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starlight-library · 25 days ago

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Hole in one | LH44 & LN4

pairing: LH44 x Reader x LN4

summary: your boyfriends want to go golfing on a rarely non-busy day but your mind has other ideas seeing how hot your boyfriends are. luckily, you're not the only one who thinks golfing isn't the only hole in one today--

warning: age gap between lewis & partners, semi-threesome, dom/sub dynamics, mention of eating out, mention of sex, mention of overstimulation, semi-free use(?), cockwarming, blowjob, semi-public exhibitionism (aka car sex), mmf threesome sorta???, edging, facial, mention of medication.

fc: none!

a/n: I KNOW THE TITLE IS CHEESY. DOES IT MAKE SENSE?? IDK AND IDC. It's late and i used my brain power for the smut--don't look at me

wc: 4.1K

God, you were certain you were going to go straight to hell. Poor boys just wanted a nice bonding day and you were imagining their hands helping you get out of this golfing outfit.

The thought crossed your mind glancing between the two Brits who were currently standing by the golf tee happily talking while you looked between the two trying to figure out which one you wanted to take first.

First, Lando was in those black golf shorts and that stupid black wife beater. You had so much to look at that you didn’t where you wanted to focus on first. Between the vein that pops out of his neck when he swings to his hands that gripped the gold club the way you wish he would grip your hair to his muscles just on full display along with a gorgeous tan that would look so much better with marks from you. Your eyes kept linger up to that curly mullet he had just gotten and you wet your lips because damn it. That mullet was just coaxing you to run your fingers through and grab and yank. Maybe you could get a hold of that chain and—

There was some laughter as a darker male nudged Lando with his shoulder. Lewis was the polar opposite of Lando.

While Lando looked like he had just rolled out of bed ten minutes before his ride came, Lewis was dressed like he was always on the golf course. A cream (you think it’s cream anyway) woven short sleeve polo and green golfing pants. The pants fit Lewis in a way that you could clearly see a little bit more than typically bargained before. You learned that the hard way by hole 3 when you realized Lewis did not have his hands in his pocket and now at hole 11, you were disrespectfully staring at any chance you got. When you couldn’t, you took to staring at all the different tattoos that you could see on his arms and watching his muscles. What you wouldn’t give for those damn tatted biceps putting your head in a headlock.

God, what do people call this duo?

Pairs??

You squint when the rare sunlight is suddenly in your eyes before a figure steps to the side slightly to give you shade. The gentle swipe of a thumb across your bottom lip snaps you back into reality.

“Something distracting you, love?”

Your face flushes almost immediately when Lando speaks to you. You avert your eyes while clearing your throat before letting out a soft noise of surprise when Lando lets his hand slip just underneath your jaw and forces your head up just an inch higher. You look back at him and blink because wow. The guys were right. You really did just need a few touches from either of them to turn into a mess.

“Sweetheart,” Lando murmurs while leaning down, “I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

“Yeah..”

“You haven’t answered me. You know I don’t like repeating myself but you are just too cute like this so I’ll ask one more time. Is there something distracting you, love?”

“Oh!” You start, “Oh no—not really—” you ramble out and sit up a bit straighter when Lando sits next to you in the golf cart, resting an elbow on the steering wheel as his hand moves back to his chin, swiping his thumb on your lower lip, “just thinking about…things,” you murmur while nodding, more so trying to convince yourself then Lando, “that’s all.”

“What were you thinking about?” He smirks.

You squirm slightly under his gaze while glancing at Lando before letting your gaze drift around. Nobody else was around, which wasn’t a surprise considering you and your boyfriends decided to go golfing only an hour after the rain stopped even though the clouds still hung around, the sun was coming out. At least Lewis was kind enough to tip the workers very well as a thank you. Speaking of, your gaze lands on Lewis who is still by the golf tee, texting someone intensely which means Lewis is distracted.

Glancing back, you’re met with sea green eyes that meet your gaze. There’s a dark fire burning in them that you know screams lustful trouble. You knew better than to give into this temptation. You were in public for christ sake and the last thing you wanted was to get in trouble but you’ve been dying to get your hands on his mullet and it’s right here.

Trouble be damned, you slide closer to Lando, letting a hand make its way around his neck and you start to run your fingers carefully through his curly mullet. You gently scratch his neck as Lando rests his head on your shoulder. You gasp silently when warm lips brush against your neck teasingly. You bite your bottom lip harshly feeling Lando nip at your neck to stay quiet as you press your thighs together. You yank his hair slightly feeling his hand slide between your thighs.

“Lando,” You murmur as a warning trying to close your legs.

“Shhh,” Lando murmurs in your ear. You shiver hearing that stupid smirk in his words as a finger traces the waistband of your skirt on your skin shifting so one of his legs caught yours and forced your legs open for him. You whine softly as his hand starts to slip under the waistband.

You gasp when Lando’s head is yanked back and your eyes flick up to Lewis, standing behind Lando while holding his head back to look up at the older Brit. Lewis is looking down at Lando before his gaze finally makes it over to you and he raises a brow, “what do we have, here?” Lewis asks.

You stare at the older male then at Lando because you have two options. You can either go down with the ship or save yourself. Typically, you’d probably go down with Lando but you were still recovering from two nights ago when you and Lando decided to send Lewis some rather risky photos while he was at the factory. The memory of being being sat in Lewis lap having orgasm after orgasm from Lando, who was on his knee for that entire time eating you out and that was about a good…two hours before Lewis had showed you some mercy by letting you lay on the couch while Lewis had Lando bent over the coffee table an apologizing mess.

“I tried to warn him.” You admit to Lewis.

“Y/N!” Lando manages before he groans slightly when Lewis tugs his hair a bit more while Lewis leans over him, "Sorry,” Lando breaths out.

Lewis shakes his head while looking down at him, “you just love to cause trouble don’t you, you fucking brat,” Lewis smirks at Lando’s feigned innocent smile. He looks at you and uses his free hand to tilt your chin up. “Meanwhile, Y/N over here is being such a little angel for me.”

“She is not,” Lando breathes out, “She was enjoying it more than what she’s leading on.”

Lewis hums softly and thinks it over, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. I did interrupt before anything fun could happen, but.” Lewis leans down, “it seems that out of the two of you, you typically are the one that initiates trouble and y/n has such a pure heart to not let you get punished on your own. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You bit your bottom lip gently while nodding in agreement, “That’s right.”

“See? She’s so kind,” Lewis praises as he leans over to give you a peck, “unlike a certain brat.”

“Well, someone has to keep things lively,” Lando muses, “Besides I never hear either of you complain.”

“You’re right, we don’t complain,” Lewis starts, “we love it very much but sometimes, we just want an easy and I just want you to behave for me. Like today, it was supposed to be an easy day with golfing and cuddling but now I have to punish you for misbehaving.” Lewis shakes his head softly, “what am I going to do with you?” Lewis hums looking between the two of you and grins, “I know exactly what to do.”

It was a miracle that the golf cart made it back to its area in one piece. Even though it only went up to 20 miles per hour Lewis made it feel like it was going much faster with how determined he was to get the three of you off the course after telling Lewis your idea. Lando was growing more excitedly anxious while you sat between the two of them, curious to see what is suppose to happen.Lewis had given you the keys to the Mercedes, telling you and Lando to head over early as he wrapped up and you happily obliged with Lando giving Lewis a mock salute and following.

“Lando,” you start when you two are close to the car when Lando is pressing against your back, kissing his neck. Lando murmurs something into your skin as you tilt your head to give Lando better access as you unlock the car. You get the back door open before you yelp when Lando gives a sharp slap to your ass, whipping around, “Lando!”

“What?” He feigns innocence as he pulls you close by your hips. He lets his hands travel down to your ass to gently rub soothing circles where he slapped before grabbing your ass, “Am I supposed to just stare? Can’t touch it now?”

You giggle softly while wrapping your arms around his neck. You let Lando back you up to the car as you hum softly, “I suppose that wouldn’t be fair.”

Lando grins before leaning down and catching your lips in a kiss. You let a hand find its way back into the mullet as Lando tilts your head, deepening the kiss. You moan softly which gives Lando a chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. He stumbles you backwards, breaking the kiss to help you into the back seat before climbing in after you. He shuts the door but something stops it and Lando whips his head around to see Lewis holding the door handle. “Oh,” he says breathlessly and laughs, “Lew. Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Lewis chuckles sheepishly, “didn’t have the heart to interrupt the show.”

You giggle softly while scooting over so Lewis could climb in. Once he was in, you comfortably sat back in your corner watching Lewis pull Lando into a searing kiss by the back of his neck. You fanned yourself watching because it should not be as hot as it was watching Lando just crumble under Lewis’ touch slowly but surely. When they finally pulled away to catch their breath, you didn’t even want to join in. You were much happier just sitting in your corner watching Lando turn into a mess as the curly hair driver was now straddling Lewis, kissing and nipping at his neck for more attention.

You lock eyes with Lewis and he just nods his head slightly. You immediately crawl over and Lando lets out a huff when Lewis shifts him to straddle one thigh while you straddle the other. You’re cupping Lewis’ face and kissing him stupid. You pull back before slinking off of Lewis thigh.

You and Lewis work together to get into position. Lewis manages to turn Lando before having him sit in Lewis' lap. While Lewis pulls Lando’s into another kiss, you move yourself to the floor. It’s a bit tighter than you anticipated but you made it work. You glance up, seeing Lando’s with his head back on Lewis shoulder gasping and whining. Lewis was murmuring in his ear while one hand was up Lando’s shirt playing with his nipples while the other was loosely messing with Lando’s belt. He glances down when you gently push Lewis’ hand away from Lando’s belt before undoing it.

You stick your tongue out as you fiddle with the belt while Lando squirms above. You huff before smacking his inner thigh gently causing him to yelp out of shock, “stop moving!” You tell him as you get the belt undone before undoing Lando’s shorts.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” You ask.

“Could you do me a big favor?” Lewis asks, “could you go into the glove compartment and grab me the travel lube? Please?”

“Of course!” You take a hot minute to turn so your back is to your boyfriends and lean over the counsel and just get the glove compartment open. You shift to lean a bit more as you dig through, listening to the sound of kisses and soft gasps and whines. “Oh, was someone eager?” You hear Lewis behind you, “Was a good enough boy to at least your butt plug.” You put your lips together tightly as if you were eating a lemon to keep from laughing out loud as Lando just murmurs something before he groans out in pleasure before he tries to quiet himself.

“Found it!” You announce happily as you lean back offering the travel lube to Lewis. The second that it’s out of your hand you’re leaning forward to close the glove compartment while behind you Lewis and Lando shuffled around before Lando . When you turn around, Lando is now sitting in Lewis’ lap. He was panting slightly his back against Lewis chest, shorts and boxers now pulled down, face flushed.

“Ah, there we go,” Lewis purrs while hooking his chin on Lando’s shoulder. You watch Lewis’s hands moving down to stroke Lando’s cock, making you kneel right there as he does so, “You’re very pretty as a brat,” Lewis whispers but besides Lando’s gasps and whines, you can hear Lewis, “but you’re much prettier when you’re like this.” Lando manages out a breathless “Yes sir,” while gripping Lewis’ arm like a lifeline.

Lewis drags his teeth against Lando’s neck, finally biting a mark on his pretty skin (which you’re jealous of since you’ve been wanting to do that all day) but you’re getting more flustered while looking semi-embarrassed, turning as red as Ferrari’s suit and ducking your head. But Lewis is quick to snap his fingers and motions for you to rest his head against Lando's bare thigh while he works. You hesitate but do what is asked with Lewis praising you, "just keep looking here baby. Don't look away from how pretty Lando's being for you,” and Lewis goes back to working Lando up. "See? Look at how well behaved Y/N is? You see what happens when you behave? You get rewarded. We should probably do something to reward her...right?"

You watch Lando swallow a strangle cry probably because the three of you were in a mainly empty parking lot and currently doing—this. You see Lewis use his free hand to slip up Lando’s shirt to grab his chin, forcing the younger Brit to look at him, “Well? Do you think Y/N deserves a reward?” “I—mm yeah,” Lando manages out, “but I thought—”

“Oh trust me. I didn’t forget about you.” Lewis grins and kisses him, “you are going to sit here on my cock so pretty for me while Y/N enjoys her reward and let us just use you how we see fit, is that okay?” Grabbing his jaw a bit harsher, “and the only time you can cum is when I decide. Understood?”

Lando whines but nods. “I—yes sir,” Lando says softly while digging his nails a bit more into Lewis' skin, “I understand.” Lewis hisses feeling Lando digging into his arm. In return, Lewis leans down to nip at Lando’s neck, leaving another mark while rolling his hips up. Lando arches his back and moans loudly, squirming slightly. “Oh fuck—”

Lando completely ignores the reaction he pulls from the younger driver while using his free hand to brush your cheek. He shifts a little further forward and ushers you up. "Come on, you’ve earned a reward for being so good and not following this brat’s lead for trouble. Go on," He urges, nodding his head before you get the picture. You look up at Lewis and Lando before adjusting your kneeling position the best you can.Then you duck your head and wrap your lips around Lando’s cock, replacing Lewis’ hand. Immediately, you hollow your cheeks out when you start sucking the other off.

“Such good sweethearts, both of you,” Lewis says above directed at both of you. You can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks and neck as your lips stretch over the girth of Lando’s cock. It earns a strangled cry from Lando as Lewis speaks. "Fuck you two are just too pretty," he moans, rolling his hips up into Lando, earning another gasp and moan as Lando bucks his hips forward slightly. It causes you to choke on Lando briefly and when you pull back, there's a string of spit connecting your lips to Lando still. “Oh are you okay sweetheart?” Lewis purrs softly, “Lando isn’t being rude, right?”

“No, no he’s not being rude. Just, surprised was all,” you admit.

“Well, why don’t you take a bit of a break?”

You blink and nod slightly as you lean back, panting softly. You press your thighs together when you’re reminded just how strong these drivers are as you watch Lewis grab Lando’s hips hard enough to lease bruises before Lewis is practically using Lando as a toy. You watch Lewis manage to pick Lando up before slamming him down. Lando’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he grips onto Lewis, doing exactly what he was told. Sitting there, looking pretty, and letting you two use him however you two saw fit.

Really this shouldn't be turning you on as much as it is, but it is. Lewis is really hot when he gets all commanding like this, switching off from fucking Lando senseless to you sucking Lando off while Lando is being pampered and gets the praises he deserves and looks so sexy as he’s begging Lewis to show him any mercy and - you stick your tongue on the underside the younger drivers's cock, swallowing him down even more, some of your hair falling in your face when Lewis gently guides your head back dow. You know that your jaw is probably going to be sore tomorrow and you probably won’t be able to get in this car for a bit without getting flustered but you do not care right now when your boyfriends are being this hot right now.

"Look at her, Lan," Lewis breathes when he sees you giving into the job, "look at how much she's loving this,” you glance up seeing Lewis pampering Lando in kisses. Lando was breathing heavily, face and chest flushed. Hair stuck to his forehead from sweat while his cheeks were slick with both sweat and tears. His eyes are slightly red and glassy but he seems so gone in subspace. Lando almost sobs when you deep throat him, burying his face in Lewis neck as his hands fly to your hair to find purchase, holding onto your hair as you start bobbing your head again, randomly deep throating him to keep things interesting.

Pulling off, you pant while looking up, biting your bottom lip as you smile when Lewis strokes your cheek, “Oh, what a good little slut for you’re being - and only for us.” Lewis starts, “You think it’s time for Lando to have mercy?” You look your other boyfriend over and nod. “Okay. Well, how do you want him? Down your throat or all over your face? Tell me what you want."

Your brain short circuits because you swore that Lewis was going to make this decision, not you. This feels like a big decision and you aren’t really sure what to pick as you squirm in your spot, “I—um,” you start before Lewis is grabbing your hair and guiding you to look up at him a bit harshly, "Y/N," Lewis warns, "you have to use your words. Or we will stop and I will fuck Lando silly in the backseat and neither of you will get off. You understand me, don’t you? Tell me what you want."

You let your mouth fall open before closing your mouth and swallowing the lump in your throat. As much as you would love to see your boyfriends have sex, the idea of not getting off was the only thing that made the idea slightly unappealing. This was your reward so you found it a bit rude that you were now in the position where you couldn’t properly enjoy it. “I k—I understand sir,” you correct yourself swiftly, “I—” might as well go big since you’re already here giving a blowjob in a car, “I want Lando to come on my face, please.”

“Such a pretty slut,” Lewis whispers to you while gently pulling you up closer to him. You shift before he pulls you in into a kiss so searing that neither of you remember how long it lasts but he knows when it's done, he has both you and him gasping for air. “Whatever our princess wants is what she gets. He murmurs, “Now why don’t you sit back.” You nod quickly as you sit back. Lewis makes Lando look and he groans seeing the state you were in and you could only imagine how you looked. Lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed, eyes glossy. Lando tries to look away but Lewis catches his chin and forces him to look while his other hand replaces your lips and starts to stroke Land again. "Come on baby," he goads, moving them closer, angling them so his cock is pointed right at your face. "Give her what she wants. Paint his pretty whore face," he growls, the slick making an obscene noise. "Y/N, open your fucking mouth and stick our your tongue," he commands, voice rough. Your eyes widen for a second but you also follow that command, hands resting on Lando's knees and opening his mouth, waiting patiently. "See love?" Lewis whispers, pressing his lips to Lando's temple. "See how good she's being? Now be good for us and come over Y/N's face, yeah? Paint it for us."

Lando is so overstimulated between Y/N and Lewis that he can’t even remember his own name right now. He whines loudly when Lewis shifts slightly to kiss Y/N, feeling Lewis shift inside him and god if he didn’t get to finish soon, he was going to become the worst possible person for Lewis to handle. He groans loudly, melting into Lewis chest while jerking his hips into Lewis hand, eyes closed and head tipped back. He forces his head up to look at you and he lets out a strangled noise because oh fuck. You should not look this gorgeous right now with your tongue out and eyes on him. "Uh huh," Lando manages because it’s all he can muster.

There’s no warning. No heads up. Not even a single noise. Lando’s orgasm hits him hard and fast and unsuspectingly that Lando just lets his mouth fall open silently as he arches his back, legs shaking, and eyes rolling into the back of his head. Lewis is murmuring praises while running his free hand through Lando’s hair while you get a second to close your eyes because the last thing you want is seamen in the eye. You open your eyes when Lewis gently coaxes you to. Both Lando and Lewis moan softly seeing the absolute mess Lando made of your face. You blush slightly before you close your mouth and swallow whatever made it onto your tongue before sticking your tongue out again.

“Such a good princess for us,” Lewis praises, “did you enjoy your reward?”

“I did.”

“Did someone learn why they need to behave?” Lewis asks.

Lando hums while slumped against Lewis' chest, “yeah,” he murmurs, “I did. Not going to change anything.”

“We wouldn’t want it any other way,” you giggle and Lewis laughs.

“Okay baby,” Lewis rubs Lando’s back, “think you’d be good sitting for a bit while Y/N and I finish up?”

Lando groans softly and whines, “noooo,” he starts. “Just–five minutes?” Lando asks.

You sit next to Lewis and giggles softly while kissing Lando’s other temple, “sure baby. I can wait five minutes. I’m not in a rush. Babe?”

“I can manage waiting five minutes,” Lewis smiles as you and Lewis happily smother Lando into kisses. That is until Lando becomes a bit more coherent and stupidly says,

“You know this is the first time I lasted more than 10 minutes off my meds…oh my god. It’s like–a hole in one–”

“BOOOOOO.”

“Lando, that was horrible–”

“GOD FORBID I SPEAK THE TRUTH–”

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 5 months ago

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NATIONAL ANTHEM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Rich! Peter x Country Club! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You work at the local country club as a barcart girl and you run into your crush, aka the son of the richest man in town-Peter Parker. Simple flirting becomes something... more.

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing, drinking :)

i'm your national anthem, god, you're so handsome- take me to the hamptons, bugatti veyron... he loves to romance 'em, reckless abandon, holding me for ransom, upper echelon -national anthem, lana del rey

Money is the anthem, of success- so before we go out- what’s your address? You hummed along to the sweet melody as it trickled out of the old stereo from your cart, speakers crackling slightly.

It was a hot summers day, you felt a little bead of sweat drip down the back of your neck as you breathed in the fresh air, smelling of fresh cut grass and fancy colone. It was days like this when you were most busy on the golf course, barley able to squeeze in a lunch break before someone came up to you, begging for a whisky sour.

But today you had tucked yourself away in a little hidden spot, a perfect view of scenery, the green hills stretching on for miles.

Sipping on a sweet ice tea from your straw you fiddled with, you watched as Peter Parker braced himself before swinging, club hitting the ball with a clean wack! before thudding down near the hole.

The wind rustled the flag and the fabric of his polo shirt, hair ruffled under his baseball cap.

You tried not to stare but it was impossible.

The way he smiled was intoxicating, and the way he laughed at his friends jokes… god you hoped to make him laugh like that someday.

Though he was almost four years older, the two of you had met during your freshman year of university. You weren’t close, but you werent strangers either. The odd hello was said, a smile and a passing glance in the library from his books.

Now you were practically about to graduate and he was working on his masters, his school out of state. He was home for the summer though, which was nice.

It just meant you could possibly serve him, which also made you anxious beyond belief because that meant you had to talk to him again. You took a bigger sip until you heard the straw suck up the bottom of the glass and the melting ice to ease your butterflies.

Wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck- I said can we party later on he said yes, yes, yes!

Another deep breath.

He walked in your general direction, but you doubted he could see you. You prayed the low hanging branches covered you, or at least your face. You tried to look out at the rolling hills in the distance, admiring the scenery.

It was very out of your element, but you couldn’t deny the fact it was beautiful here. The ever so fancy country club estate glimmered in the sun, tall hedges trimmed to perfection with roses blooming in the gardens.

You could just see the tall fountain spilling water down, next to the tennis court. Sometimes you worked the bar there, or handed out water and towels, but you preferred being a cart girl.

It made your life much more interesting, to drive around and to see more people. Today you got to see your favourite person.

And apparently he got to see you.

The branches rustled and got pulled to the side, a buff, 6’4 man staring down at you. “Hey sorry, am I bothering you?”

You almost choked on your straw as you bite down on it. “No, no sorry I was just on my break. But how can I help you?”

“Oh shit my bad, I’ll leave you to it-“ He went to turn away, then stopped. Whipped back around.

“Wait- Y/N? Is that you?” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah hey Peter.” you smiled.

“Jeez it’s been a while! I missed seeing you around. How’s life been?”

He missed you?! No, he missed seeing you. That’s different. Get a fucking grip woman.

