#on mobile so i can't do a read more
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Shadow lets his head finally fall into his hands.
They're sitting on an upturned bucket in the garage out behind the casino, the open bay door letting the smell of rain waft in from the alley alongside the buzz of early morning traffic.
He tries to swallow his heart, its frantic pulse clogging his throat, but it will not budge.
An ear twitches. Shadow listens to the flickies that have nested under the lamp outside as he drags his hands down his face.
He'll need to buy more bird feed soon. Spring is coming. There will be more of them.
Yes, yes that is a safe thought to entertain.
Shadow sits up as he goes over the logistics; How long does he need to feed then? How much food does he need to buy? Where can he get it on sale? Where can he store it?
Easy problems, with simple solutions. He's done this all before.
Shadow breathes in.
The attempt at peace is short-lived. Shadow hears Omega behind them, coming down the stairs from the apartment long before the door opens with a bang.
"ROUGE REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE."
Shadow waves a dismissive hand.
"I BELIEVE YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT ROUGE GRANTED ME AUTHORIZATION TO BODILY TAKE YOU UPSTAIRS IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY WITH HER SUMMONS."
His shoulders go taunt, tight fists curling in his lap.
"You wouldn't."
"INCORRECT." Omega's heavy footfalls and hissing pistons do little to hide the peculiar whirring of a processor fan, the closest thing to a chuckle the robot has, as they approach. "I FIND THE CONCEPT ENTERTAINING. GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY TO, QUOTE, "CARRY SHADOW LIKE THE BIG BABY THEY ARE," ENDQUOTE, I WILL PROCEED WITH GREAT ENJOYMENT."
#shadamy story poll#2#shadamy#shadowxamy#shadow the hedgehog#team dark#e 123 omega#okay so i don't normally write in present tense so this will be interesting XD#also i can't do polls on desktop so i keep reading and rereading everything to make sure there are no spelling errors#i have a tendency to make more of them on mobile
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i feel like i shouldn't have to plaster "mspec/male 'lesbians' dni" all over my page but here we are
#pyro.txt#i am. tired.#i'm very open about my stances. i complain about it. a lot.#i know i do. and i'm sorry if it gets grating.#but i'm tired of it. having assholes who think they know better than you about your own identity and trying to redefine it in a way#that they find 'inclusive' and 'progressive'#while what they're pushing is an inherently transphobic label. it literally has its roots in t/e/r/f vocabulary#idk i'm sorry. especially for complaining so much on the matter.#i'm vocal about it. i have it under my 'more info' thing. and yet boundaries are still getting crossed.#and they're the ones who bitch at you for not reading their 2 mile long dni.#my misanthropy grows more and more everyday. i may be lonely but sometimes i am genuinely glad my avpd keeps me from talking to folks.#btw yes i am blocking them. i just get to complain incessantly because this is my page.#also why is it that when i block someone on mobile it only blocks them from my main? like shouldn't it be across all of them?#like if i didn't want someone interacting with one blog...why should they get to interact with all of the others?#it's just going to give me notifications i can't see and it's going to drive me insane.#why do i have to get on my computer to block these fucks specifcally from this blog
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For the first time in a long while, I got to go to a white elephant gift exchange this December! We had a low price ceiling and my practically wins out over any practical joke sensibilities every time, so on the designated shopping day I left my local overstock store with a nice chopstick set, some fancy (not at all mess-free) popcorn, and a dream.
When I was growing up, my mom was an intrepid homeschooling parent who loved event planning, valued cultural exploration, and had married into a Japanese family. Multiple times - sometimes in the setting of a multicultural fair, at least once as a kind of class party (with celebratory takeout at the end) - she faced teaching large groups of children how to use chopsticks quickly and with as little cost and cleanup as possible.
Her answer was popcorn! It's edible, so you get the full motion down, and lightweight but large enough for less coordinated sticks to pinch. It has tons of nubbins to grab and widely varied shapes to experiment with. Specifically, we used air-popped kernels, without oil or toppings, so when it gets overzealously crushed or bounces away and gets missed by a broom, it's basically biodegradable styrofoam.
What I'm saying is, this is my mom's fault. Other than the choice to draw so many hands in one afternoon on the same day as the party, while also baking a snack. That's all me. This primer was delivered in the format of a tiny booklet (if you look up an "eight page zine" that's also a method I learned from my mom, to turn single-sided misprints into notepads), with fewer jokes and tips than I'd have liked because I simply did not have time to transcribe a hashi rest fold or hairstyle. But reformatted (for Mastodon) it looks fairly respectable.
Lengthy image descriptions and full poster format under the cut.
[ID: A title page reads "How to Use Chopsticks" in all caps. The words "without too much mess" are between two straight, orange lines, which start with round points at the left, evoking chopsticks, and end in flared shapes of a silhouetted splash on the right. Below the lower line are the words "by CJ Gladback." All the text is in black, the background is white but appears light orange due to a repeating geometric watermark pattern of CJ's logo in orange overlaid on the whole image; her handle on most sites is included once on each of the following spreads: @cjgladback
Next is the first spread of four illustrations with their instructions. On the left half of page are two line drawings of a right hand holding one and then two chopsticks, with the text, "The first stick rests on the side of your ring finger's nail and the flesh between your thumb and index finger. Your middle finger's pad holds it securely while it can slide against your thumb as your hand changes posture in use. The second stick is held between the knuckle of your thumb and the middle section of your index finger. This is the one you move to change angles; it may touch but doesn't really rest on the middle finger's tip." In orange, two arrows indicate the rest points for the first stick while small hashes emanate from the points pressed on the middle and ring fingertips and under the thumb's joint holding the top stick. On the right upper quadrant of the page is the text "Hold them close to parallel to scoop." A hand holds two sticks poked into a bowl of rice between the viewer and the palm; a series of parallel orange lines emphasize the space between the sticks. The remaining quadrant's text reads, "Press with your index finger to pinch firmly." This hand is holding an indistinct rounded shape in its chopsticks, with an orange arrow indicating the rotation of the index finger's tip to press the top stick's point toward the bottom's.
Next is the final spread of the pamphlet. The upper right text reads, "Practice with something medium sized and low mess like (air-popped) popcorn." A single piece of popcorn is held in disembodied chopsticks above a full popcorn bowl, with several kernels fallen to the surface below it. Text below reads, "Pick up your dishes to bring close to your mouth to scoop the harder to grab foods." An implied tilted bowl of food (fried rice or porridge with diced pieces) protrudes off the page, covering only the lower left corner. Close-up chopsticks have their points buried in the food and their lines fade out toward the right. The final black text, underlined by two orange chopstick shapes, reads, "but most of all, do what feels comfortable and eat well!" In orange in the lower right corner, the parenthetical "(and maybe knit a scarf)" is followed by a small orange drawing of a steaming bowl of noodles and sliced egg with a noodle line trailing toward two upward angled sticks with loopy hashes indicating knit fabric hanging from them.
The final image is the full booklet in its web format, with the three previous images from this post stacked vertically. Some orange lines have been added between what were pages in the print booklet, to aid reading flow. /end ID]
#straight up ripping my entire caption from instagram cause (as you can see) i wrote it in a blogging mood#cj gladback#zine#how to#gift ideas#chopsticks#hashi#food#artists on tumblr#illustration#hold up -- once I uploaded multiple photos#not all at once but by clicking the ''add another'' button#THEN i can mouse over to add alt text?#or did the feature just finally reach me?#in the middle of starting this post#why would this be more captionable than the single image version of this#or the accidentally misordered sequence of these same files if i add them all at once#i want to understand but i do not#i guess since the little alt boxes started showing up on mobile relatively recently i could try scrolling back through the official pages#see if there's a full explanation of all processes#would expect the crowd i follow to have already reblogged and celebrated/critiqued if there were one but maybe they were busy#...and then i tried using my previous alt text copy pasta'd in there and it took about half of the first and shortest description so#i know i'm wordy but in this case it really only does its job for people who can't see it with a ton of description#could make it shorter but it would be a lot of editing time for probably still not getting it clear under the character limit#so hey have a clunky read more anyway#yep i started just typing the text on the pages and made it halfway through the second sentence#i'll try to remember to not complain about the lack of desktop alt text only very specific factors of it now#also having the read more gives me the excuse to share the full poster version of this without worrying about it being less legible#depending on the screen you're viewing from#gallery
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Been stuck with an Oswald the lucky rabbit AU idea for the last week now and I figured I'd share the unrefined layout of this thing here.
I call this AU the 'Ozzie's multiverse diner AU'. (Might workshop that name tho)
It takes place in a Toons are actors/House of mouse like setting.
Disney still got Oswald's rights back in 2007. Everything he was in irl happened as well.
But over the next decade the studio hasn't asked him to be part of big projects like Epic Mickey and he realizes he's only being used for merch bc he has a marketable face and not much else.
Kind of bitter about that and knowing he's in the public domain anyway, Oswald decides it's time for a career change. That he was promised a show and that it got canned is actually the deciding factor with this.
No more hoping to be in the limelight for two seconds tops and waiting for another ten years until he's asked to be in a project.
He can't really retire either bc he has a family to look after. So with the funds he has, he manages to buy and renovate an 50's styled diner and turns it into Ozzie's.
------
. Oswald is the chef/fry cook as well as the owner.
. Although he used to love being in the spotlight, all the empty promises the studio made him has turned him away from that. So he rarely leaves the kitchen of the diner.
. He does interact with patrons, but mostly around opening and closing time, or if they end up ordering something insane and off menu. He gets currious usually about who tends to have such a liking to weird food combos.
. He actually adores it when he can get creative with his dishes and patrons order something wild. It makes his whole day.
. Ortensia is there too of course. She is the head waitress and the offers advice and an listening ear to those who need it.
. Two of their eldest children help her out most of the time too, when they are not busy with their own work or school.
. Oswald and Ortensia don't have 420 bunny children of their own in this AU. Instead they have 13 and the bunny children used for the Epic Mickey games were 25 or so "extras" who tend to look alike at their young age. Making it seem there were a lot of them in the games.
