#powerful golf swing

[thedreadpiratematt]

Marx forgive me for I went to the driving range with Republicans today

#lol #the Republicans in question being my dad and brother in law because it's family vacation week #and they're not the kind to rub the Roe overturn in my face or anything #we are a polite and VERY conflict avoidant family #though BIL and i did have a friendly debate/discussion about socialism last night #also I'm bad at golf in case anyone is wondering #BIL says i could be great and i have a naturally powerful swing #but he doesn't need to know i think golf courses should be reclaimed for public housing :)

[sunlightmurdock]

Hey, Neighbour! | DBF!Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Jake’s been having a problem recently, and when the power goes out next door, everything quickly comes to a head.

Warnings: dad’s best friend trope. Age gap. Reader is in her mid-20s, Jake’s around 40. Obviously unbalanced power dynamic. No use of Y/N. Reader’s dad has a name. Mention of reader having a piercing. Smut. Pure filth and pining. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Unprotected pinv. Creampie. Jake has no respect for his best friend’s furniture. Choking briefly. Please comment / Reblog, it’s greatly appreciated. Wc: 8.5k. Minors dni, you will be blocked.

…

Jake clicks the television off and pushes himself up from the couch, joined by his shadow of a German shepherd called Ace. They walk together to the sound of the meek little knock at his front door, Jake’s gym socks padding along his dark wood floors along the way.

It’s late. Too late for whoever is at his front door to be bearing good news. He twists the door handle and pulls it open, rolling back his aching shoulders. This late at night, he has a good idea of who’s going to be standing on his porch.

As expected, standing there and shivering in your dad’s coat and a pair of slippers, is exactly the last person that Jake was hoping to see.

You see, Jake has had a bit of a problem since he moved in to this neighbourhood.

Quite a substantial one, in the grand scheme of things, and one that seems to just be getting worse by the minute.

Suburbia was meant to be Jake’s reprieve from his bachelor lifestyle. His escapades have been worrying his mother to death for going on two decades now, and it came time that even Jake agreed that it was time to wisen up about his love life. With all of the deployments, and all of the time away from home, it had been beyond easy to never fall into anything serious. By the time he was twenty-nine, Jake’s longest ever relationship was two and a half months, which was alarming given the number of women he had encountered by then.

Two things happened that sent Jake here, to this cute little cul-de-sac in suburban San Diego, one — Jake’s job became more secure, and guaranteed that he would spend at least ninety percent of his remaining career here on the west coast. Second, he proposed to a woman. A beautiful woman, that he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

She liked his house, it looked like the one her parents had raised her in. So, he bought the house and he bought a dog, and swore that he was going to try to settle down. Six months later, it was just him and the dog. Payton apologised profusely, and she’d apologise even more if he ever ran into her again, he just wasn’t right for her.

Things weren’t so bad though. Jake and Ace liked the peace and quiet, and the guy next door was actually pretty cool. Jack, the airline pilot with a mean golf swing and a great nose for the best sports bars in town. He’s a little older than Jake, with a hell of a lot more to show for it, including three grown up kids.

It’s been a couple of years now, and Jake’s practically part of the family. He knows everything there is to know. He’s there on birthdays, holidays, emergencies — he loves this family. But he has a problem.

His problem was manageable at first. So, Jack’s youngest daughter might have caught Jake’s attention at first. You were visiting home from college and you had stepped out of the car in a tight little pair of shorts and a tank top, and Jake just happened to be standing in Jack’s garage, helping him with a little project, when he first saw you.

And you were funny. Right away cracking some joke about Jake’s less than adept approach to projects around the house. Jake had laughed out loud without even meaning to, and then you’d turned your head and hit him with that mega-watt smile. Bringing new meaning to the term beaming.

God, that pretty fucking smile.

Your humour dances lightly on the nerves of others, like Jake’s, but sweeter. You’re well behaved and back then you had had a dreamy boyfriend who was in pre-med. Perfect in every way.

Even more reason for Jake to keep his hands to himself.

You were Jack’s kid. Jake wouldn’t ever cross that line. It’s just that sometimes… he had to remind himself of this boundary.

He hadn’t ever been close friends with someone where that was even a concern, and truthfully, he had been unprepared for meeting you. In all of the stories Jack told him, you were this cute little kid. Standing before him, you didn’t quite match the image he had of you in his head. This was truly uncharted territory.

Truth be told, there were times when Jake wasn’t so sure you wanted him to hang back. Even when you were still bringing that boyfriend of yours around, Jake caught the way you looked at him.

