#loved their duo from the first episode
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Its 8(almost 9) am and I’m now going to sleep, just wished to tell you all one simple thing before i do:
Kai smith would’ve been the sh*ttiest green ninja ever.
-jay walker.
#lego ninjago#ninjago#kai smith#jay walker#lets be real theyre biggest haters are each other#kai will make fun of Jay at any given opportunity#and i demand jay making fun of kais dumb moments more often#loved their duo from the first episode#jay full on smacking kai telling him off for being dumb#was SO funny im sorry#i think thats how it went#pretty sure it was#ninjago kai#kai ninjago#ninjago jay#jay ninjago#this was originally just gonna be me saying it#but i realised how mych it would fit jay#i just KNOW he was the second pettiest with the whole green ninja thing
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
i saw a post saying boom was good bc it feels like it could be done with any doctor/companion duo and honestly that was one of the things i felt was wrong with it
#in a show with a title character that could be Literally Anyone and a companion sharing the lead that could be Literally Anyone#i value the little moments that set this duo apart from the rest. ESPECIALLY when it comes to returning writers like rtd/moff#fifteen and ruby felt a little too eleven/twelve and clara adjacent in boom. in both their dialogue and characterization#space babies also landed a little weird at first bc it lifted a bit from end of the world BUT the scenes that fifteen and ruby#had to themselves. like ruby getting covered in snot and fifteen laughing. or fifteen and ruby looking after the Space Babies#or fifteen going out of his way to save the monster bc that monster is the only one of its kind Just Like Him Fr#that stuff is so good and its also something we haven't seen from another nuwho doctor. the vulnerable bleeding-heart empathy#and a dynamic w a companion that is basically 'two troublemakers that just deeply love fun and adventure and getting into trouble together'#oh yeah and also the devil's chord was peak fiction because it touches on fifteen's renewed connection and love for humanity#and marries it to ruby being a musician and how music like any art is the expression of the human soul etc etc#WHAT MAKES A DOCTOR WHO STORY GOOD TO ME IS PARTLY HOW THE PREMISE TIES INTO THE DOCTOR AND COMPANION'S CHARACTERS#IT HAS TO FEEL LIKE IT WAS TAILOR MADE TO THEM. ELSE IT WONT LAND RIGHT TO ME#i hate the take that they should've saved wild blue yonder for a fifteen episode bc#the tension is hinged on how well the doctor/companion know each other. u have a level of it that u can ONLY get#with fourteen and donna who are two halves of a whole soul but have also spent much more time missing the other than knowing them#im not rewatching fifteen's eps rn until a week later when i can watch it w my qpp but#rn i still feel a stronger sense of fifteen and ruby's characters from all the rtd-written eps rather moffat#which like. i get that a lot of that is my personal dislike of moffat's writing style but still#dr who#15 era#dw spoilers
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
you guys have no idea how hard i laughed at this scene-
even luffy's "ohhh!" moment after kills me i love them so much-
#one piece#one piece live action#roronoa zoro#monkey d. luffy#opla episode 5#summer.txt#summer.jpg#your honor they're my fave duo in op <33#i watched very few eps of the anime and know em mostly from insta reels but yeah they're my fave in the anime and live action ahasjdfhadfa#the most precious pirate dynamics really is one between the captain and first mate#like with crow and sarah from the sea beast too#man soon it'll be me with ofmd and black sails i'm excited to revive my pirate love~
140 notes
·
View notes
Text
thinking abt link click this fine day GOD first and probably will be the best donghua i'll watch ever aueghhhhh it's lowkey utena 2.0 for me (i still prefer utena but linkclick is basically on that level) it's just so solid and well crafted and compelling RAHHH
the opening song too???? it didn't take too long to realise!! something had changed in the back of my miiind!! your eyes!!!!! there ain't nowhere left to hide behind!! time no longer flew like it was... when the flash froze everything before... without you.. i don't know if i could take this road.... okay i'll stop there or i WILL type out the whole op
#i haven't even watched s2 yet also when i tell you i saw official merch in a mall and i JUMPED at it#i could ramble abt link click all day#the animation ofc is gorg even if it can look a bit goofy and off model sometimes#THE STORYTELLING.... insanity (affectionate)#the first episode is extremely compelling from the get go with no bulky exposition it's conveyed naturally and immediately introduces us to#-the main 'gimmick' for lack of a better word and still hits so many emotional beats in the FIRST EPISODE#characterises our main trio (less so qiao ling but we see her more later) AND fleshes out a stranger's life in 20 minutes????#(the whole thing is that they dive back in time thru photos to solve clients problems so each episode introduces us to new strangers with-#-different backstories and problems and characterisation and the DEPTH with which they're portrayed is lovely)#all while also furthering our understanding of the main duo of cheng xiaoshi and lu guang AND with broader story things happening in the bg#not to mention ofc the chinese title of the donghua is 时光代理人 quite literally time agents and the way i was like waitttt#程小时 as in xiaoshi like hours and 陆光 put it tgt and u got the shiguang in the title as in time so they complement each other.... oughhh#but yeah the way they handle levity and humour and balance it with drama and tragedy is perfect godd it's wonderful#link click#personal
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Desert duo is a disease and I am on my goddamn death bed
#limited life spoilers#I am not ok#idk how I will recover from this like actually#THEY’RE JUST SO. AHG#this episode was for the desert duo enjoyers#life!desertduo is so tragic and awful and lovely and I CARE ABOUT THEM#‘-what do you need?’ ‘..love’#HEAD IN HANDS.#Scar hasn’t had love in any duo he’s been in in any season so far#Grian sure as hell didn’t give him any#and he was practically completely isolated in last life except for red life Joel#but red lives don’t have alliances so naturally he wouldn’t get love from there. red lives don’t do love#not really#the clockers is the first alliance Scar has ever been in where he has actually been loved for real#(found family stay winning)#Grian was the closest to love Scar really had#but even then it was only really an unstable loyalty held together by guilt fate and the cruel forces of the universe#the clockers trust him with weapons#with tnt#they care for him and they love him and they TRUST him#even when he makes mistakes. even when those mistakes cost lives. they still love him#that’s new to him#sorry for the mental illness on that specific quote it just GOT ME#anyways#this is all platonic btw#desert duo#life series#limited life#limited life scar#goodtimeswithscar
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rookie Shakes decided to show his slick, new boots to his Strike Partner, Klaus, that Coach and his mom gift him, after they won against Invincible United:
this was about two years ago made on ibis 💀
#supa strikas#supastrikas#supablr#supa strikas shakes#supa strikas klaus#supa strikas rookie season#You can't tell me otherwise that this isn't canon in “A Night To Remember Rookie Season Episode 12”#I absolutely love Shakes first Strike Partner is Klaus and Rookie Season showcase their sweet wholesome friendship :')#No wonder they're so close in the main series. Shakes was so open and comfortable with him! 😭#Klaus throughout in “Ghost Of A Chance RS E4” was just an absolute disaster parent towards Shakes- I LOVE HIM!#Also LOVE the detail of their first practice together is doing the “Quick One-Two” which reference back to episode “Suit Yourself S3E4”#Which is Klaus first episode focusing on him as a character :')))#HECK they even reference “It's a Classic” of One-Two in Rookie Season too which is also from “Suit Yourself S3E4” (I love this duo so much-
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Streamer Baby : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen
summary: when max leaves you and your daughter to stream for the night, only one of you is happy to let max go and play for a while
Max’s eyes lit up as soon as he walked into your apartment, heavy footsteps thudding through. He dropped to his knees as your daughter ran through to meet him, leaping up straight into his arms. His grip was tight as her arms wrapped around his neck, kicking her legs excitably at the sight of her dad returning home. After a couple of moments you followed through, joining the duo as Max pressed a kiss against the top of your head. Max’s free arm wrapped around you, inviting you into their hug as the three of you walked back into the apartment, all entangled in with one another.