. Both of them attempted to adopt them as their own though, but studio meddling prevented them from doing so.
. Speaking of studio and company meddling. Ozzie's is located across the street from the now boarded up and unused House of Mouse previously run by Mickey. The building still stands unused because the company no longer saw profit it letting Mickey keep the place, even though he really wanted to.
. Oswald is very determined to not have the same thing happen to his diner.
.That's why he's opening his doors to everyone and not exclusively characters from Disney.
.Characters from videogames, comic, other cartoons etc. All are welcome at Ozzie's even if they don't feel welcome anywhere else. (Hence the multiverse part of the AU)
.That doesn't mean the diner is currently a big hit yet. Since it's located in a more quiet part of town.
. The diner also has a downstairs bar/nightclub hidden away. Dusty remains left from the prohibition years.
.Ozzie's doesn't have a liqor license atm though, but Mickey has expressed a willingness towards reopening it and turning it into a bar of sorts, but so far Oswald isn't on board with the idea yet.
That's all I have so far.
Haven't worked on an AU in a long time, but hoping to expand on this in the near future.
#mogwai being random#oswald the lucky rabbit#long post#sorry I can't put this under a read more I'm on mobile#I do have an unused sideblog I could use for this I guess#so many ideas!!!
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fics where the writer ignores or "fixes" wylan's inability to read fill me with rage tbh
someone said they write it because "just because he can't read doesn't mean he isn't smart, so since he's smart he can learn to read" as if his whole childhood canonically wasn't him trying to learn to read and being punished because he can't. it's not about learning. he can learn anything, he's proven that. so the fact that he can't read despite all his efforts might fucking mean he just can't, sharon
and that's okay!! that should be okay!! not everyone has to have the same level of skill in things you consider basic. and tbh if you really believe "just because he can't read doesn't mean he isn't smart" why are you SO fucking determined to make him read?? why not let him be how he is?? he can't read or write but he's a fucking genius. i think letting him be is the best way to show that
illiterate people exist and they aren't any less smart because of it. perhaps we can allow that to be represented by a beloved character. idk. just a fuckin thought.
regarding the topic of dyslexia:: idk if its canon or just headcanon that what he has is severe dyslexia, i haven't finished reading yet so idk if it says anywhere, but that A. doesn't make as much sense and B. still wouldn't make some people's writing for him okay.
yes people with dyslexia can learn to read and write - i know, my mom is dyslexic - it's just harder (how hard depends on the person and how they're being taught) but jan hired all the best tutors from literally anywhere he could - if none of them were able to find a way to help wylan read then perhaps it's not about needing extra help or needing different methods. sometimes the easiest answer is the real answer.
y'all are just weird (derogatory) about it
#a venting rant from last night#waited to post bc you can't do read mores on mobile#or i cant anyway#i finished reading a fic yesterday that was really good#but they had people he trusted basically force him into being assessed and going to special classes and th-rapy and i hate it <3#especially in this story where he had no choice in anything for most of his life#and then he ends up with a found family he trusts and they do that and he so clearly wasnt happy about it#and i am not for it#just fucking stooooop#mygvposts#maison speaks
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Well, I made it through today without throwing up or my knees fucking up, so even tho I was half hour late to work I count that as a successful day tbh
#im so scared of all this depo stuff#im worried of taking it anyway cs what if it means the gic won't let me go on t#also if i stop it then my joints are gonna be fucked for like half the time or more#compared to atm it's been like two three days in this entire 2-and-a-bit month block including today#but if it is actually making me ill in other ways or if this horrifying thing is gonna keep happening#it's a fucking shitty decision to make#at least I'd. idfk. i just don't want to be in pain#i want to be able to move without hurting#but if that's not possible then it's not possible#maybe going on t would have a similar side effect - it's my hormones going up and down that send my joints so much like this#mum's the same she used to get bad one half the month#she has a worse baseline than me but doesn't go up and down as much as i do if you know what i mean#going on depo helped her but idk about it for me#oh fuck mobile i can't read my tags back#anyway im stressed#ive liked depo so far (less periods and less pain) but this like i said this morning im scared of#im v scared of getting checked but i know i have to#and im gonna stop typing and think about smth else before i can't stop crying
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#have to cry or I'll puke#is a weird feeling#Sorry to vent here#I forgot how to do a read more on mobile#I'm very upset over the death of one of the two budgies I was birdsitting#It's not even my bird so I feel like I shouldn't get this upset#But also he was such a lil buddy#And the way he died was so sad#And the other budgie is now by herself and probably calling for him from what I read#And I can't do anything for her and I couldn't do anything for him#And I can't talk to anyone about it bc it's not my bird to announce the death of
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Dramaturgy [complete] by Wormtime123 : An actual novel length AU of Gem & Pearl joining Hermitcraft in the middle of Season 7 war, with a haywire Grumbot, frazzled Mumbo and Pearlescentmoon-centric. Its so good as an action-mystery finding the mcguffin, an emotional journey of up and downs, regrets and moving on. The character growth is incredible, and the author has incredible art to go with the AU
Guardian [on-going] by ice_cap_k (tumblr)/ice_cold_orchird (ao3): Novel length (I'm noticing a pattern here) Fae AU of hermitcraft, incredible world building, stunning cliffhangers every chapter. Plenty of action scenes and emotional damage XD If you are a fan of fantasy this will be your jam
Travelling Thieves [ongoing series] by Amethystfairy1: A whole lot of short series and oneshots that make up an entire world. Delves into some darker stuff than the usual hermitcraft fics, but plenty of H/C, angst and hope to go with. A massive ton of world building, with character growth, converging plotlines of at least 10 characters where they are all the main characters. Seriously how is each character so well developed??
Hermitcraft stream recaps by ETraytin: Not technically a fic, but a text recap of hermits' livestreams. A stupendous effort clearly goes into this, and its a great resource for people to draw on for any fanwork. Absolutely incredible archival work.
Curse of the Deepfrost [complete] by capricious-writer207: No way I can leave this one out, the author of the deepfrost DnD campaign, writing the lore of Decked Out 2, set in a fantasy AU where Pearl has to conquer the curse of the deepfrost to save the land
you know what I haven’t seen going around in a while, and could use some of myself? fic recs! so, consider this both a rec and a self-promo post: recommend some fics to me in the reblogs and I’ll reblog your recs! in general, try to include both a summary and why you’re reccing it (whether it’s a self-promo or someone else’s), and let’s get some eyes on fics!
#there's so many more fics i've got but i need to go out and i can't do all the crossreferencing on mobile#go read all of these please! the fanfic community is so incredibly talented and dedicated
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⭐ So you want to learn pixel art? ⭐
🔹 Part 1 of ??? - The Basics!
Hello, my name is Tofu and I'm a professional pixel artist. I have been supporting myself with freelance pixel art since 2020, when I was let go from my job during the pandemic.
My progress, from 2017 to 2024. IMO the only thing that really matters is time and effort, not some kind of natural talent for art.
This guide will not be comprehensive, as nobody should be expected to read allat. Instead I will lean heavily on my own experience, and share what worked for me, so take everything with a grain of salt. This is a guide, not a tutorial. Cheers!
🔹 Do I need money?
NO!!! Pixel art is one of the most accessible mediums out there.
I still use a mouse because I prefer it to a tablet! You won't be at any disadvantage here if you can't afford the best hardware or software.
Because our canvases are typically very small, you don't need a good PC to run a good brush engine or anything like that.
✨Did you know? One of the most skilled and beloved pixel artists uses MS PAINT! Wow!!
🔹 What software should I use?
Here are some of the most popular programs I see my friends and peers using. Stars show how much I recommend the software for beginners! ⭐
💰 Paid options:
⭐⭐⭐ Aseprite (for PC) - $19.99
This is what I and many other pixel artists use. You may find when applying to jobs that they require some knowledge of Aseprite. Since it has become so popular, companies like that you can swap raw files between artists.
Aseprite is amazingly customizable, with custom skins, scripts and extensions on Itch.io, both free and paid.
If you have ever used any art software before, it has most of the same features and should feel fairly familiar to use. It features a robust animation suite and a tilemap feature, which have saved me thousands of hours of labour in my work. The software is also being updated all the time, and the developers listen to the users. I really recommend Aseprite!
⭐ Photoshop (for PC) - Monthly $$
A decent option for those who already are used to the PS interface. Requires some setup to get it ready for pixel-perfect art, but there are plenty of tutorials for doing so.
Animation is also much more tedious on PS which you may want to consider before investing time!
⭐⭐ ProMotion NG (for PC) - $19.00
An advanced and powerful software which has many features Aseprite does not, including Colour Cycling and animated tiles.
⭐⭐⭐ Pixquare (for iOS) - $7.99 - $19.99 (30% off with code 'tofu'!!)
Probably the best app available for iPad users, in active development, with new features added all the time.
Look! My buddy Jon recommends it highly, and uses it often.
One cool thing about Pixquare is that it takes Aseprite raw files! Many of my friends use it to work on the same project, both in their office and on the go.
⭐ Procreate (for iOS) - $12.99
If you have access to Procreate already, it's a decent option to get used to doing pixel art. It does however require some setup. Artist Pixebo is famously using Procreate, and they have tutorials of their own if you want to learn.
⭐⭐ ReSprite iOS and Android. (free trial, but:) $19.99 premium or $$ monthly
ReSprite is VERY similar in terms of UI to Aseprite, so I can recommend it. They just launched their Android release!
🆓 Free options:
⭐⭐⭐ Libresprite (for PC)
Libresprite is an alternative to Aseprite. It is very, very similar, to the point where documentation for Aseprite will be helpful to Libresprite users.
⭐⭐ Pixilart (for PC and mobile)
A free in-browser app, and also a mobile app! It is tied to the website Pixilart, where artists upload and share their work. A good option for those also looking to get involved in a community.
