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nadvs · 11 days ago

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the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. it is committed by an original character. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy’s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on your side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you’re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vice.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

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fakebwitch · 3 days ago

Text

rafe tries to teach you how to play golf…

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

you’ve always accompanied rafe with topper and kelce at the golf course, you sat on the golf cart a few meters from them, a small cap with a visor covered your eyes from the scornering sun while you sipped in your hands the cold drink you had taken with rafe’s money. you had never tried to play seriously, only a few times with some of your friends. rafe had insisted for almost more than a week that you learn, arguing that he would have preferred to play with you rather than with kelce and topper. it was rare to see rafe so insistent about something and so you decided to please him, maybe that way he would have realized that it would be a waste of time.

that’s how you found yourself in this situation, rafe’s hands placed firmly on your waist, holding you still in the correct position, his bulge right against your ass, feeling his warm breath on your neck while he indicated what you should have done. he moved his hands over yours, which were firmly holding the bat, “wait... like this” he addressed you, moving your hands so that they were positioned correctly and then angle the bat better.

“once you are in this position you calmly pull back the bat, maintaining the same angle, you focus on the hole and then with a sharp blow you hit the ball” his words were firm and clear, explaining the basic rules of golf, while with his hands still firm on yours he showed you how you should have moved the bat back and then close to the white ball.

“got it?” he asked you bringing you back to reality, you nodded without uttering a word, “words baby” he incited you by lightly pinching your waist, “got it” you said, trying to convince both yourself and him. “try with a shot” he said moving away from you, the warmth of his hands left yours as well as his body, watching you from behind waiting for you to put into practice what he had explained to you.

you swallowed looking around you, nothing he had told you had entered your head, your mind was focused entirely on him, on how his body was so close to yours, how he seemed so attractive patiently showing you the rules. “c’mon princess ‘s easy, just hit the ball like i told ya” he said reassuring you, you turned your head crossing his gaze, he gave you a small smile.

you looked back in front of you, focusing on the hole, you raised the bat a little and then hit the ball. you watched as the ball slid on the green lawn, unfortunately it stopped a few centimeters after the hole. your shoulders fell disconsolate turning with a slight pout towards rafe, “it’s okay baby it’s your first time, we’re gonna try again” he said approaching you again placing his hand down on your back.

“don’t know if i’m good” you said squinting your eyes at the sun, meeting his gaze while he took another ball out of his pants pocket, “you just need a bit of practice angel, you can do it” he reassured you by lowering himself to place the ball on the tee.

“put yourself in position” he said getting up, you did as he said, slightly opening your legs holding the bat tightly between your hands, “your legs are too open” rafe positioned himself behind you, his hand rested on your thigh, tightening the skin under his hands while slightly closing the space between one leg and the other. you felt yourself blush at the gesture pushing you unintentionally against his bulge.

“you’re too rigid princess, loosen up” his tone low while with the same hand he wrapped your biceps, indicating you to relax the grip, you breathed deeply shaking your shoulders trying to relax your muscles, “you’re tense baby, what’s wrong?” he asked you frowning his face, his hand still tight around your arm. you tried to do your best but you couldn’t focus on anything other than his hands on you and his bulge in contact with your ass.

your skirt, already short in itself, due to the slightly bent position had risen, so that the fabric of his jeans was in contact with the thin material of your panty. you moved slightly, so as to create some kind of friction between your pussy and his dick in the pants.

rafe knew you too well, and immediately realized what you were doing, using him to please you. “rafe...” you almost gasped, now completely distracted, no longer caring about where you were and what your boyfriend was trying to explain to you.

“stop this shit you need to be concentrated” he said stopping your movements by placing his hands on your hips, his cock now semi-hard. you snorted squeezing your fingers around the handle of the bat, it’s hard now to ignore the growing need between your thighs. “center the hole and i’ll take care of it or keep snorting and not focusing and we’re gonna stay here all day until you make it ” he warned you, his voice was serious and you knew that if he wanted he would’ve keep you in this exact position all day, even ignoring his growing bulge.

you decided to listen to him. you took a deep breath while slowly repeating the action of a few minutes ago, hitting the small white ball with a sharp blow, both you and rafe stared carefully at the ball that was sliding quickly on the lawn, hoping that it would end up inside the hole.

and so it was.

a smile grew on your face as you turned towards him with a small jump, “that was perfect angel, wasn’t that difficult right?” he said putting a hand around your waist, pushing you towards him. “right” you said wrapping your arms around his neck, his soft lips finally on yours in a sweet kiss, but this cute moment was soon put aside by your hand that rested on his, carrying it between your legs, his fingers came into contact with the wetness of your underwear.

“s’all you were thinking about when I was teaching you how to play?” he said with a smirk, his voice hoarse as he met your gaze, your eyes innocent as you shrugged your shoulders unable to hide your smile.

“let’s go take care of this, we gonna try again another time” he said giving you a little slap on the ass, you gave him a kiss on the cheek as you rolled your eyes jokingly at his determination to continue with these “lessons”.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #x reader #smut #golf course

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delirious-donna · 9 months ago

Text

Praise [Nanami Kento]

an: this is an old fic of mine which got slapped with a flag the first time around. I’ve reworked it and I like it far better now and I hope you will too.

premise: Kento finds it so adorable when you look at him with those big, shiny doe eyes. Has he noticed that you do it more when he sings your praises? Oh yes, and he plans to make you purr for him.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: praise kink, office sex, possibility of being caught, boss/subordinate dynamic, sloppy blowjob, cum swallowing, Kento being a bit of a tease but with good intentions

Masterlist

It was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore the way you squeezed past him in the break room. The lilt of faintly murmured apologies and downcast eyes that refused to meet his own.

Nanami watched you keenly whilst you poured your coffee and sprinkled in packet after packet of sweetener. Leaning against the far wall with his coffee mug dutifully hiding the smile that rose to his lips. Ever the sweet tooth.

His board of directors would shudder in their golf carts if they knew he mingled with his subordinates on a daily basis rather than locking himself within an ivory tower. It was an argument he was accustomed to, and one that he assured anyone that asked was worth the risk. Workers who knew the big boss outside of his office were more likely to be productive. He had reams of research tucked away, statistics on the positive impact on retention rates and the upward trends on quality assurance.

It was all a ruse, and a convincing one at that. Kento could recite KPIs at the drop of a hat until those scrutinising eyes turned vacant and disengaged. All for you. His every effort to satisfy the worry that stalked your every breath it seemed at times. For you see, you meant the world to Nanami Kento and he to you, but he was also your boss and that caused problems.

A secret relationship, one that might be frowned upon if he weren’t the CEO of the company, but it was at your continued insistence. You wanted to be taken seriously for your contribution to the company and he respected that decision. The board answered to him at the end of the day, he held a majority share in the organisation he had built from the ground up, but he understood your desire to find your own worth rather than be tied to his side.

You were a dedicated worker, a real asset to the executive team he managed personally and from the moment he met you, he knew he had to have you. Never before had he felt compelled to pursue something so risqué. Most would call him risk averse, what they didn’t know would likely make their jaws drop.

Whilst his gut instinct was immediate, the road to where you were now was not so quick. It had taken time and a boatload of patience. A sensual dance of flirtation and seduction which had severely tested his restraint, but after months of witty remarks and sexual tension thick enough to choke a horse, you were finally his.

Quite frankly he hadn’t known he had it in him. It was the first time he had spent as much time and energy on pursuing anyone, but the reward had been more than worth it. Only recently, he asked you to move in with him and the spacious penthouse no longer felt too large and lonesome. The bachelor life was not meant for him. It was an ill-fitting suit and he gladly welcomed the tailored fit of being your adoring partner and lover.

It was tainted by the fact that you shared the same bed, woke tangled in each other’s arms each morning but never arrived to work together. The same was true at the end of the day, though Kento tended to spend more hours in the office for obvious reasons. He understood your reservations, it was hard for a woman to be taken seriously at this level and although he operated with a policy of complete gender equality, there were still those old-school fuckers that looked down on women.

He’d assured you he wouldn’t hesitate to fire anyone who even uttered a derogatory word regarding your relationship but you begged him to keep it quiet for now. Unfortunately for him, he was wrapped tightly around your finger and so, despite his desire to the contrary, he bowed to your wishes.

Only thought of the day where he could stand proudly by your side without fear of repercussion in your eyes kept him going. Wheedling out the bad seeds covertly in the background to lay the groundwork for the years to come and how prosperous and happy you both could be if given the chance to flourish freely.

Nanami was a good man, at least he hoped he was.

However, his gaze was anything but at this moment. He felt the surge of predatory intent wash through him as he took in your grey skirt and the matching jacket that pinched your waist in the way he liked most. The knowledge of those delectable thigh highs that concealed your bare legs ran rampant, and he idly cursed that he wasn’t pressing you up against the counter and fucking you like he wanted to do. To hell with coffee and boring Monday meetings.

No, he had control and an idea.

“See you in ten,” he said on his way out the door, flashing a quick wink in your direction and watching your jaw drop in response.

The boardroom was noisy as everyone took their seats. Conversation flowed but you couldn’t pay attention, not when you knew that Kento was up to something. That faint crocodile smile he had offered not long ago lingered in your memory and you straightened deliberately in your chair, uncomfortable for the first time in many months.

He sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled whilst he studied the open planner set before him. Strands of blonde hair fell into his face, and the annoying part of you that wanted to sweep it back reared its head. As if he could sense your thoughts, he parted his hands and fixed his hair without glancing at you.

The sooner this meeting was over, the better. You had a project in need of your attention, and literally any excuse not to be caught feeling frisky in the office. A prospect that was growing exceedingly harder given the unknown meaning behind that sly little wink in the break room.

The proceedings started as normal, the boring bullshit of every corporate meeting and then it happened.

“Excellent work on the Fushiguro account. You exceeded expectations, well done.” Nanami announced out of the blue. His warm hazel eyes fixed you in place whilst your colleagues eagerly added to the sentiment, some genuine and some because they were simpering fools.

You found yourself staring at him—at your boss—with cheeks that felt hot enough to fry eggs and wide eyes blinking much too rapidly. Raw pride swelled in your chest along with a squirm in your lower half and a pleasant sensation twisting in your gut.

“Thank you, sir.”

Perhaps it could be put down to a one-off but not when the offers of praise started to come thick and fast. He made it seem so natural as if he were paying it no more attention than a good boss should do and he certainly shared the successes out amongst your colleagues, but this was something else—you knew it.

Could he sense that your thighs were pressed tightly together beneath the opulent table? Did he hear the hitch of your breath every time he mentioned your name? How about the heat spreading across the back of your neck or the bead of sweat that trickled down your spine? Could he smell your arousal?

Goddamn his fiendish ways. Kento always could read you like a book, and not just any book plucked from the shelf. You were a well-thumbed and beloved story that he would read fondly over and over, each time finding new things to add to the piles of reasons for loving you.

You were losing your mind. Furiously beating your pen against the still empty pad you’d brought with you for note taking. You crossed and uncrossed your legs for the hundredth time, desperately wanting to excuse yourself for the solitude of the bathroom. A splash of water to your face was long overdue.

So lost in the abundance of praise being heaped on you, you didn’t hear the call of dismissal. It wasn’t until the scrapping of chairs met your ears did you realise it was time to leave and you were ready to rocket your right out of the room as soon as the door opened.

“May I have a moment of your time?” Nanami asked you nonchalantly. Your knees almost buckled at the idea of being alone here with him.

Only once the last person left and the door thudded shut did you dare to look at him. Dared to bear witness to the blonde God that was leaning back in his chair—observing you.

“Is everything alright? You look… flushed.”

Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you chewed over your words. “I’m perfectly fine. I appreciate the concern.”

“Hm. That you are, sweetheart. So very fine…” he enthused, reclining back in his executive chair to rake your standing figure with a lustful eye. Oh, he wasn’t playing fair in the slightest and somehow that made everything far worse.

Kento admired you from the top of your head right down to your shuffling toes and back again. The flash of his pink tongue wetting his lips did nothing but force a fierce shudder down the length of your spine. You knew where this was going, part terrified and part excited beyond belief. In the sanctity of your home, you would have already pounced.

“Ken—”

“I can smell your arousal, darling.”

Quick as a flash, he was leaning forward in his seat and wrapping both hands around your wrists to tug you towards him. You gasped aloud at his downright filthy accusation and the way he was manhandling you to stand in front of him. The edge of the desk hit against the backs of your thighs and Kento used your moment of imbalance to seat your butt against the edge of the glass top.

He rolled his chair closer, a thick muscled thigh pressed between your legs and forced the tight hold of your skirt to ride up to accommodate his presence there. Nanami groaned at the sight of your lace-detailed stocking tops, a calloused finger swiped across his mouth as if deciding what to do next.

“Have you noticed how… receptive you become when I praise you? Or how your beautiful skin blooms when I tell you how clever you are?”