“I can’t stay for long,” Max told you, placing your daughter back down. “Don’t forget I’ve got that charity stream tonight.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget,” you smiled, heading back into the kitchen to carry on preparing dinner for the three of you.
“Where are you going daddy?” Your daughter asked, her hand still resting on Max’s leg to make sure that he couldn’t run away from her.
“I’ve just got a bit of work to do sweetheart,” he smiled, brushing his hand over the top of her head. “I promise that I won’t be too long.”
“You’re stuck with mummy for a little while longer,” you joked, trying your best to keep her smiling.
“I’d rather be stuck with mummy then do what I have to do tonight,” Max grinned, bending down and lifting your daughter up, a loud squeal escaping from her.
“You can try and make me feel better, but I know she’s a daddy’s girl,” you assured Max, appreciating the efforts that he went to. He couldn’t help it, he felt guilty sometimes that your daughter clung to him more than you, but you didn’t mind, being a spectator of their relationship was pretty special too.
“I’ll make sure that I’m done so I can come and say goodnight,” Max informed you both, placing your daughter down in one of the dining chairs just to the side of where you were. He walked around and grabbed himself a drink and a snack from the fridge before heading for the door. “If you need anything, you know where I am,” he smiled, pressing a kiss against the top of your daughter’s head, moving around to kiss the side of yours too before leaving the two of you to it.
A sigh came from Max as he closed the door behind himself, hearing the groans of your daughter cry out straight away. He felt helpless as you called out her name in the hope that she would stop complaining, but it wasn’t to be. Whilst George headed upstairs, you found a couple of her toys lying around the kitchen floor, picking them up and placing them in front of her, only for her to chuck them to one side.
“I want to play with daddy,” she cried out, folding her arms in front of her chest, a habit of Max’s she’d definitely picked up.
“I want to spend time with daddy too, but he’s busy,” you weakly smiled, picking the toys back up off the floor.
“Why’s he busy?”
“Because he’s working,” you explained, opening up the kitchen door again to place the toys back in their box. “Why don’t you go and watch the television sweetheart then mummy can get on with sorting dinner?”
“Can I watch Bluey?” She excitedly asked, offering the first hint of a smile she’d shown since Max left the room.
“You can watch whatever you want,” you replied, keen to keep that smile on her face for as long as you possibly could. “I’m sure once daddy is done with work he’d love to come and watch Bluey with you too.”
“Daddy’s coming now?” She quizzed, not quite understanding what you meant.
“Soon,” you spoke, only for her smile to fade again. You quickly turned the television on, hurrying to find any episode that you could to put on and distract your daughter. Once you had one, you left her to it, heading back into the kitchen so that you could finish preparing dinner for the three of you without any distractions around.
Above where you were, Max was all set up with his headphones on, talking to some of his fellow drivers who were taking part in the charity stream. He was lost in his own little bubble until a stream of light came through the door leaving him unable to see what was happening on the screen, the light hitting the exact spot where his character was.
His eyes glanced to the door to see what was going on, only for a little figure to peer around the door frame, a cheeky smile etched on her face. “Love, what are you doing?” Max chuckled as he met your daughter’s eyes.
“I missed you,” she grinned, inviting herself into the room, her chaotic feet charging through the room to where he was.
“I’ve only been gone ten minutes,” Max laughed, bending down to pick her up anyway, sitting her down in his lap. Her arms immediately went around his chest, sticking to him tightly just in case anyone tried to take her away. He didn’t have the heart to tell her to move as she wriggled around to make herself comfortable, her hair flicking in front of the screen over and over again. The boys were baffled on the end of the line as Max’s character was killed, he’d gone from top of the leaderboard to bottom of the pack in no time at all, all thanks to the troublemaker cuddled up to him.
Usually Max hated coming last, especially when it came to impressing on stream, but for once Max could make an allowance. His weakness was absolutely your daughter, every single person that knew Max could tell you that too, which was why it didn’t take long for the other boys to figure out why Max had suddenly plummeted to the bottom of the rankings.
“Have you got a little guest?” Charles laughed through his headset as Max’s character was shot again.
“I might have a team mate,” Max sniggered in response, “not that she’s exactly doing a good job of helping me right now.”
“Don’t use your child to cover the fact you’re rubbish at this game,” Lando teased, celebrating being the one to defeat Max.
“I’m being honest,” Max chuckled, glancing down at your daughter again. “You just wait until you have kids one day, you won’t be able to get anything done anymore without a little figure following you around constantly.”
“Why don’t you just tell her to go away?” Lando jokingly quizzed, hearing several groans from many of the drivers through his headphones.
“Shut up Lando,” Max grinned, “do you hear how stupid you sound sometimes?”
As the game restarted, Max tried his best to focus again without your daughter getting in the way. That was soon interrupted again though when you peered through the door, smiling softly when you saw your daughter cuddled up to Max, relieved to see that she was safe in the hold of her father.
“She just couldn’t stay away,” Max laughed, knowing exactly what you were looking at.
“I had no idea where she’d gone,” you grinned with a shake of your head. “One minute she was there, the next she was gone.”
“I knew she wasn’t going to leave me alone for long,” Max smiled, taking his headphones off for a moment. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her to go back downstairs again.”
“It’s alright, she’s not getting in the way though, is she?” You asked him.
“I’ve lost every round.”
Oh,” you smirked, unable to hold back your laughter. “It’s for charity so I don’t think you’re allowed to get mad about that.”
“I also don’t think I have the heart to get mad at this one either,” he chuckled, nodding down at your daughter.
“No way, she’s a daddy’s girl after all.”