⭐⭐ Dotpict (for mobile)
Dotpict is similar to Pixilart, with a mobile app tied to a website, but it's a Japanese service. Did you know that in Japanese, pixel art is called 'Dot Art'? Dotpict can be a great way to connect with a different community of pixel artists! They also have prompts and challenges often.
🔹 So I got my software, now what?
◽Nice! Now it's time for the basics of pixel art.
❗ WAIT ❗ Before this section, I want to add a little disclaimer. All of these rules/guidelines can be broken at will, and some 'no-nos' can look amazing when done intentionally.
The pixel-art fundamentals can be exceedingly helpful to new artists, who may feel lost or overwhelmed by choice. But if you feel they restrict you too harshly, don't force yourself! At the end of the day it's your art, and you shouldn't try to contort yourself into what people think a pixel artist 'should be'. What matters is your own artistic expression. 💕👍
◽Phew! With that out of the way...
🔸"The Rules"
There are few hard 'rules' of pixel art, mostly about scaling and exporting. Some of these things will frequently trip up newbies if they aren't aware, and are easy to overlook.
🔹Scaling method
There are a couple ways of scaling your art. The default in most art programs, and the entire internet, is Bi-linear scaling, which usually works out fine for most purposes. But as pixel artists, we need a different method.
Both are scaled up x10. See the difference?
On the left is scaled using Bilinear, and on the right is using Nearest-Neighbor. We love seeing those pixels stay crisp and clean, so we use nearest-neighbor.
(Most pixel-art programs have nearest-neighbor enabled by default! So this may not apply to you, but it's important to know.)
🔹Mixels
Mixels are when there are different (mixed) pixel sizes in the same image.
Here I have scaled up my art- the left is 200%, and the right is 150%. Yuck!
As we can see, the "pixel" sizes end up different. We generally try to scale our work by multiples of 100 - 200%, 300% etc. rather than 150%. At larger scales however, the minute differences in pixel sizes are hardly noticeable!
Mixels are also sometimes seen when an artist scales up their work, then continues drawing on it with a 1 pixel brush.
Many would say that this is not great looking! This type of pixels can be indicative of a beginner artist. But there are plenty of creative pixel artists out there who mixels intentionally, making something modern and cool.
🔹Saving Your Files
We usually save our still images as .PNGs as they don’t create any JPEG artifacts or loss of quality. It's a little hard to see here, but there are some artifacts, and it looks a little blurry. It also makes the art very hard to work with if we are importing a JPEG.
For animations .GIF is good, but be careful of the 256 colour limit. Try to avoid using too many blending mode layers or gradients when working with animations. If you aren’t careful, your animation could flash afterwards, as the .GIF tries to reduce colours wherever it can. It doesn’t look great!
Here's an old piece from 2021 where I experienced .GIF lossiness, because I used gradients and transparency, resulting in way too many colours.
🔹Pixel Art Fundamentals - Techniques and Jargon
❗❗Confused about Jaggies? Anti-Aliasing? Banding? Dithering? THIS THREAD is for you❗❗ << it's a link, click it!!
As far as I'm concerned, this is THE tutorial of all time for understanding pixel art. These are techniques created and named by the community of people who actually put the list together, some of the best pixel artists alive currently. Please read it!!
🔸How To Learn
Okay, so you have your software, and you're all ready to start. But maybe you need some more guidance? Try these tutorials and resources! It can be helpful to work along with a tutorial until you build your confidence up.
⭐⭐ Pixel Logic (A Digital Book) - $10 A very comprehensive visual guide book by a very skilled and established artist in the industry. I own a copy myself.
⭐⭐⭐ StudioMiniBoss - free A collection of visual tutorials, by the artist that worked on Celeste! When starting out, if I got stuck, I would go and scour his tutorials and see how he did it.
⭐ Lospec Tutorials - free A very large collection of various tutorials from all over the internet. There is a lot to sift through here if you have the time.
⭐⭐⭐ Cyangmou's Tutorials - free (tipping optional) Cyangmou is one of the most respected and accomplished modern pixel artists, and he has amassed a HUGE collection of free and incredibly well-educated visual tutorials. He also hosts an educational stream every week on Twitch called 'pixelart for beginners'.
⭐⭐⭐ Youtube Tutorials - free There are hundreds, if not thousands of tutorials on YouTube, but it can be tricky to find the good ones. My personal recommendations are MortMort, Brandon, and AdamCYounis- these guys really know what they're talking about!
🔸 How to choose a canvas size
When looking at pixel art turorials, we may see people suggest things like 16x16, 32x32 and 64x64. These are standard sizes for pixel art games with tiles. However, if you're just making a drawing, you don't necessarily need to use a standard canvas size like that.
What I like to think about when choosing a canvas size for my illustrations is 'what features do I think it is important to represent?' And make my canvas as small as possible, while still leaving room for my most important elements.
Imagine I have characters in a scene like this:
I made my canvas as small as possible (232 x 314), but just big enough to represent the features and have them be recognizable (it's Good Omens fanart 😤)!! If I had made it any bigger, I would be working on it for ever, due to how much more foliage I would have to render.
If you want to do an illustration and you're not sure, just start at somewhere around 100x100 - 200x200 and go from there.
It's perfectly okay to crop your canvas, or scale it up, or crunch your art down at any point if you think you need a different size. I do it all the time! It only takes a bit of cleanup to get you back to where you were.
🔸Where To Post
Outside of just regular socials, Twitter, Tumblr, Deviantart, Instagram etc, there are a few places that lean more towards pixel art that you might not have heard of.
⭐ Lospec Lospec is a low-res focused art website. Some pieces get given a 'monthly masterpiece' award. Not incredibly active, but I believe there are more features being added often.
⭐⭐ Pixilart Pixilart is a very popular pixel art community, with an app tied to it. The community tends to lean on the young side, so this is a low-pressure place to post with an relaxed vibe.
⭐⭐ Pixeljoint Pixeljoint is one of the big, old-school pixel art websites. You can only upload your art unscaled (1x) because there is a built-in zoom viewer. It has a bit of a reputation for being elitist (back in the 00s it was), but in my experience it's not like that any more. This is a fine place for a pixel artist to post if they are really interested in learning, and the history. The Hall of Fame has some of the most famous / impressive pixel art pieces that paved the way for the work we are doing today.
⭐⭐⭐ Cafe Dot Cafe Dot is my art server so I'm a little biased here. 🍵 It was created during the recent social media turbulence. We wanted a place to post art with no algorithms, and no NFT or AI chuds. We have a heavy no-self-promotion rule, and are more interested in community than skill or exclusivity. The other thing is that we have some kind of verification system- you must apply to be a Creator before you can post in the Art feed, or use voice. This helps combat the people who just want to self-promo and dip, or cause trouble, as well as weed out AI/NFT people. Until then, you are still welcome to post in any of the threads or channels. There is a lot to do in Cafe Dot. I host events weekly, so check the threads!
⭐⭐/r/pixelart The pixel art subreddit is pretty active! I've also heard some of my friends found work through posting here, so it's worth a try if you're looking. However, it is still Reddit- so if you're sensitive to rude people, or criticism you didn't ask for, you may want to avoid this one. Lol
🔸 Where To Find Work
You need money? I got you! As someone who mostly gets scouted on social media, I can share a few tips with you:
Put your email / portfolio in your bio Recruiters don't have all that much time to find artists, make it as easy as possible for someone to find your important information!
Clean up your profile If your profile feed is all full of memes, most people will just tab out rather than sift through. Doesn't apply as much to Tumblr if you have an art tag people can look at.
Post regularly, and repost Activity beats everything in the social media game. It's like rolling the dice, and the more you post the more chances you have. You have to have no shame, it's all business baby
Outside of just posting regularly and hoping people reach out to you, it can be hard to know where to look. Here are a few places you can sign up to and post around on.
/r/INAT INAT (I Need A Team) is a subreddit for finding a team to work with. You can post your portfolio here, or browse for people who need artists.
/r/GameDevClassifieds Same as above, but specifically for game-related projects.
Remote Game Jobs / Work With Indies Like Indeed but for game jobs. Browse them often, or get email notifications.
VGen VGen is a website specifically for commissions. You need a code from another verified artist before you can upgrade your account and sell, so ask around on social media or ask your friends. Once your account is upgraded, you can make a 'menu' of services people can purchase, and they send you an offer which you are able to accept, decline, or counter.
The evil websites of doom: Fiverr and Upwork I don't recommend them!! They take a big cut of your profit, and the sites are teeming with NFT and AI people hoping to make a quick buck. The site is also extremely oversaturated and competitive, resulting in a race to the bottom (the cheapest, the fastest, doing the most for the least). Imagine the kind of clients who go to these websites, looking for the cheapest option. But if you're really desperate...
🔸 Community
I do really recommend getting involved in a community. Finding like-minded friends can help you stay motivated to keep drawing. One day, those friends you met when you were just starting out may become your peers in the industry. Making friends is a game changer!
Discord servers Nowadays, the forums of old are mostly abandoned, and people split off into many different servers. Cafe Dot, Pixel Art Discord (PAD), and if you can stomach scrolling past all the AI slop, you can browse Discord servers here.
Twitch Streams Twitch has kind of a bad reputation for being home to some of the more edgy gamers online, but the pixel art community is extremely welcoming and inclusive. Some of the people I met on Twitch are my friends to this day, and we've even worked together on different projects! Browse pixel art streams here, or follow some I recommend: NickWoz, JDZombi, CupOhJoe, GrayLure, LumpyTouch, FrankiePixelShow, MortMort, Sodor, NateyCakes, NyuraKim, ShinySeabass, I could go on for ever really... There are a lot of good eggs on Pixel Art Twitch.
🔸 Other Helpful Websites
Palettes Lospec has a huge collection of user-made palettes, for any artist who has trouble choosing their colours, or just wants to try something fun. Rejected Palettes is full of palettes that didn't quite make it onto Lospec, ran by people who believe there are no bad colours.
The Spriters Resource TSR is an incredible website where users can upload spritesheets and tilesets from games. You can browse for your favourite childhood game, and see how they made it! This website has helped me so much in understanding how game assets come together in a scene.