“I missed you too! Or- wait erm… It’s been good! How’s life at Warner?”

His eyes brightened as you stumbled over your words, pleased you remembered where he was.

“It’s good. Super good. Lots of sunshine, and I’ve made some friends.”

“Not failing anything I hope?” you teased and he laughed.

“No, no I would never. But it’s good to be home for the summer. How’s your program going?” he asked, taking off his hat to run a hand through his messy hair, slicking it back from falling back into his eyes.

You tried not to stare at his arms but it was deemed impossible. His shirt fit him so well, his biceps strained in the fabric as they curled, and you could see whispers of a tattoo on his one arm. Jesus Christ.

“Super good. Almost finished, actually. Not sure what’s next, but working here has helped pay for most of it.”

“That’s awesome, you should be so proud. You’re a hard worker Y/N, seriously. You’ve always been.”

You almost melted at his praise, sinking deep into your seat as your tennis skirt fanned out across your thighs. There was no way he didn’t know about the effect he had on you. He had to know he drove you crazy.

“Thank you so much Peter. It means a lot coming from you.” You beamed.

“Awh shucks. Well anyways, I just came because I saw a cart over here and was going to snag a drink, but if you’re on break I won’t bother you.”

“No, no don’t be silly. What can I get you?” you scrambled up, popping open your cooler filled with ice and drinks. “You’re sure?” he asked, standing closer to you, to see what you had.

You squirmed, shivering even though there was no breeze. “Of course. I’m practically done it anyways. Happy to help.” you smiled, trying your very best to be professional and not look at him like you wanted to rip his clothes off at this very second.

“Just a Heineken please doll.” The pet name was going to make you spirial. Jesus. “That’s all?”

“That’s all. I’m easy like that.” You grabbed a cup, scooping ice before pouring the chilled beer. “Here. It’s on the house.” you handed it to him, setting down the empty glass. He shook his head, fishing into his pocket.

“Don’t be silly. Here-“ he handed you a hundred and your eyes widened in surprise and shock.

“For your troubles.” he smirked. “Peter- I can’t, I can’t take this.”

“Then take this too.” He pulled out a tiny slip of paper, crumped as if it had been in his pocket for some time. You opened it, revealing his phone number in fancy writing- the cursive that reminded you of your grandmothers. A little smiley face was printed next to it, which you mirrored back.

“Have you just had this in your pocket in case you bump into a girl?” you asked, laughing.

“I found out you worked here and I wrote it down, waiting until I had an excuse to bump into you. Now I have one.” he winked, lifted his glass in a cheers motion before turning around, emerging from the forest to jog up to his friends.

You watched him in disbelief, jaw slack on the ground. You fought to pick it back up, trying to not crumple the paper anymore as you held onto it for dear life. A wave of giddiness washed over you, your body hot to the touch, head spinning. Clutching the paper to your chest, you sighed.

Simply hoping something would actually come out of this.

For once in your life.

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

Something was coming out of this. Key word, was. Lines were blurred, and you weren’t sure if it was currently happening, could’ve happened, or had happened.

It had been a week since the original occurrence, when he had you nearly swooning and begging at his feet. Each day was a little game the two of you played, who could spy on each other first.

It had you picking up extra shifts, just to possibly see him that day, or for longer. The past few days you had worked at the bar by the tennis court, watching the ball bounce back and forth until a familiar face found his way to your bar, despite the fact he was on the opposite side of the property, and had bar carts at his disposal.

It made you feel like a teenage girl again, kicking your feet at the slightest interaction. If he wasn’t at your bar, he had found time to walk past your station (which was always very much out of his way), just to give a little wave, or to check up on you.

A few little texts had been exchanged, nothing more then simple, harmless flirting. That’s what you were telling yourself, and that was the story you were sticking to. Nothing more then that. So whenever he came over to fiddle with the straws, or suck the lemon wedge dry without making a face just to prove he could, you smooshed the feelings of need deep down, as much as you could.

Today was no different.

It was hot, one of the hottest days of the summer. You fanned yourself with a clipboard, thankful for the first time you were working in the bar by the tennis court, where it was air conditioned.

You didn’t understand how people could continue to play as if their life depended on it in the hot, beating sun. It was torturous to watch. You were extremely busy, barley getting a moment to sit down and rest your poor, aching feet- dozens of people swarming the bar for a cool drink.

Ice had to be refilled two times already, and you presumed it would be another two times before your shift was over.

“Busy there eh?” a familiar voice called from across the counter, and for the first time all day you were genuinely happy to serve someone.

“You again! It’s almost like you’re stalking me, or something.” you teased, quickly dropping everything you were doing to go over to see him.

“Something like that. Hey listen, I have a question to ask you.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it, I swear. The cops have nothing on me.” His eyes widened in mock surpise and his hands went up in surrender.

“Woah. Jeez, I’ll let them know. I have no idea how you found out I was working for them but I guess my disguise is shit.”

“It is shit. I’ve been keeping tabs on you to give you tips on how to be more discreet.” He laughed, swatting you with a straw he grabbed.

“No seriously, my parents are out of town and I was going to throw a party, but I won’t unless you come to it.”

“Well shit, that’s a lot of pressure. You’re basing this whole thing on me going, so if I don’t go everyone will be disappointed at me for cancelling it?” you teased, grabbing the ingredients to make his usual.

“Ha ha. Very funny. You know I don’t mean it like that. But I’d like you to come, it wouldn’t be the same without you there.”

“I don’t really socialize, so I’m sure no one would miss me. Plus, no one knows me.”

“I know you. And I would miss you, and you’re the only person I care about in terms of showing up.”

You smiled softly as his confession, trying to play it cool despite the fact your stomach was currently doing cartwheels. You didn’t even know if you were making his drink right, you prayed muscle memory would save you this time.

“You’d miss me? You just wanna talk to me more, do you like me or something?”

“Or something.” he smirked, smacking a twenty on the table, and you didn’t even bother to give him back his change. He refused to accept it back, you had already tried.

“Thanks for the drink sweetcheeks. It’s on Friday, and if you don’t show I’m gonna call the whole thing off, mid party and then everyone’s gonna be pissed at you.”

“Or at you for making up that stupid rule.” you snarked, sliding him over his glass, and grabbing a clean towel to wipe down your space. You could already feel two peoples eyes on you, waiting for a drink. They could wait a little longer.

“Show up then.” he shrugged. “But wait, I don’t even have your address-“ you called after him as he walked towards the exit, back towards to the heat and blinding sun. He waved his phone, without even looking back.

“Good thing we have these then eh sweets?”

“Smartass.” you grumbled under your breath as his laughed, and you watched the door swing behind him as you were stuck behind the bar.

“What can I get you?” you asked the stranger sitting near you, wishing more then anything it was Peter still there instead.

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

He was massive. Wait no- sorry, his house was massive. (Did you seriously think you’d jump the gun that quickly? Get over yourself).

You stared up at it as you emerged from your car, so out of place in this fancy establishment. He lived not only in a gated community but his property was privately gated as well.

Didn’t shock you.

You knew his family was rich, but jesus you didn’t know this rich. Dozens of cars were parked, all range rovers and catialcs as you locked your simple looking black civic.

Oh well. He invited me after all.

You belonged here. You were allowed to be here, no matter how many second thoughts you had looking at the fancy fountain, the perfectly manicured lawn and ferns, a perfect cone shape as they lead up to the massive pillars and white staircase.

You had dealt with snobby rich people before at your job, and you could do it again. Not that Peter was snobby in any way. If anything, he was one of the only ones you knew who was humble and down to earth. Hopefully his friends would be the same.

You smoothed out your mini dress, attempting to get rid of the wrinkles. Nervous, you figited with the pearls on your neck, listening to your heels clack on the pavement before you found yourself up the stairs.

You heard music, but it wasn’t as loud as you expected. No thumping floors or shaking walls, and you couldn’t see any flashing lights. You weren’t even sure what you expected. But it certainly wasn’t this. This seemed oddly calm. You could still clearly hear the cicadas as they chirped outside under the stars.

You lifted your hand to knock, and the double doors swung open as your hand was mid air, mouth opening in confusion.

“You’re not Peter.”

“So you’re observant too. You’re prettier then he described you. He’s been watching out the window for you like he’s on guard duty.”

“Bucky stop flirting with my girl!” a voice called from the other room, and you watched as Peter emerged from the other room, jogging over to you with a smile.

My girl? You fought a smile, trying to pretend his words meant nothing but you lost. Bad.

“Hi. Sorry I was just-“

“Waiting for me. I heard from your friend here. It’s nice to meet you Bucky.” you nodded, laughing as Peter’s cheeks turned a lighter of light pink.

“Likewise. Go into greater detail next time Parker.”

“No, because then you dicks will try to steal her.”

Bucky laughed, walking back in the direction Peter came from, which you assumed was where the main party was. You looked around, surveying the massive foyer- tall pillars also inside, bright chandeliers glistening over the towering staircase.

It was beautiful. You couldn’t help but admire the mural on the ceiling, mimicking a Renaissance style piece.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. You look beautiful, by the way. I mean you always do- but you look amazing now. Sorry I’m not sure why I’m rambling, I just smoked a joint and I’m nervous.” he trailed on and you laughed, reaching up to touch his bicep in reassurance.

You weren’t sure where the confidence came from, but you were happy about it. His skin was soft and warm, and he leaned into your touch.

“Don’t be nervous. If anything, I’m nervous. This is your party! And it’s so- wow.” you breathed, looking up again at the fresco.

“Everyone’s so excited to meet you. You’ve already met Bucky, I see.”

You giggled. “Hopefully they all like me. Are they friends from school?”

“Some from school, some from home, some from the country club.”

“Ah I see. So a wide variety.”

“Something like that.” he smirked, placing a hand on your lower back as he guided you towards a mysterious hallway. The hand placement. Oh my god the hand placement. You savoured his touch as he guided you, looking up at him despite wearing heels.

Somehow he still towered over you. It made you feel things.

You heard bustle from the room he was guiding you towards, the sound of music leading you onwards. Dozens of people mingled around what looked like a game room. Some lounged on leather couches with drinks in their hands, others playing a round of pool.

You saw Bucky and some others with a deck of cards, others at the bar top. It was spacious, detailed wood panels across the ceiling, with soft lights mounted on the walls, creating a glow. You admired the dozens of paintings perched on the walls, staring at Peter in amazement.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Thanks.” he smiled, taking it in with you, as if he didn’t see this every day. It made you like him even more somehow, if that was possible.

“Hey everyone this is Y/N. Party is no longer threatened to get cancelled. You’re welcome.” he called out, and everyone cheered.

“To Y/N” Bucky called out in toast, raising his glass. They didn’t even use solo cups. This shit was fancy as fuck.

You laughed, waving to everyone before Peter pulled you aside, the music picking up its tempo as the chatter resumed. “Can I get you a drink? For once?” he asked, and you nodded- following him over to the bar.

“It’s nice to see you behind the counter for once.” you smirked, giggling as he whipped a towel over his shoulder like a real bartender. “What do you mean for once? I will let you know that I am the most prestigious bartender in France. They don’t even call me a bartender, the call me “tender of the bar” " he drawled.

“Just a cider please. I’m easy like that.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank god. I don’t know how to make anything but a whisky sour.”

“Hey, that's a start!” you smiled, watching as he grabbed a chilled glass and slid ice in it, before pouring your drink from the can. “Madame.”

“Thank you, monsior. Mmmm fantastic. You should work with me!” He snorted, throwing the towel down. “They would fire me before I could pick up a glass. You’re too talented, you'd outshine me. You already do.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“You’re being silly.”

“Silly is my middle name.”

“I thought handsome was your middle name?”

“Alright woah now-“

----------------------------------------------------------------- A few hours had passed, and the night was still young. You were drunk, a little- and your shoes had come off. You didn’t know where they went, or where your phone was, or why you were outside with Peter.

But you were outside with Peter. And it was nice.

The air was chill against your skin, but not cold enough you had goosebumps. It was soft against your flushed skin from the alcohol, and you savoured the breeze as it fluttered your dress. Everyone was still inside, but you needed a breather.

You could see the lights shinning brightly from here, where you were on the pool deck. Because of course he had a pool. He also had a tennis court, a golf course, and an indoor pool. No surprises there.

You heard the sliding glass door open and shut, Peter emerging with glasses of water in hand. “I figured you’d want this.” he said, walking over to you with a grin, and a fluster on his cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” you sighed, the water trickling down your hand as you grabbed the ice cold glass, taking a long chug. It cleared your head as it slithered down your throat, relieving your thirst.

“So, is it okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“Here. This. Me.”

You stared at him, cocking your head in interest, attempting to study him. “It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

“You think so?” he asked, a glimmer in his eyes as he stepped closer to you, your chests practically touching as he grabbed your empty glass, setting it down beside you.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid up, cupping your cheek- thumb brushing your skin making you shiver. Your nipples hardened under his touch- or the chill, you didn’t know.

All you knew was that his eyes were burning holes into yours with the utmost lust you thought you’d simply combust.

“Is it okay if I touch you here doll?”

You nodded.

“What do you want Y/N? Do you want this?” he asked, voice practically begging. The music from the party thudded off the windows, lyrics slipping through the cracks under the doors to echo into your ears.

I sing the national anthem while I am standing over your body hold you like a python, and you can’t keep your hands off me or your pants on, see whatcha done to me, King of Chevron…

“I want this. I want it all.” you murmured, leaning into his touch.

“Can you swim?” he whispered, inching closer and closer to your lips.

Wait- what?

“Ye-” you let out a scream as you felt the world tilt under your feet, tumbling backwards into the hands of a strong man holding your waist. A splash erupted, the world turning a murky dark blue as the music muffled. The water was surprisingly warm as you gasped for air, frantically reaching out for Peter to hold.

He was even warmer than the water despite the cool air, and he laughed as you clung to him, wrapping your legs around his torso, dress hunched up as it stuck to your body like a second skin.

You became very much aware of how his shirt did the same, except it was white, and you could see the perfect outline of his abs and his arm tats.

“Peter what the fuck?!” you shrieked, cut off as his lips crashed to yours, engulfing you with heat and a tenderness you’ve never felt before.

His lips were like pillows as they caressed yours, hands squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist as he tugged you closer and closer, until your breaths had merged and you had practically become one.

Hands flew up to his hair, tugging on the wet strands as he begged for more, and more- teeth clashing, tongues begging for entrance before they slipped in.

You couldn’t help but moan, breathing harder as his squeezed your ass hard enough to bruise, unleashing whatever restraint he had been holding. You moaned again and he had to pull away, resting his forehead against yours, breathing hard as he watched your mascara smudge and trickle down your cheeks.

“Y/N fuck- if you keep moaning like that… I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you asked innocently, shivering.

“I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman and not go past this, but if you keep doing that I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” he murmured, bringing a hand up to stroke a stray strand of water from your cheek, kissing each one.

“That’s okay.” you smiled, grinding your hips against his, rubbing against him as he moaned.

“Jesus christ baby. Fuck.”

You giggled, feeling his very prominent bulge through his pants. You grabbed his chin, lips melting against his once more, just to get a taste of him. You were addicted- heart thudding in your chest, blood turning to molten lava in your veins.

It was like his lips were coated in honey, so sweet you practically licked them. “You’re just so sweet.” you sighed into his lips, kissing him harder. It wasn’t long before you were interrupted, the sound of a sliding glass door opening.

“You guys almost done out here?” Bucky called out, Peter's head whipping to him in annoyance.

“ What do you want?!” he called out, exasperated. “Steve and I wanna swim. Unless you guys want us to join you, I’m sure there wouldn’t be too many complaints on this end.” Bucky smirked, winking at you.

What a goddamn flirt. You couldn’t help but smile back, even if he had just interrupted the best experience of your entire life.

“We’ll be out in a minute Bucky- calm down.”

“No need!” a voice called from the house, to which Steve ran and cannonballed into the pool, splashing you.

Peter sighed, leaning his forehead back against yours. “I am so sorry about them. This is not as romantic as I had hoped in the slightest.”

“What are you talking about? This is totally romantic. The drenched rat look I’m wearing is what the movies had envisioned.”

He laughed, kissing your forehead with a quick peck, before Bucky jumped in right after. “The most beautiful drenched rat I’ve ever seen. I promise you, we’ll have time for this again.”

“Many times?” you asked flirtatiously, and he nodded.

”Many times.”

“Good. Now, I suppose we should all play mermaids now. What powers do you wanna have?”

475 notes · View notes

elsweetheart · 2 years ago

Text

jealous girl — basketball!abby anderson au

synopsis: when the other girls on your cheer squad relentlessly show interest in your girlfriend, the captain of the basketball team — you feel the undying urge to claim her as yours and yours only.

♪ jealous girl — lana del rey (unreleased) ♪

cw: reader is a cheerleader / athletic, girl drama, alcohol, reader gets very possessive, jealousy and insecurity for no reason tbh, angst??? reader cries a bunch what’s new, smut, use of strap on, housewife kink, dom top abby, sub bottom reader, a little bit of overstim if you squint? fem reader, lmk if i missed anything!

an: omg hi! i’m so nervous to post this omg. i hope you like the route i took this down! reader can be kind of annoying but stick with it. minors you are not welcome here so don’t interact and ageless blogs you will be blocked. also please don’t ask for a part two! there will not be one! anyways hope you enjoy it bbs ! likes and reblogs welcome ♡

Winner. Scholar. First place.

And that was just the first shelf of Abby’s trophy cabinet. She’d been given the premier student accommodation. You know, the apartments they reserve for their most promising students. Sleek grey cabinets and polished floors, a kitchen to die for — it was no wonder you were barely ever at your own shitty little dorm. Every tri coloured ribbon that hung proudly beside her winnings wore a gleaming gold pendant on the end — just another display of her success. Walking around her sleek scholar apartment was so familiar to you that the glimmering display cabinet barely caught your eye anymore, but each time it did it welcomed a blossom of pride in your chest for your girlfriend, Abby Anderson.

Abby — casual rugby player, frequent at the boxing society, known for wooing her professors into raising her grades by showing up with her own engraved golf club to their country club and wowing them with her swing. But she was known for one thing and one thing only around campus, and that was being the captain of the basketball team.

She was ruthless, six feet and two inches of pure muscle and willpower on the court. The blonde braid, her trademark, swishing against her toned back — and if you’re seeing it, it’s because she’s already passed you with the ball that you had just bounced. You were no stranger to the sound of the orange ball thudding against laminate floors, and the squeaking of sneakers. Infact, it’s what brought the two of you together. No, you were not on the basketball team. You, were a cheerleader.

Not the captain, although that would have been beautifully cliche; the basketball ball team captain dating the captain of the cheerleading squad — take a shot every time you read the word captain, no seriously, quickest way to get wasted. You were happy that way, however. When you weren’t dancing, you were shy by nature. The change in your demeanour was a shock to the system every time — countless frat douches and friendly party goers stepping away wide eyed when they’d approach you, hoping for cheerleader charm and instead being met with a flustered squeak. It took a while for Abby to get through to you infact, as you can imagine — being a campus celebrity and all — approaching the shy girl was a mission she was willing to try again and again at, warming you up until you were eating right out of her big coarse palm.

The memory of your first meeting was still something that made her chuckle. She’d been crushing on you for a while before even saying a word — stealing heated glances at you whilst you were dancing or being tossed in the air — whilst you of course were convinced you had hallucinated The Abby Anderson acknowledging your existence. She was tired of stiffening up at your demure glances and flustered smiles directed at her, so all but marched over to you after winning a huge game. Pumped full of adrenaline, chest heaving as she chased her breath — you in her laser vision. You noticed the hair stuck to her forehead before she even spoke, the shape of an S.

“Hi—”

“I’m Abby.” She breathed out, like a total loser — she’d add.

“I… I know. I’m—”

“I know. Let me take you out. Please?” Don’t beg, Abby. “I asked your roommate if you liked girls.” You did not have to tell her that, jheez. Creep much?

“Oh…?” You couldn’t seem to close your mouth, trying to process what was happening and happening fast. For a moment you questioned whether you’d taken a tumble on that last cartwheel, currently blacked out on the floor in a concussion-hazed dream. Ooh, maybe Abby is carrying you to the infirmary.

“You can say no.” She rambled. She looked nervous for a moment and when you started to smile, so did she. “But… don’t.”

So you didn’t.

Abby was a dream. After you’d said yes, her confidence was slammed back into her and she was busying herself with planning ways to make you hers. She was confident and naturally dominant (Opening regular doors for you, opening car doors for you, hand on your lower back when you walked together…) without being arrogant. Humble, whilst holding herself with a presence that commanded nothing short of respect. She’d taken you for milkshakes for your first date, and you’d clicked instantly. Abby did everything right, which made your face hot and stomach clench up in nerves at the idea of doing something wrong infront of her. But that feeling melted away, the only two people in the small but admirable diner — Abby carrying the conversation for long enough until your shyness melted away, catching yourself in giggle fuelled rambles and debates.

You’d kissed her on the cheek at the end of the first date. So innocent, so sweet — she remembers thinking. She let you have that, didn’t try and go in for a kiss on the lips, stood outside your building. She was happy with her decision when you pulled back and just looked so fucking proud of yourself for taking such a leap. You exchanged some kind words, some gratitude with the small and humble bouquet Abby had showed up at your door with tucked under your arm — before you were flouncing away in your little sundress. Abby touched her hot cheek when she walked away, smiling ear to ear. Her fingertips grazed over a slightly sticky outline, and she picked up her pace to get home so that she could look in the mirror and catch the sight of your lipstick print on her face.

Current day, and you’re puffing out your cheeks — stepping into the sweaty auditorium. The humidity is a little stifling and you frown in disapproval, wondering when they’re going to be getting the fans fixed like they said they would. This time, tucked beneath your arm is Abby’s white water bottle, college logo printed along the side, that she’d left in your dorm when she’d dropped by the night before. Your eyes searched the room to spot her, and it didn’t take long as she pretty much towered over everyone — you stopped for a moment at the edge of the sports floor, chest inflamed by the sight of your squad members surrounding her, giggling.

You hate to say it, but whatever stereotype or rumour you’d heard about cheerleaders is true. Especially at your college, there was something so criminally But, I’m a Cheerleader (1999) about your squad in particular. You didn’t like to get involved in the drama, but sapphic drama was not unfamiliar to you. It was bizarre, everyone was friends — but their sporty girlfriends from outside of the team were getting passed around like peas. Abby had always been an object of their affection, but before you had started dating her she seemed out of reach — due to the fact the blonde quite literally never even glanced their way, too focused on the game, and whispers of ‘Abby doesn’t date sports team girls’ around campus. Since the two of you had been together, what — 10 months now? It seems to have refilled their confidence in being able to win her over, regardless of how you felt about it.