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
#f1#f1 imagine#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 reaction#formula one#max verstappen drabble#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#formula one x you#formula x reader#formula 1 drabble#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 drabble#f1 fluff#f1 x you
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE
pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader
summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?
warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.
⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅
“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”
Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.
“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.
“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.
She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.
Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.
A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.
He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.
Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.
She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.
“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”
“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.
Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.
But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.
Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.
“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.
Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.
“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.
As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.
She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.
“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.
She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.
“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.
Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.
“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.
He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.
It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.
“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.
There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.
“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.
Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.
Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.
Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.
“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.
Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.
Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.
“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.
Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.
Guilt and jealousy.
Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.
“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.
Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.
“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.
Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?
“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.
“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.
Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.
“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”
“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.
Please let this be a nightmare.
Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.
“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”
“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.
“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.
A full stomach meant nausea.
“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.
Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.
“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.
Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.
“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.
She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.
Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.
She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.
“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.
“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.
JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.
Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?
“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.
“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”
Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.
“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.
Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.
“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.
Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.
“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.
“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.
“Okay.”
Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.
You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.
So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.
Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.
One step at a time, one day at a time.
You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.
For now, at least.
✦ want to be the first to know when i post? message me about being put on the taglist!
@viswifetotallyreal @lillysbigwilly @overtrred28 @corpsebridenightamare @gimalo135 @erikaar @i-love-milfs2 @lllijeu @softieciubs @sqandroct14 @me-and-your-husband @blssm-cherry @lovelyygirl8 @cacti-succulents-andlesbians @ucannotcompare @yazzi111 @rainletty21 @meah-06 @hyunjinswhoresworld @marine-mayday @jokerpokimoon @ihatehughgrant @kristyslostsoul @macaroni676 @eveshyper @lil-elliesgf @fuckingstarellie @gold-dustwomxn @madislayyy @moonbluz @vianna99
#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x you#military!ellie williams#the last of us x reader#the last of us x you#the last of us x y/n#the last of us#tlou fanfiction#tlou#tlou x reader#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams fic#ellie williams angst#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams smut#tlou2#ellie tlou#the last of us 2#the last of us x female reader#tlou part two#tlou part ii
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
'...“It’s fun playing bad, but actually he’s not,” the actor says, smiling as he reflects on his character, Crowley. “He’s a villain with a heart. The amount of really evil things he does are vanishingly small.”
...As it always has, “Good Omens” dissects the view of good and evil as absolutes, showing viewers that they are not as separate as we were led to believe growing up. Aziraphale and Crowley’s long-standing union is proof of this. The show also urges people to look at what defines our own humanity. For Tennant — who opted to wear a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Leave trans kids alone you absolute freaks” during a photocall for Season 2 — these themes are more important now than ever before.
“In this society that we’re currently living in, where polarization seems ever more present, fierce and difficult to navigate. Negotiation feels like a dirty word at times,” he says, earnestly. “This is a show about negotiation. Two extremes finding common ground and making their world a better place through it. Making life easier, kinder and better. If that’s the sort of super objective of the show, then I can’t think of anything more timely, relevant or apt for the rather fractious times we’re living in.”
“Good Omens” is back by popular demand for another season. How does it feel?
It’s lovely. Whenever you send something out into the world, you never quite know how it will land. Especially with this, because it was this beloved book that existed, and that creates an extra tension that you might break some dreams. But it really exploded. I guess we were helped by the fact that we had Neil Gaiman with us, so you couldn’t really quibble too much with the decisions that were being made. The reception was, and continues to be, overwhelming.
Now that you’re no longer bound by the original material that people did, perhaps, feel a sense of ownership over, does the new content for Season 2 come with a sense of freedom for you? This is uncharted territory, of sorts.
That’s an interesting point. I didn’t know the book when I got the script. It was only after that I discovered the worlds of passion that this book had incited. Because I came to it that way, perhaps it was easier. I found liberation from that, to an extent. For me, it was always a character that existed in a script. At first, I didn’t have that extra baggage of expectation, but I acquired it in the run-up to Season 1 being released… the sense that suddenly we were carrying a ming vase across a minefield.
In Season 2, we still have Neil and we also have some of the ideas that he and Terry had discussed. During the filming of the first one, Neil would drop little hints about the notions they had for a prospective sequel, the title of which would have been “668: The Neighbour of the Beast,” which is a pretty solid gag to base a book around. Indeed there were elements like Gabriel and the Angels, who don’t feature in the book, that were going to feature in a sequel. They were brought forward into Season 1. So, even in the new episodes, we’re not entirely leaving behind the Terry Pratchett-ness of it all.
It’s great to see yourself and Michael Sheen reunited on screen as these characters. Fans will have also watched you pair up for Season 3 of “Staged.” You’re quite the dynamic duo. What do you think is the magic ingredient that makes the two of you such a good match?
It’s a slightly alchemical thing. We knew each other in passing before, but not well. We were in a film together [“Bright Young Things,” 1993] but we’d never shared a scene. It was a bit of a roll of the dice when we turned up at the read-through for “Good Omens.” I think a lot comes from the writing, as we were both given some pretty juicy material to work with. Those characters are beloved for a reason because there’s something magical about them and the way they complete each other. Also, I think we’re quite similar actors in the way we like to work and how we bounce off each other.
Does the shorthand and trust the two of you have built up now enable you to take more risks on-screen?
Yes, probably. I suppose the more you know someone, the more you trust someone. You don’t have to worry about how an idea might be received and you can help each other out with a more honest opinion than might be the case if you were, you know, dancing around each other’s nervous egos. Enjoying being in someone’s orbit and company is a positive experience. It makes going to work feel pleasant, productive, and creative. The more creative you can be, the better the work is. I don’t think it’s necessarily a given that an off-screen relationship will feed into an on-screen one in a positive or negative way. You can play some very intimate moments with someone you barely know. Acting is a peculiar little contract, in that respect. But it’s disproportionately pleasurable going to work when it’s with a mate.
Fans have long discussed the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. In Season 2, we see several of the characters debate whether the two are an item, prompting them to look at their union and decipher what it is. How would you describe their relationship?
They are utterly co-dependent. There’s no one else having the experience that they are having and they’ve only got each other to empathize with. It’s a very specific set of circumstances they’ve been dealt. In this season, we see them way back at the creation of everything. They’ve known each other a long time and they’ve had to rely on each other more and more. They can’t really exist one without the other and are bound together through eternity. Crowley and Aziraphale definitely come at the relationship with different perspectives, in terms of what they’re willing to admit to the relationship being. I don’t think we can entirely interpret it in human terms, I think that’s fair to say.
Yet fans are trying to do just that. Do you view it as beyond romantic or any other labels, in the sense that it’s an eternal force?
