyelashes. He’s staring at you, watching you fall apart under his tongue, and he’s barely done anything at all. 

Quinn eats you out like he always does, like a loyal follower getting a chance to worship his goddess. He stares at you like you’re a masterpiece, painted by the greatest artist in the entire universe, their fame and talent surpassing the boundaries of space and time. You are their creation and Quinn is beyond blessed to have you, to own you.

Because you are his, after all. You’re scrambling beneath him, breathing heavily and whining and cussing and sweating, arching your back and sticking your fingers in his hair, pulling for some reprieve. Quinn will not let up. He cannot bear to part with your pussy, he needs it like air. 

And it needs him– clenching down on his tongue and bumping against his appealing nose with each repeated “Come on” and “That’s a win.”

You’re moaning, helpless to the noises that are falling from your lips. 

Quinn’s eyes are dry, almost looking like he couldn’t care less about the noises he’s pulling from you, the shaking in your legs that he causes with each swipe of his tongue. He looks disinterested, like this is just another thing on his agenda. You’d believe that he considers this a chore just by the looks of his eyes, if not for the fervor with which he licks you out.

It’s the perfect mixture– the plain and confident and quiet Quinn Hughes shown in his eyes, and the brazen, goofy, loving Quinn Hughes in his actions.

You tip over the edge as if leaping from an airplane, falling freely to the ground. The sensations overtake you like wind whipping at your hair throughout the fall. You sigh, grinding against Quinn’s face slowly, just riding out the waves. You drag your lips over the expanse of his lower face, his mouth and nose nudging you softly, reminding you that they’re there. Quinn presses a few kisses to your entrance, clit, and inner thighs before crawling up your body and hovering over your face. He smiles, leaning down to pepper kisses all along your features, making you giggle and squirm away.

“I didn’t know you liked me so much,” Quinn teases, nibbling your lips. “We’ll have to look into cloning. Then you’ll really have two of me.”

“Such a dork,” you reply, caressing his cheek and capturing his lips. He’s strong and solid above you.

“Let's just drill that thing down at like 320?”

You pull away. “Can you go turn that off?” You whisper. “It’s starting to annoy me now.”

Quinn chuckles. He presses his forehead to yours for a brief moment, just long enough for you two to take a breath together. He shifts to the side and leaves you on the bed, tired of his own voice as well. They’ll have to find a new video for next time.

note: i thought the title was funny! but it's probably just lame boooooooooo

ok loving you guys, make sure you sent me more requests for NOT jack or trevor. i'm bored of those requests. i've got plenty. and trevor is like constantly on my mind. so shush. i will get to him.

[henry7931]

Uncle Nephew Swaps Vol.1

A Very Different Vacation

Caleb:

My best friend Jake and I always travel with our families together. His parents are friends with my parents and I’ve grown up with him all my life.

And when it came time for our family beach trip, we decided to shake things up. Specially, we switched bodies with our uncles!

That’s right! Our entire trip will be me in my uncle Shawn and Jake in his uncle Mike.

So far I’ve really enjoy being inside of Shawn. Especially since we haven’t told anyone in our families about the swap. Luckily, both Shawn and Mike are single so we can do just about whatever we want!

That means if we want to go golfing all day, party all night, it’s really up to us!

I’m not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot being inside of my uncle Shawn. He’s a good looking guy and I can’t help but notice my attraction to Mike’s body. I wonder if Jake would be down to fool around.

His uncle has a sexy chest, he’s fit like Shawn, and from the bulge I’ve seen Jake sport around on the beach— I just know that thing is big!

Maybe after we go out tonight, I’ll try to make my move. In the meantime, I’ll just low key flirt with him.

Wait a minute, I wonder… if I’m so attracted to Mike inside of my uncles body… does that mean Shawn and Mike may already have a thing?

Uncle Shawn:

“Okay smile for the camera!”

I feel Mike grab on tight to my nephew’s shoulder and seductively rub down my back as the photos over.