Kento brushed his thumb across your cheek, stroking your jaw and tilting your chin. His free hand fingered the lacy tops of your thigh highs, straddling the line where the garment met your bare skin and you fought down the moan in your throat. You were melting into a puddle, no more than an ice cream cone on a blazing summer day and longing to be licked up by the man before you.

“Such a brilliant mind inside that pretty head, I’m truly a lucky man,” he rasped, and you snapped.

Grabbing him by the knot of the tie at his throat, you pulled him to meet you halfway in a searing kiss. Damn it all to hell, you no longer cared that you were in the workplace or that the door wasn’t even locked, you needed him with a dizzying urgency that refused to be denied a moment longer.

The aroma of rich, bitter coffee and musky cologne filled your nose, it birthed a breathy sigh of equal parts comfort and desire. You tried to slide onto his lap, to anchor your knees on either side of his hips but he held you fixed on the table with two strong palms.

“My precious sweetheart needs to show me how good she can be. Think you can take care of a pressing matter of mine?” Kento’s gaze dropped to the obvious lift to his expensive dress slacks, and you caught his meaning immediately.

The idea of being praised more was all the encouragement you needed to bend at the waist and palm him through the heavy material. You could feel the outline of his straining cock, both your mouth and pussy drooled in anticipation of revealing the beast hiding beneath those layers.

You made quick work of his belt, unfastening the buckle deftly before freeing his button and dragging the zipper down. Nanami assisted in lifting his hips enough to shuffle his trousers down whilst your eager fingers hooked inside the waistband of his briefs and finally his leaking cock sprang out.

The velvet skin appeared agitated and angry, the tip flushed a deep pulsing purple and pearlescent precum oozed freely from his slit. You touched the silky liquid without grazing his skin yet he still twitched from watching you alone.

“Mm… gonna show me what you’ve got, sweetheart? Show me who the real boss is here?” He drawled almost lazily, and your breath hitched at the insinuation that you were the one in charge. That thought made your cunt clench and your stomach flutter.

You wrapped around his shaft, working the beads of moisture down his skin to make the pump of your fist more slick and comfortable. Kento watched you through hooded eyes, delving his hands through your lustrous hair and pulling it free from the clip holding it back. You were such a sinful sight; all flushed cheeks and heaving chest that strained the silky fabric of your blouse to the limit.

“Gods, you drive me crazy. Do you know how much I have to restrain myself when you’re around?”

Big, round doe eyes blinked up from where you knelt between his parted thighs. The surface of your irises were glossy like polished mirrors and saliva escaped your pouty lips before you’d even gotten close to taking him into your mouth.

He knew your tight little pussy would be throbbing in need, that lust covered your folds and tracked down your thighs, sticking to your skin and waiting to be licked clean by his tongue. He could smell it, practically taste it and he would, once you were finished.

“Kento…”

He nodded his head, giving you the permission he knew you were seeking to do what you both wanted. That first sensation from the heat of your mouth sent him crashing, head tilted to stare at the ceiling and strained the thick tendons in his neck.

You moaned around his girth, slobbering already as your overexcitement spurred you on. The ache in your pert clit was maddening, the clench of your thighs not enough to relieve the ache in the pit of your abdomen. The friction wasn’t nearly enough, you were desperate for more. What made it worse was the heavy, bitter taste of Kento’s cock. It made you salivate, but not only in your mouth. The underwear beneath your skirt would have to be trashed as completely ruined at this point.

“Fuck, that’s it. Taking me down your throat so well, so proud of you sweetheart,” he groaned whilst noticing your restless wriggling and knowing exactly what you wanted—what you needed. “Play with yourself, my love.”

You jumped at the instruction, eager not to waste a moment of time in complying with the request and grateful that your man was so in tune with your needs and not just his own. A hand slid beneath your skirt and rubbed erratically through the sodden cotton of your ruined underwear. Never had you fallen apart so quickly, never had your heart thundered so much that it might explode.

“I love seeing you like this. Let me hear you purr for me, kitten.”

Swallowing around his thick girth, your cheeks hollowed to increase the suction of your mouth and Kento’s head snapped down to your face with parted lips. The tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat but you didn’t stop, barely hesitated as he slid further down until you gagged and spluttered when you pulled off for air. It was only for a moment. You were too resolute in bringing this powerful man to his knees.

With a flickering tongue that pressed thickly against his heavy shaft, you tasted him thoroughly and let spit bubble at the sides of your mouth to coat your chin. Kento was fighting against the rise of his hips as he twisted a hand into your hair and gently guided your head up and down in the perfect bobbing motion.

He was close. Hell, you were closer.

Your forearm rested on his strong thigh, hand wrapped around the remaining inches of his shaft that refused to fit into your mouth and throat whilst the other hand dipped into your sopping hole.

Your cunt clenched around your slim fingers, and you could sob. You longed for something else, something more and you knew just what you wanted, but perhaps you weren’t going to get it.

“Sw—sweetheart… i’m gonna - oh fuck - swallow it like a good girl, please?” His plea was breathless and the nearest you had ever heard to a whimper. It was beautiful and empowering to know that he could be brought to heel by you.

The low flutter of your lashes along with a subtle nod and watery eyes were his sign of your acceptance. Kento allowed the pressure that was building to a crescendo to release like a riptide. He spilled his seed down your throat and filled your mouth as he pulled his hips back.

He was in awe at the sight of you licking your lips like the cat who got the cream. His chest heaved with every twitch of his dick, emptying himself against your pursed lips and smearing the remnants for you to lap up greedily. Kento smiled, lazy and content now that the ache of his balls had drained away. He was quick to haul you up and onto his lap with your surprised squeal causing him to chuckle.

“I love you, my beautiful, smart and funny girl,” he cooed into your ear, his large palms coasted over your jittery thighs and hooked between your legs just where you needed him the most.

“Now then, time for your reward…”

#delirious writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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httpsserene · 2 months ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“¿Qué?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See you next summer.”

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puckinghischier · 4 months ago

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just a random post with a string of nonsense thoughts about the hughes brothers and how bad i want to be a part of that family

like, not even having to marry into it kinda way, but maybe being best friends with one of the boys and just assimilating into their routines?

i mean, imagine being jack’s bestie and always being over at their house or driving him to hockey practice or tagging along to games and it’s always just assumed you’re staying for dinner after giving him a ride home from practice. Or it’s always assumed when they go to the lake on weekends you’re going to be there too

and don’t even get me started on how luke and quinn basically treat you like a sister since you’re attached to jack’s hip and act just like him. the arguments you’d have with luke about who gets to choose what’s on tv, then quinn eventually vetos any kind of compromise between the two of you because he’s the oldest so his choice “means more than both of yours combined”

also thinking about when the guys want to go play golf but you show up at their house to hang out with them, so they have you tag along and drive the golf cart, resulting in everyone getting kicked off of the golf course because you were caught by the cart girl for having two grown men hanging off of the back of your golf cart re-enacting king of the world from titanic as you make your way to the green.

or when you go on a date with a guy your friend set you up with, all three of them sneak around and tag along in ridiculous “disguises” with fake wigs and mustaches to make sure he’s not a dick or a serial killer. and when you catch them, seeing a glimpse of luke’s curly hair from a few booths down, you walk over to confront them and threaten to call ellen because you know that’s the only threat that scares them, watching them scurry off with glares on their faces, mumbling how they just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a dick.

then weeks later, when the same guy ghosts you and you see him with another girl, the only place you want to go is the hughes house, so you show up unannounced, quinn watching you walk into the kitchen (you have a key so you just let yourself in) with tear stained cheeks and he immediately goes angry big brother mode, insisting you tell him where the asshole lives so he can go rough him up a bit. jack comes downstairs to see what all the commotion is, and once he hears what happened he takes over quinn’s role as shoulder to cry on, quinn already setting everything up for a movie night and telling luke he needs to go out and get your favorite snacks.

when ellen and jim come home that night to a dark house and a blanket mound in the middle of their living room floor, they see you asleep cuddled in-between jack and quinn, with luke laying at everyone’s feet, and they smile and turn the tv off, happy that all of their kiddos are safe under one roof tonight.

and the next morning, when you all wake up to ellen cooking a huge breakfast, knowing her boys wake up like starved animals, she pulls you aside to make sure you’re okay, her heart swelling when you look over at the three heathen’s absolutely demolishing their plates of breakfast, and tell her you’ve never been better.

don’t even get me started on holidays. you have to split time between your own family and the hughes residence like you’re a child of divorce because you’ve been involved in all of their holiday traditions since you could remember. you help them decorate their tree, you help ellen wrap presents, you help jim set up all of their yard decorations, you have annual ginger bread house decorating competitions with each of the boys, and your favorite, helping the boys surprise ellen with a huge gift each year.

or when you attend all of their big games, from their team usa juniors games, to quinn and luke’s games at michigan, to each brother’s first pro game. you and ellen always have matching, personalized jersey’s for the occasion, wanting every to know who you’re there to support.

also thinking about flying out and being there for each of them when they go through their first big struggle with homesickness and missing their family, wanting to be there for them like they’ve been there for you over the years. and sending them each care packages each month with goodies from home and handmade gifts from whatever craft you’ve taken up that month (the crochet phase produced some very oddly shaped socks)

and when you decide you can’t stand not living near your favorite set of brothers, you move be closer to the youngest two, hating that you likely won’t be able to live in a place close to all three of them again. but quinn petitioned for partial custody (his exact words to jack) so the spare bedroom at his apartment in vancouver is now yours and he insists on paying for you to fly out to his place every other month, no matter how much you protest that you can buy your own plane tickets.

you know they all have countdowns to lake time each summer on their phones, too. quinn sending updates in the groupchat every day, then starting over the day everyone returns home from the summer festivities.

but overall, i’m just thinking about how fun i know it would be, and how anyone in that family will be surrounded by so much kindness and love.

anyways there’s my nonsense, random, run-on string of thoughts for the day.

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 months ago

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* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 10, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 11, 2024

Former president Trump has always approached debates as professional wrestling events in which the key is not to explain policies or answer questions, but rather to demonstrate dominance over your opponent. In 2016 the Democratic nominee, former secretary of state Hillary Clinton, had a hard time countering this strategy effectively because of the many expectations of what was appropriate behavior for a female presidential candidate. In 2020 and then again in the June 2024 “debate,” Democratic candidate Joe Biden’s stutter made it difficult to counter Trump’s scattershot attacks.

The question for Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris in tonight’s presidential debate was not how to answer policy questions, but how to counter Trump’s dominance displays while also appealing to the American people.

She and her team figured it out, and today they played the former president brilliantly. He took the bait, and tonight he self-destructed. In a live debate, on national television.

The Harris campaign began the day trolling Trump with a new campaign ad featuring the pieces of former president Barack Obama’s speech at the August Democratic National Convention that concerned Trump. “Here’s a 78-year-old billionaire”—the ad cuts to a photo of Trump in a golf cart—“who has not stopped whining about his problems.” Then a clip of Trump shows him complaining about Harris’s crowds, before Obama notes Trump’s “weird obsession with crowd sizes,” complete with Obama’s hand motion suggesting Trump’s sizes were small. “It just goes on, and on, and on,” Obama says, before the ad shows empty seats and people yawning at Trump’s rallies.

“America’s ready for a new chapter,” Obama says to the overflow crowd cheering at Chicago’s United Center during the Democratic National Convention. “We are ready for a President Kamala Harris!” At the end, even Harris’s standard statement, “I’m Kamala Harris and I approved this message,” sounds like a challenge.

This morning, the Harris campaign began running the ad on the Fox News Channel.

At the same time, they began running Philadelphia-themed ads across the city on billboards, in the Philadelphia Inquirer, and on food trucks and taxi cabs, sidewalk art, and digital projections making fun of Trump’s fascination with crowd sizes. They showed, for example, a full-sized Philadelphia pretzel labeled “Harris” alongside a piece of one that looked like an upside down U labeled “Trump.”

The taunting might have been behind Trump’s demand for loyalty from Republican lawmakers this afternoon, telling them to shut down the government if he doesn’t get his way on the inclusion of a voter suppression measure in the bill to fund the government. The right has often relied on threats of government shutdowns to try to get their way, but such shutdowns are never popular, and even moderate Republicans are leery of launching one just before an election.

Nonetheless, Trump tried to lock them into such a shutdown, reiterating in a post this afternoon the lie that undocumented immigrants are voting in presidential elections. “If Republicans in the House, and Senate, don’t get absolute assurances on Election Security, THEY SHOULD, IN NO WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM, GO FORWARD WITH A CONTINUING RESOLUTION ON THE BUDGET. THE DEMOCRATS ARE TRYING TO ‘STUFF’ VOTER REGISTRATIONS WITH ILLEGAL ALIENS. DON’T LET IT HAPPEN—CLOSE IT DOWN.”