It’s lovely [that fans discuss it] but you think, be careful what you wish for. If you’re willing for a relationship to go in a certain way or for characters to end up in some sort of utopian future, then the story is over. Remember what happened to “Moonlighting,” that’s all I’m saying! [Laughs]
Your father-in-law, Peter Davison, and your son, Ty Tennant, play biblical father-and-son duo Job and Ennon in Episode 2. In a Tumblr Q&A, Neil Gaiman said that he didn’t know who Ty’s family was when he cast him. When did you become aware that Ty had auditioned?
I don’t know how that happened. I do a bunch of self-tapes with Ty, but I don’t think I did this one with him because I was out of town filming “Good Omens.” He certainly wasn’t cast before we started shooting. There were two moments during filming where Neil bowled up to me and said, “Guess, who we’ve cast?” Ty definitely auditioned and, as I understand it, they would tell me, he was the best. I certainly imagine he could only possibly have been the best person for the job. He is really good in it, so I don’t doubt that’s true. And then my father-in-law showed up, as well, which was another delicious treat. In the same episode and the same family! It was pretty weird. I have worked with both of them on other projects, but never altogether.
There’s a “Doctor Who” cameo, of sorts, in Episode 5, when Aziraphale uses a rare annual about the series as a bartering tool. In reality, you’ll be reprising your Time Lord role on screen later this year in three special episodes to mark the 60th anniversary. Did you always feel you’d return to “Doctor Who” at some point?
There’s a precedent for people who have been in the series to return for a multi-doctor show, which is lovely. I did it myself for the 50th anniversary in 2013, and I had a wonderful time with Matt [Smith]. Then, to have John Hurt with us, as well, was a little treat. But I certainly would never have imagined that I’d be back in “Doctor Who” full-time, as it were, and sort of back doing the same job I did all those years ago. It was like being given this delightful, surprise present. Russell T Davies was back as showrunner, Catherine Tate [former on-screen companion] was back, and it was sort of like the last decade and a half hadn’t happened.
Going forward, Ncuti Gatwa will be taking over as the new Doctor. Have you given him any advice while passing the baton?
Oh God, what a force of nature. I’ve caught a little bit of him at work and it’s pretty exciting. I mean, what advice would you give someone? You can see Ncuti has so much talent and energy. He’s so inspired and charismatic. The thing about something like this is: it’s the peripherals, it’s not the job. It’s the other stuff that comes with it, that I didn’t see coming. It’s a show that has so much focus and enthusiasm on it. It’s not like Ncuti hasn’t been in a massive Netflix series [“Sex Education,”] but “Doctor Who” is on a slightly different level. It’s cross-generational, international, and has so much history, that it feels like it belongs to everyone.
To be at the center of the show is wonderful and humbling, but also a bit overwhelming and terrifying. It doesn’t come without some difficulties, such as the immediate loss of anonymity. It takes a bit of getting used to if that’s not been your life up to that point. I was very lucky that when I joined, Billie Piper [who portrayed on-screen companion, Rose] was still there. She’d lived in a glare of publicity since she was 14, so she was a great guide for how to live life under that kind of scrutiny. I owe a degree of sanity to Billie.
Your characters are revered by a few different fandoms. Sci-fi fandoms are especially passionate and loyal. What is it like being on the end of that? I imagine it’s a lot to hold.
Yes, certainly. Having been a fan of “Doctor Who” since I was a tiny kid, you’re aware of how much it means because you’re aware of how much it meant to you. My now father-in-law [who portrayed Doctor Who in the 80s] is someone I used to draw in comic strips when I was a kid. That’s quite peculiar! It’s a difficult balance because on one end, you have to protect your own space, and there aren’t really any lessons in that. That does take a bit of trial and error, to an extent, and it’s something that you’re sometimes having to do quite publicly. But, it is an honor and a privilege, without a doubt. As you’ve said, it means so much to people and you want to be worthy of that. You have to acknowledge that and be careful with it. Some days that’s tough, if you’re not in the mood.
I know you’re returning to the stage later this year to portray Macbeth. You’ve previously voiced the role for BBC Sounds, but how are you feeling about taking on the character in the theater?
I’m really excited about it. It’s been a while since I’ve done Shakespeare. It’s very thrilling but equally — and this analogy probably doesn’t stretch — it’s like when someone prepares for an Olympic event. It does feel like a bit of a mountain and, yeah, you’re daring to set yourself up against some fairly worthy competition from down the years. That’s both the challenge and the horror of doing these types of things. We’ve got a great director, Max Webster, who recently did “Life of Pi.” He’s full of big ideas. It’s going to be exciting, thrilling, and a little bit scary. I’m just going to take a deep breath.
Before we part ways, let’s discuss the future of “Good Omens.” Gaiman has said that he already has ideas for Season 3, should it happen. If you were to do another season, is there anyone in particular you’d love to work with next time around or anything specific you’d like to see happen for Crowley?
Oh, Neil Gaiman knows exactly where he wants to take it. If you’re working with people like Gaiman, I wouldn’t try to tamper with that creative void. Were he to ask my opinion, that would be a different thing, but I can’t imagine he would. He’s known these characters longer than me and what’s interesting is what he does with them. That’s the bit that I’m desperate to know. I do know where Crowley might end up next, but it would be very wrong if I told you.
[At this point, Tennant picks up a pencil and starts writing on a hotel pad of paper.]
I thought you were going to write it down for me then. Perhaps like a clandestine meeting on a bench in St James’ Park, but instead you’d write the information down and slide it across the table…
I should have done! I was drawing a line, which obviously, psychologically, I was thinking, “Say no more. You’re too tempted to reveal a secret!” It was my subconscious going “Shut the fuck up!”
#David Tennant#Michael Sheen#Good Omens#Neil Gaiman#Terry Pratchett#Ty Tennant#Peter Davison#Aziraphale#Crowley#Doctor Who#Macbeth#Ncuti Gatwa#Job#Ennon#Bright Young Things#Series 2#Matt Smith#John Hurt#Russell T. Davies#Catherine Tate#Max Webster#Life of Pi#Sex Education#Billie Piper#Rose Tyler#BBC Sounds
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
i love the possesed macaque and wukong series honestly. i love how they fuck up LBD's plans just by being in love. What do the two think of mk? Will there be any potential mk interaction with the two in the future?
Lovingly led to Ruin (LLR) - Masterpost
“I miss him.” - Part 1
Previous Episode │First │ Next
First of all, tysm for the kind words, lyfsanity! I'm happy you are enjoying this little AU of mine! :D Oh and I do plan on having some interactions between the two and MK! Secondly, sorry for the late reply but I really wanted to respond with some art!