“You wanna get ready for the beach?” I ask him with a big grin on my face.

“Oh yeah let’s go get ready.”

The second we get back to our shared room, Mike yanks off my pants and my nephew’s eager dick comes flying out.

“Shit, Shawn this is so wrong but I love having these bodies. The amount of times we can keep going in one day.”

“I know! You thought this mornings shower session was enough but damn! I’m already horny again!”

My grabs on to my borrowed cock and I yelp.

“Sorry it’s just so sensitive.”

“It’s all good, I like making you squirm a bit,” he says toying with Caleb’s 21 year old leaking equipment.

I look down at Jake’s beautiful big feet. Mike’s really good at putting those toes to work.

“Ohhh does someone want me to jerk them off again with these toes?” he says wiggling them in front of me.

“Please…”

Mike kisses me with his soft lips. We end up making out for a few minutes before he pushes me back on the bed.

“You ready ‘Caleb’?”

“Oh my ready ‘Jake’!”

Mike wraps Jake’s toes around Caleb’s sensitive cock and i immediately start moaning.

He runs his toes over the shaft down to Caleb’s tight balls.

“Ohhhhh…”

He proceeds to put the other foot towards my face and I start sucking on his toes.

I get the foot good and wet before he switches off to the other one.

His feet stink mainly from him refusing to wear any socks all trip but Mike knows I love nothing more than natural body odor. He’s even wore the same pair of boxers all week which he’s even cum into a couple of times.

I feel him start to pump faster with Jake’s toes. I rub and down his hairy legs. We keep eye contact which is so sexy to me. Both of us don’t want to miss a minute of our experience.

Now we’ve both fooled around with body swapping, especially with each other. I’m normally fucking my own body most of the time when I’m with Mike. But this switching bodies with our nephews all week is a whole new level of kinky!

I soon feel myself get close…

“MIKE!!! IM ABOUT TO!”

Cum squirts all over the place including all over his borrowed feet. Mike lets me lick them clean.

“Now my turn!”

Mikes pulls down his nephews pants and his cock is throbbing. He pushes my face into his crotch and the smell is overwhelming.

Mike throat fucks me tor 10 minutes before exploding down my nephews throat.

We lay back in bed and cuddle our nephews baked bodies together.

All of the sudden someone knocks at the door.

“Hey! Are y’all coming down to the beach?”

It’s my own voice with my nephew controlling it.

“Yeah give us a few! We’ll be down shortly ‘Uncle Shawn’!”

“Ready for the beach?” I say kissing him on the cheek.

“Yeah let’s get dressed!”

Uncle Jax’s Body For Halloween

Timmy couldn’t believe his uncle agreed to swap bodies with him for Halloween! Timmy wanted to feel like a real life superhero so what better way than his uncle Jax’s muscular body.

Now with the latest available technology these days body swapping had become the newest trend for costumes. Especially since home swap devices are so popular, you can really be however you want!

Luckily for Timmy, he’s gets to be his cool uncle all night! I’m sure he’s going to have lots of fun!

Uncle Rocky’s Massive Bod

Jeremy:

I work for my uncle Rocky and when he told me about his vacation I was super nervous to get everything done since I’m no where near as strong as him. But he told me not to worry that he has a plan.

So the day before he was planning to leave he called me to meet him at his house. That’s when he told me about his plan.

I wasn’t prepared for the words that came out of my uncles mouth. He told me we are going to swap bodies for a week. He’ll take my body on vacation while I stay at his house and go to work as him.

“Really uncle Rocky?!?!”

“Yep! Just be careful with my body.”

So here I am inside my uncle doing a bunch of physical labor. Kinda cool right?!?

I’m surprise by just how much easier it is to get stuff done with his big muscles.

The best part about all of this is that after I finish up, I get to go back to his place and enjoy just being him.

My Uncle is a handsome guy and I’m fully aware of it. He even has a giant thick cock which is so fun to jerk off with!