It was never direct. To anyone else, the group of you seemed like great friends — and you were the number one flyer, needing you as the centre piece for every dance. You were happy to get chucked in the air so long as they caught you, so as you can imagine; that element mixed with your shyness forced you into not confronting them all for flirting with Abby.

"No but if I had arms like this? Whew, no one would be safe. I'd be a slut... I mean I already am..." The cheer captain, Liv spoke, the other dancers squealing in agreement. Abby looked uncomfortable to say the least, forcing a polite smile and trying to wedge herself out the small hyena circle they had formed around her. A blossom of pride filled your chest when you saw the sheer relief in her eyes, her gaze landing on you. You surged forward into the light, smiling awkwardly at your peers as you approached your girlfriend. She bounced the orange ball on the ground once before tucking it under her arm, other bulging arm bringing you in for a quick hug. "Hi, baby." She chirped, happy to see you.

You wanted to enjoy the moment, but couldn't ignore the disapproving gazes from behind Abby's back, their faux-friendly smiles turning to not so subtle glances and snickers toward each other. Just ignore them. Abby didn't pay them any mind so why should you?

"Hi Abs." You lowered your voice, like you were hoping they'd get the hint and give you two privacy. They stuck around like flies, much to your disappointment. "You left your bottle at my dorm. Didn't want you to get dehydrated agai—"

"Awwww, you guys are so cute!" The bleach blonde base leader appeared beside your girlfriend, obnoxiously butting in and making a point to rest her hand on Abby's bicep. "I want what you have." She pout, but you couldn't help but feel that comment was directed more toward you.

"Oh—thanks." You chuckle, not quite meeting her eye. Abby took the bottle from you, shooting you a subtle ‘wtf?’ look which made you wanna giggle.

"Oh you refilled it, nice. Was so fuckin' thirsty." She smoothed a hand over your head gratefully as she brought the bottle to her lips and chugged, stepping away to address her team, their practice ending for the day, giving the cheerleaders the space to rehearse for tomorrow. "Alright team, circle up I got a few pointers." You heard her command, smiling as you watched her team members gather around her obediently. You snapped your eyes away toward the girl still stood by you, eyes slightly narrowed as she observed you. She looked away when you noticed her intense gaze.

As much as you hated to see Abby leave without you, it always brought you some kind of relief — knowing that your squad could actually focus on what you were there for, cheerleading — instead of fawning over your girlfriend, giggling, bending over in her direction to 'tie their laces'. You knew dating Abby would bring a lot of attention, and you knew that there must have been plenty of girls that were after her — but this whole thing with your own squad was getting pretty old. Sometimes you wished you weren't so shy, so you could give them a real stern talking to. You didn't wanna put it all on Abby, it wasn't fair, she didn't ask for this and plus it was your problem. You didn't wanna be that jealous and possessive girlfriend, did you?

The next day, Friday rolled around fast.

It took a lot to shake Abby’s confidence. She knew she was good at what she did, otherwise she wouldn’t be on such a prestigious scholarship, or have acquired the team captain title so fast — but she was nervous. The impending game was a big one, there was no room for fuck up’s. There had been talk of scouters for top women’s basketball leagues joining the audience, and Abby knew that if things went well it could really put her on the map, no — it was guaranteed.

Your eyes were fluttering closed, heavy after the long day you’d had perfecting your routine with the team. You were in your shabby little dorm, practically a hole in comparison to Abby’s sleek apartment. More times than not you’d stay with your girlfriend, calm eachothers nerves before a big game — but you had mutually decided that you’d both needed to ensure a perfect night’s sleep. Your phone laid beside your head on your pillow, the glow of Abby’s contact picture lighting up the small space around it. She was breathing slow and calm on the other line, clearly tired herself.

“And then you can come and stay at mine tomorrow after the game, and stuff.” She hummed, the sound of her shifting positions, her bedsheets rustling taking over the audio for just a moment.

“Mhm. ‘Can celebrate your win.” You smile, eyes now closed as you picture it all, nervous butterflies batting their wings against your stomach.

“Or mourn my loss.” She chides. “You can still come over either way.” Abby chuckles but it’s dry and humourless. She always got this way before a game, just a little pessimistic — doubting herself subtly through sly jokes and quiet comments. To anyone else, she’d still appear just as confident and carefree — but you knew Abby.

“Abs, don’t say that. Y’gonna win. Simple as.” You exhale, feeling your body sink further and further into the pillow. She was silent for a moment, considering it — probably doubting everything that had just come out your mouth, this time in her head.

“Hm.” You listened to her breathing, and it made you sleepier. “You’re tired baby. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You wanted to protest, be there for her and soothe her nerves for a little longer until she felt ready to sleep but her voice was lulling you into a dozed state.

“You sure? I can… stay…” You could barely finish your sentence, making her chuckle tiredly.

“Yes, pretty girl. Gotta get your rest for tomorrow. Need you cheering me on up there, helps me play better.” She was smiling, you could hear it. Your heart swelled and you made a happy humming sound to after.

“Night Abby, seeyoutomorrowloveyou.” You sigh out in one breath.

“Night baby. Get some rest. I love you.”

The opening intro to Fergie’s — Fergalicious blared through the auditorium, your squad occupying half the court as you danced for the screaming crowd. Hips, hips, split jump, cartwheel — behind your bright smile you were counting steps, keeping your arms tight and straight, flickering your eyes towards the scoreboard. You looked properly as you stood on top of the pyramid, ankle by your head — burst of adrenaline and relief when your eyes landed on the numbers in glowing red, signifying that Abby’s team was still in the lead. You gracefully flipped, and were caught back on the ground, heart thundering in your chest as you continued on with the dance.

As rehearsed, the college mascot had run on, joining in on the dance. A ridiculous looking wolf with a brightly coloured t-shirt and cap on its furry head. He danced beside you, comedically shaking it’s hips in time with you. You glanced over at Abby, happy to see her looking eased, a slight smile on her face as she jogged away from the net, watching you dance. A few strands of her hair stuck to her face from sweating and it reminded you of the day she asked you out.

63-63 with three minutes to spare.

Your squad tried not to show that they were itching from the sidelines, eyes glued to the players as you were lined up by the benches, waving pom poms now and shouting your usual chants, trying not to get drowned out by the passionate yelling of the audience.

Be aggressive! B-E aggressive! I said be aggressive B-E aggressive! B-E A G G - R E S S I V E! Whooping the house down show ‘em who’s the leader — bring ya’ baby down down, go cheerleader!

You tried to keep your grin as you chant, moving your hips in time with your claps and arm movements as you watched Abby’s team mate miss the net, ball rebounding off the backboard. You caught a glimpse of the frustrated expression on Abby’s face, jogging around players and yelling directions over the crowd that seemed deafening at this point. You watched her eyes rake through the audience, looking for a talent scout shaking her head and drawing a big red cross on her clipboard or something. Her eyes then found you, a inkling of panic that was calmed by the tide that was your face staring right back at her, smile still plastered as you repeat your chants with your group. The sight of you surged something through her, she had to do it for you.

63-63 with two minutes to spare.

“Don’t worry guys, Abby’s got this.” Liv twinkled proudly, like the blonde captain even knew her name and you felt sick. Sick with nerves, sick with possessiveness, sick with irritation. You stomped your feet that little bit louder whilst you cheered, wanting to dash your pompoms at her head. You felt sweat trickling down your spine, head starting to pound from all the tension and noise. Was the crowd getting even louder? Where did you put your water bottle?

63-63 with one minute to spare, and there was no time to drink.

Even the chants stopped, the squad trailing off just to watch in awe. The sound barrier practically broke when the ball came to a thudding halt, caught mid pass by none other than Abby Anderson, basketball hero. This other team were good, frighteningly so — but they were no match for her. She dribbled with precision in and out of players until she met a wall of her opposition, closing in on her fast to snatch the ball. She turned left, turned right, looking for someone on her team she could rely on to get the ball in the net. The coach yelled from the side, the cheerleaders gripped eachother, the audience stood on their feet. Abby’s knees bent, arms extending. Everything went slow motion, like it always did as you watched with wide eyes. The ball didn’t circle round the hoop, it didn’t slide down from the backboard, it slammed straight through the net so hard you thought when it landed it might leave a dent in the ground.

63-64— and the crowd fucking exploded.

You were immediately jostled to the side by your squad jumping up and down, grabbing eachother with screams. You stumbled, jaw agape trying to catch sight of her. Where are you Abby? Let me see you.

She was suddenly there, expression mirroring yours. The world still moved slow, spotting eachother now. She took off toward you, dodging the grasp of a celebratory cheerleader, skidding past a team member that tried to pull her in, straight toward you. You met her half way, feet in control now and leapt, Abby getting the same idea and thrusting her arms around your waist, swinging you round in a circle. Then, you could both smile, and it didn’t stop growing, not even when you smashed your lips together. There was no sound anymore, no screaming crowd or cheering squad members — just your own delighted giggle against her, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, the back of her hot, sweaty neck in your palm, your teeth clashing together at the force of the kiss.

You pulled away to breathe and the sound returned like you’d just come back up from underwater, the yells, the cheers, the chanting of her name. “I did it I fucking— do you know what this— baby, i did it.” She was panting, forehead pressed to yours and hell, you couldn’t care less that it seemed the world was watching such an intimate moment.

“Your life’s gonna change Abby, i’m so proud of you.” You breathed, and before she could reply — expression of awe, and utter love struck, she was setting you down and her team was tearing her away, lifting her above their head, passing her another big golden trophy to add to her shelf. She held it in the air, and then came the flashing of cameras, the barrage of students running to celebrate with her. A cheerleader from the other team roughly brushed your shoulder as she passed you with a glare and you didn’t even stop to acknowledge her, just watching on with pride — hands clasped beneath your chin. Your Abby had won, and nothing else in that moment mattered.

8:04PM

“Is it braggy if I wear the jersey on top?” She was smirking a little, stood in front of you in all her glory in her apartment. You spun around at the vanity, eyes taking her in as you pulled your little pink dress further down your thighs.

Your girlfriend was showered, and dressed — donning her bright blue jersey over her grey hoodie and jeans. You grinned, standing up. She looked good, but she always looked good. You had to stand on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around her neck. “Don’t you think you deserve to brag, a little?” You flutter your eyelashes, tilting your head with a grin.

After every game that was won, a party was thrown at the house of one of the sports captains. It was tradition, and almost always it was in Abby’s honour, because she was almost always the star of every game. The one to think of a genius formation that would throw off the other team, the one to make changes last minute that would be the saving grace, the one to make the winning shot. Today was like no other, and you knew everyone was willing to go extra hard this time — after that win, Abby was like a fucking celebrity.

You felt like you were hit with a shockwave of noise as soon as you walked in. The bass from the speaker was all but vibrating the floorboards, the sticky…wet (?) floorboards. You blinked, accustoming yourself to the low lights, clinging onto Abby’s thick bicep as a swarm of people coming to greet her approached. Sometimes parties felt like survival, Abby being that buoy in a storm that you’d cling to until the tide had cleared. The music was loud as usual, familiar, what was the song playing? You recognised the familiar tune to Blame It by Jamie Foxx and T-Pain and nodded your head with a false confidence. Drink, I need a drink — you thought, detaching yourself from Abby to beeline to the makeshift bar once you’d spotted it. Not the punch, you weren’t stupid — you had no clue what people had put in there. Vodka… vodka where are you? You grabbed the clear bottle with the red lid and poured yourself a generous amount into your cup before filling the rest up with… what were your options— cranberry juice. Nice. This will get you by. You needed social skills tonight, Abby had won a huge game and you didn’t wanna drag her down with your shyness. You sipped, no — downed some of your drink with a wince, some liquid spilling down your chin. Alter ego activate, shyness be gone.

You found Abby again, and when she spotted you awkwardly trying to wedge yourself through a gap to get to her she slotted her arm through, parting the sea of people like Moses himself to pull you right up beside her, torso to her ribs. You could stay like this, right up on her— you wanted to stay like this, but you’ll be damned if your girlfriend wasn’t social.

It’s an hour later, you’re drunk, laughing at something dumb Manny had come up with, social for once — and you hear them before you see them. The gaggle. The malicious giggles, pitched just a little higher than their real laugh in an attempt to turn heads. It works, you turn, there stand your cheerleader friends. ‘Friends’.

You can tell they went hard with the pregaming because they’re clinging onto eachother, forcing their way through the party crowd like a cluster of germs. That’s mean, you think to yourself, shaking off that feeling — the ugly feeling rising in your stomach like scalding bile. Insecurity, the feeling immovable even when you’re drunk and joyous, lodged into you seemingly forever, an arrow with spikes. You push it down, push it down, push it down as they squeal and come towards you. It flares up with immense force when you catch their outfits. They’re all wearing ‘Anderson’ jerseys. Did they fucking buy personalised jerseys?

It’s like you step out of yourself for a moment because you reach out and take a hold of the jersey across the cheer captains chest, turning her around and pulling the material taut as you see ‘Anderson’ in crisp white font across her back, mocking you. Your mouth is agape, unfocused and she steadies herself, turning back around and grabbing you.

“You like ‘em?” She whoops and all the girls join her, fondling their jerseys proudly and looking around for more eyes.

“Personalised jerseys?” Is all you manage to let out, just a simple observation. Liv falters for a second, something mischievous twinkling in her eye, lip curling up ever so slightly.

“Baaabe, the manufacturer f’ed up our order, and we fell one short. But we figured you’d have your own one right?” She eyes you obviously. Her malice is hardly hidden anymore. “Abby didn’t give you her jersey?” She tilts her head, as if it were an innocent question. You bitc—

“Abby!” The copper haired girl behind her squeals and you don’t have to turn around to know your girlfriend has unknowingly made her presence clear and accessible. The troupe practically rush you, shoving past to circle Abby once more. The uncomfortable look the blonde had yesterday in the court was gone, the one drink she’d been harbouring all night loosening her up a little — which made that insecure, jealous feeling nestle itself back beneath your ribcage.

“Heeeey— ohhh, awesome!” She smiles in a friendly way when she notices their jerseys. The same friendly expression she’d give to anyone, not flirty or lusty in the slightest — but they’re grabbing at her and batting their lashes up at her like they want to jump on her there and then and you feel yourself trying to crush the red solo cup in your palm. You’re broken out of your enraged trance because your sweet, thoughtful girlfriend is pulling you through the crowd they made, grinning without a care in the world. “You see this babe? Ah, should have given you my one to wear huh?” She laughs, and they laugh, but for different reasons.

The girls leave her alone for a while, but God they’re always fucking watching. Finding ways to subtly interact with your girlfriend. Accidentally bumping into her, which she barely notices until they start profusely apologising. Dance moves becoming inherently more sexy when she turns in their direction — not even looking at them but oh do they try. You finish your drink, because you need to finish your drink— and succumb to the urge to be that girlfriend. Who gives a fuck? Maybe you are that girlfriend.

It didn’t feel like you when you impatiently tugged her away from Nora, another basketball player, mid conversation, hands clasped in Abby’s silky jersey, pulling yourself to her chest, your own tits squishing against her.

“Aaabs.” You whine, and it’s giddy, lustful because she just looks so good. She smirks down at you, letting you tug at her, letting you move her. She looks so into you in that moment and it just… somethings not enough. You’re glancing for your cheer team, and that hideous feeling of shame briefly twinges inside you. Are they watching this? Seeing me touch you? Do they know you’re mine?

“Baby.” She’s returning your giddy smile, and you have to pull away from a moment so that you could back up a little… a little more into the clearing… give them a perfect view.

“Y’look so good.” Is all you can say because it’s true, and you’re pretty sure your eyes completely glazed over— pupils shooting out wide when she grabs a handful of your ass, a little rough but in a loving way, just like the Abby you’re used to — using her grip to pull you back into her hard, a small ‘hmph!’ whimper forced out of you when you all but slam into her strong chest. You love it when she got like this. Grabby. Forgetting her own strength and manhandling you. You’d usually be giggling and shoving her away in public, but you craved the eyes now. You wanted viewers, jealous gazes, realisations — Abby is locked in.

“Oh it’s like that huh?” She’s chuckling at your expression. Forever her needy girl.

You sucked in your lower lip, eyes melting into that doe eyed expression that made her want to fuck it off your face, and she squeezes your ass a little harder. Your knees practically buckle, face burning hot because you feel your pussy spread open under your dress — as if she’s opening the floodgates by hand, wetness pouring out into your underwear. You hoped and prayed they were watching. Screw your little Anderson jerseys, she’s gonna be knuckle deep inside me in five minutes if the two of you kept this up.

“Cant wait to— mm—” You turn your head. Liv is snickering, whispering, but her expression says it all. Jealousy. You feel victorious. Abby curls a finger around your chin and your distracted gaze is back on her.

“Cant wait to what?” She glances in the direction of what you were staring at and your heart skips a beat.

“Can’t wait for you to remind me what a winner feels like.” You breathe out quickly and she’s back, smirking hard like she can’t control it. If she was packing, she’d be tilting her hips forward by now, digging her strap into the mound of your cunt through your thin dress where you stood — and it makes her wish she did pull the harness up her thick thighs beneath her jeans before the two of you left for the party.

“Yeah?” Her voice is breathy, low. “Forgotten already?” She chuckles, and she’s kind of right to— she was always winning, it wasn’t easy to forget.

“Mhm. Oops.” You shrug and you both giggle this time, her hands sliding around your waist. Each time her hands find a new spot on her you can’t help yourself from glancing over at the eyes. At Liv. At the whispers. Get a good fucking look.

Abby leans in, hot breath on your cheek and you turn back to her nearly knocking noses. Her brows are frowned a little and her cheeks rosy, lips parted in a way that made you wanna shove your tongue between them. “Give me… a little while longer to bask in this.” She chuckles, humble like she always was. She steals a kiss from your parted lips. “Can’t leave a party thrown for me so soon… just a little longer and I’ll take you home and give you a reminder, pretty girl.” her blunt finger nails rake behind your ear, scraping whatever hair was there backwards, pecking you again. Your eyes fluttered at the feeling, hot and lethargic. You wanted to be obedient but something still negged at you, buzzed in your ear like a fly to ‘stay focused’.

You gripped her strong arms. An attempt at control.

“Don’t have to leave. Can just go upstairs. Right here right now.” You whined in an impatient way this time, fingers curling around her hoodie peeking from beneath her jersey. She blinked a few times and you knew she wasn’t a huge fan— Abby never liked quickies, especially not on a celebration. She wanted each time she fucked you to be memorable, like a performance — she was a love maker, and to her public quickies were usually just a little… euck.

Her soft smile remained, because the request only told her that you were desperate to have her. All the more reason to make you wait, she thought. Get you real worked up. Yeah, she could have fun with this.

“Not happening, babe. Wanna take my time on you, don’t you wanna have it out with me all night?” She tilted her head, persuading, blowing hot air over your mouth and God — yes, on one hand you wanted that badly but there you go again… eyes trailing off to the right… over to your cheer group. Show them. Drag me up the stairs Abby. Make me walk out the bathroom limping. Show them what they can’t have.

So you said “No!” and you were one quick movement from actually stomping your foot like a child. Abby looked taken aback, but she still chuckled. Not in a mean way, but was it ever? She leant back from you, trying to gauge just what was going on.

“No?”

“I need you here. You… stop denying me they’ll — they’ll see— it’s embarrassing—” The shovels in your hand and you’re digging that hole, deeper, deeper…

“Who will see? See what? Babe what’s with you?” The smile melts off and she’s frowning now. Ohhh, boy. You’ve fucked it up. You blink, like you’re trying to wake up from your petty possession. You look once more and they’re intrigued now, gossiping. Are they fighting? Will Abby be single by the end of the night? This enrages you more, but you don’t have time to react because Abby sees it now. See’s that envious look in your eye, but it’s not really envy — because Abby has never in her life given you a reason to be jealous. It’s uncharacteristic and Abby’s stomach twists a little. “Oh.” She steps back, no no no.

“Sorry.” You splutter out. “Sorry, sorry— I’m sorry Abby I don’t know what that was. I just freaked. I want you to bask in this, people are here to celebrate and you deserve that. Sorry. I don’t… know what I was thinking there.” You try and force out a chuckle at the end to lighten things but it doesn’t come out quite right. Abby watches you for a moment, a little tense and worried. Eventually she gives you a small smile, coming close to you again, a hand on your shoulder.

“S’okay. No more drinks yeah?” She’s gentle and you’re embarrassed, of everything really. This is meant to be the greatest night of Abby’s college career and you’re… doing this. Making it about you. Your shoulders slump a little before you shake yourself off physically.

“Yeah, no. Good call. Whew.” You smile and she smiles back. It’s all okay. You’re okay.

Except it’s not, and she knows that. Things are a little weird now, you’re distracted and trying too hard to please her. Eyes snapping towards her guiltily every time she catches your gaze wandering off, as if scared she’ll see you looking at those girls again fearfully. You stay right by her side, shyness creeping back in. You’re smiling in a polite, forced way, and she can tell you’re not really enjoying yourself anymore. Not after that weird moment. It gets a little later, and the party isn’t in as full of swing as it was before but still pretty lively. She can’t enjoy herself if you’re not, so why bother?

You watch her watch you, her shoulders dropping slightly when she sees how tense you look. Truthfully you were worried, you’d tried to show off — let your possessive urges control you — and now, insecurities at the surface you’d seem to make things worse. You didn’t know why you’d let this pick at you, get under your skin the way it has but the fact they’d all seen you have that weird moment? It was eating you alive. They were probably so smug, probably thought they stood a chance with Abby now. Your Abby.

“Babe let’s just go.” Your attention snaps back towards her, suddenly stood in front of you— her braid resting on her shoulder.

“What?”

“Yeah, no it’s— I can’t enjoy myself if you’re not. I’m not mad, baby I just don’t wanna force you to be here.” You feel so fucking bad.

“Abby, it’s not — I am enjoying myself. This is your party.” You express, coming close to her. Most of the alcohol had worn off by now, and you just felt sick from embarrassment— and this conversation was even more sobering. She shrugs, and looks around. It no longer seems to interest her.

“I know but… I’d rather you just be… not in this mood.” She speaks quietly but you hear her and your face falls. Did you really show yourself up that badly?

“Alright.” You match her pitch, and her back is to you again — saying goodbyes. You can’t look up, can’t look and see their disappointed faces. You wish you could close your ears, to not hear the choruses of ‘Already?’s and ‘Cmon Abby this is your party!’s. But you couldn’t keep your forlorn gaze glued to the ground for long, because you knew people would look at you, see your expression and know it’s your fault she’s leaving prematurely. You cursed yourself for caring too much about what people thought that night, and smiled politely in departure.