The way you tug those glossed lips between your teeth and grin around the straw of your drink.

If he was a better friend, or a stronger man, he might have been able to nip his little problem in the bud right away. He had tried, and you were living away from home then, so it was easier. But last month, you had moved back in with your parents and Jake’s life has been nothing but stress ever since.

On occasion, Jake thinks of how he would have to plead his case if someone discovered how he felt. You just don’t know what it’s like when she’s looking at me, man. I swear, I tried to stay away from her, I did.

It’s not his fault that Jack asked him to watch you while your folks were away on that cruise.

Jake’s gaze finally flickers back up to your wounded, hurt baby bunny, expression.

“What’s the matter, cutie? — You alright?” He reaches for you with one hand, gently grabbing at the crook of your elbow and guiding you towards him. That sad little look on your face tugs at his heart strings every time.

“Yeah, I just — I plugged in my phone charger and all the lights went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” All exasperated and frustrated at once, you push your hair back off of your face and frown at him. “Could you come take a look at it for me?”

Jake’s throat grows thick. Under your dad’s heavy work coat, Jake can see the thin white tank top you’re wearing and the blue checkered, boxer style pyjama shorts. But Jack asked him to take care of you.

“Yeah. Of course I can,” Jake nods his head and reaches down to tug at Ace’s black woven collar. “Come in a sec. I just need some shoes.”

There haven’t been too many occasions where you have been inside Jake’s place. Your dad comes here a lot and you’ve been sent over to collect him before dinner on occasion, or to deliver Jake some leftovers.

It’s warm inside, and it smells like woodsmoke and leather. He’s been burning the candle that you got him for his last birthday. You inhale softly, shrugging the coat closer to your body.

In the times that you have been over here, you’re always surprised by how tidy he keeps the place. It’s not what you would have expected of a single guy living all alone.

Jake pulls some sneakers from a tidy shoe organizer disguised to look like an end table and crouches down to put them on his feet. Leaning over, something catches his eye between the heavy fleece of your dad’s unzipped work jacket.

“Did you get your bellybutton pierced?”

The question startles you, drawing attention to the fact that you had been craning your neck and trying to get a look into Jake’s living room. You turn your head, blinking as Jake straightens up and takes a step towards you.

He reaches out and before you know it, his warm fingers are stretching out across your chilled, just exposed navel. His thumb brushes over your soft skin, brows drawing together as he examines the dainty jewelry pushed through your skin.

Swiftly, you take a step back and his hand drops away from your body. “I’ve had it for years.”

There’s a silence between the two of you. Jake’s going to be kicking himself for that for weeks to come. He shouldn’t have reached out and touched you like that. He shouldn’t be commenting on things your father wouldn’t approve of. You’re too grown up for that.

“Huh,” He clicks his tongue, reaching just past your side to grab his house keys from the dish by the door. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go take a look at those lights.”

The shuffle of your slippers cuts through the awkward silence as you cross Jake’s front yard and into yours. It’s late November, and a cold night in particular too. Standing in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the evening chill makes Jake’s arm hair stand on end. As you walk ahead, your back to him, Jake wonders if it has the same effect on you.

Thinking about his best friend’s daughter’s tits. He wishes the shame alone was enough to knock the thought out of his head. He wishes you hadn’t moved home. He wishes you weren’t leading him into your dark, empty house right now.

The entire house is pitch black, but Jake tests the hallway lightswitch in passing anyway. He notes the dubious look you shoot him back over your shoulder. Then, he passes by you as you stop to take off that big coat. It’s not something he wants to hang by and watch.

It’s cold as his shoulder brushes yours, and not just because it’s November. You swallow thickly, staring after him until he disappears into the dark. Your feelings towards Jake are complicated.

Well, they’re not. Your crush on him isn’t the innocent middle school crush that you used to have on an older figure, like a teacher. No, this is far from doodling his name in your journal. This man, and his thick, ridged abs and golden chest hair, is working his way into your dreams.

After the break-up, you had sworn off men for a while — and that was the right decision for you. But, it left certain parts of you yearning. And Jake’s right next door. From your bedroom window, you’ve got the perfect view into his backyard. The same backyard where he’ll work out in the blazing heat, sweat glistening along his tanned skin, along the ridges and valleys of his muscles.

No, this crush is far from innocent. It crossed the border into indecent weeks ago, the first time that you touched yourself thinking about him. It wasn’t your fault; he was tempting you.