On a side note, I’ve decided to switch up the format and layout of this AU for a fresh look, drawing a lot of inspiration from kyri45's and kiaonala's comics—both of which are absolutely worth checking out for their incredible art and story!! I also wanted to solve the issue of distinguishing our favorite old man yaoi duo at a glance, so now Mac has black hair and both have eyeliner to make 'em stand out! :]
#lego monkie kid#lmk#my art#LLR AU#lmk sun wukong#macaque#macaque lmk#lmk fanart#fanart#lego monkie kid au#art#lmk art#artists on tumblr#LLRAU#lego monkie kid comic#Lovingly led to Ruin#lmk comic#monkie kid macaque#lmk au art#lego macaque#lego monkie kid macaque#lmk macaque#six eared macaque#lmk au#monkie kid#lmk swk#I miss him#LMKArtTag#Fanart#lego monkey kid fanart
537 notes
·
View notes
Text
The “Ba” in “Baja”
Rise Ramblings #628
Mikey and Leo. Baja Blast. The Tide Pod Duo. Although this duo has limited dedicated screen time, they are an absolute joy to watch. First and foremost, you can’t help but notice how Leo does nothing but try to protect the little bean.
He’ll bend over backwards just to keep his baby brother safe.
Leo will also offer emotional support in very dire times.
It’s just so nice to see them together. Plus, you can tell that Leo loves Mikey to pieces.
Even when Leo’s being annoying.
All of these traits are expected from big brother Leo. However, it’s the other side of this relationship that I find intriguing.
Let’s discuss Mikey and how he interacts with the blue one.
I’ve summarized my thoughts about Mikey’s half of their relationship into two parts: “Emulate” & “Outdo.”
As the youngest of the four, it’s natural for Michelangelo to look up to his older brothers. Yet, throughout the show, I believe that Mikey seems to emulate Leo the most.
This thought leads directly into the “Outdo” portion of my hypothesis.
I've noticed that a competitive streak emerges in Mikey when Leo is in the picture, a streak that I cannot say I’ve seen him express with any of his other brothers, April, or even their rivals. It’s unique just to Leo.
It’s almost as if there is some driving force within Mikey that wants to prove something to Leon.
When it comes to Leo, Mikey is suddenly determined to see who’s the strongest, best, or fastest between them.
(I compiled all of the Air Hockey scenes from the episode, “Mrs. Cuddles”)
The most compelling aspect of their relationship is that this competitive streak seems to be one-sided, at least initially. It's almost as if Leo feels like he doesn't have to prove anything to Angelo.
Eventually, though, Mikey goads Leo into competing with him, and Leo gives in if not but to defend his title, satiate Orange, and give his antagonizer what he’s looking for. (It’s a “you mess with the bull, you get the horns” type of thing.)
Why does this dynamic exist? Who’s to say. But I believe that the dissonance between these two comes from Leo seeing their relationship as “Protector – Protectee” while Mikey sees Leo as a rival, or more specifically, Leo is the goalpost that Michelangelo has tasked himself with surpassing.
In my opinion, the concept of Mikey seeing Leo’s accomplishments as something he needs to “Emulate” & “Outdo” is a compliment in it’s simplest form. Mikey thinks that Leo is so great and awesome that he wants to be just as awesome, and even better than the brother he respects and looks up to so much.
…Or maybe Mikey just wants to knock Leo down a peg or two.
I can’t say that I’d blame him.
Also, do you know why Mikey is the “Ba” in “Baja?”
Because Leo is the "Jajajajajajaja" *laughs in Spanish*
All right. I’m done.
#starkiss ramblings#rise analysis#rottmnt analysis#character analysis#Michelangelo Ramblings#rise mikey#rise michelangelo#mikey#michelangelo#rottmnt michelangelo#michelangelo hamato#rise leo#rise leonardo#leonardo#rottmnt leonardo#rottmnt#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#tmnt2018#tmnt 2k18#tmnt 2018#save rottmnt#unpause rottmnt#unpause rise of the tmnt#save rise of the tmnt#save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Dead Man's Bones - Lose Your Soul 2009
Dead Man's Bones were a rock duo consisting of Ryan Gosling (under the alias "Baby Goose") and Zach Shields. Their self-titled first album was released on October 6, 2009. The entire album is a collaboration with the Silverlake Conservatory Children's Choir — started by Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea — from Los Angeles, California.
When Shields and Gosling met in 2005 they discovered a mutual obsession with the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland. Zach was so preoccupied with ghosts as a kid that he was put into therapy, and Gosling's parents moved out of his childhood home because they believed it was haunted. Neither of them had really outgrown their fascination with graveyards or anything deathly and decided to write love stories about ghosts and monsters.
The pair chose to play all the instruments on the record, even those they had never touched before. They also imposed rules on themselves during the recording process, such as not playing with a click track, and trying to do no more than three takes on any song, letting any imperfections highlight the strengths of the music. Gosling and Shields also toured around the US for fall/Halloween 2009 with a local choir and talent show at every show to rave reviews.
"Lose Your Soul" is featured in the closing credits of the 2013 French film Age of Panic and an episode of Teen Wolf, while the song "In the Room Where You Sleep" was included in the soundtrack of the 2013 film The Conjuring.
"Lose Your Soul" received a total of 69% yes votes! Previous Ryan Gosling polls: #15 "Put Me in the Car", #159 "I'm Just Ken".
youtube
575 notes
·
View notes
Text
Phineas And Ferb New York Comic-Con Panel Gets The Band Back Together To Discuss The Upcoming Revival
Today at New York Comic Con, Disney Branded Television officially revealed the voice cast for the highly anticipated new season of “Phineas and Ferb.” For the first time in over a decade, co-creators and executive producers Dan Povenmire and Jeff “Swampy” Marsh reunited with the rest of the beloved cast at their NYCC panel today, which also included an exclusive sneak peek of the new season.
Photos by 📷Galileo908
Phineas And Ferb panel was packed with the whole cast and crew on stage as the panel showcases interviews when the show debuted all the way back in 2008.
Vincent Martella calls the show “the most important thing” he’s ever worked on.
Ashley Tisdale mentions that she's very joyful to be here with the fans after giving birth just 6 weeks ago.
Caroline Rhea mentions that the series is one of her favorites to ever be a part of. Rhea jokes "Don't tell Sabrina"
Dee Bradley Baker says that the show has been “perfect” since the start. "there's timelessness to it, i feel it will make it go on forever"
Alyson Stoner recalls that multiple people go up to her and quote Isabella in different languages all the time
Dave Errigo Jr gets emotional on the opportunity of joining the Phineas & Ferb family all way back in 2018 with "The Phineas and Ferb Effect" from "Milo Murphy's Law"
Vincent Martella jokingly says that he has been spiraling since the show ended even he had no idea if the show would come back.
Candace is Ashley Tisdale's favorite character beacuse it allows her to be "crazy"
As previously reported, Dan & Swampy confirm that the revival takes place one year later during the duo’s next summer vacation.