Tonight, I made him a Grindr page. I’m hoping I can find a really cute guy with his body that will let me top him. That shouldn’t be too hard, as long as they can handle this massive monster!

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ i've missed you miami

♥ pairing: logan sargeant x fem!golfer!reader

♥ smau - fluff

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

♥ masterlist

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, and 345,672 more

yourusername ready for LPGA

view comments

lilymhe good luck <3

yourusername you too babe <3

user10 GOOD LUCKK

user6 getting the prayer circle ready

landonorris we're rooting for you

yourusername thank you mwah mwah

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

-Top Golf-

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

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

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

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

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and 782,384 more

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

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landonorris booo

yourusername not my fault you suck at golf

carlossainz55 she’s just telling the truth lando

landonorris I hate you both

user2 why he posing like that

user14 oh!

user1 save a horse ride a cowboy

yourusername amen to that

user2 ON MAIN?!?! 😨

user7 new ship unlocked

user5 shoutout y/n for doing all the heavy lifting

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

user7 SORRY?

user10 omg Lando spill

user16 Y/n and Lily ate them up huh?

user13 she’s so pretty :(

user12 the picture of Logan-

user14 this is so cute

user1 is it weird to say I ship

georgrussell63 I demand a rematch

yourusername you wanna lose twice?

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

liked by landonorris, logansargeant, and 465,682 more

yourusername embracing my cuntry roots

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landonorris yeehaw

yourusername 🦅🦅

user13 how coquette of you

user5 logan sargeant core

user4 he didn't invent cowgirls

user6 RAHH

user1 USA USA

user7 but does he say you're so american 🤨

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

liked by logansargeant, lilymhe, and 348,620 more

yourusername hey miami, i've missed you

view comments

user13 logan in the comments logan in the comments

user7 guys she's there for golf, not Logan

logansargeant did you need a reminder not to feed the alligators

yourusername ...no

logansargeant ...

yourusername they're so cute

user3 ALLIGATORS?

logansargeant if you try pet one it WILL eat you

yourusername :(

user8 @/logansargeant would you fight an alligator for her

alex_albon im sure he would

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

user2 her hair >>>

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

liked by yourusername, williamsracing, and 823,948 more

logansargeant home race

-comments are disabled-

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

liked by francisca.gomes, lilymhe, and 372,392 more

yourusername me and the girls <3

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francisca.gomes love you babes

yourusername ily pookie

logansargeant how come I wasn't invited?

yourusername its girls night

landonorris you'll get her attention during the race dw

user7 Lando is the biggest y/n x Logan shipper

user8 hes so me

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

liked by logansargeant, carlossainz, and 370,239 more

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

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

yourusername lando.

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

yourusername that's LOW

oscarpiastri when you go low, Lando goes lower

user8 the blue heart-

user14 its for Logan idc

user2 BLUE HEART FOR WILLIAMS

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

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

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and 862,947 more

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

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

alex_albon you weren't supposed to find out this way

yourusername @/lilymhe come collect your man

user7 I TOLD YOU THEY WERE IN LOVE

user19 YES ITS FINALLY HAPPENING

user1 idk who I wanna be more

user5 they're dating?

user12 yea it was so obvious

landonorris get a room

[ghostlyglimmer]

The Fun Zone Part 2

Find the other chapters here

Summary:

Danny Fenton’s part-time job at The Fun Zone—a chaotic arcade and entertainment center that’s secretly a gang front—was going great until a certain vigilante stormed in to shut the place down.

Danny adjusted his uniform—a slightly altered version of his old one, now featuring a sleek crimson “RH” embroidered on the chest where the mustard stain used to be. Red Hood’s idea of branding, apparently. Hood had taken to lurking in the old gang office-turned-“management headquarters,” leaving Danny to run the front while vigilantes and goons occasionally dropped by, turning his shifts into Gotham’s weirdest soap opera.

The Fun Zone hadn’t changed much, except now the shady packages were replaced with less shady ones (“Hood-approved” mystery shipments), and Danny had to deal with more vigilantes stopping by to “check on operations.”