VGMaps Similar to the above, except there are entire maps laid out how they would be played. This is incredible if you have to do level design, or for mocking up a scene for fun.
Game UI Database Not pixel-art specific, but UI is a very challenging part of graphics, so this site can be a game-changer for finding good references!
Retronator A digital newspaper for pixel-art lovers! New game releases, tutorials, and artworks!
Itch.io A website where people can upload, games, assets, tools... An amazing hub for game devs and game fans alike. A few of my favourite tools: Tiled, PICO-8, Pixel Composer, Juice FX, Magic Pencil for Aseprite
🔸 The End?
This is just part 1 for now, so please drop me a follow to see any more guides I release in the future. I plan on doing some writeups on how I choose colours, how to practise, and more!
I'm not an expert by any means, but everything I did to get to where I am is outlined in this guide. Pixel art is my passion, my job and my hobby! I want pixel art to be recognized everywhere as an art-form, a medium of its own outside of game-art or computer graphics!
This guide took me a long time, and took a lot of research and experience. Consider following me or supporting me if you are feeling generous.
And good luck to all the fledgling pixel artists, I hope you'll continue and have fun. I hope my guide helped you, and don't hesitate to send me an ask if you have any questions! 💕
My other tutorials (so far): How to draw Simple Grass for a game Hue Shifting
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You should be using an RSS reader
On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.
No matter how hard we all wish it were otherwise, the sad fact is that there aren't really individual solutions to systemic problems. For example: your personal diligence in recycling will have no meaningful impact on the climate emergency.
I get it. People write to me all the time, they say, "What can I change about my life to fight enshittification, or, at the very least, to reduce the amount of enshittification that I, personally, experience?"
It's frustrating, but my general answer is, "Join a movement. Get involved with a union, with EFF, with the FSF. Tell your Congressional candidate to defend Lina Khan from billionaire Dem donors who want her fired. Do something systemic."
There's very little you can do as a consumer. You're not going to shop your way out of monopoly capitalism. Now that Amazon has destroyed most of the brick-and-mortar and digital stores out of business, boycotting Amazon often just means doing without. The collective action problem of leaving Twitter or Facebook is so insurmountable that you end up stuck there, with a bunch of people you love and rely on, who all love each other, all hate the platform, but can't agree on a day and time to leave or a destination to leave for and so end up stuck there.
I've been experiencing some challenging stuff in my personal life lately and yesterday, I just found myself unable to deal with my usual podcast fare so I tuned into the videos from the very last XOXO, in search of uplifting fare:
https://www.youtube.com/@xoxofest
I found it. Talks by Dan Olson, Cabel Sasser, Ed Yong and many others, especially Molly White:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTaeVVAvk-c
Molly's talk was so, so good, but when I got to her call to action, I found myself pulling a bit of a face:
But the platforms do not exist without the people, and there are a lot more of us than there are of them. The platforms have installed themselves in a position of power, but they are also vulnerable…
Are the platforms really that vulnerable? The collective action problem is so hard, the switching costs are so high – maybe the fact that "there's a lot more of us than there are of them" is a bug, not a feature. The more of us there are, the thornier our collective action problem and the higher the switching costs, after all.
And then I had a realization: the conduit through which I experience Molly's excellent work is totally enshittification-proof, and the more I use it, the easier it is for everyone to be less enshittified.
This conduit is anti-lock-in, it works for nearly the whole internet. It is surveillance-resistant, far more accessible than the web or any mobile app interface. It is my secret super-power.
It's RSS.
RSS (one of those ancient internet acronyms with multiple definitions, including, but not limited to, "Really Simple Syndication") is an invisible, automatic way for internet-connected systems to public "feeds." For example, rather than reloading the Wired homepage every day and trying to figure out which stories are new (their layout makes this very hard to do!), you can just sign up for Wired's RSS feed, and use an RSS reader to monitor the site and preview new stories the moment they're published. Wired pushes about 600 words from each article into that feed, stripped of the usual stuff that makes Wired nearly impossible to read: no 20-second delay subscription pop-up, text in a font and size of your choosing. You can follow Wired's feed without any cookies, and Wired gets no information about which of its stories you read. Wired doesn't even get to know that you're monitoring its feed.
I don't mean to pick on Wired here. This goes for every news source I follow – from CNN to the New York Times. But RSS isn't just good for the news! It's good for everything. Your friends' blogs? Every blogging platform emits an RSS feed by default. You can follow every one of them in your reader.
Not just blogs. Do you follow a bunch of substackers or other newsletters? They've all got RSS feeds. You can read those newsletters without ever registering in the analytics of the platforms that host them. The text shows up in black and white (not the sadistic, 8-point, 80% grey-on-white type these things all default to). It is always delivered, without any risk of your email provider misclassifying an update as spam:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/
Did you know that, by default, your email sends information to mailing list platforms about your reading activity? The platform gets to know if you opened the message, and often how far along you've read in it. On top of that, they get all the private information your browser or app leaks about you, including your location. This is unbelievably gross, and you get to bypass all of it, just by reading in RSS.
Are your friends too pithy for a newsletter, preferring to quip on social media? Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to get an RSS feed from Insta/FB/Twitter, but all those new ones that have popped up? They all have feeds. You can follow any Mastodon account (which means you can follow any Threads account) via RSS. Same for Bluesky. That also goes for older platforms, like Tumblr and Medium. There's RSS for Hacker News, and there's a sub-feed for the comments on every story. You can get RSS feeds for the Fedex, UPS and USPS parcels you're awaiting, too.
Your local politician's website probably has an RSS feed. Ditto your state and national reps. There's an RSS feed for each federal agency (the FCC has a great blog!).
Your RSS reader lets you put all these feeds into folders if you want. You can even create automatic folders, based on keywords, or even things like "infrequently updated sites" (I follow a bunch of people via RSS who only update a couple times per year – cough, Danny O'Brien, cough – and never miss a post).
Your RSS reader doesn't (necessarily) have an algorithm. By default, you'll get everything as it appears, in reverse-chronological order.
Does that remind you of anything? Right: this is how social media used to work, before it was enshittified. You can single-handedly disenshittify your experience of virtually the entire web, just by switching to RSS, traveling back in time to the days when Facebook and Twitter were more interested in showing you the things you asked to see, rather than the ads and boosted content someone else would pay to cram into your eyeballs.
Now, you sign up to so many feeds that you're feeling overwhelmed and you want an algorithm to prioritize posts – or recommend content. Lots of RSS readers have some kind of algorithm and recommendation system (I use News, which offers both, though I don't use them – I like the glorious higgeldy-piggeldy of the undifferentiated firehose feed).
But you control the algorithm, you control the recommendations. And if a new RSS reader pops up with an algorithm you're dying to try, you can export all the feeds you follow with a single click, which will generate an OPML file. Then, with one click, you can import that OPML file into any other RSS reader in existence and all your feeds will be seamlessly migrated there. You can delete your old account, or you can even use different readers for different purposes.
You can access RSS in a browser or in an app on your phone (most RSS readers have an app), and they'll sync up, so a story you mark to read later on your phone will be waiting for you the next time you load up your reader in a browser tab, and you won't see the same stories twice (unless you want to, in which case you can mark them as unread).
RSS basically works like social media should work. Using RSS is a chance to visit a utopian future in which the platforms have no power, and all power is vested in publishers, who get to decide what to publish, and in readers, who have total control over what they read and how, without leaking any personal information through the simple act of reading.
And here's the best part: every time you use RSS, you bring that world closer into being! The collective action problem that the publishers and friends and politicians and businesses you care about is caused by the fact that everyone they want to reach is on a platform, so if they leave the platform, they'll lose that community. But the more people who use RSS to follow them, the less they'll depend on the platform.
Unlike those largely useless, performative boycotts of widely used platforms, switching to RSS doesn't require that you give anything up. Not only does switching to RSS let you continue to follow all the newsletters, webpages and social media accounts you're following now, it makes doing so better: more private, more accessible, and less enshittified.
Switching to RSS lets you experience just the good parts of the enshitternet, but that experience is delivered in manner that the new, good internet we're all dying for.
My own newsletter is delivered in fulltext via RSS. If you're reading this as a Mastodon or Twitter thread, on Tumblr or on Medium, or via email, you can get it by RSS instead:
https://pluralistic.net/feed/
Don't worry about which RSS reader you start with. It literally doesn't matter. Remember, you can switch readers with two clicks and take all the feeds you've subscribed to with you! If you want a recommendation, I have nothing but praise for Newsblur, which I've been paying $2/month for since 2011 (!):
https://newsblur.com/
Subscribing to feeds is super-easy, too: the links for RSS feeds are invisibly embedded in web-pages. Just paste the URL of a web-page into your RSS reader's "add feed" box and it'll automagically figure out where the feed lives and add it to your subscriptions.
It's still true that the new, good internet will require a movement to overcome the collective action problems and the legal barriers to disenshittifying things. Almost nothing you do as an individual is going to make a difference.
But using RSS will! Using RSS to follow the stuff that matters to you will have an immediate, profoundly beneficial impact on your own digital life – and it will appreciably, irreversibly nudge the whole internet towards a better state.
Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise
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I've been trying to find anyone who posted a link to the stories and there's nothing for some reason. Everyone is talking ABOUT them, but never bothering to share. So, here's the best link I could find for anyone curious:
Evidently there's some inaccuracies in the translations. For the Typhlosion one, here's a link that talks about the leak situation a bit and also about some context that's missing from the story:
For the record, the stories are super fascinating! They lend a lot more dimensionality to the Pokemon universe, exactly along the lines as some of the more disturbing official descriptions of Pokemon. They are par for the course, though certainly fleshed out to some extent via short story format instead of a 1-liner.
Also, before anyone goes clutching their little pearls about this because it's Pokemon or because "Pokemon is meant for kids":
They are myths. That tells you all you need to know. If it doesn't, go figure it out.
They're unpublished, so they're not even real! Typhlosion didn't do anything. But even if it did ...