Povenmire & Swampy mention that “Things are elevated”. They tease the incorporation of new stories, dynamics and ideas that they couldn’t quite figure out how to do them on the original run.
Dan Povenmire & Jeff Swampy Marsh tease that the music for Season 5 has been their favorite so far.
Dan Povenmire & Jeff Swampy Marsh show a clip of the first episode of the revival. The clip starts with Phineas, Ferb and the gang on their last day of school.
Doof spent the last year being good, now he’s evil again
“We’re Getting The Band Back Together.” is one of Dan and Swampy's favorite episodes because "it’s so thematically rich."
When asked about why there are 104 days of summer vacation within the show. "Nobody checked. It just sounded right" - The whole cast and crew confess
During the final question Dan and Swampy acknowledge Candace’s flip phone. They agree that it’s obsolete but say that at the time the show was created everyone had one.
Swampy says that the work he and Dan Povenmire have done on the show have made him feel incredibly lucky. Swampy mentions that he would love to continue working on the show forever.
Ashley Tisdale closes the panel screaming “Mom, Phineas and Ferb are making another season!” in Candace's voice.
“Phineas and Ferb” Season 5 is scheduled to debut next year on Disney Channel and Disney+.
#Phineas And Ferb#Phineas & Ferb#Dan Povenmire#Jeff Swampy Marsh#Disney Channel#Disney+ Original Animated Hybrid Series#Disney Plus Original Animated Hybrid Series#New York Comic Con#New York Comic-Con#New York Comic Con 2024#New York Comic-Con 2024#NYCC#NYCC 2024
457 notes
·
View notes
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)
⌕ prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | sip of sunshine | next ↻
Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.
It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.
It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.
Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.
Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.
You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.
It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.
Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.
It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.
The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.
The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.
“Well, look at you! You stayed!”
You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.
Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.
Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.
Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.
“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.
“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”
You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”
Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.
You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”
“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.
“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]
The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.
“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”
“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.
“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”
“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”
The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.
He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.
The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.
Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.
Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.
The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”
Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.
Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.
You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]
Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.
“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]
Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”
“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”
“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”
“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”
You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.
“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]
“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”
“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”
Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”
You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”
“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]
Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.
Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.
You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.
The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.
You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.
“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”
You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”
“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”
“¿Qué?”
“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”
“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”
Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.
The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.
Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.
“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]
“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.
“Oh.”
“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”
You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”
Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”
Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.
“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.
“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.
“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.
“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.
Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”
You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”
You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”
Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.
You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”
Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.
Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.
“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]
“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”
“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.
“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.
“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”
Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”
Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”
You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”
Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]
“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]
Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.
They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.
You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.
Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.
You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”
“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”
“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”
The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.
“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.
“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”
“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.
You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.
“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”
“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”
You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.
“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”
The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”
You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.
The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.
The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.
The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.
The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”
You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”
The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”
The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.
“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.
“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”
You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.
“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”
You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.
“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.
The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.
“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”
“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”
One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.
“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.
You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.
Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.
Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.
Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.
The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.
You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.
“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”
Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?
“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”
“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.
Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.
“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”
Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”
Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.
“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.
The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.
“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”
“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”
The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”
You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.
Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.
“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.
“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”
“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”
They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.
They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.
They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.
It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.
Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.
You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.
“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.
You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”
“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.
You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.
You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.
“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.
“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”
“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.
“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]
They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.
The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”
“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.
Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.
You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.
The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.
With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.
The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.
His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.
Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.
“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.
You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.
“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”
“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”
“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.
“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”
The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.
“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.
“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”
How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.
The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.
He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.
You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.
“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”
“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”
The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.
The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.
He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”
Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”
Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.
“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”
Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.
He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.
The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.
The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.
“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”
The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.
“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”
You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”
The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.
The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.
Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.
The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.
“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”
He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.
“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]
The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.
The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.
“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.
Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.
“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.
The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.
They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”
The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.
You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.
Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.
Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.
Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.
He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.
Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.
There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.
A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.
Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.
Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.
The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.
You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.
It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.
Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.
“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.
“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.
“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”
“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”
You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.
“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”
The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.
“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.
Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.
“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”
The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.
“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”
You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.
The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.
A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.
“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.
His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”
Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.
Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.
Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.
Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.
The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.
You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.
The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.
The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.
It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.
Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.
“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]
Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.
His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”
Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”
The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.
A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.
Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.
You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.
Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”
Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”
Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.
Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.
It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.
Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.
Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.
His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.
Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.
“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”
Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.
Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.
Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?
You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.
“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”
The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.
“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]
“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.
The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”
The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.
His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.
“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“
Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”
The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.
You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.
He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.
The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.
Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.
Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.
“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”
The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.
There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.
He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.
Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”
“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]
The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.
“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”
Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”
You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.
“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”
You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.
Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!
A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.
You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.
Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.
You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.
With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.
“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]
He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.
Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.
“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.
“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.
He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.
Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.
“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”
“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”
You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”
Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”
You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”
Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”
You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.
Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”
You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.
Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.
You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.
You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.
You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.
“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”
Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”
“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]
“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.
“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]
You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”
You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“
“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“
“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]
“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]
Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”
Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”
Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.
You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”
Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”
“It’ll work.”
He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.
You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”
Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”
“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”
The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.
“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”
“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]
His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.
You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]
You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.
“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”
You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”
“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]
Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”
“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”
He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.
Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]
She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”
“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”
She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”
Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”
The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.
You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.
Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.
The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”
You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”
You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.
The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.
And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.
You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.
Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.
“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.
“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.
“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”
“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”
“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”
“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”
You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.
“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.
“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.
Incoherent screaming. Isa.
“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.
“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.
Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”
The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.
You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.
The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.
You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.
The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.
Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”
Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.
When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]
The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.
The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.
Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.
It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.
You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.
And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.
Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.
The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.
Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.
They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.
Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.
You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”
They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.
“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”
“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.
“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]
You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.
Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”
The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”
“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”
“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.
“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”
Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.
“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”
You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.
“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]
“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.
The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.
“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.
You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”
Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.
He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.
“See you next summer.”
general taglist (ask to join):
@saintslewis/@cherry2stems/@lorarri/@mindless-rock/@biancathecool
@barnestatic/@darleneslane/@lovingaphroditesworld/@smoothopz/@vetteltea
@tallrock35/@spideybv28/@loomiscorpse/@hiireadstuff/@namgification
@gg-trini/@multi-fandom-rando/@landoslutmeout/@love-simon/@iloveyou3000morgan/
@rexit-mo/@oscahpastry/@sweatrevenge5436-blog/@bokutos-babyowl/@oliviah-25
@evermoreandroyalblue/@riveristhebest1/@xylinasdiary/@ashiekins/@flowergirl1134
@hearts4robs/@c-losur3/@bloodyymaryyy/@awritingtree/@lammys-thinking
current SOS taglist (ask or leave a reply if you would like to be added):
@dhanihamidi/@alilcloudy/@tremendousstarlighttragedy/@justanothersuckerforanime-blog/@shepgurl
@sainzluvrr/@arialikestea/@urfavnoirette/@swechchhaj/@delululeclerc
@formula1-motogpfan/@f1orza/@daniskywalkersolo/@uselessginger0/@mickslover
@isaidlandowecanbeworldchampion/@tremendousstarlighttragedy/@annispamz/@certifiedlesbianbaddie/@sofs16
@tomiwastilinskii/@sakuxxi/@mitruscity/@pal3rmo/@lando-505
@hahahjej/@eugene-emt-roe/@nissaimmortal
© httpsserene2024 — photos used are from pinterest (edited by me). borders by @cafekitsune.