Abby took your hand, fingers locked into yours as she walked you toward the door, saying bye to people as she continued moving. You made the mistake of sparing your cheer team a departing look, and they were watching once more — glancing at each other curiously. Liv wiggled her eyebrows playfully as you passed her. “Ooo, someone’s in trouble.” She snickered, and your breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t start crying until the car was half way down the street. You’d tried to keep it silent at first. But the car was already silent, the radio not turned on and Abby not saying anything. You didn’t know what the silence meant, you just knew you didn’t like it. Maybe she was reconsidering things. You’d ruined her night, the night that was supposed to be all hers and you took it from her — all because of your petty, jealous, insecurities. That wasn’t the kind of girlfriend she deserved, you were supposed to put all your focus into supporting her. Exist for her. She’d never given you a reason to worry about other girls but for fucks sake — those girls. You let them walk all over you every single day and now they were all talking. All coming up with schemes to take Abby from you, thinking your relationship was on the rocks and maybe it would work. After how you acted tonight, maybe it would fucking work.

You covered your face when the tears started really coming down hard, a quiet sob shuddering out of you. Abby glanced at you, jaw tensing a little. Not because she was angry, just because she was so confused about how you’d gotten here. She’d never seen you like this before and just… what had she done to get you so fucked up like this? She spoke your name, calmly — full of authority and a little detached, not cooing it gently like she would when she’s seen you cry in the past. Her tone made another sob hiccup out, and she spoke it again. “Look at me.”

You did, and you had to wipe the snot from beneath your nose so that it didn’t stick to your hands when you pulled them away. Your makeup was ruined, eyes sore and red and she glanced over you, her main focus on the road.

“Just… breathe and calm down. We are gonna talk about this when we get home.” She shakes her head a little, eyes on the road. Your heart aches and soothes a little at her calling her student apartment ‘home’ like it belonged to the both of you. You don’t have time to indulge the fantasy. “I don’t… understand this… tantrum babe.” She mutters like she’s too mature for it all and she is, which makes you all the more embarrassed. She doesn’t speak for the rest of the journey home, tear drops on her expensive leather seats. Well — she doesn’t speak if you don’t include the occasional “Breathe.” and such when she’d hear your breathing start to pick up, upsetting yourself all over again.

She walked you up to her apartment and you hugged yourself as you stood behind her, watching her unlock her door. She held the door open for you, but didn’t look at you when you walked through — unsurely looking around like you’d never been there before. You wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. Did she want to talk now?

You stood in the hallway and her warm hands gently came down onto your shoulders.

“Go sit down on the couch.”

When Abby tells you what to do, you do it. And not because she’s scary, or intimidating or aggressive. She just carries this… air to her. One that makes you want to respect her, no matter how worked up or pissed off or upset you are. It would be the same way every single time, she’ll calmly make a demand and you fucking do it. Of course, minus the mini ‘tantrum’, as she so kindly put it, you had.

She didn’t follow you, infact — she walked the other way to her bedroom, hearing the door click shut when you made your way into her living room area. The leather couch that was usually home to so much love and affection now cold against your skin when you sit down on it, the sleek material frigid from not being touched for hours on end. You bring your knees together shivering a little, and a few minutes later Abby returns. She wields a makeup wipe, and presses it into your palm silently when she lowers herself into the arm chair opposite you. You want to cry out like a baby and reach for her, ask her why she’s sitting so far away but you have to be good. You have to fix everything.

Abby’s thighs spread as she leans forward, staring you down analytically with her elbows on her knees, long fingers wringing her wrists before she looks down at them, puffing out her cheeks with a long exhale. You wait for her to speak, wiping the gooey eye makeup up from your cheeks and eyes.

“Tell me… what this is all about.” Her voice holds a quiet kindness this time, despite the line that appears between her brows as her expression becomes a little exasperated.

You suck in a quick breath, eager to explain yourself and beg for forgiveness — “Nothing I was just being —”

“The truth.” She raised her hand to speak which silenced you instantly. You press your lips together, letting two fat residual tears race down your cheeks either side, the left tear winning victoriously when it surpassed your jaw and streamed lazily along your neck. Abby watched it move.

You thought this time. No more covering it up. No more being immature. Be truthful. What was this all about again?

“I think…” You gulped, willing yourself to be brave. You knew Abby might not see you as a ‘chill’ girlfriend anymore— exposing your insecurities and jealousy — but she wanted the truth and being a liar was objectively worse. “The girls on my cheer team are… I think they’re picking on me.” You admit quietly and her brows jump up, intrigued. Not quite what she was expecting. She stays quiet and you carry on. “I’m not… I don’t wanna be toxic and jealous. I let it get the better of me tonight. They’re always… flirting with you, talkin’ about you, showing off to you, trying to get your attention and at first I didn’t care because, I have you, you know? And you’ve never given me any reason to believe your eyes have wandered but fuck it’s so hard when they’re just… relentless. And beautiful and confident and I’m… I know what people think Abby. I know I’m shy and people wonder how…” You trail off, and you’re not sure you wanna admit any more. Not after that explosive rant.

“People wonder how what?” She pushes, and she’s scooched so far onto the edge of her seat that her long legs are bunched up and she’s barely perched on it.

“Wonder how… I got you. Why you stay with me.”

The confusion just melts off her face.

She blinks a couple of times, feeling like someone just placed her heart in a panini press hearing your sad and small tone of voice. So small, and she can tell you really believe what you’re saying and it just kills her. She wants to reach out then and there and hold you and kiss you and cry for you but you’re talking again.

“And I know you’re not a trophy and I don’t see you that way, please don’t think I ever—”

“No, no no no.” Abby cuts you off as a correction, eyes shut as she scrubs a hand down her face. She gets it now. The jealousy. Clearly, you hadn’t noticed the wandering eyes of her basketball team players, smirking over at you when your little cheer skirt that was too short for everyone’s good would flip up, shaking your hips in your adorable little routines. How if she didn’t keep you on her arm at every party, frat boys would start to circle you like crows, waiting to pounce until they realise, holy shit that’s Abby’s girl, and back off. If anyone got it, it was her. “You don’t need to explain anymore I’m… sorry. Come here, please.” Her pained expression relieves you and also devastates you because now she’s blaming herself.

You listen, again, because it’s Abby and you push off the couch to stand in front of her on the arm chair. She pulls you to sit sideways on her leg, thick arms wrapping around your waist protectively. She looks up at you, brows furrowed.

“You are beautiful. I don’t… want anyone else. Ever. I love you, baby. You know I love you? You know I don’t give a fuck about any of those other girls. They’re not you they’re not… c’mon.” That gentle cooing voice has broken through and more tears slide down your raw cheeks. She’s wiping them away this time, coarse thumb swiping the moisture until it absorbs into her skin, becoming apart of her.

You sniffle, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry. This is your night and you’re comforting me. I promise I’m happy for you.” You hiccup into her neck when she pulls you in, and you feel her shake her head because her braid tickles your arm.

“I don’t care.” She chuckles honestly and cups your face to pull you back, make you look at her. She’s so beautiful you want to cry some more. “I don’t. It could be my birthday and I’d still look after you. You’re my girl, yeah? You over everything.” She exaggerates, moving her head slightly to meet your eyes when you try to shamefully drift them away.

“Kay. Love you, Abby. M’so lucky.” She feels you sigh in relief and your body relaxes just a little bit. Her hands slide around your back and press into the muscle, massaging and rubbing — trying to get you to just melt and become one with her when you cuddle her.

“I’m lucky.” She speaks into your temple, pressing kisses there. She manages to gently manoeuvre you until her lips are pressing the same quick succession of kisses onto your swollen pouty lips. She hums in satisfaction and you feel something stir in your tummy. The hum was almost primal, one that said ‘this is mine.’ You wanted to hear the noise again. Without too much thought behind it, you turn to sit on her lap fully, facing her now. You pull yourself closer with your arms around her neck and your kisses begin to dot along her jawline. Come on Abby, make the pretty noise.

She sighs, tilting her head for your access and thinks. Thinks over everything that had just happened. Maybe she hadn’t done enough, her brain had been so focused on winning the game that perhaps she’d forgotten to reassure you when you needed it, and she knew how important reassurance was in a relationship. An urge spread through her body, starting in her stomach like an icy cold lake and travelling up to her chest like molten lava. The urge to just… give you everything. Everything you wanted and needed. Everything you couldn’t ask for and everything she should have given you. Abby had always harboured a ‘spoiling’ side, and in that moment it had kicked in hard.

She pulled the strap of your dress off your shoulder, letting your head tip back this time as she sucked and nipped at the soft skin there. She loved how opposite you were to her, when she was sweaty and rough around the edges after a game you were still impossibly soft everywhere, still smelled sweet and clean and like you, like she was a wild lion coming to lay her cheek in your gentle hand after slaughtering a deer.

You squirmed on her lap and Abby jumped between your lips and your skin, feeling that beautifully familiar warmth begin to spread through your underwear again. Starting with your clit starting to throb when she’d gently buck her thighs below you — all the way to your hole that started to ache and crave the feeling of her inside. Her tongue lapped up your own, sucking obscenely as her hands pushed your lower back, bringing you higher on her lap and— oh?

You were now sitting atop a bulge. One that wasn’t there at the party. You thought back to her disappearing into her room as you sat down on the couch when you’d arrived back at the apartment and smiled at the feeling against her lips. So calculated, Abby — and she smiled back because she knew. Knew she was gonna have to fuck the attitude out of you after your talk, she just didn’t expect you to fold so easily. For it to take such an emotional direction. She could just tease you for being a cry baby, but where’s the fun in that?

You start to grind like you just can’t help yourself, your shared saliva pooling beneath your pouty bottom lip as the kisses became more sloppy and intense. You swore you could never get over how good it felt to hump against her jeans in just your panties, the combination of materials and the writhing of your hips always leaving you gasping. Abby too, the way the strap was positioned would press snugly against her clit making her breath stutter against your lips. She refocused herself, fingers tugging your dress up to your waist. Enough had been about her tonight she’d decided, now she wanted to make it all about you.

You detached for a moment to pull your dress over your head, lips meeting once more as she tossed it aside. Next came the unclasping of your bra, and then she was sliding your thong down your legs. When she balled it up to chuck aside she felt the wetness in her palm.

You stood over her now, the one time you weren’t shy — stark naked. She’d made you so comfortable over the ten months you’d been together it wasn’t even something you’d take a second worrying about anymore, Abby knowing the map of your body like the back of her hand. She made you feel so safe with her gentle-ness. Abby, big scary Abigail Anderson, Abby ‘i’ll beat your fucking face in if you step up to me outside the basketball court, no seriously repeat what the fuck you just said’ Anderson. And you’ve reduced her to this gentle, loving giant. Someone who was rubbing her big hand up your tummy as her thighs caged you in where you stood. Reaching for your breast and just rolling her thumb over your nipple making your legs quiver a little. All her stoicism that everyone else knew her for had melted away, her eyes soft and loving as she gazed at you, touching you.

She reached up and began tugging her jersey off over her head, leaving her in the grey hoodie. Where you expected her to toss it aside with the heap that was your pink dress and underwear, she brought her attention to it, bunching it up and opening up the head hole of the shirt. “C’mere.” She muttered, standing up over you, your neck suddenly craning to meet her eye. “Put it on. Fuck those other girls cheap ass jerseys. My girl gets the real deal.” She’s speaking so quietly that you feel like she’s talking to herself, that you shouldn’t intrude her stream of thoughts — even if the words made you literally clench your hole so tight you could crush a fucking walnut in there.

She slipped it over your head and pulled your arms through the arm holes, stepping back with her hands on your shoulders so she could look at you. Look down at you. See the way you stared up at her tall frame, her jersey swamping you and resting beneath the swell of the plump under-cup of your ass cheeks. “Looking good babe.” She smiles, holding you back to carry on looking at you even when you try and lurch forward, hands loose-fisted and grabby as you try and climb all up on her again where she stood. She subdued you by taking your hand, walking away and practically dragging you along behind her. “C’mon, this way. Not fucking you on the couch.” Though it wouldn’t be the first time.

She had you on her lap again in no time, her feet planted heavily on the floor as you press into her cloaked strap, legs stretched over her thighs making you ache in that delicious way that said nothing more than ‘my girlfriend is fucking huge, the gym fears her’. Impatient, you’re tugging her hand that was cupping your throat, pushing it down, down between your thighs. She pulls away, a little breathless with her mouth all red when she slides her fingers through your cunt, eyes on your hard nipples creating little mountain peaks against her jersey as you breathe heavy in her face. “Soaked, baby. Have you been needing me like this all night?” She’s whispering before her lips are on yours again, stroking your little bundle of nerves head on, making your legs flatten out and tense in the air with a quiet yelp. “I know.” She hums, and that’s all it takes to soothe you. Yes, she knows. She always knows. It was Abby for gods sake, if anyone knew exactly what you needed… well.

After torturous stroking, Abby’s middle finger curls down right to where your hole is, pressing and massaging and teasing. She knows you want her inside, you want more than her fingers, fuck — if you could you’d just consume her whole but this will definitely do the trick. “I want you,” she starts, slurred by the open mouth kiss she’s pressing to your shoulder now. “To ask me nicely. Not like you did earlier. Show me my good girl.” She whispered, like it was one last attempt at being strict before she just gave in and spoiled you. It fooled you, anyways— your mouth falling open with a whine as her thumb pressed up against your clit.

“Please Abby— ‘ll be a good girl now okay? Wanna be your good girl.” You’re blabbering against her cheek and she doesn’t fight you on it, pushing inside you and basking in the way you give her a welcoming squeeze upon entry.

“How are you still so tight? After I’ve abused that pretty pussy so many times?” She sighs, tone suggesting that she’s actually pondering it at a moment like this. You don’t have the strength to respond, fucking against her fingers. You loved foreplay with Abby, don’t ever doubt that for a second — but tonight there was something different, it just felt like preparation. The two of you knew that tonight of all nights you needed to get fucked with her cock, and that would be the main event. She could barely wait, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t loosen you up around her callous digits first so she can slip right inside of you easily.

She slips another finger inside you and you black out a little bit, like you always do. Maybe it was all the emotions finally catching up with you, but you just go limp in her lap, letting her finger fuck you the way you need. “Prettiest girl ever. Don’t know what the fuck you were worried about. Gonna fuck it out your brain tonight, yeah?” She’s cooing again and she knows that’s your sweet spot, that tone of voice doing it for you every damn time. If anything was gonna make you cum quick, it’s gonna be the sympathetic drag of her voice as she ensures you that you don’t have to think anymore.

“Yeah Abby, please! Yeah!” You sound pornagraphic and your spine flushes hot at the idea of the surrounding students in her neighbouring apartments hearing any of this — though it wouldn’t be the first time (as told by the passive aggressive post-it note left on her door reading ‘Keep it down we don’t all need to hear your girl busting a nut.’ that one time. You didn’t live down the humiliation for a week, and Abby of course only took it as a challenge to make you moan louder despite your pleas of ‘Abby! You’re going to get kicked out of your building!’ whilst her head was in your crotch. Anyway—)

She was practically vibrating her hand at this point, fingers squelching in and out of you with sounds so mortifying that if you weren’t experiencing such euphoria perhaps you’d bury your face into her cuss her out for embarrassing you. You, were slurring a made up language made of her name, curse words and just down-right vulgarity as you felt your stomach lock up in that scaldingly familiarly way. Abby chuckled, smug at your babbling, responding with “Yeah?” and “Uh-huh?” until you were clenching hard around her fingers halting their movement slightly, which gave her the green light to move onto “Thats it baby, cum for me. Just getting started with you tonight. Give it to me, pretty girl.”

You went numb, pretty much everywhere but your cunt — something high pitched and feral deafening you through the impending white noise of your orgasm — wait, was that you? You could hardly breathe, and when some feeling returned to you, you felt stickiness all along the inner sides of your thighs and seeping into the rough denim of Abby’s lap below you. Jesus… did she make you—?

“Shit babe, fucking… baptised me there.” She pants, like she was the one that just received an earth shattering orgasm and you collapse against the strong muscle of her shoulder, trying to self soothe— trying to ground yourself. You twitched, her fingers stilling within you at the tell-tale sign of overstimulation. She pulled them out, rubbing her thumb on your bare hip as she pressed her chin to her chest looking down between your bodies, admiring the gooey mess you’d left on her. “Already got a little fountain going on down there baby, we haven’t even been going at it for that long.” She teases with a grin in a way you know is meant to be praise because as soon as you lift your head she’s attacking your hot cheeks with kisses.

“S’embarrassing.” You whimper, despite your small giddy smile and she tsks a little, hand creeping up to your throat, holding your sturdily there.

“If you’re still finding things embarrassing, it’s because I haven’t fucked all those bad thoughts from today out that pretty little head yet. You still want it?” She’s speaking against your lips now, effortlessly pushing her hips up beneath you and rolling her strap into your sensitive cunt again. Is that even a question?

“Still— still want it—”

You weren’t finished speaking, and Abby is moving at the speed of light. She cups your beneath your ass with one hand, still using your delicate neck as her main grabbing point— she twists the two of you, so suddenly you’re on your back and she’s hovering over you, all in one quick succession that makes your head spin. Your back bounces against the bed, bounces you into her and her thumb soothes over your throat. “Hands still working baby?” She kisses the corner of your mouth. You flex your fingers out of her vision, testing.

“Yes.”

“Undo my belt then, pretty.” It’s clear she still needs both of her hands to caress you, so you get to work, shakily reaching for the leather tucked within the denim waistband of her jeans. It’s smooth and feels expensive beneath your fingers, and the sound of the buckle clinking makes you squeeze out more of the residual arousal you’d spewed out only minutes prior. It’s like she can tell it does something for you, because her tough pads of her fingers come and rest on your sensitive clit again, just rubbing slow lethargic circles making it harder to pull the belt out of the loops. “Thats my girl.” She helps you, taking the belt and placing it aside.

She does the rest, because you just weren’t moving efficiently enough for her liking, one hand sliding up your soft arm until she’s pinning your wrist gently to the bed, fingers intertwining with yours, and the other hand deftly unpopping the button of her jeans and sliding the zipper down. She pulls the familiar plastic cock out, adjusting her hips and resting the shaft along your tummy, tip grazing just below your belly button. “Think you’re ready for me now?” She leans forward, nudging your chin with her own to get your lips where she needed to capture them, sucking on your bottom lip barely allowing you to sigh out a pleasured “Uh-huh.” against her.

She sits up, pulling her hoodie off leaving her in just a fitted black wifebeater and the pace of everything changes all of a sudden. It’s less desperate and more purposeful, coming into her dominance and remaining control like she always did. She leant over you, reaching for the lube in the bedside drawer and leant back, drizzling it over the shaft. You reached forward without thinking and massaged it around for her, looking up at her with those big needy puppy dog eyes. She groaned, like you were actually jerking her off — greedily yanking her jersey up to sit above your plush tits for her viewing pleasure.

“Fuck… so pretty… Alright baby, deep breath in for me.”

She looked so good like this, hair stuck to her face and neck, jeans pulled just below her peachy ass being cupped by the ropey black harness. The royal blue plastic glistening as she slides it up and down your willing cunt. Her biceps bulging from holding herself up above you, making you just want to sink your teeth into her. Abby was a work of fucking art.

You follow her instructions, Abby kissing away your strained whimpers at the stretch. It only made sense that Abby Anderson, home to all BDE — was weighed down by a fucking monster of a strap, 7 and a half inches, thick and dark blue with added detail of veins and a fat tip. When you first slept together, after one very successful date, sitting on her lap in that little innocent floral dress that rode up your doughy thighs just right — she thought about calling the whole thing off until she could get her hands on a strap a little smaller and less threatening. Until, of course — your wide and blameless eyes were staring up at her, hand barely wrapping around it as you thickly muttered out a ‘I can take it Abby. Let me take you’, and the rest is obviously history.

She sighed out once she was fully seated in you, like it was a relief, like one day you might not be able to take her fully and she’d have to practise even more self restraint by thrusting in halfsies. You tensed up, suddenly aware of the situation again. A spike of sickly anxiety washed through your stomach. Did you deserve this? After the havoc you caused today? “Pretty girl. Let me in that head.” She whispers and it hypnotises you as she thrusts slowly, just grinding her hips against yours.

“Don’t — mmphm— don’t deserve this.” Your voice is high and a little panicked, and Abby’s eyes open to pin you down with her grounding gaze. She knocks your chin up gently toward her as if to say ‘look at me.’ and she rests her hand over your chest, feeling the hammering of your heart as you very suddenly become overwhelmed.

“Hey.” She drags calmly, raising her eyebrows. You try and relax, copying her breathing because you knew she was about to tell you to do that anyway. “Sweet girl.” She thumbs your cheek. “You deserve every last inch of this fucking cock.” She’s whispering again and you cry, hard. She picks up on what you need, and she presses up deeper into you, making your legs flail before wrapping tightly around her ass, your tits bouncing obscenely to the rhythm of her thrusts. “My perfect girl. Don’t have to worry about anything ever again. Yeah? Gonna fucking… go pro ball, make you my pretty little courtside wife. How’s that sound?” She starts to thrust a bit harder and you’re stunned out of your freak out session, distracted by her words and overcome by pleasure as you just listen. Interested to see where this fantasy will go.

“Yes.” Is all you manage and it’s barely audible but she hears it, and carries on.

“Gonna make it to WNBA for you baby. Not for me. So I can spoil you for the rest of my fucking life.” She grits her teeth, her big rough hands sliding around your back so she can cradle you, use your body to fuck you on and off her cock. You whine, barely aware of the fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. “You wanna give me that baby? Let me buy you every pair of shoes and stupidly priced handbags so you can look pretty for me at every game? Yeah?” Her voice is higher pitched and you think she might cum at some point, but she’s too determined to fuck your lights out completely for any of that.

“W—want that Abs, want you— I want —”

She’s interrupting, not finished with stuffing this fantasy into your brain until there’s nothing there but the manifestation of those thoughts. “You won’t even remember those girls on your cheer squad. They’ll be nobodies. You think I’d ever fucking look at anyone else but you, hm? My pretty little wife?”

Just when you think things can’t get more intense, she’s decided that she’s not physically deep enough — and pushes your thighs up to your chest, knees squishing against your tits as she stretched you, grunting out a “Fuck”, a sign of her losing control for a second. “N’then after every game. Can take you.. fuck, can take you shopping, fly you out wherever you want. Slut you out, just like this. You want that life baby don’t you? You wanna give me that life?” Your brain is muddled, and you can’t tell if you’re begging her or she’s begging you. Your mouth is open, but the air is punched from you and you’re just squeaking like a dog toy and she pounds your little cunt.