Today was no exception.

Danny was wiping down the counter when the door chimed, and none other than Nightwing strolled in, his domino mask firmly in place. He looked entirely too chipper for someone walking into a decrepit arcade that still reeked faintly of stale popcorn.

“Hey there!” Nightwing said, leaning against the counter. “Just here to make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

Danny didn’t bother looking up. “If you’re not here to play laser tag or bowl a few frames, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

Nightwing’s grin widened. “Red Hood owns this place now, doesn’t he?”

“Yep. And I’m his underpaid lackey. You wanna order something, or are you just here to be nosy?”

Nightwing hummed thoughtfully. “How’s the, uh… ‘morale’ under the new management?”

Danny smirked. “Well, we don’t have to stash questionable shipments under the ball pit anymore, so that’s a plus. But Hood keeps leaving his knives in the breakroom, which is honestly a little unsettling.”

“I heard that!” Hood’s voice echoed from the office. A second later, the man himself emerged, fully armed, looking just as annoyed as ever. “Why are you here, Dick?”

Nightwing raised his hands innocently. “Relax, Jaybird. Just making sure you’re not turning this place into a different kind of front.”

“Everything’s fine,” Hood snapped, crossing his arms. “Go away.”

Nightwing glanced at Danny. “You sure? You don’t look like the happiest employee.”

Danny shrugged. “It’s fine. I just wish Hood would stop using the claw machine as target practice.”

Hood growled. “The claw machine is rigged!”

“It’s supposed to be rigged! That’s the point of claw machines!” Danny shot back.

Nightwing snorted. “You two sound like an old married couple.”

“Get out,” Hood growled, pulling a knife—not to throw, just to intimidate, apparently. Nightwing didn’t even flinch.

“All right, all right,” Nightwing said, backing toward the door with a grin. “But if I hear about any suspicious activity, I’ll be back.”

The door chimed as he left, and Hood turned to Danny. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope,” Danny replied cheerfully. “It’s part of my charm.”

Hood muttered something about “hiring a quieter cashier” before stomping back into the office, leaving Danny to man the register once more.

An hour later, the Fun Zone was bustling. A birthday party had taken over the bowling alley, and the mini-golf course was a madhouse. Danny was balancing a tray of nachos when he noticed a kid trying to climb the prize wall.

“Hey, kid!” Danny called. “You’re not Spider-Man; get down!”

The kid ignored him, reaching for a stuffed octopus just out of reach. Danny groaned, setting the tray down, but before he could intervene, a familiar figure swooped in—literally. Red Hood vaulted over the counter, grabbed the kid by the back of their shirt, and set them back on the ground like a wayward puppy.

“No climbing,” Hood said, his tone stern.

The kid’s eyes went wide. “Whoa, are you Batman?!”

Danny couldn’t suppress his snort of laughter. Hood turned to glare at him, but the damage was done.

“Nah, kid,” Danny said, grinning. “He’s more like Batman’s grumpy cousin.”

“Go play mini-golf,” Hood muttered, and the kid scampered off, still starstruck.

Danny leaned on the counter, smirking. “You’re really embracing the ‘fun boss’ vibe, huh?”

Hood sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I even bother with you?”

“Because I’m the only employee who hasn’t quit,” Danny replied. “Plus, you secretly like me.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Sure, boss.”

Hood muttered something under his breath and stalked back to his office, leaving Danny to deal with the chaos once more.

The rest of the shift passed in relative peace, if you ignored the kid who tried to hotwire a go-kart and the group of teens who smuggled energy drinks into the laser tag arena.