It's fine. It would be cool and fine if the stories were published and canon and if a Typhlosion was actually the husband of a human and they had a kid together. The stories are super neat! They're myths! And they would be super neat even if they were real historical events in the Pokemon universe! Your "god" of humans is a Pokemon. What exactly do you think that means for humans in that world? Lol!
Nothing about this is gross or weird, at least not in the cancel culture way so many people are ranting about.
Nothing about this deserves anyone "defending" Typhlosion. Typhlosion hasn't done anything that requires defending. Child-brain outlook. Embrace the myths.
Nothing about this deserves people raging on other people making jokes. The jokes are funny. See all of the above.
I found a post where some lady was crying the Nile over the very idea that writers had spent their time writing this instead of writing PG stuff, because she couldn't fathom that anyone would spend time on anything that wasn't identically required as the end product ... and because these myths aren't PG, that made it an especial crime.
Tell me you don't have a creative bone in your body without telling me you don't have a creative bone in your body.
Anyway, I invite everyone to go check these stories out.
The Typhlosion one is my favorite and I 110% condone everything Typhlosion has ever done.
Anyway...
#Pokemon#Typhlosion#genuinely love the Typhlosion story#the mythology is so good#tho apparently there are multiple copies of the same story but with different pokemon??#idk. nobody's bothered to post the stories here or show anything coherent about it#the vid link shows images of text and I only found 2 of those and they didn't bother to link their sources. lazy#honestly what is wrong with tumblr that no one is sharing the goods?#have to do everything myself around here#anyway#so I can't tell you which versions are more 'official' or not#or what the best place to get them are#also the formatting of that teraleaks page is STUPIDLY BAD#it's SO bad. whoever coded that site needs to go back to school#you might not be able to read the stories on mobile because they don't word-wrap. FYI.#I'm eating popcorn over everyone's pearly rage
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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒
summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.
content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. for extended tags, open in ao3.
pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader
word count: 18k words. (new record!)
from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)
this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)
⌕ prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | sip of sunshine | next ↻
Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.
It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.
It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.
Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.
Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.
You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.
It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.
Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.
It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.
The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.
The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.
“Well, look at you! You stayed!”
You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.
Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.
Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.
Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.
“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.
“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”
You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”
Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.
You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”
“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.
“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]
The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.
“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”
“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.
“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”
“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”
The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.
He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.
The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.
Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.
Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.
The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”
Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.
Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.
You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]
Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.
“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]
Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”
“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”
“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”
“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”
You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.
“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]
“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”
“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”
Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”
You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”
“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]
Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.
Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.
You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.
The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.
You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.
“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”
You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”
“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”
“¿Qué?”
“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”
“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”
Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.
The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.
Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they��ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.
“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]
“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.
“Oh.”
“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”
You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”
Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”
Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.
“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.
“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.
“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.
“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.
Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”
You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”
You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”
Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.
You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”
Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.
Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.
“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]
“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”
“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.
“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.
“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”
Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”
Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”
You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”
Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]
“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]
Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.
They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.
You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.
Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.
You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”
“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”
“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”
The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.
“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.
“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”
“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.
You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.
“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”
“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”
You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.
“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”
The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”
You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.
The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.
The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.
The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.
The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”
You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”
The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”
The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.
“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.
“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”
You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.
“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”
You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.
“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.
The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.
“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”
“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”
One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.
“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.
You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.
Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.
Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.
Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.
The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.
You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.
“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”
Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?
“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”
“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.
Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.
“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”
Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”
Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.
“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.
The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.
“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”
“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”
The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”
You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.
Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.
“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.
“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”
“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”
They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.
They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.
They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.
It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.
Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.
You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.
“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.
You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”
“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.
You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.
You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.
“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.
“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”
“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.
“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]
They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.
The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”
“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.
Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.
You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.
The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.
With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.
The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.
His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.
Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.
“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.
You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.
“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”
“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”
“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.
“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”
The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.
“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.
“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”
How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.
The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.
He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.
You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.
“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”
“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”
The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.
The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.
He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”
Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”
Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.
“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”
Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.
He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.
The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.
The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.
“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”
The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.
“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”
You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”
The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.
The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.
Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.
The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.
“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”
He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.
“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]
The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.
The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.
“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.
Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.
“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.
The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.
They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”
The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.
You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.
Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.
Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.
Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.
He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.
Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.
There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.
A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.
Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.
Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.
The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.
You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.
It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.
Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.
“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.
“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.
“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”
“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”
You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.
“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”
The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.
“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.
Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.
“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”
The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.
“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”
You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.
The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.
A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.
“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.
His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”
Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.
Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.
Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.
Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.
The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.
You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.
The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.
The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.
It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.
Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.
“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]
Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.
His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”
Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”
The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.
A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.
Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.
You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.
Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”
Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”
Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.
Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.
It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.
Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.
Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.
His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.
Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.
“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”
Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.
Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.
Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?
You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.
“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”
The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.
“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]
“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.
The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”
The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.
His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.
“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“
Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”
The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.
You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.
He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.
The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.
Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.
Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.
“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”
The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.
There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.
He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.
Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”
“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]
The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.
“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”
Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”
You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.
“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”
You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.
Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!
A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.
You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.
Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.
You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.
With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.
“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]
He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.
Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.
“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.
“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.
He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.
Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.
“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”
“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”
You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”
Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”
You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”
Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”
You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.
Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”
You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.
Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.
You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.
You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.
You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.
“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”
Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”
“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]
“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.
“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]
You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”
You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“
“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“
“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]
“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]
Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”
Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”
Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.
You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”
Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”
“It’ll work.”
He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.
You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”
Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”
“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”
The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.
“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”
“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]
His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.
You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]
You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.
“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”
You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”
“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]
Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”
“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”
He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.
Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]
She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”
“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”
She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”
Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”
The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.
You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.
Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.
The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”
You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”
You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.
The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.
And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.
You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.
Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.
“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.
“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.
“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”
“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”
“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”
“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”
You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.
“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.
“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.
Incoherent screaming. Isa.
“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.
“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.
Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”
The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.
You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.
The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.
You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.
The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.
Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”
Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.
When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]
The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.
The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.
Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.
It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.
You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.
And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.
Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.
The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.
Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.
They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.
Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.
You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”
They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.
“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”
“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.
“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]
You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.
Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”
The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”
“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”
“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.
“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”
Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.
“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”
You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.
“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]
“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.
The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.
“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.
You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”
Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.
He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.
“See you next summer.”
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If I could ask you for some advice, what do you think helps the flavour text of a mech or piece of equipment sell a player on the fantasy of using it?
I'm finding it frustratingly difficult to do so with my own homebrew content: I can come up with lore and backstory easily enough, but re-reading it feels dry, and I can't help but contrast it with how the descrptions in official content and other supplements is more evocative, at least for mechs.
Let's observe some corebook Lancer flavour text and examine the various varieties it comes in.
Purely Functional
While it's usually not the most fun type of flavour text, this just tells us what the weapon is, and - if it has any particular tags or on-hit effects - why it's like that. The Hand Cannon is a good example: here's what it is (modified pistol), here's why it does more damage, and here's why it has Loading.
The main advantage of Purely Functional flavour text is that it provides space for other types of flavour text to breathe. Flavour text is a great place for jokes, but it's not good for every piece of flavour text to be a joke - the pauses between notes in music are just as important as the notes.
Obfuscating Vendorspeak
The Bristlecrown Flechette Launcher this is a great example of dark humour that Lancer uses quite often: marketing fast-talk to cover up something really unpleasant. The joke here is based on us understanding precisely what the equipment does mechanically, and then seeing how the manufacturer tries to sell it. There's a bunch of dense technobabble here meant to obfuscate the fact that this weapon fires knives in every direction specifically designed to kill infantry.
Deadpan Weirdness
The joke here relies on describing something extremely weird like it's the most natural thing in the world. Wait, you're telling me that in a world where I can just print new parts if the old ones break, they put DRM on my fucking knife and I have to apologise to the fucking knife maker to get a new one? What the fuck, dude? Why are you acting like this makes any sense?!
My sword uploads fucking what to the Space Internet?!
Third-Act Twist
This type of flavour text disguises itself as something else - most often Purely Functional - and then hits you with Third Act Twist. It makes you go "wait, what?!" It's very classic setup-punchline stuff. You're telling me my mech can rot?!
As a side note, Lancer loves to use this for its NHPs.
WHY DID YOU PUT THAT IN SCARE QUOTES, LUCIFER
Worldbuilding
This is similar to the Purely Functional, but instead of just describing technical specifications of the weapons, it puts the weapon in the broader context of the setting's history. Okay, so we know what this weapon is and what it does - why was it built? What was the original use case, and why? Most importantly, what can the existence of this weapon tell us about the world that build it?
Whimsical Aside
This is the insertion of a light-hearted, humanising little insertion regarding how this piece of equipment gets used in the field. This serves to remind us that soldiers aren't cold, unfeeling killing machines: they can be as emotional, irreverent and silly as the rest of us, and they do things like name their mobile bombs...
... or call resupply drones "mech snacks."
The Ominous Out-Of-Context Quote That Explains Nothing And Only Raises More Questions
As I've said in multiple textmash memes, this is basically Tom and Miguel's shorthand for "this technology is Intensely Fucked Up in a way that it is more fun and scary not to explain." This is essentially Lancer's version of SCP's [REDACTED].
You might think this is the domain of HORUS, and you'd be right, but every single manufacturer indulges in these - although IPS-N had to wait until NRFaW to get theirs:
What the fuck do you mean by that, Lancer?
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You shouldn't get a wheelchair, walker, cane, shower chair, or any kind of assistive technology mobility aid because then you might become dependent on them. Just like how you also shouldn't get glasses if you have bad eyesight because then you might become dependent on those.
For instance, if you end up stuck using corrective eyewear, you could actually lose your ability to tell what things are even when they are extremely blurry! You need to get used to having migraines from seeing unclearly because if you wear glasses all the time, you are basically giving up!! You don't need to see things coming at you from far away! You just need to get good at dodging, and if you can't, then you have no one to blame but yourself!!
For example, I read a really heart-worming article recently about a girl who was stuck using glasses - just absolutely, tragically trapped in her eyewear from dawn to dusk, even though she was good and never ever complained; and I heard she trained herself to discern the blurry faces of her loved ones with 60% accuracy! - she was even able to walk down the aisle at her wedding WITHOUT forcing the discomfort of seeing a woman in glasses on all her guests!!