She reaches for what seems to be your on button, shoving her thumb between your lifted legs and grinding your abused clit again. “Wanna— wanna be your wife Abby. Want — I wanna—” You’re rambling, and then you’re cumming, harder than you’ve cum in your life. Your throat is raw, nails clawing for something, some kind of life support as she fucks you through your orgasm, breathless and determined. You vaguely feel yourself marking up her skin with your nails, but you’re never fully aware of yourself doing it — always just as shocked and guilty when you see the red streaks across her freckled skin the next morning whilst she’s brushing her teeth in the bathroom with a towel around her waist.

“Good girl. My good fucking girl you take it all. Take what I’m giving you.”

And you do, because when she goes to slow down you’re whining and bucking against her strap— fuck drunk and obsessive, finally getting to that dumb place she needs you to be able to rid of all those negative ideas you had about yourself earlier. She lets you breathe as she thinks about it, thinks about the way you misbehaved and the way you wouldn’t use your words. Maybe there was still more in you, more room for some reinforcement.

That’s why approximately five minutes later you had your cheek to the pillow having been pressed there by the basketball captain herself, Abby’s foot up on the bed and your ass in the hair as she drilled into your weeping pussy.

She pushes your back down, against the protests and your cries and your “Can’t Abs, so deep!” muttering for you to “Just fucking take it, sweet girl. I’m not asking.”

You give in and let her, already feeling yourself close to another animalistic style orgasm which only leaves your heart aching for your peeved neighbours that were probably just trying to sleep.

“You gonna listen next time, huh?” You don’t know how she has the endurance to keep slamming into you like this, wife beater pulled up above her sweat-gleaming abs now to not obstruct her vision of her creamy strap pounding in and out your soft flushed pussy. “You tell me when you fucking need me, yeah? You tell me when you’re feeling a type of way and you need me to reassure you from now on.” She waits a beat, and you wail. “Say yes.” She adds in command.

“Yeees!” You cry.

“Say yes Abby.”

“Yes Abby!”

You’re pretty much on autopilot at this point, brain so empty that all it knows is to do exactly what Abby says at all times, chasing that lingering tight coil in your stomach that whispered ‘cum one more time for her’ in your ear in a saccharine sweet voice that just about convinced you. Adding onto the persuasion, Abby’s weight dropped a little more onto you, hot torso against your back and hips grinding feverishly into you still. “Give me one more then. One more and that’s it baby. Keep being good for me.”

So you do, again, and this one is different from the rest — it’s your last drop, your last spot of energy. You’re weeping and grabbing and you feel it ooze out of you around the punishing blue plastic, and when you’ve done it Abby gets softer, kissing your spine and pulling out, so much praise your brain can’t even register it through your submissive fog.

“Did so good baby. So perfect, angel. Love you so much, my girl.”

She was cleaning you up before you could blink with a cold wet wipe from her bed side draw, practically scooping out endless amounts of your creamy arousal as you whimper at the sensitivity.

“Cold” You whisper, and you’re not sure if it was by choice seeing as you didn’t think you had a voice at that point.

“I know.” She chuckled, voice low and hands gentle— stroking the backs of your thighs as you stay on your front, legs trembling now as the adrenaline dwindles in your body. “Did so good for me. Let’s roll you over.”

She’s kicked off her jeans and her harness, now just in her boxers and wife beater— eyes flickering to your hands tugging at the jersey.

“Want it off. Wanna feel you.” You mumble sleepily once you’re on your back, desperately craving your skin on hers. She cradles your neck as she obliges, slipping the material up and over your head and pulling you into her.

You knew she carried on doting on you after you’d fallen asleep, and truthfully you don’t remember when you fell asleep — somewhere between her wiping you down and peppering kisses across your whole body — but like usual, her strap had knocked you the fuck out, and before you knew it you were waking up, disorientated by the morning sun flooding in through the blinds. Your senses start to arrive back to your body and you note them off like a checklist in your foggy brain. Touch, Abby’s arms locked around your waist. Sight, the blinding laser beam of sun attacking your eyeballs. Smell, Abby. Hearing, Abby. And the birds tweeting.

You roll, twisting in her arms so that your head was tucking beneath her chin against her chest, breathing her in and relishing in the way her skin stayed warm through the night like an electric blanket, unlike your own — cold to the touch from kicking off your side of the duvet.

She’s still fast asleep, always the heavy sleeper and after the game and the party you decide that big girl needs her rest, even if you’re now wide awake and staring at her. She looked like a painting, pouty lips swollen from a night of kissing, honeyed hair still in its braid but totally messed up now, pale blonde baby hairs sticking up and around her face. Her dark lashes kissed beneath her eyes and her chest moved up and down like the slow rocking of a small boat on a calm tide. You smiled when the sun slid further into the sky and created a beam across her eyes, making her scrunch them in her sleep and bury her face into the pillow.

You remember peeing last night now, before you’d fallen asleep — Abby carrying your warm, dazed body to the bathroom and sitting you on the toilet, letting you lean your cheek against her tummy to hold you up as you pee’d, gently shushing your complaints about removing you from the bed.

“S’not good for you to hold your pee after sex, babe.”

“M’sleepy. ‘Don’t care if I get a UFO.”

“UTI. And I care.”

You slowly slide out the bed careful not to wake your girlfriend, on a hunt for your phone. You pull Abby’s jersey back over your head for coverage and tiptoe out the room. Where did you put your bag again? You find it tossed on the couch haphazardly where you left it and fished through it, leaning on the back of her leather couch as you scrolled through. Your thumb tapped the Instagram logo and loaded it up, automatically gravitating towards Abby’s story, displayed at the top of the screen. You pressed it, expecting to see some kind of victory shot of her holding the trophy or a picture with her team, but instead were met with a photo of you that she’d taken when you’d fallen asleep last night— your head turned the other way on the pillow, arms tucked beneath it. Bare back glowing in the dim light of the room, bed covers resting at your waist. The caption reads: ‘Future WNBA wife.’ followed by your @.

Any other day you might gasp, due to the nature of the picture being that — well — it’s clear even to the untrained eye that you’d just been fucked within an inch of your life. But you grin, glowing from the inside out. She was showing you off, indirectly reassuring you even more because she knows you need it. You press a heart on the story, stepping in the direction of the bedroom to attack her sleepy face with kisses— but your eyes catch on the kitchen instead.

The perks of dating someone with such a buff body, was that they always would be stocked up on plenty of food. Not like your dorm, thinking back to the microwave meals and tins of soup stocked up in your kitchen made you grimace. You swung open her refrigerator door, gathering ingredients to whip her up a winners breakfast.

Having made everything from scratch, by the time the breakfast was nearly ready you’d heard Abby stir and climb out of bed, disturbed by the accidental clattering of pots and pans. The water ran for a while, and as you turned off the stove — removing her frying pan of eggs, you’d heard her heavy feet plodding into the room.

You nearly burnt yourself at the sight of her, sweatpants pulled up low on her waist, no shirt, red scratches from your overexcited claws the night before wrapping around her bicep and over her left shoulder, assumably trailing down onto her back, and her hair down — a little damp, falling messily across her small chest. You offered her a small smile as she took in the scene, looking very serious about it too you might add. Turning around back to the chopping board to prepare some turkey bacon for her you felt her crowd you. A shadow casted over you. You were suddenly smaller.

“Makin’ me breakfast? Was I that good?” She rasped, huge hands sliding around your waist — instantly dwarfing you some more.

“Mhm. Breakfast for a winner.” You chirped quietly, too early to be excitable.

“Really leaning into this whole housewife thing aren’t you baby?” She chuckles and your face heats up. Is it that obvious? She presses kisses to the side of your neck, hands grabbing you all over. Involuntarily, you arch your back— pressing your ass into her crotch and she winces.

You freeze up, knife clattering out of your hand onto the wooden chopping board and brows furrowing at the way her fingers tighten around your waist, lips by your temple now. You’re practically pinned to the counter, hands flexed wide on the smooth surface when you grind back against her again experimentally.

She’d never admit it, but last night had left her wanting, which she expected was selfishness considering she vowed to make it all about you. She pulled you back against her, your plush ass beneath just her jersey thumping against her clit again — nothing but that and the material of her sweatpants brushing up against her swollen button. You whimpered a little, not making it better for anyone and found your rhythm, rubbing and humping back on her, feeling her exposed tits against your back. “Like this?” You whine, and tug up the jersey so your bare ass is on display now, just a vessel for Abby to get off on.

“Just like that, pretty.”

The sight makes her push into you a little harder, bending you over the counter when there’s nowhere else to go. She continues humping you, leaning over you and kissing you, curling her toes against the tiles until she explodes into quiet, low gasps and groans— leaking into the grey material as you help her along with encouraging noises.

“Fuck babe, fuckprettygirl— my god.” She pants, leaning over you and pressing a kiss onto your back before tugging your jersey back down with a chuckle after a minute of panting and coming down. “Gonna put me back to sleep.” She gives your ass a loving slap, grabbing the flesh of it in her meaty hand before walking around you to lean against the counter top tiredly. You giggle, shaky hands getting back to food prep as she watches you with fond eyes. “How you feeling? All good?” She analyses, mind still on your series of mini freak out’s the night before.

Your eyes are on the turkey as you continue slicing shyly. “Sore. But all good.”

“Sorry baby.” Her thumb rubs your arm sympathetically.

“No I— I like it. Like feeling you the next day.” You don’t look at her, you can’t, but you know she’s grinning.

“Good.”

She disappears for a minute and reappears with her phone, scrolling, checking notifications. You begin to plate up her breakfast, feeling her hands wrap around your waist again, her phone held by your chest as her chin rests on your shoulder, leaning over you. “Your little friends saw my story of you. Think by now they get the message.” She smirks and you giggle, turning your head to kiss her on the cheek.

“I think so too.”

“If not, I’ll just have to make it clearer, yeah? ‘ll fuck you infront of ‘em if that’s what it takes.”

Your eyes widen as she backs off, going to help you plate up the big breakfast you’d made. You didn’t think that would be necessary anymore, feeling much more secure now but your achey, abused core twitched at the idea anyway— not totally against it.

You’ll pocket that for later.

#abby anderson x reader #basketball!abby #abby anderson smut #abby anderson au #modern!abby #jock!abby

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macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don��t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He��s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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brahmsthirdracket · 11 days ago

Note

Hello! I recently came across your hughes brothers fics and binge read most of them last night :). Would you be open to writing anything about the time Luke said quinn ripped jack’s braces out of his mouth? (If you’re not taking requests feel free to ignore this!!!)

Luke never feels like eating much before cross-country. He likes it fine - he likes it more than fine actually, at least compared to Jack and Quinn, because it’s one of the few things he’s better at than them - but the thought of slogging it through the mud straight after breakfast makes his stomach roll.

He swirls his spoon around his bowl of cereal instead, trying to corral his Cheerios into a pleasing formation. He’s got a kind of Great Lakes thing going on but he’s eaten Lake Superior and it’s doesn’t really make sense for the milk to be the land and -

“Time to go, kiddos!”

He swallows Lakes Erie, Michigan, Huron and Ontario, and the surrounding landmass with a grimace, and shuffles into the hall. Jack and Quinn are already sitting on the stairs wearing matching fleecy headbands and looking miserable.

“It’s cold,” Jack whines.

“Run faster then,” their mom says, rummaging through her purse. “You’ll soon warm up.” She looks real pretty today, Luke thinks. Like maybe she did her hair extra nice or something. He pulls his headband on and sits on the bottom step, cheek resting on Quinn’s knee, to wait.

“Jim!” she bellows. “Hurry up! I’m already running late!”

“For what?” Their dad’s head appears through the basement door, followed by his golf clubs and then the rest of him. “Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?”

“The PTA fall fundraiser,” says his mom, at the same time his dad says, “Golf.”

“It’s on the calendar,” they both say at the same time.

“Well, you’ll have to reschedule,” says his mom in that voice that means no arguing. “Boys have a meet in Sunnybrook.”

“But -” splutters his dad. “I can’t reschedule. I put it on the calendar, like you told me to.” He lowers his voice, pleading. “El, it’s with the guys.”

“It’s okay mom,” says Quinn, standing up to lean over the bannister and pat her shoulder consolingly. “We’ll miss cross-country this one time.”

“Let me see this,” she growls, and they all trot into the kitchen after her to peer at her Wildflowers of Texas calendar.

Fall Fundraiser shift 9-12 is written in today’s box in his mom’s neat handwriting, and below that:

Q, J & L Prep 2 XC 9am (don’t forget headbands!!)

Someone’s drawn a skull next to cross-country, almost- but-not-quite obscuring a tiny and unmistakable golf printed right at the bottom.

“See?” says his dad, jabbing a finger at it.

“Well, just go after the race and take the boys with you,” she says, already fishing out her car keys.

“But - tee time is at nine! Ellen!”

“It’d better be a quick race then, hadn’t it?”

She kisses each of them, pinching Jack’s scowling face and adjusting Quinn’s headband. Luke turns his face into her fleeting pat on the cheek before she’s out the door in a waft of perfume.

“Run fast and don’t fall in the lake!” she calls ominously over her shoulder, just before the door swings shut behind her.

Their dad waits for her SUV to pull out of the drive and down the road before he flicks the curtain back into place and motions for them all to huddle in.

“Come here, rink rats.” He tugs them in close, lowers his voice like he’s about to reveal some top-secret play. “And listen up. This is the plan.”

***

The plan turns out to be the ODR, a bag of pucks and a cheery, “I’ll pick you up in a coupla hours!” before Luke’s even out of the car.

Jack whoops with happiness the minute he hits the ice, spinning and sending the pucks scattering in every direction. Quinn’s right behind him, thwacking puck after puck into the net.

“Fuck.” Thwack “Cross.” Thwack “Countryyyyy.” Thwack

“Forever,” Jack sing-songs, sweeping one up onto his stick and slinging it through the air. It bounces off the metal with a twang.

“C’mon Lukey,” he calls, scuffling playfully against Quinn. “Don’t pretend you actually like that shit.”

Luke tries to sulk for a bit, taking his time with his laces. His brothers hadn't even laced them up for him, which, rude. But it’s a perfect November morning, as crisp and perfect as a snowglobe before you turn it upside down. They’ve got the whole rink to themselves. It’s been way too long since they did this: no adults, no cones or drills or gear, just the three of them together, playing hockey.

“Yeah, well some of us can actually outrun old ladies pushing little dogs in strollers,” he chirps, darting out into the middle.

Quinn and Jack exchange a look. “Get ‘im,” growls Quinn, with a wolfish grin, lurching towards Luke and trying to hook him in with his stick. Luke squeals, twisting away and rocketing as fast as he can up to the other end of the rink, Jack in hot pursuit. They chase him all over, dodging pucks and their abandoned sticks and gloves, until they’re all wheezing with giggles. Quinn eventually manages to get an arm around his neck from behind and pull them both down and Jack belly-flops on top.

“One day,” Luke pants from the bottom of the dogpile, trying to knee Quinn in the balls so he’ll let him up and getting a facewash for his troubles, “I’m gonna be bigger and faster than both of you.”

“But until that day,” Quinn replies, finally rolling off and tugging Luke to his feet, “You can get in goal.”

They play shinny until they’re hot under their sweatshirts and jerseys, hair sticking to their foreheads and breath coming in short pants, and Luke thinks he’s never had so much fun playing hockey, playing anything. It’s hard though, just as gut-churning as a whole weekend tournament or relentless drills in the basement with his dad. Jack and Quinn never give an inch, never care that he’s smaller and younger when it comes to this, and he loves them for it, because when victory comes, he knows he’s earned it. They push each other just as hard, sometimes too hard Luke thinks, watching Jack cuss and elbow Quinn in the gut as they're scrabbling against the boards. Quinn shoves his face back, and the next minute they’re rolling around on the ice in one of their completely shitty fistfights.

Luke hovers next to them, glancing around and praying no one he knows from school is about to walk past.

“Stop. Trying. To. Bite.” pants out Quinn. He’s managed to roll over and pin Jack with his weight, and is trying to push his face away. Jack’s a slippery eel though - especially when he’s an eel on ice - and he seems to be trying to lick Quinn to get him off. Which is not a tactic Luke would use himself, honestly, but whatever works he guesses. It must work, because he manages to sink his teeth into Quinn’s forearm and they’re rolling all over the place, gloves and sticks forgotten - thank God. What happens next is a blur of flying arms and legs (and in Jack’s case teeth, the weirdo), but suddenly Jack lets out a shriek of pain - a real one - and Quinn lets go of him like he’s been burned.

Jack curls up, one hand over his mouth, and whimpers into his knees.

“Jack? What’s wrong?” Quinn tries to make him look up, pull his hand down. Jack’s eyes are huge with unshed tears. “Jackie?” Quinn asks again, really worried now.

“Um,” says Luke. He squats down next to Jack and picks up the little piece of metal off the ice. Cradling it in his glove, he holds it out to Jack, who gazes at it for a moment and then promptly socks Quinn square in the jaw.

***

“Someone’s arm better be hanging off,” growls their father when he pulls up to the curb they’re huddled next to and flings the car door open. Luke wordlessly holds out the braces to him. “The fuck is that?”

“Jack’s braces,” mumbles Quinn, with a guilty glance at the unhappy figure hunched on the other side of the lot.

“Jack has braces?” Sometimes Luke thinks he could grow a tail and his dad wouldn’t notice unless it affected his play. Last week he had to check Quinn’s date of birth so he could fill out some paperwork.

“He doesn’t anymore, Dad,” Luke pipes up.

“Jack! Get over here!” he bellows. He takes the braces from Luke’s hand, holding them up for a better view. “These things just click back into place or what?” Jack stomps over, scowling and sniffing. He won’t even look at Quinn, and when Quinn tries to reach out his hand Jack smacks it away viciously.

“Fuck off.”

Their dad gets a handful of Jack’s jersey and tries to prise his mouth open like he’s a dog that’s eaten something bad. “Oww", whines Jack, trying to twist out of his grip. “You’re hurting me!”

“Open. Up.” Their dad grunts, trying to push the braces back across Jack’s front teeth with one hand, and hold him still with the other.

“Dad, no! Stop!” Quinn pushes himself between them, trying to protect Jack from being force-fed a mouthful of metal. “You can’t do that! We have to go to the orthodontist.”

“The what?” he pants, temporarily letting go of Jack to turn the metal round, as if the reason he couldn’t fit them back on like Lego was that they were upside down. Jack immediately darts behind Quinn and Luke reaches up to swipe them out of their Dad’s hand.

“Dad,” he says, more bravely than he feels. “I think you need to call Mom.”

The three of them huddle together on the backseat, trying to stay as quiet and inconspicuous as possible as their dad calls their mom for instruction. Luke finds a packet of half-eaten Reese’s pumpkins, no worse for being frozen and unfrozen a few times and settles in for the long-haul. Jack slumps sideways with his head in Quinn’s lap, playing with the strings of his sweatshirt and allowing Quinn to scratch behind his ear in apology.

She’s ominously silent all the way through the slightly edited version of what happened, not even interrupting to yell at Quinn.

“So let me get this straight,” she says, after a pause. “You didn’t take your sons to their scheduled sports-activity but instead took yourself to golf and allowed said sons out unsupervised to publicly brawl, causing hundreds of dollars of dental bills?”

“It was on the calendar! It was on the calendar Ellen!”

“Well Jim Hughes, all I will say is thank God for Canadian healthcare.”

“They cover braces?” says his dad, perking up. He twists round to waggle his eyebrows at them, all looks like we got away with it.

“Oh no,” she says airily. “I meant for you four, when I’ve finished with you!”

#fic #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #for anon #i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it

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formula-hamilton · 2 years ago

Text

Little White Lie | Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: On your first date with Lewis you told him a small lie that you soon came to regret. Word count: 1.7k Warnings: None I think? Just an excessive amount of sport + fluff. A/n: Just a small one shot based on an idea I had after watching Lewis’ latest running story on instagram.

It started as an innocent lie. Just a small fabrication to make yourself appear more appealing. In hindsight, it was completely unnecessary, but you wanted to impress him. Find common ground and then he’d hopefully find you worthy of his time. Sadly, you didn’t realize just how unnecessary the lie was until it all became too much.

It was on your first date. Lewis had picked you up at your flat and taken you to a small Indian restaurant in London. A very intimate place, quite fitting for a romantic dinner for two people getting to know each other. As the waiter showed you your table, Lewis held his hand on the bottom of your back, gently following you. And as the true gentleman you had expected him to be, he pulled your chair out before sitting across from you. The conversation was a little careful in the beginning, both being nervous and a tad shy. You couldn’t help feeling a bit intimidated by him, afraid of saying the wrong thing. But as you shared a bottle of wine, your nervous demeanor slowly slipped away as the conversations got deeper and you both felt a connection growing. You remember thinking it at least felt like a third date.

Of course you touched the subject of his job and his journey in the sport. This lead to talk of his love of racing and sports in general and of course you discovered just how much he loved being active. It shouldn’t have surprised you, him being a professional athlete and everything, but still it blew your mind just how much he loved doing sports and running. That’s how you found yourself a little overwhelmed and frankly quite unable to relate. But you were scared. You were so infatuated by him that you felt scared he would find you less interesting or less compatible, and that’s when the words slipped out of your mouth before you had a chance to think them through.

“I love doing sports as well!” You found yourself gushing and before you could stop yourself you talked him through just how much of an active person you were. Truthfully you hadn’t done any serious sports since your time at university, but that didn’t sound quite as good.

This lie of course led to Lewis suggesting more active activates for your future dates. And unfortunately it wasn’t the sexy kind. On your fourth date he invited you to play tennis with his friend and his girlfriend. You went shopping and bought the nicest tennis fit you could find, hoping it would keep him distracted and unaware of your lack of fitness. Luckily for you, Lewis was such a good player that he didn’t notice how much you lacked in the skills department. Your team easily won and that was definitely no thanks to you. After the game Lewis slept over at your place for the first time and you could finally be physical in a way that left you way more satisfied than any sport could ever do.

Clearly Lewis found the tennis game so successful that he for the next date invited you golfing. This time you were honest with him and told him you hadn’t tried golf before. You simply couldn’t see how you could fake it as well as the tennis match. Fortunately for you, Lewis took it upon himself to teach you and you really didn’t mind him wrapping his arms around you when you had to swing.