Throughout the day, the Harris campaign placed posts on social media showing Harris looking crisp and presidential and Trump looking old and unkempt. And then, for ten minutes in the hour before the debate, the Harris campaign held a drone show over the Philadelphia Museum of Art showing campaign slogans and then turning the words “MADAM VICE PRESIDENT” into “MADAM PRESIDENT.”

Hugo Lowell of The Guardian reported today that Trump’s advisors were concerned ahead of the debate about whether they would get “happy Trump” or “angry Trump,” worrying that a frustrated Trump would engage in the vicious personal attacks that turn voters off. They expressed relief that having the microphones muted when it was not a candidate’s turn to speak would prevent Harris from irritating him with fact checks and snark of her own. Conservative lawyer George Conway noted that it was “[i]nteresting how one campaign is extremely concerned about the emotional stability of its candidate, and how the other is not.”

Harris’s attacks on Trump, including her campaign’s subtle digs at his masculinity, appeared to have accomplished what they set out to. When the two came out on stage, he went straight to his podium, while she strode across the stage, moved into his space, held out her hand, introduced herself and wished him well: “Kamala Harris. Have a good debate.” He muttered in response, “Nice to see you.” Then she took her own spot at the podium. When the debate opened, it was clear that Harris was the dominant figure and that her opponent was “angry Trump.” He would not look at her during the debate.

In her first answer, Harris tried to set out both her own story as a child of the middle class and how she intended to build an opportunity economy for others, lowering food and housing costs and opening the way for more small businesses. It was a lot, quickly, and she looked a little nervous.

Then Trump spoke and it was clear he was going off the rails. His first comment was to suggest Harris was lying, and then to insist that his proposed tariffs will solve everything, although he has the way tariffs work entirely backward: they are paid by the consumer, not by foreign countries. As he followed with a long list of his rally lies, Harris started to smile.

From then on, he continued to produce rally stories full of wild exaggerations and attack Harris with lies in what CNN fact-checker Daniel Dale called “a staggeringly dishonest debate performance from former president Trump.” "No major presidential candidate before Donald Trump has ever lied with this kind of frequency,” Dale said. “A remarkably large chunk of what he said tonight was just not true. This wasn't little exaggerations, political spin. A lot of his false claims were untethered to reality." As Harris spoke directly to the American people, growing stronger and stronger, Trump got wilder and angrier and told more and more crazy stories.

And then, about ten minutes into the debate, Harris baited him. She invited the American people to go to one of his rallies, where “he talks about fictional characters like Hannibal Lecter, he will talk about ‘windmills cause cancer.’ And what you will also notice is that people start leaving his rallies early out of exhaustion and boredom.”

Trump lost it. He defended his rallies, said Harris couldn’t get anyone to attend hers and has to bus in attendees (in reality, her rallies are packed and he is the one who reportedly hires attendees), and then, in his fury, repeated the lie about immigrants eating pets. When a moderator fact-checked that story, he fought back, saying he heard it on television.

And from then on, Harris kept baiting him while explaining her own policies directly to the camera, and he took the bait every single time. He ran down every rabbit hole and appeared unable to finish a thought. Notably, he refused to say he would not sign a national abortion ban and admitted that after nine years of promising one, he had no health care plan (he has, he said, “concepts of a plan,” and if they pan out, he’ll let us know in the “not too distant future”).

He threatened World War III and repeated that the U.S. is “a failing nation.” He told a long story about threatening “Abdul,” the leader of the Taliban; in fact, the leader of the Taliban since 2016 is Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada. In response to Harris’s statement that foreign leaders thought he was a disgrace, Trump answered that Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán, who destroyed his country’s democracy and replaced it with a dictatorship, says he’s a good leader. New York Times columnist David French wrote: “It's like she's debating MAGA Twitter come to life.”

The debate moderators, David Muir and Linsey Davis of ABC, asked solid questions and corrected the most egregious of Trump’s lies. But as he continued to interrupt and yell at Harris, they increasingly gave him leeway to do so. This meant he spoke more often and for more time than Harris; MSNBC’s Stephanie Ruhle reported that he spoke 39 times for a total of 41.9 minutes, to her 23 times for a total of 37.1 minutes. But the extra time did him no favors.

By the end of the evening, Harris had delivered a clear message about her hopes to move the country forward beyond years of using race to divide people who have far more in common than they have differences. She promised to develop an economy that will build small businesses and support a growing middle class, while protecting rights, including the right to make reproductive decisions without the intrusion of the state. And she showed the nation that Trump can be baited, that he lies freely and incoherently, and—perhaps crucially—that he is no longer the dominant politician in America.

Immediately after the debate, the Harris campaign continued their demonstration of dominance. Harris-Walz campaign chair Jen O’Malley Dillon released a statement recapping Harris’s strength and Trump’s angry incoherence. She concluded: “Vice President Harris is ready for a second debate. Is Donald Trump?”

Then things got even worse for Trump.

Music phenomenon Taylor Swift endorsed Harris, telling her 283 million Instagram followers that she felt she had to because of Trump’s earlier reposting of an AI image of her seeming to endorse him. That, she said, “brought me to the conclusion that I need to be very transparent about my actual plans for this election as a voter. The simplest way to combat misinformation is with the truth. I will be casting my vote for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz in the 2024 Presidential Election.”

After explaining why she was supporting Harris and Walz and urging her fans to do their own research, Swift signed off: “Taylor Swift, Childless Cat Lady.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #election 2024 #debates #Kamala Harris #Trump lies

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moonlightspencie · 1 year ago

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hiiii! :3 would you mind write a quick fic with ted or aaron where the reader is a cart girl at a golf course. they meet while the men are golfing and flirting ensues? just smut or fluff or whatever! anything works <3

those tg golf pics came to mind and i can’t help but think of all of the dbf and bfd!hotch fics so…. aaron hotchner it is!!!

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: fliiiirting, everyone thinks reader is mad hot & hotch is all googly-eyed

Aaron whistled, looking over the lay of the land for their next hole.

“You’re close, but I’ve still got the lead,” he noted in good humor. “Good luck on this hole.”

Rossi scoffed. “You just wait for next week.”

Aaron laughed, watching as Rossi’s friend Mark teed up. He heard the beverage cart rolling up behind them as Mark stood, ready to swing. All three turned around, the current swing forgotten.

“I could use a drink,” Rossi noted, starting to walk closer as the cart drew nearer. Then, he paused. “I wouldn’t mind a fourth wife, either, now that I think about it.”

Mark walked near them. “I can’t say I disagree.”

Aaron laughed, though he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t seeing the same thing they were. The beverage cart girl was wildly attractive. He swallowed as she pulled up next to them, a dazzling smile on her face.

“You boys looking for a drink?” she asked, her voice like honey.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rossi replied, walking up to introduce himself as she climbed out of the cart. “I’m Dave.”

Aaron’s eyes were glued to her. Her tennis skirt showed off a pair of legs that had him very distracted. Not to mention the tight top that accompanied it. He stared her down, hardly realizing she’d already helped the other two men and was waiting on his drink of choice. There was a glimmer in her eye and a knowing smirk on her face when he finally noticed she was looking right back at him.

“Uh, just a water for me, thanks,” he said curtly, slowly walking closer.

She smiled again, grabbing a water bottle from the cooler and handing it over. Rossi paid up for all three drinks, insisting that they’d just have to make it up next time. Both Aaron and Mark knew they’d never really have to repay him for it.

Mark started walking towards his tee again with one last lingering look at her. Rossi debated staying, but after noting how she looked at his colleague he decided Mark’s swing would be more appropriate to linger around.

“Um, I— My name’s Aaron,” he said, reaching out a hand.

She took it, and he realized the handshake was a mistake on his part. Her hand was soft and pretty-looking in his own, and he was sure all of his feelings were apparent on his face. She’d already clocked him once.

She introduced herself, giving him yet another smile that had him feeling weak in the knees.

“You must be new,” he stated. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“And you’re so sure you’d remember the beverage girl, huh?” she joked.

He smiled softly. “I’d definitely remember you.”

Now, he reveled in the fact that there was a bit of a nervous smile on her face rather than his. She nodded slowly, looking at him through her lashes.

“Fair enough, Aaron,” she said in reply at last. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

‘So many things’ he thought to himself.

He looked towards the other two men who waited on him. He then reached into his coat pocket.

“I don’t think so, but,” he started, pulling out his card. “If you ever need me to solve a crime or… To buy you dinner—”

“Solve a crime,” she asked with a laugh, taking the card. She looked at it, then back at him with a new, mischievous look on her face. “I see. I might just call you up sometime, G-man.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said with a wink, gaining confidence at last.

She smiled once more, then got back into her cart and drove off towards the next group of golfers.

He strode towards Rossi, a new pep in his step.

“And I thought I was the flirt,” Rossi said with a smile.

“Maybe I’m just spending too much time around you,” Aaron replied.

His smile was stuck in place as he hit his ball, all the way through until that night when an unknown number came calling. After that, it lasted all week long.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner fanfiction

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i-want-men-i-cant-have · 11 months ago

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Will you do more slasher yandere? I LOVE HIM!!!!!!!!! I wanna see us graduated with a house, wedding, and 7 kids. I wanna be his lil stepford wifey!!!!!!!!!! 🙈🤰👩‍🍼👶😭

🤰-anon i was so confused for a second before i reread the fic. i was staring at my screen for a solid second questioning my life. i was like, “7 kids… tf?”

[part.1]

yan!slasher who makes feels so young around you. he can still remember your wedding just a few years ago.

yan!slasher who will always love your oldest the most, having luckily caused the shotgun wedding. oh, he'll never forget that fear in your eyes, tears threatening to spill, proclaiming you were still a virgin. it was honestly because your period was late, and it was a joke to check.

yan!slasher who felt some remorse. he promised to wait until you were married, and he thought he had the patience- just when you look like that, was it honestly his fault? he's been waiting since high school just for this very moment. you can't exactly blame him when those hormones he's been trying to keep down just come to bite him later on.

yan!slasher who decides you both and your 7 little dwarfs should move to a gated community in the midwest, each house bearing shutters on windows and white picket fences. grass that could rival the country club a few blocks away, and those beautiful flowers you loved so much so he loved them so much.

yan!slasher who was honestly being generous. i mean, the perfect town and house for the perfect nuclear family, who wouldn't want that? sure a woman like you should never be confined to a kitchen, for crying out loud you have a degree, but think about your 7 children. they needed a mother in their life. their father is a hard worker after all he can pay the bills so the children can have a mother.

yan!slasher who worried about your loneliness. you did need some friends from moving into such a beautiful community. why not invite some women over? he made sure to buy only the best house available just for your family to be the envy of the town. the wives immediately wanting to have tea once your husband and perfect children were gone.

yan!slasher who, of course, caught wind of mrs. rothschild. how could she say such horrible things? ‘her lawn needed some mowing, and did you see her shoes? ugh, I saw that wear and tear from a mile away. she’s such a- excuse my language, whore. she just married him for his money.’ who did she think she was? she was just an unfertilized old hag wishing to relive her youth! she was jealous of you and your perfect family!

yan!slasher who almost jumps on her the moment those words spill from her sagging red-painted lips. he continued driving the golf cart on the green, trying to contain himself, the past he desperately was trying not to relapse into. but at the same time, did her family even need her? he’s heard the rumors from the drunk colleagues after work in the bar, how she practically was pouncing on her children when they came home with an a- or anything below. the complete opposite of what a woman should be! she’s the complete opposite of you!

yan!slasher who came to the conclusion mrs. rothschild's family could live without her. a pathetic old woman desperately trying to relive her youth by hating on those with lives oh so much better than hers. yes, she could die; it would be for the greater good. but at the same time, he couldn't fall into his old ways. his family needed him- you needed him. he was the sole provider for your little children, and to think like tha- ‘to think that man even has a wife like her. such a pathetic man.’

yan!slasher who is grateful he kept up with working out. beneath that knitted sweater, white button-down, and expensive pants, it was plainly obvious. of course, he made sure you would remember that whenever all the kids were asleep. you did say you wanted to try for another after all.

yan!slasher who decided that the only way to get rid of mrs. rothschild was to tell you to invite her for tea one-on-one. poisoning that vegan tea she liked oh so much and some sleeping drugs in yours. you and the children wouldn't need to know this side of him, grabbing her hair through that kentucky derby hat, ripping the expensive fabric, and gripping to her hair with his strong fingers, still rough and padded from his days in high school up until now, switching to golfing with his work buddies.

yan!slasher who left a note telling you he was going to work early from some colleagues slacking off, and mrs. rothschild left when you fell asleep. that was all a cover-up for him to leave town for a day or two. he just needed to find that deserted fishing lake his college told him about. that sewage spilling would cover up her pathetic, rotting body in no time. now you could live your happy little stepford wife life with no trouble!

yan!slasher who started slipping up more and more. sure, he wouldn't have wanted this at the beginning. this was a new place, a new year. but it was all for you! why shouldn’t he protect his wife and children? he’s already the sole provider, after all.