[sunrizef1]

What happens in Vegas pt 12

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader

Warnings: Cursing, briefly mentioned puke (referenced), panic attacks (referenced), the NFL

Authors note: wanted to get this out before the race tomorrow, I actually quite like this chapter

Masterlist

—————————————————

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Austin, TX

liked by logansargeant charles_leclerc16 and 2,309,099 others

yourusername happy to be back in Austin, ready to recharge 🔋

Tagged: logansargeant, l/nranch

load comments…

user1 the speed with which she left china is honestly so funny

user2 the race was two days ago why’s she already in America 😭

user3 why’s she at a farm???

user4 her grandpas family got rich by owning a really successful agricultural company so both her grandparents decided to buy a ranch outside of Austin, which is where y/n grew up

user5 her dad being English always throws me off when I think about her family tbh

user6 her grandpa went to a race once and made the joke that the Americanism skipped a generation lol

user7 wait I’m new to y/n, how’s her dad English but the rest of her family’s American?

user8 her grandparents were based in England when he was born but they ended up really busy so they sent him to a boarding school from the time he was really young, hence the accent

user9 they’re so confusing 😭

user10 my favorite cowgirl

user11 she couldn’t wait till cota to go home???

logansargeant your grandma likes me more than you

yourusername no she doesn’t

user12 I didn’t know Logan went with her

user13 where’s Charles???

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Las Vegas, NV

liked by killatrav taylorswift13 and 3,980,756 others

yourusername had a great time at the @/patrickmahomes charity golf gala this weekend! Grateful for the opportunity to show all these boys how it���s done out on the green and support charity at the same time! ⛳️

Might have to get you a different hat though 😉 @/killatrav

Tagged: logansargeant, killatrav, patrickmahomes

load comments…

user14 are those Porsche golf balls!?!?

user15 THEY EAT SO HARD

logansargeant I 100% beat you

yourusername I was 5 under par. You were 5 over. You lost.

logansargeant ☹️

user16 what a crossover

killatrav don’t hate the player, hate the game 🤷‍♂️

yourusername i dont hate the game, I just hate alpine

pierregasly ???

yourusername see you next week, Frenchie

user17 her and Pierres fake beef is genuinely so funny to me

user18 where's Charlesssss

user19 he liked the post, at least

user20 omg they're in Vegas! Remember what happened last time they were in Vegas…

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Bellagio Hotel & Casino, Las Vegas

liked by charles_leclerc16 donnakelce and 6,989,870 others

yourusername Last night out in Vegas 😵‍💫

I'm, once again, honored to have been invited to the 15 and the Mahomies Charity Gala! Got to auction off a few paddock passes and also got to spend a great night out with friends!

Thanks so much Vegas, you were a lot better this time than you were last time.

Tagged: logansargeant, taylorswift13, killatrav, patrickmahomes, charles_leclerc16

load comments…

user21 CHARLES CONTENT?!?!

user22 she seems happier than she has before

user23 Logan and Taylor swift in the same room is not something I’d ever expect tbh

patrickmahomes thanks for coming! ❤️💛

yourusername thanks for inviting us! ❤️🖤

user24 this is just so American

taylorswift13 🫶

yourusername 🫶

user25 more Logan content this week than Williams gives in a month

user26 they’ve been to like three different states already lmao

user27 I need the home field advantage from Miami for these two this weekend

logansargeant I’m so tired

yourusername at least it was fun 🤷‍♀️

logansargeant lol, it definitely was

user28 the first pic is so sibling coded

user29 “Mon ange” CHARLESSS 🥹

user30 the fact he’s tagged on the messages 😭

user31 THE LAST LINE ABOUT VEGAS?!?! IM SCREAMING!!!