#f1 x reader#f1 x black!reader#poly!f1#poly!formula 1#lando norris x reader#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlando#carlos sainz x lando norris#carlando x reader#carlos sainz jr x lando norris x reader#carlos sainz jr x black!reader#lando norris x black!reader#carlos sainz jr x lando norris#f1 smut#f1 fluff#f1 angst#f1 fic#lando norris smut#carlos sainz jr smut#lando norris fic#carlos sainz jr fic#serene's chapters.#serene's fave.#⋆⭒˚。⋆. series special: formula 1#♡ ༘*.゚ love interest: ln.#♡ ༘*.゚ love interest: csj.#httpss :// sip of sunshine.
865 notes
·
View notes
Note
OMGGGG!!!! 🩷🩵 Love your work! Can you do a Percy X (halfblood of your choice) reader and maybe affection headcannons? Like how he stares at you 24/7 and maybe him falling asleep on our shoulder and all that!!!!
BEAUTIFUL GIRL
parings: percy jackson x fem!reader
an: two weeks without a new episode, I can't take it anymore 😭😭😭
summary: the one where you and percy met at yancy academy, and what your relationship would be like.
( my last work for riodanverse || go to my main masterlist )
You met Percy at Yancy Academy, and well, you quickly became friends – best friends, to be precise, since your room was conveniently next to his.
When Grover arrived at the school, he became more than worried about finding two demigod kids together.
As you excelled in your studies – you LOVED studying – you decided to help Percy out. However, Percy always seemed too distracted, often catching him staring at you.
Percy looks at the notebook where you were scribbling math problems and realizes he hasn't paid attention to anything you were explaining for the past twenty minutes.
"So, um, how do you solve this math problem again?" He asks.
You point the pen at him with a stern expression. "Percy, we've been through this like ten times!"
Percy gazes at you with a mischievous smile on his lips because, by the gods, he finds you incredibly beautiful with the braid you decided to wear today.
"Sorry, got distracted. You look really nice today." Percy says, shrugging.
"Focus, Percy! We need to get through this." You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are flushed, and Percy still finds it adorable.
You throw the pen cap at Percy, lightly hitting him on the head when you realize he wasn't paying attention again.
"Ow! What was that for?" He puts his hand where the cap hit him and pretends to be in pain.
"For not paying attention! Now, let's get back to work." You stick out your tongue.
Laughing, Percy tries to throw the pen cap back at you, but you quickly dodge, and poor Grover ends up being the target.
You two became an inseparable duo, like shadows to each other, and constantly causing Grover massive headaches.
Percy would talk about you to his mom.
Percy hesitated for a moment before dialing the number. As his mother picked up on the other end, he launched into a torrent of words about you.
"Hey, Mom, you won't believe what happened today. So, there's this new girl, Y/N, and she's amazing. Seriously, she's the smartest person I know, and she's always helping me out with my studies. And she's got this incredible sense of humor. We're like a team, Mom, inseparable. I don't know how I'd get through the day without her."
Sally listened with a gentle smile on her face, recognizing the familiar signs of her son being captivated. She knew Percy well enough to notice the subtle shifts in his tone and enthusiasm.
"Percy, it sounds like you really enjoy spending time with this Y/N," Sally said, her voice warm and knowing.
"Yeah, Mom, it's like... I don't know. She's just different, you know? Everything feels better when she's around. I can't explain it."
Sally chuckled softly, recognizing the telltale signs of young love. "Percy, sweetheart, sounds like you might be developing feelings for this girl."
Percy stammered for a moment, realizing that his mother had caught on. "I, uh, Mom, we're just friends. Really good friends."
Sally's laughter echoed through the phone. "Alright, Percy. But remember, love has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it.”
When you first heard about blue food, you didn't believe Percy's words, leading to a heated argument. It all ended when Percy pulled out a pack of blue cookies from his backpack. To your surprise, they turned out to be the best cookies you'd ever tasted.
During one of your study sessions, Percy calling you a beautiful girl, and the nickname sticking because you blushed every time he called you that.
Percy only realized he liked you when they arrived at the camp and you wanted to help Percy defeat the Minotaur, but he wouldn't allow it because he had already lost his mother and couldn't bear to lose his girl.
He told Grover not to let you follow him and instructed him to take you safely to camp.
The air in the forest was thick with tension as Percy and you faced off against the looming figure of the Minotaur. Determination burned in your veins as you gripped your weapon tightly, ready to fight alongside Percy.
But before you could make a move, Percy's voice cut through the silence, firm and commanding. "Grover, take Y/N back to camp. Keep her safe," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Your heart sank as you realized what he was saying. "Percy, I can help. We can fight this thing together," you protested, your voice trembling with emotion.
"I need you to stay safe, Y/N," Percy said, his tone unusually severe. "Grover will take you to camp. I can't lose you."
Tears welled up in your eyes, the raw emotion of the situation hitting you like a tidal wave. "I can't just stand by and do nothing while you face that monster alone."
Percy shook his head, a mixture of frustration and fear in his gaze. "Y/N. I can't risk losing you. Not after what happened to my mom."
A heavy silence settled between you two, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Percy cupped your face gently, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to trust me, okay? Grover will take care of you."
Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded reluctantly. "Just promise me you'll be safe, Percy."
He gave you a solemn look before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "I promise. Now go with Grover. I'll find you after this is over."
Grover approached, his expression mirroring the somber mood. "We should go, Y/N."
After that, you swore to yourself that the next time you saw Percy, you would tell him you liked him. That seemed like the smartest thing to do.
As Percy stirred awake, his eyes met yours, and a small smile played on his lips. "Hey, beautiful girl," he greeted, a newfound warmth in his tone.
You blushed at the endearing nickname he had given you, but concern soon took over. "I thought I was going to lose you," you admitted, holding a small cup of ambrosia-infused nectar.
His expression softened, his hand reaching for yours. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."
Relief washed over you, and you laughed, playfully nudging his shoulder. "Good. Because there's something I need to tell you."
Percy raised an eyebrow, curious. "What's that?"
He looked at you with curiosity, encouraging you to continue. With a deep breath, you confessed, "I... I really like you."
Percy's eyes lit up, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "You do?" he asked, as if surprised by the revelation.