yan!slasher who makes sure to dispose of tell the housing committee that anyone who even looked at you the wrong way mailbox was approximately two inches farther than the housing code in section 2-a of the appropriate home guide they would give you on the first day of moving in.

yan!slasher who makes sure you don't know what happened to that woman who said such horrible atrocities about you. some such as your couch wasn’t complimenting the cheese platter you had served last week! so horrible and rude of her! how low do these people get? now, do you know her truly body and soul like him? well, no- you didn't. why should you stay up to date or even notice those beneath you and your wonderful perfect magazine family?

yan!slasher who was surprised when you did ask if she was alright but made sure you don't worry your little head off, darling wife. she was cheating on her husband with the couples' therapist anyway.

yan!slasher who noticed that man who looked at your photo in his wallet a split second longer than he should. he was slacking off at his job! fine reasons for someone to be fired as soon as snatches that position he’s been working oh so hard for! aren't you just so happy for him? don't think you should reward him? have the kids go to their friends' house for a night and let him finally spend some alone time with you, the creaking of the bed frame hitting the wall the whole night, heartbeats intertwining into one?

yan!slasher who was grateful he had chosen such a safe town to live. a gated community was supposed to protect the outside not the inside after all. no one would suspect the nice and peaceful town would be harboring a murderer.

yan!slasher who wondered what the townspeople were thinking. he almost felt giddy at it. but he can't be distracted when his main priority is and always be you.

yan!slasher who is overjoyed when the town decides to host a party to try and brighten everyone's mood. this would be another perfect opportunity to show the community how perfect his pretty little wife is! yes, he wanted to look good, only for you. you were the only one he saw, why should he care about the others? you were the main attraction. he would make sure people would know that.

yan!slasher who let you put some makeup onto him to try and spruce him up a bit. who cares if it wasn’t masculine? he would be hotter than any other man there anyway. besides, he was the only one that had a wife that loved him! how pathetic was it to hate those who have more than you?

yan!slasher who ignores the looks women give him. envy. yearning. desire. if one woman even touched him or, god forbid, a man talk to you, he would just have to rip that cute little esophagus right out of their throat in front of everyone!

yan!slasher who, of course, doesn't. why would he ever subject your eyes to even the thought of blood? but he does cling to you the whole night. you want to talk to some of the wives? oh, no, i don’t think that would be for the best. after all, your husband is right here. he’s been so busy with work, why would you ever want to leave your devoured spouse to spend time with friends?

yan!slasher who, once he hears the rumors going around that he, him, your wonderful loving husband was the one killing people, was over this little town.

yan!slasher who makes sure you didn't try any of the punch or alcohol they were serving.

yan!slasher who makes sure that you both leave early.

yan!slasher who makes sure to tell the kids to pack up.

yan!slasher who makes sure that he already had everything you needed to leave.

yan!slasher who makes sure to grab a photobook of your family and get everyone in the car.

yan!slasher who makes sure you don’t check the news on that small town you lived in.

“leaving? no, baby. just take a nap and when you wake up you’ll have a whole new life. i’ll protect you.”

#｡˚꩜.no gunsHCs #x reader #yandere slasher #yandere x reader #slasher x reader #yandere slasher x reader #request #stepford wife #yandere #yandere imagines #imagine #x you #x yn #oc x reader

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joeys-babe · 1 year ago

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Joey B Imagines: Ruin My Life

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summary: Joe falls for someone he probably shouldn’t fall for.

warnings: none

pairing: joe burrow x reader

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(joe’s pov)

she was beautiful.

y/n Brown, the granddaughter of Mike Brown.

I watched her from afar, knowing I could never act on the crush I’d gained on her over the years just because her grandpa owned the team.

it started my rookie year. I noticed this extremely attractive girl, who looked to be around the same age as me, sitting in a golf cart next to Mike one day at practice. she was sitting on her phone and not even paying attention to the practice. I was too nervous to approach her after being told she was the owner's granddaughter so I stayed watching her from three fields over, taking longing glances during water breaks, looking over at her after I made a good play just to see if she had seen it too.

it was stupid of me to think she’d ever talk to me, the only time she did was after my knee injury. still yet, her just asking “Hey, you doing better?” or “how’s your knee today?” in the hallway of the facility only made my crush worse.

all the guys noticed. Ja’marr and Sam teased me about it, finding the fact that I’d still had the crush a year later.

when we won the AFC Championship in 2022, we were celebrating in the locker room when y/n came striding up to me wearing a grin on her face and a championship hat matching mine.

“hey, champ! you did great out there, and I’m proud of how far you’ve come this season. I know last year was hard for you but you’ve come back better than ever. I look up to you, Joe.” - you smiled

“thank you, y/n. it means a lot to hear you say that.” - Joe

she moved to hug me but I stopped her.

“I’m like really sweaty, I probably stink.” - Joe

“I don’t care!” - you hugged him

when she pulled away from me, her arms were still around my waist as mine were around hers.

“Do you really hug all your grandpa's players like this?” - Joe

“not really. just my favorites.” - you grinned

“I’m a favorite?” - Joe laughed

“you are my favorite.” - you

“why’s that?” - joe

“mm, you’re the sweetest player, most genuine, cocky in only good ways, you’ve got the most heartwarming smile, and not to mention the fact you’re extremely cute.” - you

“you know we can’t do this y/n…” - joe

“why not? I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me since you were drafted here. I like you too, and I really want to get to know you better. I want to see you outside of these walls, I can’t settle for you just being my hallway crush.” - you

“I don’t want to just be your hallway crush either, and I don’t want you to just be mine.. but you’re grandpa..” - Joe

“who cares what he thinks! he raves about you and how you’re the center of this team, if he changes that just because of me then that’s poor judgment on his part. I trust the fact he wants this team to succeed, and they need you to do that.” - you

“you have a way with words..” - Joe

“there’s more where that came from. maybe if we get to know each other better, you can find that out for yourself.” - you smiled

“I plan on it, y/n.” - Joe

y/n looked around to examine the room, the rest of the locker room was celebrating farther away from my corner of and they weren’t paying attention to us. She turned back to me and got on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

“congrats on the win, Joey.” - you

“thank you.” - Joe

I was gonna reciprocate the kiss on the cheek before a familiar voice called y/n’s name.

“y/n!” - Mike

“shit, that’s my grandpa. he’s probably looking for me so I gotta go. before I do though, here’s my number. text me okay?” - you

“i will.” - joe

you guys didn’t know, but mike had watched the whole intereaction. he wasn’t mad at all, he was more upset that you both felt the need to hide the fact that you guys liked each other from him. Mike thought Joe was a good person and an even better leader. he had the perfect traits to be a good boyfriend, and he trusted you to do what made your heart happy.

you had found your grandpa just outside the locker room on the golf cart to take you back to your car.

“you okay, pumpkin? you seem flustered.” - Mike

“I’m good, better than I have been in a while actually.” - you

“I’m glad. it’s because of Burrow right?” - Mike

you opened your mouth ready to defend yourself as your eyes went wide, but before you could squeak an excuse out your grandpa stopped you.

“I’m not mad, y/n. Joe’s a good kid, and if he makes you happy then I’m happy. you know what I always tell you...” - Mike

“follow your heart.” - you

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authors note: this is part 1 to a little tumblr mini series im gonna do!! 😁😁

hope you enjoyed! ❤️

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow series

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brunettegirlwrites · 6 months ago

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mcbling!reader

pogue. lives not too far from the chateau with her brothers and her dad. their mom split when she was just a baby, so she never really know her. works as a waitress at kiara’s parents restaurant. her first kiss was with jj maybank when she was 13.

bad klepto. started the nasty habit after her first kiss. it was also around the same time she tried her first cigarette and had her first beer. as she’s gotten older, it went from stealing a pack of gum to now stealing from her job at a boutique.

has a mean right hook. grew up with all brothers so she had to learn to defend herself at all times. she has a sharp tongue, super quick witted. has “roast battles” with jj and pope all the time.

loves to do makeup. one thing that helps with her unmedicated anxiety is doing her makeup. she’s perfected the “duvalin” makeup look.

I pair her the best with toxic ex bf!rafe. they’ve been on and off since she was 13 (big year for her). when she’s not dating rafe, she’s making him jealous by spending more time with jj. they fight and make up every other month, it’s ridiculous, but they just work together so well so they keep coming back to each other.

golden girl!reader

kook. but she’s humble. works at a mom and pop ice cream shop, and as a golf cart girl at the country club in the summers. her father owns an oil ridge company (yikes) and her mother was a high fashion model in the 90’s. has a golden retriever named riley.

really good swimmer. got a scholarship to usc. teaches swim lessons to underprivileged kids on the cut.

super smart. took every ap class you can think of. was head girl at kildare academy her senior year. got a full ride not only for her athletic ability, but for her academic achievements as well. was on nhs and the student council board.

theatre kid. she started when she was a kid, but ended after high school. it was strictly a local theatre company, never anything in school. she mostly played supporting roles, such as rusty in footloose! her only big role was elle in legally blonde: the musical.

I pair her the best with soft!rafe. he adores her because she’s not afraid to speak her mind and fight for what she believes in. she doesn’t put up with shit, which keeps him grounded. despite her toughness, she’s really nice and outgoing. people call her the “golden girl” because she’s “perfect” in every way.

#rafe cameron #golden girl!reader #mcbling!reader #character board!#soft!rafe #toxic exbf!rafe

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seat-safety-switch · 10 months ago

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If you're unfamiliar with the auto industry, you might be surprised to hear that cars are almost never involved in the construction and shipping of cars. Big ol' trucks carry them to your local dealership, sure, but there's an invisible network of cranes, big-ass cargo ships, trains, and random dockworking weirdos involved in getting your car to that point.

This might not sound unusual until you think about almost everything else in existence. Computers are used to make computers. People are used to make people. Elephants are used to make elephants. Pencils are... probably used to draw pictures of other pencils that they want to make in the future? That last one isn't really holding water, but let's keep going.

When it comes to a car, though, you hardly ever see one at a car factory. Sure, you see them in the parking lot, ferrying the workers to the factory to use the giant machines. Hell, you see more golf carts in use, driving managers around in their little dumb-ass perfectly immaculate sticker-free hard-hats, looking for a penny to pinch or a cost to optimize. After that, it's all trucks, ships, trains, big vehicles all hauling those helpless little baby cars to the dealership.

Is this a problem to fix? Big Car says no, that's stupid, trucks haul a whole lot of cars at the same time. Thing is, though, Big Car hasn't been right about everything. That's why I'm proposing a new factory in my backyard, where we'll let cars a(?)-sexually reproduce. It's already borne some fruit: I swear to all that is holy that I only had seven Belvederes in there, but I went out there this morning and counted at least ten.

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hunterthecharmer · 2 months ago

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Unexpected - Part 5

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

To catch up, here is my MASTERLIST

Days have passed with the convention, with all the handlers speeding to and from all of the trailers on property to get the talent to all their events. You and Savannah had barely been able to catch up with each other and before you know it, you’re waking up on the last week of the con. It had been a great weekend, Dylan dividing his time through almost all the events offered each day. You were going to miss the banter with him and his easy going attitude.

The feedback from all the attendees was also starting to pour in, your email inbox full of them each day from Anne. It was getting you excited for the next event, which got you wondering if you’d be able to be a part of it again. You tuck it into the back of your mind, wanting to bring it up to your boss once you are back at the office.

You slip into the shower to get ready for the day, throwing on some jeans, a white flowy blouse and some sneakers before jumping on your golf cart to meet the other handlers before an event that day- everyone needed to grab and set up the materials needed for a sip and paint going on that day, that all of the talent were invited to. “Savannah! Hey, wait up!” You call after her, and you watch as she stops in her tracks, face lighting up at the sight of you.

“There you are, stranger! Get over here,” she pulls you in for a hug. “I don’t care what our guys need, you and I are not going to leave each other’s sides today!” You giggle at her playful seriousness, tugging on her elbow to grab the boxes inside the warehouse.

“I actually have a lot to tell you.” You say discreetly to her, once no one else is within earshot. Everyone is scattered around the lawn building the easels for today’s activity, setting out all the brushes and paint colors nearby. Savannah bites her lip in excitement, “Spill!”

You tell her all about your rainy night at Glen’s cabin, and how you haven’t spoken to him much since last week. Savannah is quiet for a moment, processing all you’ve said. “Look, the friend in me wants to scream to everyone here that you kissed your celebrity crush but, the coworker in me wants to smack you back to reality. What were you-” You cut her off, “I get it, I get it! I know it was risky, okay? But it isn’t like I came onto him. You know I would never do something like that. I tried to leave, but he was a gentleman to let me wait out the storm..” Your voice trails off, your mood suddenly deflating. Savannah frowns. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Glen’s one of the nicest guys I have ever met, but we don’t know if he’s a player or not. Same goes for Dylan, and everyone else here! I hope you get where I’m coming from.” She searches your face for a response, but when you remain silent, continuing to busy yourself with setting up, she offers a wink and a nudge. “But enough with the pessimism. Was he a good kisser or what?”