Sure, she had to give her vows with a splitting headache, and she couldn't see her husband's expression when he said "I do," but overall, SO inspi-ration-al!!! So up-lifting!!
(She didn't even have to use a seeing eye cane, which would have been the worst-case scenario, obviously, because she worked hard to make sure she looked LESS disabled, not MORE disabled!!! Everyone knows blind people exist solely to be a cautionary tale to sighted people!!)
Also, did you know some people get glasses when they only need them a little bit?? How selfish of them! Sure, there's not a shortage, and an increase in demand would result in overall increased accessibility to glasses--but emotionally it's like taking glasses away from someone who needs them more! After all, if everyone who needed glasses got them, then...... um...... more people would have glasses! Which is probably bad!!!!
I also had a friend who was trapped in glasses who saved up all her money for laser eye surgery, and I don't know why everyone doesn't just do that! Sure, some doctors say some people don't "qualify" and it "won't help" those people, but that's why you can't give up!! You don't want to be one of those people!
After all, what's the worst thing that could happen with an unnecessary laser surgery to the face that comes with crippling debt??? It's worth the risk to gain your FREEDOM back, and I'm so proud of my friend!!
Tragically, she did die later that year while driving Uber and squinting at street signs, but at least now I know my friend is finally free from the shackles of her terrible eyesight. #ripAshley #rippedAshley #justripit 😌😌😌❤😇😇😇
And that's why you shouldn't get used to using a mobility aid!! Because, like glasses, they are inherently embarrassing to be seen with; and - like glasses - it is more noble to suffer silently than to depend on unnatural technologies that force you to rely on them; AND - just like glasses - by abstaining from using them, you DEFINITELY benefit SO many people in tangible life-changing ways!!! (Besides, everyone else will be so much more comfortable if you just look normal! 😊)
I hope you learned something today. 💖
#original#to be absolutely clear all of this is satire from a person who has been denied a wheelchair because of these exact reasons#it's been 5 years since I first asked for one and was told no bc i might become reliant on it.#it's been an extremely painful and stationary 5 years.#blind people can lead full and beautiful lives and they deserve respect and accommodation and agency#listen to disabled people about what they need#disability advocacy#disability#ableism cw#disabled#mobility aids#wheelchair#wheelchair user#rollator#mobility aid#scooter#electric wheelchairs#cane user#actually crippled#angry cripple alert#i also have glasses if that is relevant#cripple punk
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Hi there!
I really love your fanfics!
I couldn’t use the link to submit a request so I’m sending it here !
What about a fanfic where Ried has a family but he’s kept it secret for so many years so they wouldn’t get hurt. He has a small daughter and a young son. One day at the office, he gets pictures of someone taking pictures of them with a threat so he has to come clean to the team and bring his family to the office to keep them safe and they are all shocked
Please no pressure for this fic! Love your work!!!
Securing Secrets / S.R.
Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer has always attempted to keep his family safe. So much so, they had become a secret. But when their lives are threatened, he has no choice but to come clean and ask for the help of his team. Warnings - Stalking, mentions of violence and death Words - 3.8K
A/n - I hope this is okay for you - I wrote a little more than I intended to but I still hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
It was no wonder why Spencer had kept his family to himself. When he had faced killers like Cat Adams and Tobias Hankle, he knew what humans were capable of - if he dared to even compare them to anything humane. So, he made the decision when he met Y/n to forever keep her a secret from his work. And when they started growing a little family with two children, he kept them a secret too.
Sometimes it killed him inside. As much as he loved his team, risking the lives of his family just wasn't enough for him. He had lost his first love, had his mother held captive, he wasn't about to risk his family too. He had learnt from his past - at least he thought he had done.
"Morgan, hey, no, you can't-" Y/n called towards their seven year old daughter whose sticky fingers had grasped a hold of a copy of fifty shades of grade. When she thought taking the kids on a day trip out to the book store would be easy, she hadn't imagined her seven year old reading smut. "You can't read that." She scolded before placing the book back on its shelf.
The bushy-haired girl gazed up at her mother, "Why not?" She huffed.
Her arm wrapped around Jay, their more reserved, four (and a half) year old. "Because it's an adult book. When you're old enough, you can read it."
"I am old enough, Daddy said I've got an advanced reading age!" Of course, she did - she was the daughter of the guy who could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention, she was going through the 'I'm old enough to do what I want' phase.
"Ask me again when you're 18, how about that?" She suggested before the child wrapped at her torso and stared up at her.
"Will Dada be home?" He asked.
Jay always liked coming home from their day trips to find Spencer already there, his head deep in another book or a case file. But days like that were rare - as much as both the parents hated such. "Erm-" Before she could give her son an answer, her phone started to ring. "That should be him." She gave the boy a smile before pulling out her mobile and seeing Spencer's contact staring back at her.
The man, from the moment they made it official, had always made sure to call her at the end of his working day. Whether he was in a hotel somewhere in the country, on the jet or if he was simply in his car, travelling home. "Hey, Spence, you should hear what Morgan wants to read-"
She could barely finish her breath, "Where are you?" He asked, his tone ever so stern that it was already making her nervous.
"The bookstore down town." She answered, already glancing around like she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. "Why?"
The girl could hear his uneven breaths on the other side of the phone, "I- Shit-" That's when Y/n knew something was wrong - her husband never swore...ever. "Can you come to the office? With the kids, we need you here."
"The office? Spencer, what are you talking about? I thought they didn't know."
"Yeah, well something's changed." Her heart started beating so fast that she wondered if Jay would be able to feel it. "Please, I need to know you're all safe."
She nodded and gazed over at her two children whom were waiting to hear about what Daddy had told her. "We'll be right over," She assured.
"And Y/n," He spoke, "In your car, in the glove compartment, there's a pistol, please, take it." What the hell had happened? Spencer could barely use a gun himself, never mind her. "I put it in there just in case and, just keep it on you until you get here."
"Okay, yeah." She didn't like the idea but, if someone was threatening them, if someone was putting her and her children at risk, she would do whatever was needed.
"I'll see you soon." Spencer huffed, "I love you."
"I love you too."
And with that, she ended the call. Only a single exhale dared to leave her lips before she stood. "Is Dada home?" Jay nagged.
She scooped the boy up into her arms, "No, but we're gonna visit him at work, okay?" Jay didn't seem happy about the idea but she'd rather the boy be safe than happy. "Come on," With her free hand, she grasped Morgan's finger tips tightly. "We need to go."
She rushed her and the kids into her parked car outside, making sure to look over her shoulder. Once she was seated in the driver's seat with the engine running, her gaze glanced to the glove compartment. Y/n needed to. Her hand leaned over, pushing it open and finding the gun stuffed behind a thick car manual. She grasped it for a moment before placing it on the passangers seat for easy access.
From there, she didn't take her foot off the gas. She was usually an ulta-safe driver. But, tonight, everything was different.
When they arrived to the BAU, Y/n pressed the button for the sixth floor and waited for the doors to glide open. With two children at either side of her, she wandered into the office. Her eyes instantly searched for Spencer. Instead, a blonde, colourful girl came running over to them. Well, walking as fast as she could in her thick heels. Garcia, Y/n assumed.
"Oh, you must be the lovely Mrs Reid," She sighed in relief when she came face to face with Y/n.
She glanced her up and down; there was no way this was JJ or Emily. "Penelope, right?"
The girl almost seemed surprised, "You- you know me?"
Y/n's face softened ever so slightly, "Of course."
"Y/n!" Her head turned from Garcia to see Spencer jogging over to her. Once he was close enough, he instantly engulfed the girl into a tight hug. "You okay?" He asked before pulling away and hugging his two children.
She nodded, "Yeah, we're okay, don't worry." When Spencer stood from hugging his kids, he gazed back over at his wife. She had grasped her hand from the back hem of her jeans, pulling out the pistol he had made sure she take. "Here, I've no idea what I'm doing with it anyway." Spencer took the weapon from her before her expression turned stern, "Now, what the hell is going on?"
Spencer's eyes instantly glanced down at their children; they didn't need to hear this. "Morgan, Jay," He spoke ever so softly to them as he leaned down, "Why don't you go with Garcia, she'll show you all her funky toys?" He glanced back at Penelope who was gleaming with a smile as she offer a hand for each child.
"Oh, yeah! I've got unicorns, fairies, fluffy pens, everything." She gleamed, trying to hide her fear for the true reason Spencer's family had been bought into the BAU. Once the kids took the woman's hand she gave one last look at the couple, "Let me know if you need anything."
The boy nodded before Garcia began leading the children towards her cave, "Someone- someone found you." He started to explain as he interlocked his hand with her, guiding the two over towards the conference room where the rest of the team were waiting. "I don't know how and I don't know who but- but around 30 minutes ago I had email to my work address. There's photos, almost a months worth."
Her brows narrowed at him, "Of what?"
"Of you."
Oh god. Despite all the effort the two had put in to keep their family personal, someone had still connected her and the kids to Spencer. And for whatever reason, they had become a target.
Spencer opened the door to the conference room, where the team were waiting. Most of them sat at the round table where they had several files and papers scattered in front of them. But at the entrance of Reid and his secret wife, they each turned. She offered them a weak smile before the man, whom she assumed was Hotch, spoke up, "Sadly we don't have much time for small talk, but we all want to help." He stood over towards Y/n and offered her his hand, "Aaron Hotchner."
She shook his hand, "Hotch, I should have known." And then she glanced around the table at the rest of the agents. Without hesitation, she named them all, "JJ, Emily, Rossi and Morgan." She smiled at each of them. "Spencer talks about you all a lot."
The boy next to her grinned every so slightly. "I wish we could have met differently." Morgan offered as he stood up, "Take a seat, we'll run you through what we know."
Y/n followed Spencer as the two sat at the round table and the tv screen in front of them started filling with papazzi-style photographs of the woman. Her grocery shopping, her at a bar with some friends, and even one from this morning: hand in hand with Jay as she led the two children into the bookstore they adored.