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

[guiltyasdave]

the pedrolympics

daphne @sizzlingcloudmentality and i are spending our days watching the olympic games and we got to thinking… which sports would the pedro boys compete in? (there might have also been tequila involved in the decision making)

pre outbreak joel - football (…soccer) because of sarah

post outbreak joel - shooting, for obvious reasons

tim rockford - rowing, that’s where the obscenely broad shoulders come from

marcus acacius - triathlon, because swimming in the seine would add to the grime so nicely

max phillips - swimming, because it seems like the fuckboy thing to do

marcus pike - table tennis, self explanatory

lucien flores - surfing, it’s the flowing shirt and the soft beach waves

frankie morales - wrestling. just picture it

ezra - canoe slalom, in the paralympics

marcus moreno - decathlon, because he can do everything

dave york - tennis. daphne mentioned the grunts and moans we’d get to hear. jana died.

agent whiskey - eventing. riding horses so we can ride the cowboy

javier peña - beach volleyball, in tiny shorts

javi gutierrez - artistic swimming, he’s got the moves for sure and picture him in a swimming cap 🥹

pero tovar - judo, he knows how to use his hands and body

oberyn martell - diving & gymnastics, because he’s a show off that can do both. also the shoulders

maxwell lord - fencing, rich people sport but cooler than golfing

din djarin - rugby. the thighs. he can run. he can jump. he has experience in holding onto a green baby shaped like a rugby ball.

dio morrissey - skateboarding, wearing all black

comandante veracruz - sport climbing. also hosts knife throwing competitions in the olympic village.

clint - boxing. again, just look at him

reed richards - golfing. he’s a distinguished gentleman okay. could also be accused of cheating in most other sports

unnamed materialists sugar daddy - dressage, he knows how to make you… stay in line (we don’t know what’s wrong with us)

dieter bravo - manages the team’s social media account. he’s a star on tiktok

let us know your takes! 🫶🏻

[gabseyoo]

FORE! — GOJŌ SATORU

content: female reader, golf instructor!gojo, rich!gojo, rich!reader, public sex, sex in a golf cart, fingering, reverse cowgirl, vaginal / unprotected sex, slight degradation, creampie. word count: 2.3k.

note: hellooo. it´s here! i started writing this months ago and just finished it, hehe. i feel weird posting this days after jjk ended (i have a lot to say about the ending, sigh) still, i hope you like it <3

Three weeks. 

It has only been three weeks since Satoru Gojo offered to teach you how to play golf, which he did as an excuse to spend time alone with you. 

You had known each other for a few months, when your parents started doing business together.  The attraction you had for each other was obvious from the first moment you met, but for some reason or another you had never had the chance to be alone, since you used to see each other at gala events or dinner parties, where you would flirt, chat for a few minutes before going your separate ways and forgetting about each other's existence until the next time you met again. 

Four weeks ago, he saw you again at the birthday party of an acquaintance of your parents, where you looked incredibly beautiful and sexy in that blue dress that Satoru fantasized about taking off— but let’s leave that aside for now.

He remembers how he greeted you, kissing your hand in an act of chivalry before offering you a glass of champagne and inviting you to sit down together for a chat. 

Everything was going well, you were an entertaining person to talk to, both of you were sharing things about your lives and stuff like likes, dislikes and hobbies. It was at this point in the conversation where he mentioned how he had always been a golf fanatic, and with some arrogance he told you how good he was at the game and that he even won quite a few competitions in his teens before focusing on the family business. 

That’s when you said, “Wow, you should teach me how to play one of these days.”

And Satoru saw it as the perfect opportunity to say, “If you’re free on Saturday mornings, I can teach you.”

It’s been three weeks since then.

And Satoru was going to explode. 

From the first day you showed up at his family’s country club in that short skirt and looked at him with those doe eyes full of false innocence, Satoru realized that you would be the death of him. And this thought was confirmed as the hours went by that day, a day on which Satoru surprised himself by his self-control of not having an erection in the middle of a golf lesson. Because God, he knew you were a flirt, but he never imagined to what extent. But well… let's be honest— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t play along, just as it would be a lie to say that these flirtations wouldn’t continue Saturday after Saturday. 

The way you batted your eyelashes when you looked up at him, the way your body lightly brushed against his when you walked back and forth, how you moved closer to him when he showed you the video of your shot and explained where you could improve with the excuse of wanting to hear him better. 