You meet her eyes again, smiling wide. “The best!”

--- Savannah’s POV---

Savannah drives up to Glen’s cabin, debating whether or not her idea was a good one or not. She really cared about you, and celebrity or not, you deserved to know if he thought of you as a one nighter or actually had some type of real feelings. Once he’s on the cart, he instantly begins chatting her up, just like usual, but Savannah is quiet. “Earth to Savannah. Are you even on this planet right now?” Glen’s chuckle breaks her out of her daze, causing her to swerve the cart into the grass, pushing the break to bring them to a stop. “Glen, I’m gonna level with you here, but I need you to be honest,alright? Off the record.” She questions, eyes narrowing at him.

Glen nods, “Yeah, sure off the record. What’s going on?” he asks, clearly confused.

Savannah takes a deep breath, “When I was sick, my coworker took over your schedule and everything, right?”

Glen nods, “Right.”

She continues, “And the night your dad got sent to the hospital, you were communicated with about that in a timely manner, right?”

Glen’s eyebrows stitch together, unsure where she’s headed with this. “Yeah…”

“So, you didn’t read it online or anything, right? I just need to be sure, because I have a thread of texts regarding that night and I just don’t want it to seem like I didn’t do my job. Yes I was sick, but..if this were to be an issue I could lose my job!” Savannah fakes her reasoning for the question, trying to see if Glen will expand on how he found out, or even give more details.

Instead, he just shrugs. “No, you don’t have anything to worry about. Your coworker let me know immediately, hell she even drove through the storm to come and tell me since I didn’t hear my mom or sister’s phone calls. Trust me, you’re good.” He smiles at her, and Savannah feels her heart sink a little bit. “Okay, good. So she came to tell you the news, and that was it? She showed you all the communication from your assistant and stuff,right?” She presses a final time, hoping he’ll crack.

“Yep, she told me everything. She waited for the storm to ease up a bit and then went back to her cabin.” He replies cooly, before reaching into his back pocket for his phone to turn off his ringer, mindlessly reading his new notifications. Savannah concedes, putting the cart back into drive and returning to the path toward the event.

“Wait, did someone say something about her leaving my cabin so late? I wouldn’t want her to get in trouble for relaying the message to me. I know it wouldn’t look good for her job either.” Glen speaks up, and is looking at Savannah now, a hint of alarm in his voice. “Oh! No, no, I don’t think anybody saw her. At least, I haven’t heard anything.” She quickly replies, still mythed that he didn’t mention the kiss. Guess she had her answer.

-------

“Here’s your paint colors, and if you need a refill on your drink just give me a wave or something.” You pat Dylan on the back, and he grins. “Thank you, bartender. This should be a good time! I promise you this is going to look like a toddler’s masterpiece when I’m through with it.” You both laugh, your eyes landing on a certain someone as they stride across the grass, drink in hand and Savannah hot on his heels. You turn your attention back to Dylan just as the instructor turns on their microphone. “If I could get everyone’s attention, please! Helloooooo Tennessee!”

You wave goodbye to Dylan as you both giggle, the loud noise of the mic startling just about everyone on the lawn. Savannah weaves through the crowd to grab your hand, pulling you over to the chairs for the handlers. You brush past Glen, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a small smile on his lips. You return one to him before Savannah tugs you into a chair.

“I will be your art instructor for today, just want to go over a few housekeeping items.. Your materials have been all laid out for you by the lovely Ignite Team, so let’s give a round of applause for all their hard work; they’ve been out here since 7am this morning to make this space ready for you all.” Everyone applauds your team, and everyone waves to the talent on the lawn, everyone grinning from ear to ear.

“Now, the special brushes with the finer tips will be up at the front, as well as texturing tools, glitter…” the instructor continues on before switching the music on and letting everyone get started.

You turn to Savannah, “Who do you think will paint the best mountaintop?”

She smiles weakly at you, “Oh, I don’t know. Probably one of the girls…hey, want to run to the bathroom with me? Cassandra, can you keep an eye on our boys for us while we run to the restroom real quick?”

Cassandra agrees, the two of you quietly sneaking away to the restrooms down the hill.

“What’s up, everything okay?’ You question her as soon as you close the door.

Savannah swallows before placing a hand on both sides of your shoulders. “Don’t freak out on me, but I kinda sorta asked Glen about the night you guys kissed, and don’t worry I didn’t bring that up, I just acted like I was scared of losing my job over being sick to see if he’d mention anything about you.”

Your jaw drops open, heart rate quickening as you realize that whatever she is about to tell you is going to dictate your mood for the rest of the day. “And?” you ask slowly.

“He didn’t bring it up. He was concerned someone had maybe asked around or mentioned the fact that you left his cabin at such a strange hour, but…that was it. He didn’t blush or stutter or anything. It’s like nothing happened between the two of you at all.”

She shrugs before disappearing into a stall. “I actually did need to go, sorry!”

You slump against the wall, unsure of how to feel. Maybe he was just protecting the interaction? Or, it meant absolutely nothing to him and you just so happened to be at the right place at the right time. His observation rings in your ears, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Except this time, it doesn’t make your heart swell, it kind of gives you an icky feeling. What if he didn’t mean it in a sincere way, but an assuming, cocky sort of way? What if he was just fishing to boost his ego? After all, you’d like to think you had been discreet and professional this entire time when it came to interacting with him, longing glances from afar or not.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, you step out from the bathrooms to get some air, the sun shining through the gazebo overtop the building. Savannah soon appears next to you, slinging her arm over your shoulders as you both head back up the hill. “I promise I was just trying to look out for you, alright? We don’t need a replay of last year with Jeremy-” “Fair enough!” You let a laugh escape you, shaking your head. “Jeremy and Glen are not even close to being on the same level, Savannah. But I get what you’re trying to say and I love you for it.” She rolls her eyes. “The feeling of disappointment would be the same.” She states, squeezing your shoulder as you take your seats.

Everyone is watching the talent paint- some struggling, some just chit chatting while barely getting anything accomplished on their canvas, and others seemed to be thoroughly concentrated on following the instructor.

A sudden wave atop the heads in the crowd catches your eye, and you grin to see it’s Dylan trying to get your attention. You bounce over to him, taking in his progress. “Wow, not too shabby! Are you having fun?” He smiles at you from behind his black Ray Bans. “Hell yeah! Thanks for the support, I really need it for the next section. Would you mind getting me another drink please?” You take his empty cup away from him, “Sure thing! Be right back.”

You carefully maneuver through the easels, being sure not to knock over anyone’s stuff. Handing the cup to the bartender, you wait for them to make Dylan a new drink. You look out into the crowd to try and find Glen, and when your eyes land on him your cheeks heat immediately. He’s chatting up another guest, her dark hair thrown back in a fit of laughter at whatever he’s saying. They’re both leaning over their easels to talk, and you are suddenly reminded that you are very much not a gorgeous, rich celebrity model at this convention, but simply a girl from LA who is here to work. You make your way across the grass to Dylan, breezing past Glen and the mystery girl who has his attention to try and hear what they’re talking about. All you can catch is her mentioning New York City and Glen’s response is muffled by all the chatter happening around them. You drop off his drink and return to your table, Savannah shooting you a knowing look. “Want me to go over there? He probably needs a refill too.” You sigh, hands in your lap fidgeting with the fray on your jeans. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Really.”

In a huff only noticeable to you, she stands and makes a beeline for Glen. Her appearance stops their conversation, Glen putting his hands up in a gesture that he’s all set on needing another drink. Savannah completely ignores the girl as she walks back to your table. You raise an eyebrow at her. “I’m getting friend vibes. Seriously, she’s wearing a studded leather jacket with heeled boots while Glen’s wearing jeans and a hoodie.” You roll your eyes with a laugh. “So? He probably likes her style. Can we just drop it, please?”

Savannah nods and changes the subject.

Another half hour passes by, and the event is almost over. Everyone’s moving to the final details of their project, the lawn mostly quiet as everyone locks in. You decide to stretch your legs and find some interesting tools for Dylan to use, making your way over to him when a hand grabs your elbow. “Hey, could I borrow one of those?” you are jolted out of focus, head snapping behind you to see a grinning Glen Powell. “Sorry, no can do. These are for Dylan, but I think I saw Savannah at the table, just flag her down so she can grab one for you.” You smile curtly at him before wiggling out of his grasp and fast walking over to Dylan without ever looking back.

The event finally comes to an end, all of the staff swarming onto the lawn to clean up the mess. The guests disperse to the event hall to eat dinner, some milling about the property to chat.

You toss a heap of paint brushes into your trash bag, a familiar voice reappearing behind you. “Need a hand with that?” You spin around to see Glen bent over to grab some paint covered sponges, and you gasp. “No! Glen, you’re not supposed to be cleaning anything up. You go enjoy the live music in the hall!” You open the trash bag wider for Glen to successfully dunk them in, a hand running through his fluffy hair. You liked seeing it without any styling creme in it.

“Back to being professional, huh?” He squints at you as the sun shines on his face. You sigh, head leaning to the side. “I work here, remember?” You offer a small, playful smile to him as you shake the lanyard hanging around your neck, and his expression softens. “I just thought that, well..you know..” He steps closer to you, voice lowering to a whisper. It takes everything in you to step backwards from him, his cologne wafting over you. He looked and smelled so good. “You thought what? Honestly, never mind. It was late, we were both exhausted--” Glen interrupts you softly, “I was there.”

He places his hands on his hips as he stares at you, and you glance around at the other staff members cleaning up, a few of them taking notice of the two of you conversing.

“Anyway, it won’t happen again. How’s your dad doing? Is he home yet?” You ask, before continuing to collect the trash from the ground. Glen sighs before shrugging it off. “Uh, yeah..yeah he’s home. He’s gonna be just fine, thanks for asking.” He pauses for a moment as he watches you continue to clean. “What did you mean by --”��

“Glen! Hey, Glen! Time to head out, you have a conference call in ten minutes!”

Savannah’s voice rings out from across the lawn, and you are grateful. You look up at Glen, a sad smile on your lips. “I’m really happy to hear that about your dad. Really. Now, go! Don’t be late for that call. Good luck!” You shoo him off, and he nods in agreement, a look of uncertainty crossing his features before he turns away to jog over toward the golf cart.

That evening is the first of many campfires that week, s’mores and hot chocolate the only two items on the menu. You change into leggings and a sweater before jumping back onto your golf cart to pick up Dylan one last time for the day.

You wait out front for him for five minutes before calling his phone, and when he doesn’t pick up you start to worry.

“Dylan? Are you ready?” You knock loudly on his cabin door, trying to peer in through the tiny window of the door. Suddenly it swings open, a very pale Dylan O’Brien standing before you, his body weight leaning on the doorframe. “Please stop yelling.” He groans, shoving his palm into his right eyelid.

You stifle a giggle, taking in his sweatpants and hoodie that cling to his body, hair a mess. “You don’t look so good buddy.” You rub his arm.

Dylan grimaces as he nods, “I think I had a few too many drinks at the event. Needless to say I need to sit the campfire out, hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, rest up! Do you need anything?”

You offer, but Dylan shakes his head. “Just go have fun, I’m going to go to bed early tonight.” He shoots you the weakest little wave before closing the door.

The debate with yourself on whether or not you should go to the fire tonight lasted about 10 seconds, the desire to see Glen winning you over. As soon as you park, you spot Savannah and join her group that’s huddled amongst one of the many firepits.

“You made it! No Dylan? Here, have a s’more!”

Savannah welcomes you, motioning toward the empty chair next to her. You greet everyone else and happily accept the dessert, savoring the gooey marshmallow and chocolate combo after the long day you’d had.

“He turned in early for the night. Isn’t it gorgeous out here?” Admiring the stars above you, the others agree.

You slowly direct your gaze from the fire in front of you to the other pits, eyes quickly finding Glen’s chair. He’s amongst a mix of men and women, but he’s so far away that you aren’t able to make out if any of them are the one from earlier or not.

A few hours pass before some of the talent begin approaching the staff to turn in for the night, Glen being one of them. You recognize his voice approaching in the distance, stomach knotting as you brace yourself to see who he’s walking with.

The tension in your shoulders dissipates when he stands next to Savannah’s chair, a male figure departing in the other direction. “Ready to roll?” He grins down at her, his green eyes landing on you for a few seconds. You want to get out of your chair and kiss him again, the flames illuminating his features. His charcoal crew neck and joggers make him look so cuddly and warm. You wonder what it’d be like to snuggle up with him.

Savannah’s voice snaps you out of your daze. “You bet! I actually need to fill the cart up with gas though, and there’s a pretty long line. Would you mind taking Glen back tonight?” She looks between the two of you, and you nod quickly as you stand, “No problem at all.”

He gestures toward the carts allowing you to lead the way, “After you.”