"You said this has been going on for a month?" How could that have been the case and she had no idea?
Hotch nodded, "We believe so yes."
"Who would want to do this?" She questioned; she wasn't exactly an interesting person. She had a normal life - as the pictures had proven.
Spencer took her hand, "We erm, we're not sure yet. We have one theory."
The tv screen clicked onto another slide. A woman's face filled the screen. A woman whom Y/n had heard far too much about: Cat Adams. "We know Adams has an obsession with Reid, and well, we know she likes to target his personal life," JJ informed as Y/n recalled the days in which Diana had been held captive. "If she somehow found out about you, it would have set her off."
"But she's in prison." Y/n pointed out.
Emily shrugged, "She was in prison when she found Reid's mother. She's- She's a master manipulator and ever since Reid first encountered her, he was the first man to challenge her." All of which Y/n already knew.
"If you really think it's her then-" Her eyes gazed over at Spencer, filled with worry, "You're going to have to talk to her aren't you?" It wasn't a question; she knew it.
Spencer sucked in a breath before he dared to nod.
It didn't take them long. Before Y/n realised it, she was watching out the window of the conference room as two prison guards held Cat by either one of her arms. She was smiling- no, she was smirking. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes gazed around the office until she was forced into an interrogation room.
All they needed to know was who her contact was. Once they had a name, they could find them and put whoever that was in prison too.
Y/n stood next to Spencer as they stared at the woman through the double-sided mirror. "If she's done all this to get to you, why are we letting her talk to you?" The girl questioned.
"She always slips up in front of Reid." Emily answered - despite how much they all hated the idea.
Rossi was the first to pose another opinion, "What if we give her something she isn't expecting?" He suggested, "What if we don't give her Reid?" Surely, if the team sent in someone Cat Adams didn't expect, then maybe she would slip up just as easily - if not more so.
The older man shared a glance with Emily. A glance of which allowed them to silently suggest something; the two had an idea that wasn't yet shared with the rest of the group. It wasn't until Emily's eyes landed on Y/n that they started to understand what the two were thinking, "What if- What if we sent Y/n in?"
The girl scoffed; that must have been a joke. "You're kidding, right?" She laughed. "I mean, I'm not- I'm an agent. I'm a normal person. I can't talk to a criminal!"
"That's exactly what we need," Spencer spoke aloud without even realising, "She's expecting me, she's expecting FBI, send in someone different and it might just make her slip." Spencer turned to face Y/n, one hand gently cupping her cheek as he spoke, "Especially if we send in the very girl she's jealous of."
Y/n's head shook; she couldn't. She was with Spencer, but she wasn't a part of his world, "I can't."
"You can," His voice soothed, "You can do anything."
"We'll be right here," Emily assured.
Y/n glanced back at the window, at the criminal who had targetted her. If this was their best shot, then she might have to take it. Her family was at risk for goodness sake. Once they figured out who her partner on the otherside, all this would be over. The girl sighed, "Fine," She finally agreed. "But if anything happens, if she does anything, please-"
Spencer was already nodding, "We'll get you out of there, don't worry." He promised.
His hands fell from her skin before she glanced between the other two agents, "How do I do this then?" She asked.
"Go in there, vague questions, act better than she is, because you are," Emily mentored, "We need to figure out how she's orchestrated this."
With those instructions, the girl nodded and Rossi handed her the file. The one of which was filled with the stalker photos of herself and the kids, "See what happens if you show her these too, it might tell us a lot." He explained.
And with that, with that grace of a nod, a peck to Spencer's lips, the girl headed into the interrogation room.
Cat Adams was nonchalant. She had learnt a lot. She had learnt the best way to not let BAU agents know what she was thinking. But sending Y/n in certainly hadn't been what she expected.
The girl swallowed as she took the seat across from Cat with a very weak smile. She gazed up at the woman who had suddenly grown a sickly smile which made Y/n become nervous. She wanted to leave already, "Hi," Cat shrugged her shoulders and gazed softly at Y/n.
But the other girl was staring back with narrowed eyes, "Do you know who I am?" She questioned.
Cat leaned back and shrugged, letting out nothing but a hum. So Y/n leaned forward and placed one of the photos in front of the girl. It was just of her - no Jay or Morgan present. Just her, exiting her car as she headed to the store, "So you don't recognise this?".
She barely glanced at it, "Should I?"
"You know Doctor Reid though, don't you?"
Instantly, her demeanour shifted. But she desperately tried to hide it, "Bumped into him...sure." She shrugged it off.
Y/n thought for a moment before raising her left hand, wiggling her ring finger to show off her wedding ring to the girl, "Yeah well, I know him quite well." She said, watching as Cat's smile completely dissipated, "And he, well, he sort of mentioned you. I mean I sort of remember your name...remind me again? Carol? Cath-?"
"Cat." She cut in.
The girl faked a shock of realisation; this was exactly what Emily had asked: make herself look better than Cat. "And you don't know me?" She glanced back to her wedding ring, "Wife." She spoke.
The girl huffed and smiled to herself like something was funny, "Yeah, good luck with that."
Y/n glared back at her, tilting her head. The words from Emily echoed through her mind. "And what do you mean by that?"
Cat doesn't want to answer that. More specifically, she doesn't want to answer Y/n. "He- he's complicated, I'm sure you're aware right? Girlfriend died, no dad around, mum got kidnapped, and well, god knows everything that's happened to his team." She almost finds it funny.
Y/n leaned her elbows against the metal table, "And you were the very person who took his mother. I know you, Cat. I know all you want is to win against my husband but tough luck, it's not going to happen." The girl tried to keep up her straight face but when facing Cat Adams, it seemed to be proving difficult.
She shrugged, "Maybe not before, but now I have you." Her eyes narrowed and suddenly Y/n grew nervous; she was behind this. All of it. "And of course, you two little munchkins." Her shoulders squeezed and she smiled sickly.
"So you do know them."
"I know everything."
A shiver flew down her spine. She was behind all of this. And Y/n couldn't help but ask: "And what do you want?" Y/n had some idea. This had nothing to do with her or the kids; it was all about getting back at Spencer.
She giggled, "Well there would be no fun in telling you, would there?"
"You can't do this myself yourself," Y/n stated. Once they had the name of whoever it was on the outside, they could get over this: they could move on.
The girl on the other side of the metal table simply shrugged, "Who says I am?" And like that, it was confirmed. Not only the fact that she was behind this, but that she had partner and the outsider. And that was all they needed - for now, anyway.
With narrowed eyes, Y/n glared at the girl and started to stand from the chair. She didn't need anything else. She took a breath before turning her back, "You might want to look over your shoulder." Cat taunted.
Something of which, the girl had ignored as she continued out of the interrogation room. An exhale fell from her lips as she found herself back in the company of people she trusted. Of people she knew...with Spencer.
His hand instantly reached at her waist, pulling her close. The feeling of her skin at his releasing a relief she couldn't stop. He was safe. He was loving. He was her husband, "Are you okay?" He questioned before anyone else had the chance to speak.
The girl nodded but gave no words. What was she meant to say after a face to face with Cat Adams? "She's definitely behind this," Emily confirmed.
"She's working with someone too," Y/n added as she eased into the familiar feeling of Spencer.
"So now we know that," Y/n started as she gazed between the three agents, "What do we do now?"
"Now," Answered Rossi, "We get Garcia."
And so the group of them wandered over from the interrogation room and headed to what they called Garcia's 'cave'. And safe tp say was. No windows, just a lot of screens and several different sparkly things. Plush teddies, framed stock photos of puppies and a slingy which Jay was playing with.
"Hi," Y/n gleamed as she greeted her kids once more, "You two been good for Garcia?"
The woman stood from her chair, "They're angels," She smiled.
"We need your help now," Spencer said as they quickly entered back into the situation at hand. They didn't have time for small talk.
"Of course, anything."
And so she sat back at her chair as Spencer came to her side, beginning to list the profile they had started, "Look for names that pop up in the guest book of the hotel Montana, it's the building next to our house." Spencer informed and Garcia became manically typing. "They'll have been a guest for at least a month, cross check that with anyone from Cat's old life, work, college, high school, anything-"
"Nothing."
"What if- I mean surely whoever this person is would be using an alias," Y/n suggested.
A theory of which Spencer agreed with, "Bring up a photo of the guests who have stayed for a month."
Garcia followed: there were three. As they scrolled through high school pictures and then college- "There!"
A photo matched. A woman, same age as Cat, sickly sweet smile, fire red hair and geeky glasses. And then the name: Amy Duke. They had a name. They had everything Garcia could find. "That's got to be her," Emily confirmed.
"Garcia, send us everything." And like that, everything was go-go-go.
Y/n barely had a chance to speak before her hand was reaching out to stop Spencer from running off, "Hey," She called.
His hands cupped at her cheeks, "It'll be alright, I promise." He gave a smile which could ease her nervous a million times over. "Go home, I'll be there soon."
And like that, he was gone.
Y/n said her goodbyes to Garcia before taking her kids hand in hand and heading for the exit. She tried to not think about what Spencer was doing, about the woman he was facing. It was all too overwhelming. Instead, she focused on feeding her kids and getting them dressed for bed. It was horrible when they asked about where Daddy was - if he was coming home. All she could tell them was that it was going to be fine...even if she wasn't so sure of such herself.
She perched at the end of Morgan's bed, her door open, giving the woman a view of a sleeping Jay in the room across the hall. She didn't dare to leave her children when there was danger still looming over them. The girl watched as her daughter's chest rose and fell with her breaths. And after what felt like hours, the front door rustled open.
Y/n became alert, she flew up to her feet and wandered carefully out of Morgan's room. She lingered at the top of the stairs; what if it wasn't her husband? "Spence?" She called, worrisome.
He was already rushing up the stairs at the sound of her voice, "Hey, it's me don't worry." He met her at the top of the landing, engulfing his body around her. "It's over, I swear, she's been arrested, Cat is back in prison." Relief flooded her. "It's all over."