You nodded, a shy smile gracing your lips. "Yeah, Percy, I really do."
"Well, beautiful girl, I think you're stuck with me now," he declared, a playful glint in his eyes. As you leaned in closer, he gently pulled you to lie beside him on the bed. When you rested your head against his chest, Percy winced in pain.
"Careful," he joked, "I just survived a Minotaur. Your head might be more dangerous than that."
You chuckled softly, and Percy couldn't help but smile despite the discomfort. "You know," he mused, "your laughter is my favorite sound in the whole world."
#percy jackson oneshot#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson headcanon#percy jackson fic#percy jackson fanfiction#pjo x you#pjo x reader#pjo fanfic#pjo tv show#percy jackson x you#percy jackson x oc#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson fluff#percy jackon and the olympians#walker scobell x reader#walker scobell#walker scobell x you#luke castellan x you#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan headcanons#grover underwood x you#grover underwood#grover pjo
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ COFFEE TALK
INTRODUCTION FIC TO 'THE ART OF REMEMBRANCE'
—the rare moments of free time allow you and your boyfriend to talk about anything and everything that comes to mind... at this point, you two might as well be the third division's free podcast! —wc: 1050; fluff but mostly crack —original canon, x fem!reader, you and hoshina are just silly, hibino leno and kikoru mentions, one cuss, general pov more or less, i advocate for silly unhinged dynamics —rimi's ramble: told myself not to rush the series but i wrote this in one sitting... my summer's gonna be spent writing about this man, buckle up folks! >:]
The Third Division considers you and Hoshina as their power couple.
Charming looks paired with commanding auras, levels of strength that no one would dare go against, all topped off with endearing one-of-a-kind personalities. Two puzzle pieces that fit as if they’re made for each other.
Everyone within the division quickly accepted and supported your relationship with the Vice Captain. And with that support comes your status as the “local love team"—an inside joke and a makeshift badge of honor (if one could even call it that).
In their defense, there isn't even any sort of competition to begin with. You two are the only couple within the division.
Every member, no matter how long they’ve been in the Defense Force, holds high respect towards both of you. They trust you with a lot of things—the wisdom you both give to your members is actually useful, and your attack combos on the field are nothing to scoff at.
Yes, they would trust you two with their lives, and yes, the way they’d say it might blur the lines of comedy and seriousness. There’s simply one thing that’s holding everyone off…
No one trusts the both of you with coffee.
Ironic, considering it’s one of Vice Captain Hoshina’s favorite things.
Another inside joke is that whenever a member enters the lounge room and they’re greeted by the rich inviting scent of brewed coffee, they will be tuning in to some sort of a podcast episode hosted by their one and only dynamic duo.
No one session is the same. Sometimes you two end up talking about some story you read or some personal experiences. Other days, it’s just opening as many controversial topics as you both can while expressing your opinions in a lighthearted debate. One time, to the division’s surprise, you two started doing a deep dive into a conspiracy theory, complete with a whole digital presentation and proven statistics.
It’s even more surprising how convincingly well put the entire thing was to the point even Captain Ashiro listened in with interest.
The members found it pleasant, enjoyable even. A chance to hold more conversations about different non-kaiju-related topics thanks to you and Hoshina’s exceptionally random conversation starters.
All they ask is that you guys don’t open up a topic that might get you random looks at best, or—hypothetically—get the both of you canceled on the internet at worst.
Today was one of those days, the team figured, when you and your boyfriend step into the (initially busy) lounge with matching porcelain cups. Hibino, Leno, and Kikoru were the ones present in the room… this marks their first time listening in on the two of you rambling.
“I don’t know, Soshiro-san, don’t you think that may be a little too intense?” you made a beeline and assumed your spot on the couch right in front of Kikoru, drinking from your cup the moment you sat on the soft cushion.
Hoshina follows after you and settles right by your side, “No way!” If he weren’t holding anything, you can envision the way he’d cross his arms and huff. He mimics your movements from a while ago, taking a sip from his drink before placing the cup down with a small ‘clink!’.
A childish pout graces his lips as he stares right at you. “If you think hard enough, I’m telling ya, dicing those kaiju is just like makin’ intricate fruit carvings!”
May the gods give the juniors strength because what the actual fuck were you two talking about?
The room is radio silent. You and Hoshina continue to glare at each other as if you’re both in a mental debate. Which seems likely enough.
Kikoru nudges Leno’s arm to get him to break the ice and the poor guy sputters. Hibino breaks into a cold sweat when he catches the way you and Hoshina sharply look at the three of them.
“V-Vice Captain..! (Name)-san… go–good afternoon!” Leno prays his salute doesn’t give away the fact he’s shaking.
By record, this may have to be the oddest conversation they’ve heard in passing.
You flash the three of them a small smile and Hoshina does a small wave of his hands. Not even a second later, the man beside you jumps at the opportunity to find allies for his claim.
“You guys think that slicin' kaiju is like slicing fruits, right?”
Bless your soul that you’re stubborn enough to match his energy. “If anything, it’s more like carving wood! You have to be intricate about it!”
Hoshina looks back at you like you’ve transformed into the kaiju you were talking about, “Wood carving?! Darlin’ I love you more than the coffee I’m drinking right now, but you’ve reached a new level of insanity!”
“Comparing anything to kaiju neutralization is already some form of insanity…” Leno whispers under his breath. “Let alone wood carving and fruit dicing…” Kikoru murmurs back in agreement.
“Aww, you love me more than coffee?”
The immediate shift from a lighthearted argument to some sappy lovey dovey confession while talking about carving patterns on kaiju may be just as impressive as your combat prowess, the trio decides.
Hibino breathes a sigh of relief and mumbles, “Those two fit each other so well… wonder if it’s a match made in heaven or hell…”
“We’re soulmates!” Hoshina corrects him, instinctively reaching out to hold your hands as if it’ll prove his point further. He gently laces his fingers with yours before glowering at Hibino, “You also called us demons with the whole 'hell' comment. Thirty push-ups for the three of you, ya hear?”
Leno nudges his senior’s ribs like he wants to end him right then and there. Kikoru was probably devising ways to successfully kill him on the spot. Hibino’s fighting for his life, but he still manages to catch the way you and Hoshina look at each other with mirroring lovesick smiles.
If he manages to scrape out alive, maybe this coffee talk wasn’t that bad.
likes and reblogs are appreciated, but please don’t copy or repost my work! [edited: 062424]
#💟.series#💌.kaiju no 8#🎐rimi.works#kaiju no 8 x reader#kn8 x reader#kaiju no. 8#kn8#soshiro hoshina#soshiro hoshina x reader#hoshina soshiro#hoshina soshiro x reader#kaiju no. 8 fluff#hoshina x reader#hoshina fluff
525 notes
·
View notes