You shoot your friend a look from over your shoulder, mouthing ‘thank you’ to her as you fall into step with Glen.

The cicadas and crackling fires fill the air, a cool breeze sending a shiver down your spine as you drive down the dirt path.

“How was your day?” You ask him, desperate to have a non-awkward golf cart ride.

“It was awesome, I really enjoyed that painting class. Even though it’s not worthy of hanging in my house, I don’t think I did too bad of a job.” He laughs to himself as he picks at some fuzz on his sweatpants. You force a small hum in response, eyes fixed on the path ahead.

“Are we cool?” Glen speaks again, this time his entire body turning to face you in his seat, one arm extended up to hang onto the top of the cart.

As you peer over at him, the moonlight illuminates the small smile tugging at his lips. If it weren’t so dark out, you might have thought you detected some concern in his expression.

You nudge him softly, “Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well we kissed a few nights ago and ever since then I feel like we haven’t gotten to talk at all.”

You feel chill bumps rise on your arms at his statement. Did you really expect the kiss to never come up again? Maybe, but ever since you saw him getting cozy with the mystery girl from earlier your opinion had changed.

“Are you blaming me for that?” You feel him tense at the bite in your tone, his head cocking to the side. His eyes still fixated on you, he reaches over you and presses a foot to the brake abruptly, your bodies lurching forward as he turns the key to switch the cart off.

“Woah,hey! I’m not blaming you for anything.”

You scoff at his words, eyes rolling at his stopping of the cart. He seems to forget that you’re still on the clock, and very much not alone out here. A few carts pass by, the both of you offering polite waves to them. A moment passes and you remain silent, fearful of eavesdroppers.

Turning the key quickly you press down hard on the gas pedal toward Glen’s cabin.

Once there, you cross your arms over your chest. “Goodnight Glen.”

Running a hand through his hair he slides off the golf cart, the only noise between you the gravel beneath his feet as he rounds the front of the cart to crouch at the steering wheel. He places a hand on your knee, shaking it playfully. “Look at me.”

His tone is earnest and you allow your eyes to lose themselves in his.

“It was leather jacket girl, wasn't it?” he chuckles in the dark, eyebrow cocked in amusement.

“So you did notice?” You mumble, face on fire. He stands and outstretches both hands to you, and you oblige without another thought.

Glen places a hand on the small of your back to lead you up the stairs first, your mind swimming in wonder of what’s about to happen.

“Yo, Powell! Turning in so soon?”

The two of you freeze, Glen’s grip tightening on the bannister. Out of instinct, you drop on all fours. He mouths for you to go inside, slipping his key card into your palm. You nod quietly, crawling across the porch toward his front door.

Glen turns around, backing up the staircase to try and hide your body.

“Yeah man! I have an early call time in the morning. Why, what am I going to miss out on?”

The man laughs, “Your loss! We’re about to start an intense game of charades in my cabin. All good though, see you tomorrow!”

You eavesdrop from the window, giggling as Glen appears through the front door. “That was close!”

He nods as he locks the door behind him, closing the curtains. “Don’t worry, he didn’t see a thing.”

And just like that,you’re standing inches away from him in his living room again - alone.

“Fun fact for ya, I actually think leather jackets are tacky. Especially ones with studs all over them. They’re spikey and they hurt.” Glen feigns a serious face, his tone humorous.

“You’re ridiculous.” You grin wide at him as you throw both arms around his neck, tugging him even closer to you. Your confidence surprises you once again, but in this moment you’d do anything to feel his lips on yours again. He was undeniably attractive 24/7 but even more so right now as he makes you laugh. He had seen you. He knew you were jealous and yet he tried to talk to you at the event. You felt even worse for being rude to him earlier.

His arms wind around your waist as he presses his forehead to yours.

“While you were jumping to conclusions, I was admiring you look out for Dylan and everyone else around you. Watching you do your job and keep the place organized.”

Eyes shining at him as you learn that he’d been observing you, he leans in to kiss you. You relax into his grip, fisting your hands into the soft material of his crewneck.

“We’re cool now.” you say before kissing the tip of his nose. He hums in response as he kisses you one more time.

You talk with him for a good while about his schedule the next few days as well as other projects he’s slated to begin next year for work. He asks about your job back in California and you talk a bit about how you and Savannah got so close.

When the two of you start to yawn, you stand to your feet from his sofa and he groans.

“Don’t leave me!” He teases, tugging on your arm. You back away slowly, palms raised as you bite your lip. “It’s time.”

He kisses you, whispering a ‘no’ against your lips. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

You blush under his gaze and wave your phone at him. “Text me! We’ll figure it out.”

Accepting your answer, he unlocks the door and swings it open for you.

“Goodnight pretty girl.”

His compliment causes you to turn back to face him from the porch, his body leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. He looks so handsome it feels like a dream.

You blow him a kiss before quietly sliding onto the golf cart to drive back to your room.

#glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell fic

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manheeiim · 8 months ago

Text

chapter ten: a night of change

-- a ghostly love masterlist

Rhonda and I were in the room that they kept all of the theater stuff in. We were only here to pick out something for homecoming. It was silent for a moment before a thought came to my mind. I don’t know why, but one of my intrusive thoughts won, and I just said it.

“Can ghosts have sex?” I asked her. I looked over at her and she gave me a look.

“Yeah, we can. We’ve been going through puberty for decades. We have needs.” She told me. “We have a past. We all do.” Rhonda said. I cleared my throat awkwardly, “Wait, did you die a virgin, Lucia?” She then asked me.

“Yeah..” I said.

“Wow, I’m shocked, honestly.” Rhonda tells me.

“You know, you shouldn’t just assume things about people.” I said, looking over at her.

“Uh, hello.” We heard and I looked back and saw Wally who seemed to have just walked down the stairs. “I just wanted to come and check on you guys.” He told us. “How’s it going?” Wally asked.

“It’s going well.” I said.

“You still want to go with me, right?” Wally asked me.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” I said and Wally just nodded with a smile before going upstairs.

I looked over at Rhonda for a moment before going back to browsing through the clothes, “Wait, you’re going to the prom with Wally?” She asked with a scoff.

“Yeah.” I simply responded, not looking at her.

“Wow.” Is all she said as she continued looking as well, smiling to herself.

I slowly walked outside of the school to where Wally had asked me to meet. I was nervous, so fucking nervous. I never went to homecoming with anyone besides my friends before so this was definitely new to me. My hands were shaking from how nervous I was. When I walked outside, I saw a familiar golf cart driving over to me.

Wally stepped out of the golf cart and he took a box with him before walking over to me. “Your ride has arrived, m’lady.” Wally flirtatiously said.

“M’lady?” I repeated shyly with a giggle.

Wally smiled, “You look amazing.” He told me.

I smiled back, “Thank you.” I then looked at his outfit, “You do too.” I told him.

“Thank you.” Wally said back. He then cleared his throat, “I have a gift for you.”

“Really?” I asked, shocked. Should I have gotten him something as well?

He opened the box for me to see the corsage he obviously made himself. It was cute. I picked it up and got a closer look.

“57?” I asked about the number he had on the corsage. “Your football number, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, uh, shit.” Wally awkwardly said. “You hate this, don’t you?” He asked as he looked down.

“No, I love it.” I told him. “Thank you so much. Really.” I said.

He looked up and smiled at me, “It’s something we used to do back in the ‘80s.” He explained.

“I like it.” I responded.

“It was hard to find flowers so I had to, uh, use papers, as you can see.” Wally told me. “So, uh, stay away from an open flame.” He said, jokingly.

“Okay.” I smiled. “Cool. Now, come on.” He grabbed my hand and took me to the golf cart, letting me into the passenger side before he got on the drivers side and started driving us to the school gym where the dance was being held.

The whole gymnasium was decorated to the max with balloons, signs, LED lights, and just anything you could think of everywhere along with food and drinks, a DJ. It was really nice. I had separated from Wally for a moment, looking to see if Chloe had come. I looked around for a bit but didn’t see her so I just gave up, going over to Wally.

“Punch?” He offered as he held out a cup for me.

I nodded, smiling as I took it, “Thank you.” I told him. He and I clinked our plastic cups together before taking a sip.

The song then changed and Wally put his drink down on the table, taking mine from me and doing the same to it. “Wally, what-” I started, confused.

“Come on, let’s go dance.” He interrupted as he took my hand and let me away from the drinks.

He twirled me around before putting his hands on my hips, “I don’t really know how to do this.” I said as he started slow-dancing with me.

“It’s easy. Just follow my lead.” He said and I watched what he did with his feet, doing my best to copy him as my hands rested on his shoulders.

“I’m doing it.” I said with a smile after I finally got the hang of it.

“You are.” He said back with a smile. “Told you it was easy.” He then said.

I smiled up at him, “You're the first person to ever ask me to homecoming.” I told him.

“I better be your last.” He said with a small smirk.

I playfully rolled my eyes, “Wally, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” I said, considering we were ghosts and none of the other ghosts here at the moment, wanted me like that.

Wally smiled, “Lucia.” He said and I looked up at him, waiting for him to speak.

The music changed to a more upbeat song and Wally looked up, “Oh, shit.” He said excitedly. “Come on, let’s dance.” He said as he grabbed my hands and started moving them, shaking them and doing all types of stuff. Next thing I knew, he was moonwalking. It was funny. I did wonder what he was going to say before, but I figured I’d worry about that later.

A little later, I stood off to the side with Charley as Wally continued to dance, now to some ‘80s song. How did he have the energy for all that?

“I’ll admit. That guy is pretty fly.” Charley said as we both watched Wally.

I just laughed as I watched Wally doing the most random dances. Charley started dancing as well and I just looked at him, wow. I was glad they were having fun and well, I was too.

“You should go dance with him.” I told Charley.

“I don’t know about that..” Charley said.

“Go!” I smiled as I pushed him away and towards Wally. Charley went over to Wally and Wally started yelling excitedly.

“Woooo! Let’s go, Charley!” He said as Charley started dancing.

Wally then glanced over at me with a wide smile and I smiled back as I just watched.

After the dance, or more like after Wally and I were done with the dance, we went outside and lay next to one another on the grass, staring up at the sky as music faintly blared from inside.

“I think tonight was the most fun I’ve had in my entire life.” I said before realizing, “Well not my life, but just.. my entire existence.” I told him.

Wally chuckled, “Same.” There were then a few moments of silence, “I was serious when I said that I don’t think that I’ve ever met anyone like you before.” He told me.

“Well, I was serious as well when I said I haven't either.” I responded.

“I know.” Wally said back, softly smiling to himself.

Suddenly, he stood up and I looked up at him. He held his hands out for me to take and so I did. He helped me up off of the ground and once I was standing, I fixed my dress a little.

“I had something to ask you about at the dance.” Wally told me. “But, I figured it would be better that I waited.” He said.

“Oh, well you can ask me.” I told him.

“Lucia…you’re the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever met.” He said. “I like you a lot, you know that, right?” Wally then asked and I nodded. “Lucia, can I kiss you?” He then finally asked.

“Yes, please.” I softly answered.

He then leaned down and softly kissed me. I put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he put his hands on the back of my neck. The kiss got a bit deeper, his nose pushed against mine as we kissed. We kissed for a while before pulling away, catching our breaths.

“I like you so much, Wally.” I finally admitted.

“I know, I know.” He softly told me as he brushed through my hair with his fingers. “I do too.” He said.

Who would’ve thought that all of this would’ve happened on one singular night?

#manheeiim #milo manheim #milo #milo manheim x reader #milo x reader #wally clark #wally clark x reader #wally clark x oc #wally x reader #wally clark imagine #wally clark fanfiction #school spirits #school spirits imagine #school spirits fanfiction

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year ago

Text

Lavender - Ch. 38

You, Joel and Ellie hit some snags on your journey west. A continuation of Lavender, Ch. 1-37 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smuttttttt (unprotected P in V sex), canon typical violence, threat of SA (unsuccessful), reference to past SA (not described.) No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 5.5k

“See that?”

Joel pointed to some grass that was catching the sunlight a bit better than the grass around it.

“I think so,” you frowned, looking at it.

“Called a shining,” he said. “Something steps on the grass, presses it down, shiny side catches the light. Only stays shiny like that for about two hours after it’s stepped on but the grass will stay bent for about a day. So you know that something passed through here within the last two hours.”

You nodded slowly.

Joel had been teaching you and Ellie how to track and hunt. She was getting better than you were with the rifle, though neither of you were as good as Joel. You tried to not think about just why he was so good with it.

The tracking, though, was probably going to get easier. It was mid-October now and the weather had been steadily getting colder. Snow was not far off. At night it was dropping below freezing and you’d had to start building fires to stay warm - something Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled with.

You’d stayed in Curtis for a few days. Joel killed a deer in town, something that was oddly easy in the post-outbreak reality, apparently. The animals out here had never seen people. They didn’t have the same reaction to humans that the creatures of your youth did, or even those immediately around the QZ. You could practically walk up to them here, them just looking at you quizzically for a moment, almost like they were questioning what the hell this bipedal animal approaching them could be.