Two hours of playing in the scorching sun and you were completely exhausted. You were sweating like crazy and your body ached in ways it had never done before. You had no idea just how physical draining golf would be and you honestly wanted to call the quits on your whole untruthfulness. As you were standing there, being a little dramatic, thinking you were possible having the worst time of your life, you complemented just how you would confess. Before you got a chance to put your thoughts into action, Lewis put his arm around you, grinning.

“I’m so happy that we can do things like these together. I think it’s such a great way to get to know each other. Much more interesting than dinner and a movie,” he said with the sweetest smile on his lips, eyes meeting yours. That’s when you saw just how much he appreciated these dates and you found yourself melting. How could you ever let him down? How could you ever tell him that dinner and a movie was your idea of a perfect date?

Therefore you went on with the golfing and hid just how difficult you found the whole situation. Naturally, you loved the time spend with Lewis. Just as you had known since the first date, you definitely had a deeper connection with him and there was no doubt in your mind that you could see this go somewhere. And even though you were really pushed out of your comfort zone, the time spend with him was much cherished.

For your next date you were quick to beat Lewis to it. This time you invited him to an art exhibition hosted by one of your old friends. It wouldn’t require quite as much energy and you really felt a need for something that wasn’t as physically draining.

The art exhibition was followed with numerous dinners, but just as many tennis matches, golf dates, cycling and your least favorite of them all: running. At least you could carry a conversation with the other sports, but that was simply impossible with running. It was always 45 minutes of pure hell each time. It got a little better with time, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to enjoy it. But you must take the bitter with the sweet and boy was everything else with Lewis sweet.

As the months had passed, your feelings for each other only grew. He was everything you were looking for in a man so when he asked you to be his girlfriend there was only one answer on your mind. You knew you were being silly, but as the months passed, you also grew scared of what Lewis’ reaction would be if he found out just how much you dreaded your active dates. First of all you knew it was wrong to have lied in the first place, and even more wrong to have kept it going for as long as you had. Secondly, such a big part of the time you spent together involved doing sports and quite frankly you were scared he would lose interest in you if you lost this common interest.

Once again Lewis and you found yourself on one of your runs. This time in Monaco where he had invited you for a weekend trip. Today you were struggling more than usual, the warm weather was making the whole experience very difficult for you. Your lungs were burning like never before and you felt absolutely disgusting being drenched in sweat. It was only 9 am and you would give anything to just be able to sleep in with Lewis for once instead of being out and about on your small holiday.

Just as you were trying to keep up with Lewis’ pace, you found yourself cursing your past self for even coming up with such a stupid lie just to impress someone. Even if it was Lewis Hamilton. Being completely caught up in your own thoughts, you didn’t watch your step and suddenly you felt yourself tripping on rock on the side of the trail. Your arms saved you from landing face down on the ground, but your ankle wasn’t as lucky. It hurt like hell and there was no doubt in your mind that it was strained. You knew the pain from when you strained it playing football when you were 14 years old.

“Shit, are you okay love?” Lewis rushed over and bend down to put his arm around you, worry filling his eyes.

“No!” You felt tears rushing to your eyes. Both from the pain and all the pent up frustrations. “Do I look alright? I almost fell face down on the ground and I’m pretty sure my ankle is sprained. And it’s all just because of a man! I can’t do this anymore Lewis.”

Lewis stared at you with wide eyes, looking taken aback by your words. As you uttered your last words his face dropped and sadness filled his eyes. “Do what? What do you mean? Do us?” he frantically asked you.

“No, god no, not us!” You rushed out, feeling the first tears escaping your eyes. The dam had broken and the words would not stop leaving your mouth. “I can’t do all of this running anymore. Or tennis or golf or cycling or god knows what sport. I simply can’t do it. I’m not that type of person, I would much rather just stay in and relax with you baby. Or go for dinner or the museum or a nice walk.”

“I thought you loved doing these things?” Lewis frowned at you, small pout on his lips as he looked confused by your words.

“I don’t. I’m so sorry Lewis, I lied. I wanted you to like me and I wanted to find something we had in common so you would want to keep seeing me. And then it just kept going and I didn’t know how to tell you. You were so happy that we did these things together and I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you told him with tears streaming down your face. “I understand if this means you can’t trust me. I really am so sorry I took it so far.” As you finished talking you buried you head in your hands, ashamed to look at him.

“Baby. Baby, listen to me. I don’t care what we do. I don’t care if we lay in bed all day or if we run a marathon or if we go shopping or whatever. I just wanna spend time with you,” Lewis told you while brushing your hair with his fingers.

“Please don’t let me run a marathon,” you whispered, finally meeting his eyes. Lewis giggled and held both his hands to your face, wiping your tears away.

“I promise I won’t,” he smiled at you, giving you a small kiss on your forehead before moving to your lips. “Come on darling, let’s get you home and cleaned up. Then we’ll just watch movies all day and I’ll cook for you.”

#lewis hamilton #hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fic #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton fanfic #m writes #f1 fic

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weemsfreak · 1 year ago

Text

Full Circle -Par 3

Part 1

Larissa Weems x fReaderOC

Summary: After Prudence's fathers death, she struggles to get back to her sport, golf. Larissa finally has time to indulge in her long forgotten sport as well, meeting some friends and culprits along the way. Both women hope to find joy on the course, but will they find something unexpected as well? ~6.9k words.

✂ Song that goes well with the fic: Dear Prudence by Siouxsie & The Banshees (linked at bottom)

Note: Hi everyone! So, many people seemed to like the idea of Larissa being part of a country club. I chose golf because I'm more familiar with it than tennis or anything else. There were so many ways I wanted this to go, so I hope that I met your expectations! This is pt 1 of probably 2. (If anyone else wants to be tagged in pt 2, let me know)

Warnings: A bit of misogyny, harassment, alcohol

@dopenightmaretyphoon @danverssawyer @dingdongthetail

Also, you're welcome for blessing your eyes with this image. I wanted to create digital art of her, but I haven't had time, so this is partially AI generated.

☼☼☼

Larissa's life had always been busy, excessively busy. For years, she had been caught up in the rollercoaster of a journey to becoming a teacher at Nevermore Academy, and eventually the Headmistress. She has had little to no time for herself, even during the summer months. However, about five years ago, a weight had been lifted. Well, it felt lighter, as she now had time. Time to return to a passion that she had long neglected and missed dearly. 'You're not getting any younger', she reminded herself. 'Get back out there'.

With that, she found herself at a golf club just outside of Jericho, purchasing a new set of clubs.

After playing alone for most of the season and getting back into the grove of things, she crossed paths with a trio of seasoned golfers: Tom, Glen, and Richard. They had noticed her playing by herself a few times, and one day asked if she would like to join their group.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing playing alone?" Richard asked, winking at Larissa. The headmistress scoffed at the label, 'pretty little thing'. "I'm just getting back into the swing of things" she replied, trying to brush off his comment. "Come play with us, we've never had the pleasure of playing with a young lady before" Richard replied, wiggling his eyebrows. Tom chimed in, "Yeah, we could teach you a thing or two."

Larissa reluctantly agreed to join the men, and found that their persistent staring during her address wasn't doing her any favors, as her shots were less than ideal. About halfway through the game, Larissa regained some confidence, and started putting more power into her shots. "Pretty good, for a woman" Richard commented with a sly smile. Larissa rolled her eyes at him.

Despite Richards teasing and rude comments, the older men had recognized the potential in the younger woman. They knew that she had strength hidden behind that 'slender frame of hers', as they called it. Hell, she already had the precision.

"I'll make you a deal" Richard smugly said, smirking up at the woman. She straightened her posture and nodded down at him, "Alright." Richard observed Larissa's clubs, noting that they were top of the line. Perhaps money wouldn't motivate this woman. "You got a very nice set of clubs there, it's clear that you have potential. If you beat me on this hole, I'll give you $100." Larissa raised her eyebrows, a bet? She wasn't motivated by the money much, but beating this elderly man and showing them up, well, that was intriguing. "Deal" she said confidently.

As it was, Larissa put her all into everything that she did. Her drive sent the ball soaring with remarkable distance and precision. When it came time to putt, she had hope that she could beat Richard, for she prided herself on her putting skills, which for a lot of people was not a forte. Larissa and Tom managed to finish with a birdie, and Richard and Glen on par. "Well I'll be" Tom marveled. Richard let his eyes rake over Larissa's tall form, a smile pulling at his lips. "She has talent and beauty gentlemen, she's a keeper." Larissa couldn’t' help but shake her head at him as she let out a giggle. "Here you are" Richard said, handing Larissa a crisp hundred dollar bill. "Don't spend it all in one place."

Larissa continued to play with the three men for years, earning their respect and forgoing genuine friendships. She learned a lot from them, not only about golf, but also about life. When a golf season ended, she looked forward to the next. But, as fate would have it, after three seasons Richard didn't show up for golf. Tom and Glen solemnly informed Larissa that he had passed away. She silently thanked him for what he did for her, for he had turned her into a better golfer.

☼☼☼

You have been playing golf since you were a child. Over the years you have learned all the ins and outs of the game from your father, who had been a professional golfer himself at one point. His passion, and yours, for the sport was unmatched. Together you dedicated countless hours to perfecting your swing, honing your putting, and mastering every aspect of the game.

After your fathers passing, you found it very hard to muster the energy or motivation to play, especially without him by your side. Yes, you were grieving, your father and the game. It felt like when you lost him, that part of your life was lost too. Golf, for you, was lost in translation, out of the question, and thrown into the abyss.

And that was how you felt, for the longest time. That was, until your most recent life changing decision. You quickly fell in love with the mountains, greenery, and breath of fresh air that was Jericho, Vermont. You had never ventured far from your hometown, but now, you figured it was time.

Your father had gifted you a set of clubs once you had stopped growing. They were the latest models at the time, and they suited you perfectly. The only club in your bag that was not so new, was your driver. When you were younger and your father had stopped playing professionally, he had gifted you his pride and joy, his driver. After years of wear and tear, though, it was becoming a bit shabby.

You pulled up to the golf course just outside of Jericho, 'West Bolton Golf Club'. You had been here a couple of times recently, your first time back out was harder for you than you had anticipated. Yet, after not playing for a long while, you were still as good as ever. A tad rusty, you will admit, but you thought your father would be proud. You stood your clubs next to a table outside the clubhouse and opted for a sandwich before teeing off. You hummed quietly as you ate, soaking in the sun and the warmth it brought you. It was a beautiful day for golfing, gorgeous in comparison to the other days that you were here.

As you sat and ate, excited to get out on the course, you heard some men laughing at a nearby table. Old men jokes, you thought, never really funny. You turned your attention to them as you watched an older man reach his hand out and playfully swat at a woman's arm. They were all laughing, seeming like they were genuinely enjoying each others company, it made you smile. When you were finished with your sandwich, you walked to the trash and discarded your wrapper, then made your way back to your table. You had caught the eye of one of the older men, as he watched you sit back down and rearrange your clubs. You were glancing at the woman at the table, trying your best to be somewhat stealthy. She was an image, she looked like she was straight out of an old movie. She was definitely a member here, there was no doubt about that. Her whole demeanour screamed wealthy, though it was odd. Usually it would be no surprise to see an older woman at a golf club dressed to the nines, but this woman looked considerably younger than these elderly men. The color of her hair was making you think otherwise, but you'd swear it to be blonde, not white. "Hi there" one of the old men smiled, waving at you and pulling you away from your staring. You smiled and looked around, was he talking to you? He was looking at you. "Hi" you waved back, blushing in embarrassment.

Your attempt to be stealthy was not successful, it seemed. He definitely saw you gazing at the woman, what if she was his wife? The man smiled and made a 'come here' gesture with his hand, to which you stood and made your way to their table. "I haven't seen you here before, you new?" You looked around the table and found six eyes focused on you, two of which were distractingly beautiful. You swallowed, "Yes, I just moved here." The man nodded and responded warmly, "Well, welcome to West Bolton, sit, sit." You returned a quiet thanks before settling in the only empty chair, next to the woman. "I'm Glen, this is Tom" Glen gestured to the man beside him, then turned to the woman, "and this is Larissa." Tom nodded your way, and Larissa extended her hand with an enchanting red-lipped smile. The woman's appearance was nothing short of stunning. She exuded an air of wealth and sophistication, from her golf attire to her jewelry, from her meticulously styled hair to her bold yet elegant makeup. The way she laughed, the way she drank her wine, not to mention her confident demeanor, screamed at you. It was clear now that she was considerably younger than the older men, her porcelain-like complexion fixing you in a trance.

"Nice to meet you, darling" she greeted. You stammered as you shook her hand. You knew that you should give them your name in return, but your breath caught in your throat when the woman's smooth British accent hit your ears. "Y-you too, I'm Prudence." The woman continued to hold your gaze, and you then realized how close you were sitting to her. From this proximity, you could see that her skin was smooth and pale. You couldn't help but feel that you'd hurt her if you touched it. You didn't mean it in the way that she looked old and fragile though, heavens no, but in the way that artists would portray angels- bright, creamy, delicate, exquisite.

"So Prudence, do you play often?" Tom asked, breaking the silence. You shook your head, "Not much anymore, but I used to." Tom gestured to your clubs, "Those are nice clubs you got there." You smiled and nodded in agreement, "Thank you. My father gave them to me, he taught me how to play." "Who's your father? Would we know him?" Glen asked in curiosity. "Paul Clair" you replied proudly. Tom's eyebrows raised, "Paul Clair? From Tennessee?" You confirmed with a nod, "That's him." The old men paused and exchanged glances. "He was excellent at his sport, our condolences" Glen replied. After another moment of silence, Larissa turned to you. "We're going to tee off in a minute, would you like to join us, Prudence?" You considered her invitation, you were intrigued by this woman. But, you were working on your technique, and you didn't want to hold them up.

After politely declining, you allowed the group to get ahead of you before making your way to the first hole. You placed your tee into the ground and set up as you let the fresh air of the fairway fill your lungs, relief flooding your veins. You had always found solace in the manicured fairways and lush greens, which you desperately needed recently, especially today. After teeing off and sending the ball soaring through the sky, you smiled to yourself, "Pru, you still got it".

You took your time to correct your silly mistakes and scold yourself for things about which you knew better, until half way through, when you caught up with the group in front of you. Glen, Tom, and Larissa were at the next hole, joined now by two younger men. You scrunched your face up in confusion, there were only four allowed in a group.

Tom spoke to the newcomers, who looked eager to impress. "Newbies, eh? You wanna learn a few things?" The younger guys exchanged glances before nodding at the old man, "Yeah, sure." Tom demonstrated, setting up the ball and taking his shot, sending it straight down the fairway, out of sight. "Alright, your turn" Tom motioned to one of the boys. You observed the younger men, noticing that they carried themselves rather tall, chests puffed out and chins high. One of them walked up to the tee box and set his ball up, gripping his club and getting into position. The other boy was seemingly fixated on Larissa, and you realized that she was who they were eager to impress. You watched as the ball was sent flying with great strength, but it was a slice, and it landed in the trees. The next newbie took a turn, but didn't make contact with the ball on his first swing. He cursed before trying again and making contact, but not sending the ball far, at all. "Alright, alright" Tom intervened, giving the boys a few tips. After a few minutes, Tom walked back over to Glen and elbowed him playfully. You watched as Larissa chuckled and shook her head, as if she knew what was coming. "Alright boys, I'll make you both a deal." The boys smiled and replied with okays. Tom pointed to Larissa. "If one of you drive the ball further and with more precision than Larissa here, I'll give you each $50." The boys both turned their attention to Larissa, before giving her a one over and a smile. "You boys better buy the woman a drink with your winnings" Glen joked, the boys agreed happily.

You moved closer, eager to see how this bet would play out. Larissa turned to you as you walked up behind her. She smiled, "Shall I give them a run for his money?" You chuckled and nodded your head, "Give it all you've got."

The boys tried again, determined to impress. You had to give it to them, they did better than the first time. "Not bad boys, not bad" Tom praised. "You're up, Rissa." Larissa approached the tee box with a graceful sway of her hips, and placed the tee in the ground. As she set up, you couldn't help but roll your eyes. The boys wandering gazes were venturing lower, they weren't even trying to hide it. Larissa took an elegant practice swing before aligning her club up with the ball. You watched her, captivated by her movements. She was so proper and graceful with everything that she did, every move that she made. She swung and drove the ball, sending it straight down the fairway with grace. "I think that went further than mine" Tom laughed. The boys let out frustrated groans and chuckled in embarrassment. "Well boys, the lady beat you. Don't dwell on it too much, I'll buy you both a drink when were finished." You watched as they all packed their clubs and hopped into their golf carts. Larissa headed to the cart and returned her driver, but before she left, she turned her attention to you and gave you a wink, leaving you in awe.

☼☼☼

After a particularly taxing day at work, you sought comfort from the golf course. You decided to sit at a table and order a drink before you started. It was relatively calm tonight, as the beautiful day had turned chilly far too soon. However, the day turned beautiful once more when you caught a glimpse of light blonde hair in a passing group of people. To your surprise, and utter delight, Larissa was sitting at a table, alone. You wasted no time in gathering your belongings and walking over to her. "Hi!" you greeted, gazing down at the older woman. Larissa's face lit up with a smile when she met your eyes, "Hi darling, have a seat."

You settled into the chair beside her and took note of her choice of drink, red wine. You watched as long elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass and manicured hands brought it to her lips. "You blew the boys out of the water the other day, quite impressive" you giggled. Larissa swallowed and chuckled, "Oh, you flatter me so."

You looked around at her empty table, "Where's Glen and Tom?" Larissa waved her hand dismissively, "Sometimes they're too much. I'm flying solo today." You nodded in agreement, "So, how do you know them?"

The woman smiled, reminiscing about the day she met her older friends. "Well, when I first started here, they made a bet with me, much like yesterday. Richard, may he rest in peace, said that if I bet him, he'd give me a hundred dollars." Larissa chuckled, shaking her head, "I got the hundred, and they invited me to play with them. At first they flirted with me and made stupid jokes, but I fired back, and they soon learned that I wasn't going to take any shit."

You laughed at Larissa's story, "Wow, that's amazing!" The woman nodded, "I still have the hundred, it's on my wall." Your eyes widened in shock, you would've spent that money so fast. "So neither of them are your boyfriend, or husband?" you blurted. Immediately regretting your question, you slapped a hand over your mouth. You don't know what prompted you to ask that, you just wanted to clarify, for some reason. Larissa burst into laughter, throwing her head back as her hand flew to her chest. "No! No love, I'm not with either of them" she replied reassuringly. You let out a breath of relief, "Oh! Okay." Larissa suddenly narrowed her eyes at you. "Did you really think I was that old?" Heat crept up your cheeks, and you felt the need to explain yourself. "Oh, no! I knew you were younger. Well you look younger, but that doesn't mean anything" you smiled, embarrassed. The woman nodded her head in understanding and looked down at her wine glass. "How old do you think I am?" she asked. You froze, you hated that question. Um, 30? 50? You were horrible at this guessing game. "Umm, 40?" you replied sheepishly, it really was your best guess. She smiled, "Close, I'm 49." Your jaw dropped, she didn't look anywhere near that age, not that 49 was old. "How old do you think I am?" you asked. Larissa furrowed her brow as she studied you carefully. You just sat there, feeling like you were being penetrated by her gaze. "Late twenties" she finally said. You shrugged and smiled, "Yeah, good guess."

After Larissa's red was gone, she asked you to accompany her on the course, to which you happily agreed. This woman was a beast at the game, being on par almost every hole (and sometimes under), and never slicing the ball into the trees, water, or bunker. She was a joy to golf with, sharing tips and tricks whenever you needed them. You thought that she would be an excellent teacher. It was apparent that she loved to help and pass on her knowledge.

You watched from behind as Larissa putted, noting the small details of her form. Her putting form, that was. Well, maybe her physical form too. She wore a baby blue colored golf skirt that showed off her long legs and accentuated her wide hips. Her white colored polo shirt fit her perfectly. Her clothes were always pristine with no wrinkles, you could learn a lot from her. Her shoes were white, of all colors, stained with nothing, no grass, no dirt. As your gaze raked over her form from head to toe, you berated yourself internally, for you were no better than any man.

As the sun set and darkness fell, making it impossible to see, you both decided to call it a night. "You did amazingly today, darling" Larissa complimented. Blushing, you packed up your clubs and took them out of the golf cart. "Thank you Larissa, as did you." Larissa's gaze shifted down to your clubs, and she noticed a charm hanging off of your bag. She took the photo delicately in her fingers, "What's this?" It held a photo of your father, which you had placed in a clear case and attached to your bag. It made you feel like he was with you whenever you golfed. "That's my father. I didn't golf for a long time after he passed, so this makes me feel like he's still golfing with me." Larissa looked at you sincerely before running her hand down your arm soothingly. "Well, I'm so glad that you decided to get back to your sport, Prudence. He would be so proud." Larissa smiled down at you before holding her hand out to you. "Can I have your phone for a moment?" You reached into your pocket and handed her your phone, unsure of her intentions. She quickly entered her number into your contacts and handed it back. She had called herself 'Larissa (from golf)' which made you chuckle. "There's my number, incase you ever want someone to golf with, or just to talk to." You smiled up at the lovely woman, reveling in the warmth that her bright blue eyes radiated. "Thank you, Larissa."

☼☼☼

You found yourself driving to a liquor store in Jericho one evening. You had been non stop thinking about wine recently, but you were unsure as to why, you weren't usually a wine drinker. You were searching the store for a brand or variety that may appeal to you, when you set your eyes on red. You had in mind white, or perhaps rose, but something about red was very, very tempting. You picked up the bottle and read the description, you knew it would be strong and dry. You scrunched your face up in question, why was this so appealing to you? Suddenly, you remembered where you got the craving for red, Larissa.

You heard the door bell ding, indicating that someone was entering the store. Speak of the angel and she shall appear, or rather think of her. Her eyes scanned the store as she subconsciously made her way to your isle. She stood next to you and grabbed a bottle of red, the same bottle that you were holding. She didn't notice you standing there at first, and you used that time to take her in. She was wearing a sage green sleeveless dress, and a scarf tied around her head. She adorned nude colored kitten heels, and when you realized how tall she really was, you gasped lightly. Larissa swiveled her head around quickly to find you peering up at her. "Oh, hello love" she spoke, surprised but delighted to see you. You quickly smiled and averted her gaze, hoping she didn't notice your staring, "Hi Larissa." The woman took the bottle in her hands and held it next to yours. "We have the same taste, do we?" she chuckled lightly. You blushed and spoke hesitantly, "I actually never tried red before." Larissa turned to you with a grin, looking you up and down. "Well, I recommend it. It is my favorite, after all." You nodded, if this was Larissa's favorite, you'd at least try it. "So, I take it you live in Jericho?" You replied with a yes. "As do I" she smiled. After you purchased your wine, you walked out of the shop together. "Would you like to golf together again, Prudence? Perhaps Saturday?" You smiled wide and nodded your head excitedly, "I'd love to, I'll see you then."