Her head gazed up at him, a slight grin brushing over her lips, "What a way to meet your second family, hey?" She giggled. And while the day had been horrid, there was some good out of it - she wasn't a secret anymore.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds one shot#criminal minds imagine#emily prentiss#derek morgan#aaron hotcner#hotch#x reader#imagine#fanfic#oneshot
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For the AU request, what about nervous Wanda asking Natasha to take R out just the two of them. Maybe they just go to the park or to a movie. R being 5 :)
Can't Say No
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Summary: Wanda wants to get to know you a little more and asks your mom if she can take you out for the day.
Comfort
Warnings: None | 2K
Translations: милый (darling), мед (honey),
AC: Thank you for sending this! I love the idea; I hope you enjoy it! x
A Widow’s Sunshine Masterlist
"Do you want cheerios or porridge for breakfast?" Your mother asked with a soft smile as you took a seat at the small wooden table in the kitchen with your favorite stuffie sitting beside you, "uhm, porridge please!" You replied with a sweet smile that your mother loved so much. "Coming right up!" She said, reaching for the cupboard. You weren't much of a fuzzy child which was something Nat was a little thankful for, you'd eat most things, you loved your fruits and most of your vegetables, but you weren't too big on meat because you didn't like when it would get stuck in your teeth.
While the porridge cooked in the microwave, your mom poured you a small cup of orange juice and placed it in front of you just as the microwave peeped. "Thank you, mommy" you said before you took a small sip of your drink. Your mother returned with your breakfast in hand, placing a kiss on the top of your head, "it's a little hot милый, we'll just give it a moment to cool, okay?" She said. You nodded, not too fussed.
"What are doing today mommy?" You asked, looking up at her.
"Well, baby, mommy has to go into work and do a little paperwork so I thought we could go to the park afterwards, how does that sound?" She replied, stirring your breakfast around.
"Can Dory come?" You asked. Your favorite stuffie named after a character from one of your favorite movies.
"Of course, милый" Natasha smiled right as her mobile began to buzz, placed your breakfast in front of you and reached for her back pocket. "Be careful baby, if it's too hot, give it a few more minutes, okay?" She said, you nodded but it was just right to eat. Natasha looked down at her phone, butterflies fluttered in her stomach when she read Wanda's name on her screen, and she wasted no more time before answering.
"Wands, hi!" Your mother said in a sweet tone as she slowly wandered out of the kitchen,
"Hey, sorry if I called too early" Wanda replied.
"Don't stress, I just finished making Y/n breakfast, is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine" Wanda replied and Nat was sure she could hear the soft smile through the phone, "I was just calling because you mentioned yesterday that you were gonna head into the compound today and catch up on some mission reports so I thought and of course if you're not okay with it, I completely understand but I was wondering, you could be okay if I took Y/n for the day? That way you can get as much work done as you need, and Y/n and I will get some time to get to know one another more. But like I said, it's completely fine if you're not okay with that, I just thought I'd ask" She added.
"Actually, that would be really helpful, let me just ask Y/n" Natasha couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Having you meet her partner was a big seat for Natasha and it meant the world to her to know that Wanda wasn't put off about the idea of Nat being a single parent and she loved knowing that Wanda wanted to get to know you more.
Your mother came back into the kitchen and smiled softly at you, "мед, would you like to spend a few hours with Wanda today instead of coming to work with me?" She asked.
You enjoyed Wanda's company, you liked her long hair and the funny faces she could pull, you nodded instantly with a growing smile, "yes please!!" You almost jumped out of your chair, making Natasha chuckle.
"I'm not sure if you heard that but I have a very excited little girl who would love to spend the day with you" Nat said back to Wanda.
"Well, I am glad! Tell her I am very excited too! Shall I come by and pick her up in an hour?" Wanda asked.
"Sounds perfect to me, thank you detka, we'll see you soon" Nat replied before hanging up.
An hour later and you were waiting by the front door of the small apartment you lived in with your mother, dressed and full of excitement for your day with Wanda. Your mom braided your hair just like she did hers, as requested by you of course. "She's here!! She's here!!" You called, jumping up and down when you heard a knock at the door. Your mom chuckled at your excitement and grabbed your backpack which had some snacks and your drink bottle in it before opening the door.
Wanda smiled instantly when she saw just how excited you were, "Hi Wanda!" You greeted her with your stuffie, Dory, in your arms. "Good morning, Y/n and I believe that is Dory?" Wanda replied. You turned and looked up at your mother with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, "she knew Dory's name mommy!!" You said with shock.
Both adults chuckled, "I told you, she can read minds" Natasha smiled. Of course you didn't think she was being serious. "Make sure you're a good girl for Wanda, okay?" Your mother kneeled in front of you and placed a kiss on your cheek, "I'll be the best mommy! So will Dory!" You smiled.
Nat handed your backpack to Wanda and explained what was inside while you waited so patiently to spend the day with your new friend. You said goodbye to your mother and took Wanda by the hand before the two of you began to walk down the hall to the evaluator and out into the busy street.
"Is there anything you would like to do today?" Wanda asked while the two of you walked hand in hand down the street to her car. "Mommy was going to take me to the park today" you said, but not too sure on what on earth you wanted to do besides that.
"Well, how about we do to the movies and then after that we can have lunch in the park?" Wanda offered, your eyes lit up and your smile only grew bigger as you nodded.
----
Wanda took you to see Shrek 2, she let you pick the movie, and it was a hard pick between Shark Tale or Shrek 2 but when you saw Puss in Boots on the cover, the choice was made. You enjoyed a small soda and shared some popcorn and giggles with Wanda throughout the movie. To Wanda's surprise, you weren't tired at all after the film, in fact it was almost as if you had more energy than before but then again, you are the Black Widow's daughter.
After the movies, Wanda let you pick what the two of you would have for lunch. You picked the small pizza restaurant that was only a short walk from the cinema. Wanda brought you a slice of your pick and then it was off to the park. Of course, Wanda didn't let you run off to play until you had some of your pizza and some water but once you did, you were off making friends with many of the other children on the playground.
"Wanda!" You said, running up to her while she sat watching you from the park bench, "can you please look after Dory?" You asked, face red from all the playing you had been doing, "I don't want her to get dirty" you added.
"Of course, I can" Wanda smiled as you handed her your stuffie, "I will look after her with the best of care" she added with confidence. You thanked her and then it was off to play some more.
When it was time to start heading home, Wanda noticed you playing in the bushes by yourself, she frowned slightly as she walked over to you with Dory in one hand and your backpack in another, "Y/n, is everything okay?" She asked, startling you.
"Look, Wanda!" You said, pointing into the bushes. Just as Wanda kneeled down, a small black kitten popped out of the bushes, you giggled when the little kitten brushed up against you which brought relief to Wanda who wasn't sure what to expect at first.
"Can I take her home to mommy, please?" You begged, catching Wanda off guard.
"Oh, uhm, I'm n-"
"Pleaseeee" you begged and honestly, who was Wanda to say no too?
"Well, alright, but we should get you both home before it gets too late, I'm sure your mom would like you to have a bath before dinner" Wanda smiled, reaching for her phone and texting Natasha right away, "just know, I tried to say no" she texted before the two of you started walking back to her car.
----
Natasha could hear your little voice in the hall, which brought a smile to her lips as she opened the door to greet you but what she saw you in your arms made Wanda's text message make sense. "Hi мед, who is this?" Your mother asked as you smiled at her.
"A kitty I found at the park, Wanda said I could bring her home" you replied honestly. The small kitten took Natasha by surprise, you had already fallen in love with the little animal that she quickly noticed how Wanda tried to say no.
"I tried" Wanda whispered.
"Can we keep her mommy, please?" You begged, placing the kitten on the floor.
"мед, we don't know where this kitten has been, we would need to take it to the vet first" your mother replied, "she was in the bushes" you said back, not letting any excuses pass by, "please mommy, I will let you name her!" You offered. Wanda tried to hide the smirk that tugged at her lips, you were most definitely Natasha's daughter, that's for sure.
There was a moment of silence, your mother unsure how to tackle this but on one hand, she didn't see the harm in allowing you to have your first pet. "How about you go wash your hands and I'll have a think about it, and we can talk more about it after dinner" your mother offered and just to win your mother over, you did exactly what she asked.
Wanda stayed for dinner, the three of you enjoying some lasagna while you fed tiny pieces of mince to the little kitten, both Nat and Wanda noticed how the kitten didn't seem to leave your side, even when you came home and placed her on the floor, she was by your feet which to Wanda is more of a sign but to Nat it was going to be harder to tell you that you couldn't keep the animal.
"Look mommy, she has the same eyes as Wanda" you pointed out after dinner, now your mother definitely couldn't say no. Wanda chuckled, "that is pretty cool" she said but your mom just smiled softly as she placed the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
When the time came for Wanda to go home, you didn't want her to go but it was almost your bedtime and Wanda promised to come see you again another day. "Thank you for all the fun today!" You smiled before giving Wanda a hug, "you are more than welcome, thank you for the fun" she replied.
"милый, how about you and Liho go get ready for bed and I'll be in to read to you in a few minutes?" Your mother smiled softly at you as your eyes widened, "we can keep her?" You asked, earning yourself a nod from your mom. "Thank you, mommy!!" You hugged her tightly before running off to your room with little Liho running shortly behind. With you distracted by your new little friend, Natasha was able to show Wanda just how much she really appreciated her help today, kissing her deeply, something she had waited all day to do.
"Promise me on thing" Natasha said, her hands placed on Wanda's hips.
"Depends" Wanda bit her bottom lip making Nat lightly chuckle, "next time you and my daughter hang out, no more pets" Nat replied (not so) jokingly.
"Hey, if you couldn't even say no, how do you think I'm supposed too? Besides, it got me a little extra date so I'm not complaining" Wanda replied with a playful wink. "Great, now I have two people I can't say no too" Nat rolled her eyes playfully before giving Wanda one last kiss for the night.
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