They were everywhere, too. The town had been reclaimed by nature. You were walking to the grocery store again the second day there when you came across a small herd of deer in the middle of the street. They stood there, looking at you, clearly puzzled. You looked back, waiting for them to run. They never did.

Part of you hoped the one Joel killed hadn’t been one of the ones you’d seen. The hotel had a small garage - a golf cart, riding mower, some general maintenance stuff inside - and Joel turned it into a place to dress the carcass and then dry the meat you weren’t eating immediately. You’d ended up with almost 50 pounds of venison jerky, enough to supply you for a stretch.

The whole process had made Ellie take an interest in hunting. You supposed it was natural, her wanting to know the survival tactics you’d all been relying on. It definitely made sense to learn it. If something happened to Joel, you thought you could get her the rest of the way on your own, but it would be a lot more difficult. Joel’s skills were immensely valuable.

But hunting made you uneasy. You knew meat came from animals, obviously, but buying it from the store before or getting it as a ration was so far removed from the process, you didn’t have to think about it. Stripping an animal of its meat was so oddly surgical, it was hard to separate the two in your mind. It made them seem too close to human for your liking - though you’d far rather do that than die of starvation.

You were well into Wyoming now. But neither you nor Joel had acknowledged that you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do now that you were here.

He had a vague idea of where the radio tower was so that’s where you were headed. Just hoping that the operator would have some inkling about where Tommy might be living. Otherwise, you were at a loss. It was a large, empty state. It wasn’t like there were people every few miles you could stop and ask - even if you felt like you could trust the people you ran into. You hadn’t seen another person besides Joel and Ellie since you’d fled the camp.

“So which way should we go?” Joel asked you, still looking at the shining in the grass.

You looked out, finding another spot like the first, and another after that.

“That way,” you said. “Looks like there are more…”

“Good,” he nodded. “Lead the way.”

You obeyed, following the small path through the grass that it appeared that the rabbit you were tracking had taken.

It really hadn’t been far ahead of you at that point and you caught up with it a few minutes later, Joel putting an arm out to stop you and Ellie from moving closer and startling it. He looked to Ellie and jerked his head toward the rabbit. She nodded once and slung the rifle off her back before lining up to shoot. You watched her as she did, not wanting to see rabbit die if you could help it. She took a deep breath and fired before a look of satisfaction spread over her features.

“Fuck yes,” she nodded, smiling a little. You looked over. The rabbit was dead on its side, its tan fur fluttering in the wind.

“Good shot,” Joel nodded. “Go grab it, we’ll find a place to camp for the night.”

There was a cliff line that made for decent shelter and the three of you settled in there for the night. You built a fire while Joel and Ellie dressed the rabbit before you put it over the fire to cook.

You liked the quiet of evenings like this. It felt almost oddly domestic, not so different from grilling in the yard by the pool or cooking while the news was on in the background and Sarah told Joel about her day. Just part of the routine the three of you had settled into over the past few weeks.

It seemed like Boston was a lifetime ago now, not just over a month. You could hardly remember what life without Joel and Ellie had been like anymore. It felt like they’d just always been there. Sometimes, when you thought about spending time with Andrew and Jess and the kids, you found yourself wondering where Joel and Ellie had been - were they sick? In another room? - before you remembered that they hadn’t been anywhere besides just not with you. They hadn’t been a part of you yet.

Ellie fell asleep and you sat, leaning against Joel, already zipped into your sleeping bag to ward off the cold.

“Gettin’ close to Casper,” he said, looking at the fire.

“Hmm.”

“Thinkin’ that’s gonna be our best shot at runnin’ into people and infected in weeks,” he continued. “Unless we wanted to try and skirt around it…”

“What do you think?” You frowned, glancing up at him. He sounded oddly unsure. The only time you’d ever left the QZ without Joel had been the one run to Lincoln you’d made when you first met Bill and Frank. Every time, he was cool and certain. Even for this trip, unless someone was at gunpoint, Joel was self assured. He’d consult Tess, but it was usually just that - consultation. It wasn’t to ask for help, just to make sure his partner was on board. This was different. It sounded like he didn’t know.

“Normally, I’d say let’s go to Casper,” he said. “Or at least close to it. See what we can find. Probably be a good place to resupply, somewhere we can stay for a few days, rest, get cleaned up, see if anyone knows Tommy. But…”

He broke off for a moment before he looked at you.

“Baby, it just feels like too damn big a risk with you and her.”

You frowned.

“Do you think we’ll hold you back that much?” You asked.

“No,” he shook his head and looked back at the fire. “It’s not that. It’s just… They tried to take you, tried to kill her. What if I can’t stop it next time? Rather never find Tommy and just live in the wild than lose you…”

“We need to find the Fireflies,” you said, pressing closer to him.

He sighed.

“I know.”

“If there are people - assuming they’re friendly people - then we should try,” you looked up at him, your head on his chest.

He sighed again.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll at least come up to the edge, see what we can see. But no offering yourself up or I swear…”

“Swear what?” You asked, half teasing, when he didn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll make sure you regret it,” he said.

“That I’d like to see,” you yawned. He scoffed. “Wake me up for my watch.”

***

The outskirts of Casper were quiet. Joel didn’t fucking trust it.

For starters, it was quiet of animal life, too. Like the wild things knew to give it a wide berth. There were people around. He could feel it.

He just wasn’t sure where the fuck they were. He’d have to try to go into the city.

“Stick close,” he said, snow drifting down in delicate, lazy flakes.

He led the way into the city - if you could even call it that, civilization in this part of the country was so goddamn small, rotted away so bad that he knew it must have been in shit shape when the world ended - keeping an eye out for any signs of people.

The signs were there. The people weren’t.

The closer the three of you got to the river, the more signs of humanity there were. Buildings that had clearly been maintained over the last 20 years, laundry - though stained and torn - hanging on lines, chickens pecking a scraps in enclosures. People had been here and they’d been here recently.

“Where is everyone?” You asked quietly. So you saw it all, too.

“Fuck if I know,” Joel muttered. “But nowhere good, I’m sure…”

“Ellie!” You hissed and Joel’s head whipped around. The kid was on a porch, opening a door. “Get back here!”

“No one’s around,” she shrugged. “And if you guys don’t want to look for reasons why…”

She opened the door and went inside. You looked, exasperated, at Joel and took off after her.

“Fuck,” Joel swore, following you into the house.

“Ellie!” You looked around, bypassing the living room and the stairs, heading for the back of the house. “We need to get out of here…”

“They left in a hurry,” she said, standing by the kitchen table. There were three plates sitting there, half eaten food covered in a layer of mold. “Doc, how long would that take to grow?”

“It varies a lot depending on the kind of mold and it’s not like I have a microscope with me,” you sighed. “But probably a week?”

“So whatever made them leave is probably long gone, right?” Ellie looked at you, her brows raised. “Probably nothing to worry about, right?”

“We should move,” Joel said, grinding his teeth, getting you and Ellie back outside. Ellie walked in front, looking around, her thumbs looped through her backpack straps.

“What are you thinking?” You asked quietly, voice low.

He glanced at you, cautiously.

“Raiders,” he whispered. “Looks like just the shit they’d do if the town just decided to stop paying them off…”

You nodded slowly and Joel looked straight ahead.

He’d never had a proper conversation with you about what he’d done before he came to the QZ. He told himself for years that it could have been worse. He wasn’t really a raider. He never raped anyone. He didn’t hurt women if he could help it, never children. When him and Tommy would partner up with a raider party, he’d make that deal: no women, no kids. By anyone in the group.

But that shit didn’t mean much. He’d still killed people he didn’t need to kill. He’d still terrorized communities to make them pay for protection. He’d hurt people who didn’t deserve it. He’d been so numb to it at the time - Sarah gone, believing you were gone, too - that he didn’t give a fuck about anything. He was trying to survive, he told himself. Trying to keep Tommy alive.

All the while, he could have just gone to a fucking QZ. If he had, he’d have found you sooner. Maybe gotten past his own bullshit sooner.

No, he didn’t want raiders to know you or the girl existed. That was too goddamn dangerous. But he also didn’t want to face his own shit because raiders turned up.

The three of you made it up to the river, looking around for some indication of people. But everyone was gone.

“I guess we just keep heading for…” you began, but a voice cut you off.

“Hello!” Someone yelled.

You and Ellie spun to face the sound, Joel raised his rifle. A man - maybe more of a boy, he was maybe 20 - came out from in between two buildings, his hands up.

“Stay back!” Joel barked. “Or I’ll fucking shoot you!”

“That…” the man stopped and laughed darkly. “That would actually be a big help. I got bit, ankle, about a day ago. And I can’t…. I keep trying to and I…” He started getting choked up.

“Oh shit,” Ellie breathed.

“Joel,” you looked at him. He scowled and lowered the gun.

“No,” the guy drew closer. “No, man, I wasn’t kidding…”

You slipped your pack from your shoulders to the ground.

“I’ve got a better way to do it,” you said, your voice kind. You went to a large rock, on the bank of the river, and patted the spot on the rock next to you.

“Doc,” Ellie put her back to the man as he came closer. Her eyes were wide. “Do you think… can we try my blood? Just… just in case it could work?”

“Oh honey,” you smiled sadly at her. “No. Even if that would work, if he was bitten yesterday, it’s too late. It’s a lot better if he doesn’t go through the change, if I just euthanize him.”

She set her jaw and nodded slowly.

“You don’t have to save anyone, Ellie,” you said quietly. “It’s not your job to save anyone but yourself.”

The man kept his distance, his arms still up. Joel took Ellie by the shoulder and tucked her behind him, his rifle still ready.

“It’s OK,” you assured him. “Just come sit here and I’ll confirm the bite and then give you a shot. It’ll be just like going to sleep.” He still stayed a few feet away. “You’re not going to scare me, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s OK. It’ll be OK.”

He sat on the rock beside you and Joel kept Ellie back, her peering out from behind him to watch you.

“Show me where you were bit?” You asked, your voice kind and calm as you pulled a euth kit from your bag. The man tugged the hem of his jeans up and you leaned forward, looking at the injury. Even from a few feet away, Joel could tell it was infected. You nodded a little. “I’m sure this is no surprise but yes, you were bitten by an infected person.”

“Yeah, the mushrooms growing out of their face was a dead give away,” he laughed a little, his voice thick.

“What’s your name?” You asked, unpacking the kit. His eyes were on your hands as you worked.

“Jason,” he said quietly. “Jason Small.”

“Alright Jason,” you held the needle in your hand. “It’ll take a few minutes to kick in so you’ll have that time but before we get going, is there anything you want to say? Anything you want someone to know?”

He looked at you for a moment.

“No,” he laughed again, dark and sharp. “No, fuck, I never really did jack shit with my life. No one left to miss.”

“What happened?” Ellie stepped out from behind Joel. You gave her a look that she promptly ignored. You looked to Joel for help but he just shrugged “Where is everyone?”

“Raiders showed up about a week and a half ago,” he said. “Wanted payment for services but they showed up weeks earlier than normal, we didn’t have payment… They killed a bunch of people, not that Casper was ever huge to begin with, it’s not like we were a QZ and FEDRA left us alone. The people the raiders didn’t kill took off, mostly headed south because of the winter but… well, we started getting infected coming up from that direction not too long after. Probably following the trail of fucking people…”

“Thank you,” you said kindly, shooting Ellie a glare before turning back to the man. “OK Jason, are you ready for me to inject you? It’ll just be a small pinch, you’ll have a few minutes of feeling normal and then you’ll feel really tired. It’s just like going to sleep. I’ll stay with you, if you want. So you’re not alone.”

He nodded slowly.

“Nothing left to really hang out for,” he shrugged. “But… if you could stay… I think I’d like that.”

Joel looked off toward the water.

“Joel,” you said, your voice soft and calm. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you take Ellie up that way a bit, I’ll catch up.”

He opened his mouth to argue but you gave him a look. He sighed.

“C’mon, Ellie,” he steered her away from the scene.

The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes, putting some distance between you and them - something Joel didn’t like at fuck all.

“She did that a lot, didn’t she?” Ellie asked, looking up at him. “Euthanizing people, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Joel sighed. “Yeah, she did.”

“Fuckin’ sucks,” she trudged along the sidewalk, kicking at the broken concrete.

They found some rocks that were out of sight of you and Jason. Joel sat down on one.

“If there was a cure, no one would have to do that shit,” she said, staring at her knees. “Right?”

“I don’t know,” Joel said after a moment, looking at the girl. “But I don’t think people would need to be doing it quite as often.”

She nodded slowly.

“There’s a lot of shit riding on my blood, isn’t there?” She looked at him. He looked back. He was reminded - again - of Sarah. This time, it was of when she first started understanding that she didn’t have a mom like the other kids at school, when she was trying to figure out whether or not it was her fault.