It was all reciprocated by the way Satoru would look at your lips when you spoke, by the way he would shamelessly ogle you when you arrived in those cute little outfits, how he would praise you when you hit the ball and how occasionally he would caress your shoulders or your lower back when fixing your posture—which he was sure you were doing wrong on purpose just so he could correct you, but hey, it’s not like he had a problem with it—.

This whole little game had reached the point where the sexual tension that emerged when you were together could be cut with a butter knife, and it was only a matter of time before the two of you crossed a fine line. 

And right now, that Satoru and you were in a secluded area of the course practicing your shots, the tension was so high that it seemed like that day would be today. 

Satoru was a few steps behind you, with one hand resting on the golf bag and the other on his hip, watching intently as you prepared to hit the ball, unable to stop his eyes of admiring your bare legs thanks to the short skirt you were wearing. Fuck, he wanted to caress them, squeeze them and feel them against his chest while fuc…

“Am I doing this right?” Your question brought him out of his not very decent thoughts. 

Satoru sighed when he saw your posture, not in annoyance but in amusement because you were clearly doing it wrong and didn’t even bother to hide the mischief in your voice. 

“You already know you’re not.” He muttered, still walking towards you to position himself behind your figure while you could barely contain the smirk that wanted to creep onto your face. 

“I’m not?” You pretended surprise, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here to help me then.”

Satoru smiled sideways as he moved a little closer to your body than necessary, placing his hands on your shoulders before speaking softly in your ear, “Lean a little forward.” 

You obediently listened to his direction, slowly leaning forward until your butt made contact with Satoru’s crotch, who almost let out a gasp at the sudden physical contact. Although you have been somewhat touchy with each other, this was the first time you made such a lustful, shameless move. And he loved it. 

“Like this?” You asked in an innocent voice. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” Instead of pulling away, he pressed his bulge a little harder as his hands descended from your shoulders, taking his time to feel the skin of your arms against his fingers until he wrapped his hands around yours that held the golf club, “Do you also need help to hit it?” He asked, almost in a whisper, and your voice sounded the same when you responded: “I think I do.” 

With his hands on yours, he helped swing the golf club back and then hit the little ball that got lost in the distance. Neither of you seemed to care about the good shot he had helped you achieve, the only thing going through your heads at that moment was the closeness of your bodies. His breath was heavy against your ear, his dick growing bigger against your ass. 

You straightened your posture until your back bumped against his chest. He was quick to move his hands to your hips, calling your name with lust in his tone. 

“Tell me.” You replied. 

“Are you sure about this?” The question was superfluous when it was obvious what you both wanted, but he wanted to tease you a little bit.

You turned your head until your lips were millimeters away from his cheek. “You think I’m not?” You murmured before you dropped the golf club to put your hands around his wrists and slowly brought one of his palms up to one of your tits and down the other to the hem of your skirt. 

Satoru didn’t think twice about squeezing your breast and caress your pussy over the fabric of your skirt, making you let out a moan when he pressed his fingers against your clit. 

“We’re outdoors, someone may come, you know?” It was true, you were in the middle of a golf course where anyone could walk by even though it was a lonely area, but right now, not even Satoru himself believed that being in a practically public place mattered to him, not when he finally had in his hands, literally, the woman he has desired with all his might for weeks. 

He felt you smile against the skin of his cheek as you caressed his forearm. “Then we have to make sure that whoever comes has a good show.”

That was the last push Satoru needed to kiss you. It was so fucking messy. It was so fucking lewd. But nothing was stopping both of you now, especially when, one way and another, you managed to get on the golf cart in which you arrived here amidst the desperate kissing and touching. 

Satoru sat in the back seat and you claimed your place on top of his lap, taking the opportunity to kiss your way down his chin to his neck as he slipped his hand once again between your legs to pull your panties aside and finally have direct contact with the place where you needed him the most. 

“Fuck. You’re so wet.” He said as he slipped two of his fingers into your pussy, “And so fucking tight.”  He added with a pleasing tone, closing his eyes when you sucked the skin of his neck between your uncontrollable whimpers at the pleasurable rhythm his digits set. 