☼☼☼

Saturday rolled around and you were eager to get on the course. You had played a couple of times by yourself recently, and your body ached from the exercise. Being out of practice was defiantly taking it's toll on you.

You played with the older woman, and delightfully you two became closer. You learned that Larissa was the headmistress of Nevermore Academy, which you were not surprised about at all. When she had told you what type of school Nevermore was, you were a bit nervous, due to being unfamiliar. As you and her talked though, you became increasingly intrigued by Larissa's stories. You learned that her name was Larissa Weems, and you decided that you loved how her name rolled off of your tongue.

"Do you mind?" Larissa asked with a grin, handing you a bottle of sunscreen. She turned around so that her back was facing you, and pointed to the parts of her shoulders and neck that weren't covered by her tan sleeveless polo. "I can't reach very well, but I'm afraid I burn fairly easily."

You poured some sunscreen out into your hand, gently smoothing it over her skin. The warmth of her pale skin, and the contact in general, quickly brought a blush to your face. You tried your best to not miss any spots as you focused on not feeling, or looking, too flustered. Once you applied the sunscreen, you ran your hands lightly down her forearms. On purpose? By accident? You didn't know. Larissa turned around and took the sunscreen from you with a side smile and a flutter of her lashes, "Your turn."

As you spent more time with the headmistress, you quickly found yourself becoming enamored with the tall woman. She was a remarkable golfer, and you both bonded over your similar taste in clubs and similar techniques. She was easy to talk to, she was very sweet, and she was incredibly kind hearted. She had a playful, youthful spirit that was apparent with her constant jokes and antics. She was always ready to bring a smile to your face. Yet, she possessed a mature and responsible side, and when the situation called for it, she could assert herself firmly. You admired this quality of hers, especially since you tended to avoid confrontations. Larissa was the guidance that you needed in life, yet the friend that would support you. You prayed that your connection with the woman would continue to deepen, as you cherished your moments with her.

☼☼☼

"It's a beautiful day for it" Glen remarked, pulling his driver from his bag.

"Sure is" Tom replied. The older men watched Larissa as she prepared to tee off, carefully placing her tee in the ground and taking a practice swing to gauge her aim, factoring in the breeze.

"So Larissa, we haven't-"

"Tom, can't you see that I'm golfing here?" Larissa interrupted, standing and turning to her friend while narrowing her eyes at him. Tom held up his hands in surrender, "Sorry."

After Larissa took her shot, she turned back to him. "I was going to say that we haven't seen you in a bit. Have you grown tired of us old bags?" he joked, elbowing Glen.

Larissa chuckled and shook her head. "No, of course not. I've just been busy."

Tom and Glen teed off, moving to find their place on the fairway. "Busy huh, with what? You're off for the summer, you can't be doing work" Glen exclaimed.

Larissa rolled her eyes, they loved to get her going sometimes. She glanced down at her ball on the fairway, balancing her hand on her club. "I've just been doing my own thing."

Glen and Tom glanced at each other, giving knowing looks. "You've been playing with that young girl, haven't you?" Glen huffed in false annoyance.

The elder men knew that Larissa was interested in women, and they were always supportive. That's why they found it amusing to watch the young men flirt with her, for they didn't stand a chance. Yet, Larissa has been single for a long while, the old men were aware of that too. She didn't want them making jokes about you and her when you were purely just friends. Hell, she didn't even know if you liked women, let alone her. She scrunched her face up at the older men, hoping to appear convincing in her lie. "No I have not, why would you say that?"

Tom chuckled, "I saw your name in the books."

Larissa stared at them, expressionless, before sighing and nodding her head. "Okay, we have played together a few times."

The old men laughed before moving on to their putting. "Nothing wrong with that" Glen spoke.

"Is she good?" Tom chimed in.

Larissa smiled, thinking back to the times that you two had played together. "Very good, almost as good as I am" she replied, sinking the ball and beating both men by a stroke.

"Shit" Tom murmured.

"Well, bring her out next time, Rissa. We'd love to see her play," Glen suggested.

Larissa gave them a knowing look, "You'd love to annoy her, you mean."

Tom chuckled and placed his hand on Larissa's upper back. "Yes, that too."

☼☼☼

Although you were confident in your golfing abilities most of the time, you had always been nervous about golfing with others. You feared that you might hold them back, or appear too cocky, or god forbid have a particularly bad day. Alas, when Larissa texted you and asked if you wanted to play with her and the older men, you had decided that was 'the way of the game', as your father used to say.

You loaded your clubs into a golf cart and sat next to Larissa. Her outfit of the day caught your attention, as it always did. She looked stunning in her red sleeveless dress, which matched her red lips and contrasted nicely against her porcelain skin. She smiled down at you when she saw you eyeing her outfit. She reached out and stroked your arm, making a rush of warmth spread over you as your gaze shot up to meet hers. "How are you today, darling?"

You felt your heart flutter at her question, her eyes brightly boring into your own. She never failed to make you feel cared for and important. "I'm good Larissa, how are you?"

Larissa turned the cart on and shifted into drive, smiling wide.

"Much better now that I'm here with you."

As Larissa drove to the first hole, you dug out a cold alcoholic beverage. You knew it wasn't allowed on the course, as they wanted you to buy drinks from the shop. Sucks for them, you only had so much money, and the prices at the club were steep. "What have you got there?" Larissa asked, peering down at the can in your hands. "Vodka soda, want one?" You dug through your bag, pulling out another. Larissa shrugged and scrunched up her nose playfully, "Sure, why not."

As the day progressed, you found that you were playing rather well. Glen and Tom occasionally made remarks, one about you being so young, and something about Larissa and women. You didn't know what they were getting at exactly, so you ignored them. Larissa and the men shot comments back and forth as you sat in the background in hysterics. The old men really seemed innocent, and you now understood why Larissa liked them so much. By the 9th hole, you had become relaxed and comfortable with their bickering. It was all in good fun, after all.

"Aww, ducks!" you exclaimed, pointing to ducks in a pond while you were passing by in the golf cart. Larissa turned to catch what you were pointing at and stopped to let you enjoy the moment. However, she stopped so abruptly that Tom and Glen almost rear ended your cart. "Rissa, get going!" Tom yelled. Larissa ignored him and turned to you, "Do you want to go see the ducks darling?"

You excitedly nodded your head and exited the cart, walking over to the pond. You observed the ducks happily as they dived for food and quacked, swimming about the small pond. You remembered how your father would point all the animals out to you while golfing, the ducks in the pond, the rabbits in the woods, and the cows that lived next to the golf course, the one back home. You were always scared that if you didn't send the ball straight, it would curve and hit one of the cows.

"C'mon, they're just ducks" Glen chuckled.

"Leave her alone, what are you in a hurry for" Larissa replied, sitting in the cart patiently watching you. She smiled as she marveled over you. She thought that your interest and love for the simple things was adorable, and she would never want to take any joy away from you. She found that, even though you had only played together a few times, you reminded her to slow down and take her time with things, to appreciate them more. In Larissa's busy everyday life, she had forgotten how to do that. She admired the way you thought about things twice, so that you would do them right, but at the same time, you weren't too caught up in the competition, in the hustle and bustle. You went at your own pace and did your own thing, and that was how it should be.

You walked back to the cart and got in, smiling ear to ear. You were grateful for her support, and you appreciated her sticking up for you. "Thanks, Larissa" you said, blushing slightly at her. "Of course love" she replied, reaching for your hand and stroking her thumb over your skin.

You were teeing off at the next hole when Glen noted your worn out driver. "You got a lot of use out of that" he said, pointing to the scuffed up and dented head. You picked it up and brushed it off, "Yea, I guess I could use a new one." "You'd do better with a new one, that one is probably throwing you off" Tom noted. You nodded and chuckled, "I'll get a new one, eventually." Larissa took note of your attitude, it was like something was bothering you. "They have nice ones at the shop darling, we can go look at them" she chimed in. You shrugged, "Maybe another day, I'll have to save up" you embarrassingly admitted.

You sat in the golf cart enjoying a snack as Larissa conversed with the older men. Your jaw almost dropped when your gaze landed on her, the sun cascading around her form and accentuating her red accents. The sky was unusually colorful today, with pink, orange, and yellow hues blended together smoothly. Larissa's smile glowed even more than on a normal day, and her eyes crinkled with joy. She was truly a breathtaking image. An image. You gasped excitedly when you recalled packing your polaroid camera, and you quickly pulled it out of your bag. You looked through the camera lens and focused it on her, your hands shaking as you tried to keep it steady. As you were about to snap the photo, Larissa turned and started walking toward your cart. You pulled away from the camera nervously, hoping to snap a photo without her seeing. You said screw it as you lined the camera lens up with her, ceasing an opportunity that was too good to pass up. She smiled to herself and her gaze met the sky as she made her way to you. You snapped the shot. Candid photos were always beautiful, as they captured the essence of a person. You laid your camera carefully back in your bag, listening to the whirring of the printing photo. Larissa sat next to you, still smiling wide as she gestured to the sky. "Isn't it beautiful, darling?" You looked up at the array of colors, before lowering your gaze to your bag. You chuckled to yourself, debating on letting your thoughts run with the breeze and carry themselves to her ears, 'It's not as beautiful as you.' Alas, you refrained and your gaze met hers warmly. "It really is Larissa, it's so beautiful."

After the 16th hole, you loaded your clubs into the cart and settled in the passenger seat again. You had a few drinks while on the course, which may have affected your performance, but not too much. You were caught off guard as Larissa stepped on the gas, giggling, as she thought it would be hilarious to leave Tom and Glen in the dust. You squealed as you fell gently into the woman, and quickly grabbed the handle to pull yourself away. She raced down the dirt path to the next hole, and you watched as the sunscreen fall out of the cart and onto the ground. "Shit Rissa, the sunscreen!" you hollered. The older woman slammed on the breaks, the cart drifting in the dirt and gravel. You jumped out and retrieved the sunscreen, laughing hysterically. "Geeze, you gotta be somewhere?!" you said, eliciting a cackle from Larissa as she drove down the path. When you stopped, she leaned closer to you and took your hand in hers again. Her plump lips curled up into a cute smile as brown eyes met blue, and you blushed. "You're very fun to be around, Prudence. Thank you for coming out today" she whispered. Your blush deepened as you looked down at your intertwined hands and squeezed hers reassuringly, "It's my pleasure. You're a delight, Larissa."

Glen ended up winning this round, with Larissa in second and you in third. Tom, being the loser, offered to buy the drinks. As you all sat, worn out from the day, a man appeared at your table, "What can I get you all?" He looked younger than Larissa, yet older than you. You noticed that he was paying an unusual amount of interest towards the woman. He talked enthusiastically, and you watched him as he took the old men's orders of beer, your order of a rum and coke, and Larissa's order of red wine. He took Larissa's order last, looking her up and down with a smirk. He then opened his mouth, to your dismay. "I saw you playing today Larissa, not your best day huh? Maybe it's because you're not wearing your blue skirt. That one shows you off nicely" he winked. Before you, or anyone else could say anything, the man walked away. Larissa let out a groan in annoyance and placed her head in her hands. "What the hell is his problem!?" you asked, frustrated and confused. Larissa sighed and turned to you, about to respond, when Glen spoke up. "He's a cocky young thing. He works and plays here. When Larissa first started playing, he challenged her."

"He challenged her, and Rissa beat him! Now he's sour about it" Tom added, rolling his eyes. Larissa leaned in closer to the men and whispered in disgust, "He never leaves me alone. I always see him eyeing me, little pervert."

"He'll get what's coming to him" Tom replied confidently, taking a drink of his beer.

After a drink and some much appreciated golf advice from Glen and Tom, another man made his way to your table and stopped next to Larissa. "Red wine, a fine choice" he said, flashing her a toothy smile. Larissa smiled back and nodded, "Yes, it's my go to." The man looked around the table at the older men, then at you. "May I buy you another?" he asked, gesturing to her drink. Your eyes narrowed at him, how arrogant, it seemed that he had deemed her available to flirt with. Tom laughed and shook his head, "You're barking up the wrong tree pal." Larissa glared at Tom with an expression that said 'shut up.' She then looked up at the man and waved her hand dismissively, "Thank you, but I'm fine." The man replied while eyeing Larissa up and down. "Are you sure? I saw you golfing today, and I'm pretty impressed." Larissa chuckled but shook her head no, about to politely decline again, when you spoke up. You furrowed your eyebrows at the man and placed your hand on Larissa's, "She said she's fine." The man's eyes widened in surprise as they shot to you. He then nodded and headed back to his table. Larissa gazed down at you and chuckled in amusement and surprise, squeezing your hand lightly. She hoped you couldn't read it on her face, but she thought it was precious, how you defended her. "Someone has a crush" Glen spoke, picking up his beer and taking a sip. Larissa smiled, "I'm sure he just wanted to talk about golf." Glen raised his eyebrows as he looked at you, "I'm not talking about him."

Larissa gave him a questioning look before letting go of your hand, "I'll be right back." As soon as Larissa entered the building and was out of sight, the men turned to you. "So, what are your intentions with our friend here?" Tom asked. You tilted your head in confusion, "What do you mean?" "Do you like her?" Glen chimed in. You raised a brow, "Well yeah, I like her. Why wouldn't I?" Tom and Glen smirked at each other before chuckling at your obliviousness. "No, are you interested in her? Do you like women?" Your mouth dropped open as you blushed lightly. You knew the answer to that question, but why did they care? You shrugged, "No, no. I mean maybe, yeah."

Larissa was making her way back from the washroom when caught your conversation. She stopped at the door and discreetly listened in. "Well, she likes women, and she's single" Glen replied, hinting. Larissa's mouth opened in disbelief, they were just casually outing her to you? Okay then. "You know she's 49, right?" Tom laughed. Larissa's mouth dropped further, they weren't ones to talk about age. You chuckled and shook your head at the men, now eager to speak the truth. "I don't care if she's 49, she's fucking lovely." Glen and Tom erupted into laughter at your response, but inside, a toothy smile lit up the older woman's face. Larissa's heart swelled in her chest at your words, you innocent thing you. She returned to the table and settled down next to you, scooting her chair closer to yours. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled down at you, and when you returned a side smirk, she gave you a knowing wink.

☼☼☼

Part 2

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#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principal larissa weems #wednesday netflix #lesbian #gwendolineuniverse #principal weems #larissa weems fanfic #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #Youtube #golf larissa weems

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 1 year ago

Text

A Man's Worth

Tup x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: Death in the Shadows

gif by @kamino-coruscant

Summary: Your date-night with Tup is interrupted when your stalker finds you and won’t leave without you. Tup heroically comes to your defense, but is overpowered by the assailant and you are taken away. After your rescue, Tup struggles with his insecurities and self-worth as he tries to heal physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Pairing: Tup x Fem!Reader

Characters: Tup, Echo, Fives, Fox, Rex, Kix, Jesse, Dogma, Hardcase

Tags & Warnings: 18+, established relationship, domestic fluff, minor suggestive themes, stalking, kidnapping, violence, blood, major injuries, whump, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, self-worth, masculinity, depression, PTSD

Word Count: 6.7k

Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it decided it wanted to be more. Don’t ask me where the idea came from. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I read the bingo square. Writing this was painful, but chapters two and three are worse, so... As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta Read: By the lovely @commander-sunshine because sometimes I think my work is trash.

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Obsession

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

“I am so full,” you groan while exiting the restaurant. The fresh evening air hits your face and you take a deep breath to refresh yourself.

“Me too,” Tup agrees as he rubs his stomach. “I’m kind of glad the other place messed up our reservations, because this place was amazing.”

“Right?” you pop a mint into your mouth and offer one to Tup. “This is definitely going on the list of favorites.”

“Absolutely,” Tup agrees while taking the mint. He clasps his hand in yours and you stroll leisurely down the sidewalk together.

Date nights are your favorite nights. You and Tup always make it a point to set aside one night, while he’s on leave, dedicated solely to each other. It’s a time of bonding and learning about each other. Even though you’ve been together for two years now, you don’t want to get complacent and lose the spark that you had in the beginning. In order for the night to be considered a true date night, it must consist of three things: food, fun, and intimacy.

The food portion of the night has happily concluded at the new restaurant you just left. After your original reservation was mysteriously lost, you wandered down the streets looking for somewhere else to have dinner and this little hole in the wall with a crooked neon sign piqued both your interests. The inside had a lively atmosphere and good music. And although the menu was limited, the portions were huge and you barely finished your shared dessert.

The fun portion was completed before the food. You found out the hard way that food before fun only ended up making you both sick, so you switched them around. Tonight you swept the floor with Tup at mini-golf. He talked a good game, but his mini-swing lacked any sort of form. His golf balls landed in the water, in the dirt, over the fence, and in someone's drink cup. You really didn’t think someone could be that bad at mini-golf, but Tup is always surprising you.

Now, all that’s left is the intimacy portion. Intimacy can be anything as long as you do it together and are completely alone. Some nights you will bake cupcakes and make a mess with the frosting, or take a hot shower and wash each other’s hair, or cuddle up with a good holo-film and eat copious amounts of junk food, or just have sex. The day usually ends in sex, but it isn’t the point, or the main focus of date night, so it always falls to the bottom of the list of priorities.

The sun is setting beyond the horizon as you make your way home and you sigh in contentment as you lean your head against Tup’s shoulder. He glances down at you, smiles, raises your clasped hand to his lips, and kisses your knuckles. You smile warmly in return for his affection. Today’s date night is perfect and the weather could not be better. It’s not too hot, which is always a concern in the summer, with a light breeze that brushes gently by your exposed skin.

You continue walking down the street, clasped hands blithefully swaying in the air like a young couple in love, relishing in each other’s presence. You see a bench coming up in your path and instead of letting go of Tup’s hand and going around it, you climb up it to walk across. Tup doesn’t miss a beat and continues holding your hand from the ground while you stretch out your other arm to balance. Once across, you gracefully hop off the end and continue your journey.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” Tup praises as he leans over and plants a kiss on your temple.

“Stop it,” you laugh and tap his arm in jest.

Tup flexes his bicep and twirls you around to rest against his chest. He crosses his arms over your stomach to trap you and you giggle. He leans his chin atop your shoulder and whispers in your ear. “Never.”

You close your eyes and place your hands on his forearms as he sways back and forth, slowly dancing on the sidewalk to non existent music. You let yourself melt into his body’s warmth, feeling his firm chest against your back and his strong arms holding you, securing you in a gentle embrace. You don’t care who’s watching and you don’t care what they think. When you're with Tup your inhibitions and insecurities dissipate like clouds on a sunny day.

You open your eyes and continue to sway when you catch a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of your eye. Your body stiffens and a shiver runs up your spine. You study the figure and your stomach drops as your heart rate increases. It’s him. You can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it. How did he find you? You try to look away from his menacing presence as he observes you from the shadows, but you can’t. Your blood runs cold as fear washes over you.

Tup feels your muscles tense against his own as you stop swaying with him. The sudden change in your demeanor demands his attention. He notices goosebumps forming on your arms and wonders if you’re getting cold. He mentally kicks himself for not bringing a sweatshirt with him in case you needed it, however, something about your shivering feels off. The evening air is warm, not cool, as demonstrated by the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“Cyare?” Tup asks in concern while cocking his head to the side.

You don’t answer, too afraid to form coherent words. It’s as if someone glued your mouth shut.

“Cyare?” Tup asks again, this time gently turning you around to face him. The look in your eyes tugs at his heartstrings. He can finally see what he was feeling emanating from your body, pure fear.

You startle at the movement and look into Tup’s deep amber eyes, searching desperately for safety and comfort. Tup stares back, silently asking what you need from him, waiting for you to speak. You finally mutter the words. “I want to go home.” The syllables are soft spoken, almost broken, as if one more utterance would break an invisible dam, releasing a cascade of emotions.

Tup doesn’t understand what is happening, but he does understand you, and if you say it’s time to go home, then it’s time to go home. For him, no more words need to be spoken. Whether you want to talk about it when you get home or not is up to you, but that’s not his main concern at the moment. His only concern is your safety and your wellbeing. He nods at your request, giving you assurance, clasps your hand in his, and begins walking towards home.

Tup takes ten steps and you abruptly stop. He doesn’t notice at first and continues walking, but stops when he feels the resistance as your hand strays from his. He turns on his heels and furrows his brow with concern. He doesn’t understand what is causing this sudden trepidation, but he’s growing worried. Is it him? Did he do something to cause this? The thoughts nag at the back of his mind, but he shoves them away in search of something more definite from you.

“Can we take the long way home?” you ask nervously, your gaze fixated on the shadowy figure Tup was inadvertently walking towards.

Tup’s confusion continues. The long way is ten blocks from your position. The short way is only two blocks. Tup scratches his head and searches your features. He watches you pick at your fingers, biting your lip, your legs trembling, and the way your chest heaves as if you’re being deprived of oxygen. He scans past you, desperately wondering what or who is scaring you so fiercely that you want to walk an extra eight blocks home, but nothing catches his eye.

Tup is snapped out of his focused gaze by you tugging on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Please?” you plead with shaky breath, tears threatening to escape your eyes.

Tup’s heart shatters. He’s never seen you like this before. “Yes, of course,” Tup rushes to say when he realizes he’s taking too long to respond to your original question. “We can stop by that ice cream stand in the park on the way. Sounds good?”

He gives you a small smile, hoping for your bright and cheery disposition to return at the prospect of your favorite summer treat, ice cream, but you don’t smile back and answer only with a slight nod. Tup frowns, his efforts to lighten the mood fail, but he takes your hand in his and grips it tightly to reassure you of his presence. If anything, he wants you to know he’s there for you, even if you never tell him what’s wrong, he’ll always be there.

You both walk in silence as you wind the long way around to your apartment. Tup continues to scan the surroundings, still searching for the source of your sudden fear, but he can’t locate it. The thought of him being oblivious to such an enormous fear of yours makes him feel insecure about how attentive he is. Maybe he missed it in a conversation or maybe you said it in passing and he forgot. He racks his brain trying to figure it out, but the dots won’t connect.

A cold shiver runs up Tup’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, stopping him dead in his tracks. This feeling. He knows this feeling, intimately. He first felt it on Umbara as a shiny and he never forgot it. The feeling of cold eyes watching him from the shadows, waiting to strike him down. Is this what you saw? Is the source of these threatening eyes what is terrorizing his love? His breath quickens and he turns around, putting himself between you and the menacing gaze.