“No,” Joel said. She looked surprised. “Your blood is your blood, all that’s ridin’ on it is keepin’ you alive. If Doc and those other scientists can figure out how to do more with it, great, but that’s not on you or your blood. The infected are on the infected, on the governments who didn’t do enough to stop it, on a lot of shit. Not you, not your blood. Got it?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. He wasn’t sure she believed him.

You trudged up the sidewalk, tears in your eyes, a few minutes later. You were missing a ribbon on your braid.

“He’s gone,” you said, voice thick. “It was peaceful. He did ask if there was anything else we wanted to know, so I asked about the radio tower. He said he thinks it’s an old tower that was used by the National Parks Service for things like fire warnings and such, out at Grand Tetons. The name Tommy Miller didn’t ring a bell, though.”

“What happened?” Ellie said, nodding to your braid. “With your…”

“Oh,” you glanced down at it. “The ribbons apparently reminded him of his sister. She died a few years back. He wanted to hold it, I didn’t want to take it from him…”

Joel pulled you against him and pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you to him for a moment.

“We should move,” he said. “Get the fuck out of here before we run into raiders or infected.”

You nodded and Joel led the way back on the road.

It was two more days before you ran into more people. And it was far less friendly.

The snow was thicker now, making you easy to track. It made Joel nervous. His whole body was tense, his jaw squared, his hand almost absentmindedly stroking the butt of the rifle as the three of you walked through the woods.

He heard them half a second before he saw them, three men encircling your trio like a snare. Joel raised the rifle quickly and you threw Ellie behind you, backing up so she was tucked safely between you and Joel.

“Hey, hey,” the first man said, his gun drawn. “Let’s take it easy, no need to make this any harder than it has to be…”

“Right,” Joel said. “So why don’t you just leave us be and we’ll be on our way…”

“Afraid we can’t do that,” the second man said. “There’s a toll to pass through our territory. One I’m sure we’d remember if you paid…”

“Bet you fuckin’ would,” Joel’s gun was still up, his eyes darting between the three men. “We’ve got some jerky. Otherwise, you’re shit out of luck.”

“Think you’ve got a bit more than that,” the third man said, leering at you and Ellie. “Think we can be quick, take turns…”

You looked to Joel, your eyes wide, as the third man took you by the arm and pulled you back against him.

“Fuck you, motherfucker!” Ellie moved to charge him but Joel grabbed her by the shoulder and ripped her back, delaying him getting a shot off. You were further away now and he started plotting the plan of attack, just who he was going to kill first, how to get you back safely.

But Joel had underestimated you. Luckily, so had the men, not bothering to restrain your hands in any way. You went for the knife that was strapped to your waist and you freed it, bringing it up and then down in one swift, hard motion, catching the man with the thigh.

He screamed and shoved you away and you stumbled forward. Joel grabbed you and threw you behind him, next to Ellie, before he shot the man with the gun and then the man who’d been holding you, dropping them both with a single shot before turning the gun on the last remaining man.

“Weapons,” he barked. “Drop ‘em.” The man froze. “MOVE!”

He pulled a gun from his holster and dropped it into the snow in front of him before he did the same with a knife.

“Good,” Joel growled before he glanced to you. “You OK Baby?”

“Yeah,” your voice was shaky but he nodded.

“You did good, Baby,” he said, keeping his gun on the man. “You did real good. I need you to take Ellie and keep goin’ the way we were walking, at least a quarter mile, no more than half. Find a good place to wait for me. I’ll get you.”

“Joel,” you began but he cut you off.

“Need to have a conversation with our friend here,” he said. “See you in just a minute.”

He felt your eyes on him. After a moment, you obeyed, leading Ellie quietly into the woods. Joel turned his full attention to the man.

“This’ll be a lot easier if you just tell me what I want to know,” Joel said, keeping the gun trained on the man. “I’d rather not scare my girls with you screamin’ so don’t give me a reason to make you.”

“Look,” the main said, his hands up. Joel cut him off.

“Don’t remember askin’ you a question,” he replied. The man shut up. He was younger, maybe in his early 30s. He didn’t know shit about shit. “How many people are out here?”

“Just the three of us,” the man said quickly. “We’re cousins, had a family settlement not too far from here but my sister got bit, we’re the only ones who lived.”

“And you just stayed out this way?” Joel asked. “Terrorizing people passin’ through?”

“It’s hard out here, man,” his voice cracked. “Don’t have many resources…”

“Not here for your fuckin’ sob stories,” Joel snapped. “So this is your territory? Won’t run into anyone else out here?”

“No, no one else,” the man said quickly. “It’s just us, we haven’t seen anyone in weeks…”

Joel nodded.

“So what was your fuckin’ cousin planning to do to my girl?” He asked, grip tightening on the gun.

“Look man, he didn’t mean anything by it,” he said quickly. “Just lookin’ to trade, that’s all…”

Joel lowered the gun and fired a round into the man’s thigh, making him drop to his knees with a pained scream.

“I wasn’t going to touch her,” he was sobbing. “I swear I wasn’t…”

“I think we both know that’s bullshit,” Joel said, pressing closer. “You plannin’ on raping all the women who come through here or is mine just special? Hm?”

“Haven’t seen a woman in weeks,” he choked and sobbed. “Please, he was just… we were desperate, that’s all…”

“Think that’s an excuse?” Joel asked. His blood was hot. This man and his friends had threatened you and Ellie. Wanted to hurt you. He’d hurt him. “Last chance. Anyone else out this way?”

“No,” the man was sobbing now. “No, I swear, we’re it, we’re it for… fuck, probably 100 miles west…”

“Good,” Joel said, aiming the gun for his head and shooting him there. He dropped like a rock.

Joel collected what was worth taking from the bodies - mostly ammunition - and walked to find the two of you.

It didn’t take long. You and Ellie were sitting close together on a fallen log. He slung the rifle back over his shoulder.

“You both OK?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Fine,” Ellie said, glancing at you.

The three of you walked a few more miles that day before stopping, Joel filling you in on the status of nearby people on the way. You spotted a place where the tree canopy was thicker, the snow cover on the ground a bit less dense. It should be a good place to spread out the sleeping bags without freezing. He dug out a place nearby for the fire pit.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you said before quickly walking into the woods. Joel looked to Ellie for a moment. She seemed oddly calm, reading a comic book in the remaining daylight with her back against a tree, sitting out of the snow.

“I”m goin’ for firewood,” he said. She just nodded absently.

Joel went in the woods after you. It didn’t take him long to find you, only five minutes from the site he’d picked to spend the night. You were pressed back against a tree, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. He approached you slowly, his hands up.

“Hey Baby,” he said quietly. You jumped, looking around for a moment before you spotted him.

“Hey,” your voice was wet. You wiped your tears away. “Sorry, I can get back…”

“No,” he stepped closer. “No, you don’t need to… I just wanted to see if you were OK.”

“I’ll be fine,” you wiped your eyes again and sniffed. “Really, it’s not a big deal…”

He watched you for a moment.

“Can I touch you?” He asked. You looked up at him, confused. “It just seemed like that was awful close to what… what he did to you and you didn’t want me touchin’ you when he showed up in the QZ. I don’t want to hurt you, just take care of you.”

“You can touch me,” you nodded. “Please touch me…”

He moved to stand in front of you and pulled you gently against him, wrapping you in his arms, kissing the crown of your head.

“How’d you know?” You asked after a moment. “Did Andrew tell you?”

He paused, his hands keeping a steady rhythm as they moved up and down your back.

“A bit,” he said eventually. “The rest… well, I… I wanted to know what happened. Felt like you’d lived it so I should, too. So I made him tell me before I killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Joel,” you said softly. “Shouldn’t have to think about that…”

“Should have been there,” he replied. “Should have been able to step in faster today, you shouldn’t have needed to do a damn thing…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Joel,” you pressed your cheek tighter to his chest. “Not then, not now. It wasn’t.”

He held you for a while and you stretched up and planted a kiss on his throat, sending a shiver through him. He pulled you closer.

“Want you,” you said quietly.

“Baby,” he groaned. “Not a good idea…”

“Why not?” You asked, pulling back from him slightly. He cupped your face in his hand.

“Just had something pretty fuckin’ terrible almost happen to you,” he said gently. “We shouldn’t…”

“But I want to feel you,” you breathed. “Need to feel close to you, just for a minute. You said we should be safe out here… Please, Joel…”

You pressed yourself against him, looking up at him with wide and desperate eyes. He gritted his teeth, glancing back toward the campsite.

“We have to be quick, Baby,” he said. “Can’t leave Ellie for too long. And it’s cold…”

You were already unbuttoning your pants, stepping out of one boot so you could free one leg of your jeans. He opened his jeans and freed his cock, rubbing it a few times, already hard in spite of the cold air.

“Gotta keep it down,” he breathed as he pressed you back against the tree. “Ellie ain’t far…”

With that, he trailed one finger through your slit, the heat of you almost shocking against the cold. He gathered some of your wetness and spread it over himself, jerking himself twice more before he lifted you, your arms going around his neck as he lined himself up with your entrance.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he warned, already panting for breath. You nodded eagerly, your eyes still wet. He pressed into you and pulled you down onto him.

He kept your back against the tree and your legs went around his hips, pulling him deeper. He groaned, your pussy gripping him so fucking tight. He kissed you as he started to fuck into you, taking things slow but hard, the head of him pressing into your back wall with every stroke.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moaned. “Fuck, I love you, I needed… This is what I needed…”

His hips worked harder and faster against yours, one hand coming around to the place between you so he could press against your clit while he worked himself into you.

It always felt fucking incredible being inside you but something about this time - knowing that you’d almost been hurt and the only reason he was inside you now was because you weren’t, that you trusted him enough with your body to want him - need him - right now - was driving him over the edge quickly.

“Need you to cum for me Baby,” he kissed down your jaw to your throat.

“Joel,” you whimpered, your voice wet. He pulled back from you, looking in your eyes. You were crying again. But before he could pull back from you, your fingers wound in his hair, pulling his mouth to yours, your legs tightening around him. He licked into your mouth, pressing his tongue deep, trying to devour your fear.

He pulled back from you just enough to speak.

“I’ve got you Baby,” he breathed. “I’ve got you, I’ll keep you safe. Not going to let anyone hurt you, not going to let anyone take you from me, I’ll protect you, promise I’ll protect you…”

You came with a shuddering moan, the fluttering of your walls triggering his own orgasm as he emptied himself into you. You went slack on him, your face buried against his neck, and he just held you for a moment, his spent cock still inside you, noticing the cold air again for the first time since he entered you. After a minute, your lips brushed his cheek.

“I’m OK,” you said quietly, pulling back from him. Your eyes were dryer, you looked calmer.

“Are you OK to go back?” He asked, still holding you. You nodded. He pulled himself slowly, gently from your body and tucked himself away before helping you get dressed again.

Joel built the three of you a big fire that night, the flames licking high, casting heat you could feel from yards away. You smiled and dealt for Texas Hold ‘Em and Joel let Ellie win - a fact she adored. When the time came to sleep, you curled around Ellie and Joel curled around you, feeling the warmth of you tucked safely against him.

“Love you,” he whispered when he was sure Ellie was asleep. “Promise I’ll keep you safe, Baby. I promise.”

A/N: This was it, the last OC chapter before we get back into the canon overlap. EVERYONE GET READYYYYYYYYYYY :D

I hope you enjoyed this little diversion and some exploration of the time between Kansas City and Jackson. I know I did :)

I do have a tag list. If you'd like to be added, please comment below. If you've asked to be added and don't see your name on the list, please comment again! I'm sorry I missed you! If you've asked to be added and your name is on the list BUT you're not being tagged, Tumblr won't let me tag some blogs. I'm not sure why! I keep the names on the taglist in hopes that they one day can be tagged. But alas, today is not that day.

Thank you thank you thank you all for reading and caring about these characters! You make it so fun to explore this world. Love you all!

Taglist: @paleidiot@ayamenimthiriel@ginger-swag-rapunzel @drewharrisonwriter @flugazi @pedropascalsbbg @taoyuji @starstruckmusiciansartghost @splendsay @bigboiseason123 @jpbplvr @ashleyandring. @mrsyixingunicorn10 @sloanexx @ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn. @hufflepuffriver@sarap-77 @storyarcscribe @mellymbee. @jasminedragoon @lemonmeli. @reds-ramblings @arizonadaydreamer @mumma-moonchild @blackroseguzzi @candypeaches16 @kittenlittle24 @wrappedinfiction @oatmeaiboy @pedritosdarling @winchestergypsy90 @imnotdatboii @lalalalemonade11 @maknimuk1 @mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes @pedrosaidsheispunk @commanderawkward @n7cje @elliesgirlll @tsunamistorm123 @spookyxsam @leeeesahhh @anoverwhelmingdin. @untamedheart81. @pedropascalfan221 @pedr0swh0r3. @pedrobae @fifia-writes @fatima-marisa

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic

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