His other hand went to your ass to spank hard and then squeeze to his liking, meanwhile you worked on unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants to slip your hand into his boxers, wrapping your hand around his dick. 

“And you’re so big.” You mimicked his earlier tone and raised your eyes to look at the man, finding a proud smile on his face. 

“Want to feel it?” Satoru asked as he curled his fingers inside you, delighted by how you opened your mouth in pleasure and nodded in response to his question. “Yeah? You want it? Turn around then.” 

You let out a moan when he pulled out his fingers from your insides, and without wasting any more time, you managed to turn around in the confined space of the golf cart. 

Now with your back to him, sitting back on his legs with your view towards the beautiful horizon of the course, Satoru hiked up your skirt to appreciate more of your ass and smiled when he noticed that you were wearing an expensive lace thong that fit you perfectly. 

“You were planning this, weren’t you?” He said, stretching the fabric on the side of your hip. “I don’t think this is very comfortable for golfing around.” He added before letting go of the garment, hitting your skin.

“In fact, I found out that they are.” You looked at him over your shoulder with a smirk. “I’ve been wearing lingerie for you since the beginning.”

The admission almost made Satoru groan as something bestial possessed him. The thought of you wearing lingerie for him sent his libido through the roof. He brought both of his hands to the edges of your underwear to start pulling them down, you lifted your hips a little to help him remove them until they ended up on the floor of the golf cart.

“So you’re admitting that you were ready for me to fuck you from the start?” Satoru said as he pulled his pants down a little more along with his boxers until his cock sprang completely free and ready for you. “You’re such a slut, did you know that?” He added before placing one hand on your waist and the other went to grab his member to line it up at your entrance, impatient to finally feel you. “C’mon, sit.”

It was like heaven when you began to sit on it. This had been his fantasy all along, this position, with you. The place wasn’t exactly what he imagined, but at this moment that was the last thing he cared about. 

Satoru did his best to keep his eyes open to appreciate how you sucked him in deeper and deeper until you were completely seated on top of him. Fuck. He was about to lose his mind, your pussy felt so hot, so wet, so tight. It was perfect and he swore he could cum right there if he didn’t apply what was left of his mental strength. Which he thought was going to be an impossible task the moment you started to move your hips. 

God, you moved so well. And the view was a paradise for him. 

The way his cock disappeared inside you every time you went up and down was driving him crazy. Add to that how your walls squeezed him so deliciously and the sound of your skins colliding. It was all unbelievably lewd. 

“Fuck, you ride dick so good.” He praised, admiring your bottom and squeezing your cheeks with both hands before letting one of his palms fall in a hard spank that made you groan. “Had I known, I’d have fucked you since day one.”

His last words caused a giggle to come out of you, and without stopping your delicious movements, you said, “I think I’m the one fucking you.”

He let out a chuckle before placing both of his hands firmly on your waist, stopping you, “Right, we need to change that.”

Satoru began to move his hips. It was hard, almost beastly, that it was a surprise that the golf cart was still in place. Your moans increased, as did the wet sounds that came from every time Satoru rammed into you. 

Suddenly, he pulled you by the neck until your back made contact with his chest, ran one of his hands under your knee to pull your leg up and get better access to your clit with his other hand. Once in this new position, he resumed his movements, now thrusting deeper and harder as he circled your sensitive spot. 

Satoru moaned, loud, the moment he reached his peak and let out all his cum deep inside you. That wasn’t really his intention, but he didn’t find it in himself to pull out, not when your pussy was squeezing him too good when you came at the same time. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbled as he tried to regulate his breathing with his forehead resting on your shoulder. “That was good.” 

“I know.” You said between breaths as you brought a hand behind Satoru’s head to gently stroke his white hair. “I think it’s time to admit that I’m actually a pretty good golfer.”

Your words made both of you laugh. 

“Don’t worry.” He said when your laughter ceased and kissed your cheek before adding, “I knew.”