Tup steels himself, his eyes scanning for the source. He knows it’s out there, waiting, coiled, and ready to strike at him with venomous fangs. Then he sees it, the figure in the shadows that’s been watching and following. How long it’s been following you both, he’s not sure, but he’s going to end it here and now. He lets his training kick in and prepares himself physically and mentally. He’s faced many enemies and he’s not going to back down from whatever this one is.

The figure, realizing it’s been noticed, steps out of the shadows. Tup’s eyes grow wide as he looks at the towering figure and he takes a cautionary step back. The man is massive, at least three times his size and built like a gunship. Tup’s heart rate increases as he feels naked and exposed without his armor and his blaster. He understands now, your fear, because that same fear is biting at the back of his spine, threatening to alter his fight response into a flight response.

The large man takes a step forward, and Tup takes two steps back, pushing you back along with him. This isn’t good. Tup scans his surroundings quickly but there’s nothing he can use as a makeshift weapon. If this encounter turns violent, it’s going to be a fist fight and it won’t be pretty. The man steps forward again, chuckling darkly as Tup takes another few steps back. Tup glances over his shoulder and grimaces as he notices you’re both being backed into an alley.

“You thought you could run away from me again, did ya?” the man sneers.

Tup is baffled by his words, but he feels you bury your face into his back and a few pieces begin to click in his mind. “Do you know this guy?” Tup throws over his shoulder as he continues to back you both into the alley.

Your legs tremble as you try to move in step with Tup. “He’s…” you attempt to force the words out. “He’s my stalker.”

Tup curses under his breath as he mentally calculates the different outcomes, none of them ending well. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tup asks, trying to swing his voice to sound more inquisitive than condemning.

“I thought he couldn’t find me here,” you answer through a shaky voice. “He’s been obsessed with me for years. I have eight restraining orders on eight different planets.”

Tup curses under his breath again. “Do you have a restraining order for him on Coruscant?” Tup continues his inquiry, well aware that it’s a dumb question.

You nod your head and ball his t-shirt tightly in your fists. This is your worst nightmare. You’ve been moving from planet to planet for years attempting to shake him, but he always ends up finding you. There’s not a police force in the galaxy that has been able to catch him. He’s elusive and cunning, a stark contrast to his brutish appearance, and he’ll do anything to make you his. The sheer terror you feel in this moment is overwhelming and you want to vomit.

“What’s the matter baby?” the man asks. “Why aren’t you happy to see me?”

You flinch at the words. A muscle in Tup’s jaw tics as anger brims under the surface from your terrified reaction. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s not your baby,” Tup scoffs at the man’s false insinuation.

“Oh?” the man raises an eyebrow. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Tup states confidently while using every bit of conviction he has.

The man laughs loudly and points at Tup. “Him? You chose a clone over me? This subhuman blaster fodder is your boyfriend? Don’t make me laugh baby.”

Tup narrows his eyes as ire burns in his gut. The insults about his existence don’t bother him anymore. Not everyone has the same view about clones, but he’s still flesh and blood, like any other lifeform, and it doesn’t make him any less human if he shares the same DNA with a million other men. He has feelings, a personality, likes and dislikes, just like everyone else. No. What’s really bothering him is your tears soaking through the back of his shirt and it fuels his anger.

The man walks forward. “Come on baby, I’m taking you back home.”

“Over my dead body,” Tup snarls as he steps forward to meet the man’s movement. It no longer matters that he doesn’t have his armor or his blaster. This is carnal. This is something ingrained in him that just feels right. An overwhelming instinct to protect what’s his. No one is taking you away from him, not while he’s still alive and breathing.

The man straightens up to his full height, flexes his muscles, and cracks his neck. “I was hoping you would say that.”

His intimidation tactic is working as Tup feels an incredible wave of dread wash over him. He discreetly slips his hand in his pants pocket and activates the distress beacon on his comm link. Whether anyone will actually see it and come to his aid he doesn’t know, but it’s better than nothing. Tup takes a deep breath, gently pushes you aside, and stands his ground. He’s a clone trooper after all and he was bred to fight. This is what he’s good at, and he’s going to do it.

“Come on, clone,” the man taunts with a wave of his hand. “Show me what those little arms can do.”

“Sooran ni’jagyc,” Tup shoots back as a challenge.

Your jaw drops in shock. You’ve never heard something so vulgar come from Tup’s mouth, at least not when he’s with you. You imagine his vocabulary must be pretty colorful as a soldier, so it’s not surprising, but it sounds weird coming from his lips. You watch nervously as the two men square each other up, like predator and prey. You slink back to a reasonably safe distance into the alley to give Tup the room to maneuver without you getting in his way. The tension in the air thickens.

The man lunges forward and Tup quickly evades his first strike. The attacker is large and his movements are sluggish and unrefined, whereas Tup is smaller, quicker, and more precise with his movements. Tup remains weary, even with his slight advantage from years of training. They play a game of hit and miss for several minutes and you fidget with your fingers and tap your foot as you watch. Your stomach lurches at the brutal swings as you wait for one to find its mark.

Sweat begins to form on Tup’s brow as he dodges another swing. His stamina is still good and if he can keep outmaneuvering his opponent, he just might tire him out. The man is getting frustrated that he can’t land any hits and his movements become more erratic and desperate. Tup takes the opportunity to look for an opening, anywhere he can land a hit. He finally sees one and goes for it, but Tup’s fist is caught mid-flight, the man’s hand encapsulating his entirely.

“Gotcha,” the man says as he peers down at Tup with a devilish smirk.

Dread washes over Tup’s face at the realization that he’s been caught. He knows it’s over. He knows he can’t break free, not from the iron grip surrounding his hand. He once again feels small, naked, and afraid for not only his life, but also yours. A part of him recognizes he may not survive what comes next and he glances back over his shoulder to give you the best smile he can, knowing it may be the last one he gives you.

“Look away, mesh’la,” Tup orders as calmly as he can. He doesn’t want you to see what’s going to happen next.

You nod, but you don’t intend to look away. At your confirmation, Tup’s gaze snaps back to the man towering over him. He tries to yank his fist out of the man’s grasp, but it won’t budge. The man watches Tup’s feeble attempts at breaking free and laughs. He rotates his fist outward, slowly bending Tup’s arm, forcing the clone to his knees as he winces from the twisting force. Tup grabs the man’s arm with his free one to try and stop his movement, but it’s not enough.

Crack

You gasp at the sound of breaking bone and the agonizing scream that follows. You put your hand over your mouth as your stomach churns. You’ve never heard Tup make a sound like that. It’s an unnerving and frightening sound that reverberates in your mind and echoes through your eardrums as it bounces off the walls of the alley. You should have listened and looked away. The sight of his arm twisted and mangled into a position inhumanly possible is not one that will soon leave your mind.

“Tup!” you yell as tears roll down your face.

“I said, look away!” Tup cries through labored breath, pain radiating through his broken voice.

This time you listen, clamping your hands over your ears and squeezing your eyes shut. You slide down the alley wall, slumping to the ground, and place your head against your knees. You don’t want to see it and you don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to witness this horrific display. It’s unfair that Tup has to suffer because of you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you wonder what you could have done differently to prevent this from happening, but nothing comes to mind.

Crack

You flinch at the fracturing of more bone and the excruciating shriek that follows. You press your hands firmly over your ears, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t drown out Tup’s tortured voice as he groans in pain. You want it to stop, all of it. You want him to stop. You want him to leave Tup alone and both of you go back to the way your night was before your stalker arrived. You flip through images of Tup in your mind and try to focus on his soothing voice and warm smile.

Crack

Your happy memories are shattered like Tup’s body while his anguished cries float across the air and find their way between your fingers and into your ears. You let out a frightened whimper at the noise, even though the sound of his suffering is your morbid reminder that he’s still alive. You want to open your eyes, but you're afraid. Then you hear a different sound, a gasping of breath. No. He’s going to kill him. You finally brave a peek at the scene and you gasp in horror at the sight.

Your stalker has his hand wrapped around Tup’s throat, holding him several feet off the ground as blood drips from his pant legs and puddles on the ground beneath him. Tup’s limbs are twisted in a way they shouldn’t, with pieces of bone sticking out through bloody skin and ripped clothing. The pain he must be feeling is indescribable. You watch helplessly as Tup wriggles his mangled body gasping for whatever breath he can while using his only good hand to pull at the hand choking him.

You slam your fist on the ground and sob. You’re desperate for someone to save him, anyone, but there’s no one. It’s just the three of you. The only person who can save Tup is you and you’re not even sure if you can. You think about how Tup selflessly threw himself at his adversary to protect you and you want to do the same. You want to protect him, save him, because it’s better for Tup to be alive without you, than to live knowing his death was your fault.

You pick yourself up off the ground and stand on shaky legs like a newborn bantha. With one step at a time, you approach the man holding your mutilated boyfriend, stopping as you reach his side. You look up at Tup, his face is almost unrecognizable and his hair has left the confines of its tie with locks of curls pasted to his face with blood. Your heart breaks. “Please,” you beg with a shaky breath. “Please, let him go.”

The man moves his gaze from the bloody toy in his grasp and peers down at you. “Why should I?” he asks with a huff.

You take a sharp inhale and steel yourself. “If you let him go, I’ll go home with you,” you breathe out, completely surprising yourself with your resolve.

The man raises a curious eyebrow at your proposition.

“N… o…” Tup croaks out from beneath the man's chokehold, his eyes trying to meet yours, but all he sees is a film of red.

Annoyed by the talking piece of meat in his grip, the man takes his other hand and slams it against Tup’s jaw, knocking it out of place with a single deft movement. Blood flings from Tup’s face and splatters across yours as he lets out a stifled groan. His head rolls back as he fades in and out of consciousness. You gasp in horror at the violent act and you raise a trembling hand to your face to wipe Tup's blood off, taking a moment to stare at the crimson stain on your fingers.

“There,” the man smiles satisfactorily. “Now we won’t be interrupted.”

New waves of terror wash over you as shock threatens to take over your system, but you continue to stand your ground, determined to save Tup. “Please,” you ask again with as much sincerity as you can muster. “Please let him go and I’ll go home with you.”

The man contemplates your offer and finally drops his toy. Tup gasps, with what little ability he has left, as he hits the ground hard. You sigh in relief, but it quickly turns to more horror as you watch the man kick Tup in the stomach and hurl him against the wall of the alley. At this point, Tup can’t make any more noises. He just lies against the wall, limp, bleeding, and broken. You look up at the man and beg him to leave Tup alone. You beg and beg and beg, crying for him to stop.

The man walks over to Tup’s mutilated, bloody body and picks him up by the neck again, his twisted arms and legs dangling lifelessly. The man looks at you and smirks. “Do you know where clones belong?”

You whimper, stifling back a sob, and shake your head.

“In the trash,” the man laughs as he tosses Tup’s body in the closest dumpster.

You tremble at the echoing thud Tup’s body makes when it lands in the dumpster. You wonder if he’s dead. He must be dead. No one can survive that level of physical abuse. You fall to your knees and sob. You sob for your lost love and you sob because it’s all your fault. You brought your past into Tup’s present and now he’s paid for it with his life. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t the life you wanted and now you’re mourning the life you had. The life you loved.

The man grabs your arm and yanks you up from the ground. There’s nothing more you can do now. You don’t have a choice. All hope has been lost. You have found yourself at the end of a very terrifying road with no one to protect you and no one to save you. You swallow hard and accept your fate, a fate that Tup died in vain to prevent. You reluctantly go with the man who murdered your love, turning back to look into the alley one last time to mouth a silent I'm sorry.

“You’re overreacting,” Fives criticizes while putting his hands behind his head. “He probably hit it by accident.”

“That doesn’t sound like Tup,” Echo argues as he concentrates on the beacon. “He could be in danger.”

“It’s date night,” Fives reminds Echo with a cheeky grin. “The only danger he’s in is getting blue balls.”

“Real mature, Fives,” Echo rolls his eyes without looking up from the data-pad.

“Listen,” Fives starts, “I was having a great night until you dragged me out here, in full kit no less, to track down Tup and his girlfriend.”

“Yes, I’m sure your hand is missing you very much,” Echo jokes with a small smirk.

Fives flicks an unamused look towards his brother and scrunches his nose to mock him. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Just shut up and focus,” Echo says with annoyance.

Fives crosses his arms against his chest in protest and continues walking beside Echo in silence. They follow Tup’s distress signal, winding their way past shops and restaurants illuminated by fluorescent neon signs. The vivid colors and bright lights dance across their armor against the dark backdrop of the night. They stop momentarily when the beacon alerts them to the location of Tup’s comm link being only a little distance up ahead.

Trading concerned looks between each other, they warily continue forward. Echo watches the beacon closely, the beeping pattern matching his anxious heartbeat. There’s no reason for Tup to be here in an empty street like this. They walk past an alley and the beeping from the beacon slows. Echo puts a hand across Five’s chest to halt him, then takes a few steps back. The beacon beeps faster as he approaches the entrance of the dark alley.

Odd is the only word the two Arc Trooper’s can come up with as they share a nervous look. They step into the damp alley, flicking on their helmet lights to see into the darkness, but nothing catches their gaze. There’s nothing in the alley other than garbage, dumpsters, and mysterious liquids littering the ground. They continue to look around, the beacon guiding them to the distress signal. The beeping is loudest by the dumpster and they move towards it to investigate.

“I knew it,” Fives sighs as he puts his hands on his hips. “He lost it and it ended up in the trash. I told you it was nothing to worry about.”

Echo grumbles at Fives’ words, crosses his arms in annoyance, and leans against the opposite wall.

“He owes me for this,” Fives says as he walks toward the open part of the dumpster. He grips the metal side with both hands and hoists himself up to peer inside. He prepares himself for the stench, but nothing could have prepared him for the horrific sight. A beaten and bloody clone. His breath hitches and his stomach jumps into his throat. He swings his legs over the side of the dumpster and jumps in.

He kneels next to the clone. Their body is so mangled and twisted, he can’t tell who it is. He brushes the hair out of their battered face and his heart sinks. A blood stained teardrop under their right eye. No. It can’t be. This can’t be Tup. Fives’ heart races. He puts two fingers to the side of his brother’s neck, checking for a pulse, repeating ‘please don’t be dead’ to himself over and over again, a silent wish. Then he feels it, a faint rhythm pushing back.

“Hang on vod’ika,” Fives whispers as he gently brushes more strands of the blood-caked hair away from his face. “Hang on for me.” He debates whether he should move Tup himself, but with the amount of bodily damage, there’s no good way to pick him up without injuring him further. Fives curses to himself. “Call the corries,” He orders through comms. His voice is steady, but conceals a bitterness.

Echo is startled out of his roaming thoughts and pushes himself off the alley wall he was leaning against, “What did you find?”

“I said call the corries!” Fives yells, his voice now demanding as anger and worry seeps through. “And get a medic!”

Echo is taken aback by Fives’ aggressive tone and jogs over to the dumpster to see what he found. If they need the Corrie Guard and a medic, it can’t be good. He jumps up the side of the dumpster and leans over to see Fives kneeling next to a bloody body, a clone trooper’s body. Echo’s face contorts beneath his helmet and he wants to gag, not just at the smell, but also at the morbid sight of bones sticking out of the beaten trooper’s lifeless body.

He stares for a moment longer when the realization washes over him like the raging waves of Kamino. The distress beacon, the alley, the dumpster, the bloody clone. It’s Tup. There’s no denying it, those lengthy curls, the tattoo under his eye. It’s him. Echo’s blood boils and he lets go of the side of the dumpster, landing back on the ground with a soft thud. He calls it in, his normally stoic voice steeped in fear and anger. Fear for his brother’s life and anger at the perpetrator.

After the call is made, Echo makes a second terrifying realization. He looks farther down the alley, scanning it for another life. A second cold wave washes over him. You’re not here. You’re not in the dumpster. You’re not in the alley. You’re nowhere to be found. The thought that you did this to Tup flashes across his mind, but dissipates just as quickly. There’s no way you could do this type of damage to a clone trooper. No, it must have been someone else.

The Coruscant Guard, led by Fox, finally arrive on scene. Flashes of red and blue illuminate the area and the alley is marked off with yellow crime scene tape. Late night bystanders stare in curiosity at the commotion, crowding the corrie guards as they try to keep the public out of the way. Echo gives Fox a rundown of the situation and mentions that you were out with Tup and are now missing. Fox records the information and places a reassuring hand on Echo’s shoulder.

“We’ll find who did this to your brother, and locate the missing girl,” Fox promises.

Echo worries his lip and takes his helmet off, tucking it neatly under his arm. “With all due respect, sir,” Echo begins, pausing for a moment to decide whether he’d like his next words to be a question or a statement, "we’d rather take this one.” He knows they have no jurisdiction on Coruscant and no business taking on local crime, but this is different. This is one of their own. This is their brother. He has to try. He has to find a way for them to be involved, to get revenge.

Fox pauses at the bold statement, his expression hidden behind his helmet. He studies the ARC trooper in front of him, a level of burning passion and rage alight behind his eyes. He can already tell there’s no stopping this clone, or his brothers. Even if he orders them to stay out of it, they’ll never obey, and that will just create more paperwork for him. Fox sighs, hoping he doesn’t regret his decision. He points to his men. “The boys will give you what you need.”

Echo nods his thanks and Fox nods back before returning to his men to explain the new situation. Echo grits his teeth and clenches his bicep around his bucket. He’s angry. No. He’s furious. His brother is lying in a pool of his own blood, straining for air, and walking a thin line between life and death. His only thoughts now are retribution. Whoever did this is going to pay in blood. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and walks back to the alley to check on Fives.

Extricating Tup from the dumpster is no small feat, not with the amount of damage done to his body. The corrie guard had to bring in special tools to take apart the side of the dumpster piece by piece. Fives stays inside the dumpster with Tup and shields him from the sparks as they cut the bolts loose. Once the side of the dumpster is removed, medics work delicately to lift Tup out of the garbage and onto a stretcher. Fives does his best to help, but the medics push him away.

Echo watches the medics work and approaches the hole in the dumpster once Tup is safely removed. He peers inside and sees Fives still kneeling in the garbage, his armor covered in blood. Covered in Tup’s blood. He watches as Fives picks up the flashing comm link that was hidden beneath Tup’s body. He grips it in his hand and chucks it past Echo while yelling in frustration. He pulls his bucket off his head, leaving blood stains behind from his soaked gloves.

“How did this happen?” Fives asks, his voice angry and quivering.

Echo drops his gaze and kicks the ground. He has the same question with the same nonexistent answer. He lifts his gaze back up to meet Fives and offers a hand to help him out of the dumpster. Fives takes a deep breath and grabs his brother’s hand to pull himself up. They both sigh and lean against the wall of the alley, neither knowing what to say. Their silence is broken when Fox comes back around to grab their statements and to let them know he contacted Rex.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the squad to show up. Some in their civvies, some in their armor, and some in gym clothes, but all with worried looks plastered onto their faces. Echo and Fives maneuver out of the alley to greet them, waving back to Fox in thanks for his help. Their brother’s eyes plead for answers, for explanations, for anything that will tell them what’s going on. They see the blood stains on Fives’ armor and murmurs erupt between the clones.

“Maker!” Captain Rex exclaims when he sees Fives. “What happened to you?”

Fives chews on his lip, unsure of what to say when he realizes Fox didn’t tell them what happened. “It’s...” he pauses, the thought forming into a painful crushing weight on his chest. “It’s not mine.”

“Then who’s is it?!” Rex questions vehemently while looking around and doing a mental headcount of his men, desperately trying to figure out which one of them is missing from the ranks.

Fives casts his gaze to the side, unwilling to meet his captain’s anxious and questioning eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to keep saying it. The amount of times he’s already had to recount what he’s seen is one too many. The words are like poison, slowly peeling away at the layers of his tongue, making it raw with emotion. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. It makes him sick. The words, the smell, and the image twists his gut in discomfort.

“It’s Tup’s,” Echo answers when he notices the distant look in Fives’ eyes. The words are like sharp needles pricking his lips as they exit, leaving a bitter and bloody aftertaste.

Shock sweeps over the group of clones like billowing smoke, stinging their eyes and stealing their breaths. Their respective nights had been interrupted by an emergency comm from Rex notifying them that one of their brother’s was the victim of a crime. Dinners had been left cold, warm beds had been abandoned, and activities had been ditched at a moment's notice. They thought they were prepared for whatever this crime was, but they were wrong, very wrong.

“Hey!” Kix hollers after scanning the area to locate Tup. “That’s my trooper!” He runs over to where the medics are attempting to stabilize Tup for transport and demands a debrief from the lead medic.

The two medics argue back and forth about Tup’s condition and who has jurisdiction. Kix gets in the lead medic’s face, pointing a finger at his chest, and yelling expletives. No one gets in Kix’s way or tries to stop him, because they all feel the same way, the same fear and anger. Fox overhears the heated discussion and intervenes between the two clones before a fight breaks out. He sees the same fire in Kix’s eyes as the ARC trooper and lets him take the lead of the medics on scene.

Fives watches the ordeal and rubs his hand across his chin, pulling at his bottom lip in exasperation, while absent-mindedly leaving a trail of blood across his chin and goatee. Echo notices the striking smear and cringes at his brother’s appearance. He steps in front of Fives and brings his hand up to his twin’s face to wipe it away. Fives leans his head back in resistance to the odd gesture, but the glint in Echo’s eyes convinces him to trust what he’s doing.

“You should change into something else,” Echo mentions as he works to wipe the blood off.

Fives looks down at his armor and a small alarm sets off in the back of his brain. He drops his bucket and looks at his hands, pressing his fingers together while watching the blood ooze from his soaked gloves. He was so wrapped up in helping Tup, he didn’t even notice just how much of his blood was on him, staining him with a constant reminder of his brother’s mutilated body. He rips his gloves off and starts yanking his armor off, stripping like a madman in the street.

He needs it off. All of it. He doesn’t want to see it anymore. He doesn’t want to remember the disgusting images in his head. He’s seen blood before, lots of blood, but not this blood. This blood is different. This isn’t the blood of the faceless enemy, this is the blood of his brother. He claws at his blacks, desperately trying to remove them from his body in a frenzy. Through his hysterical haze, he feels Echo place two firm hands on either of his shoulders and he stops.

Fives looks into Echo’s eyes as Echo breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. He copies Echo’s breathing, slowly bringing his panicked breath in sync with his brother’s calm breath. Once he settles in the new rhythm, Echo closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Fives’, silently reminding him that he’s not alone and that Tup is still alive and fighting. Fives closes his eyes and lets his mind go blank, mentally preparing himself for what comes next.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

A03

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