You had returned home from work to find Jake hanging out in the living room with your father, not unusual, and you had joined the two of them. Your dad had started with a playful comment about Jake. Jake had returned the favour with a witty remark about your dad. You were just joining in on the fun, poking playfully at Jake’s age.

All too suddenly, he had turned sharply to you and pinched the soft skin between your ribs and hip, leaning dangerously close with a smirk on his face that made your head spin. In fact, you still remember the way your mouth had hung open as Jake had breathed out a chuckle and shot you that playfully warning look.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” He’d challenged, that eager look in those wild green eyes, his cheeks dimpling just slightly, fingers pressing into your side.

Since then, you can’t help but think of him closer, and closer.

“Jake, wait!” You call, dropping the coat onto a hook and kicking off your slippers, starting to rush after him. Jake cranes his neck to look back at you over his shoulder. “You should probably show me what you’re doing. Y’know, in case it happens again.”

“Sure. Come here,” Jake jerks his head for you to join him, extending his hand for you in the dark of the utility room. You swat around until your fingers graze his, falling silent at the brash way he grabs hold of your hand and drags you closer. Your ass briefly brushes his thigh as he guides you in front of him. Jake steps back, clearing his throat. The little red dot on the fuse box illuminates his fingertips as he reaches past you. “This is the switch you want, don’t mess with anything else or your dad’ll kill you.”

The corners of your lips twitch. There are plenty of things your dad would be furious with, if he knew you had done them.

Jake’s fingers curl around the switch. His cologne fills your nose. His massive bicep is inches from your cheek, and everything feels like electric as his other hand comes to rest on the bare space between your shirt and your shorts. You’re trapped between him and the wall in front. If you would push your hips back just an inch or two…

“So, you flip the switch off to reset it,” Jake’s voice is all gravel from yelling at the young pilots he instructs, and shouting over the top of loud music in bars. It drifts past your ears and makes you want to shiver as his fingers curl around the plush of your hip. “And then you flip it back on for the power.”

Suddenly, the lights come back on in the hall outside of the utility room. Jake’s got you cornered against the fuse box really, and with the washer and dryer to your side, the only escape would be to rush out into the hall. You’re not quite ready to make that move. You can hear the amusement in his voice. He can feel the way you’re burning with awkward embarrassment in front of him.

“Oh.” You say quietly. Jake chuckles from behind you, his hand trailing about an inch higher, taking some of the fabric from your tank top with it, pinching playfully at your newly exposed waist.

“Happy to help, kid.” He’s already drawing back, his hand pulling away from your electrified skin, the sound of his shoe hitting the floor and alerting you to the fact that he’ll be leaving before you even know it.

“Could I ask you for one more favour?” You turn to face him, biting sheepishly on your bottom lip.

“Sure. What is it?” He’d retile your entire bathroom for you if you asked him to. That’s what makes him wish he was a better friend.

There’s an art to the way you bat your lashes at him, knowing better than to get too close or put your hands on him. Just that deep, pleading look in your eyes is more than enough. “Will you finish watching my scary movie with me? — Kinda… freaked me out a little bit when the lights went out, is all.”

“… Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can hang out for a little.” You’re a good kid, and it’s just a movie. He can’t leave you over here all by yourself, scared out of your mind, now, can he?

Jake wonders if this is what your father had in mind when he had asked his most trusted friend to just be there for his daughter while they were away.

That same, trusted best friend, sitting on the couch with his chin propped up against his palm, and that daughter’s head resting against his shoulder. You could have sat over on the other end of the couch, or even in your dad’s armchair, but that defeats the purpose of asking Jake to stay.

“Fill me in. What am I missing here?” Jake asks, mostly to fill the silence. His arm stretches along the back of your couch, his knees parted obnoxiously and his neck awkwardly straight to minimise risk of him laying his head against yours.

Your hand comes to rest against his middle, eyes focused calmly on the screen. “So there are two timelines. The present, and flashbacks to like… maybe ten years ago. Ten years ago, the family bought this mirror, and…”

Jake’s fingers inch their way into your hair, trailing softly over your scalp. Your fingers brush over his middle as he massages your scalp. He listens to you explain the plot of the movie like he isn’t thinking about the way your nipples are pressing through the white fabric of your tank top.

“Freaky mirror…” Jake muses over the concept of the plot, squinting his eyes at the screen, his fingers slowing to a halt in your hair as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be able to sleep okay tonight if we watch this?”

You meet him back with a sheepish grin and an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Well, I already started, so I need to see that it ends okay, or I’ll be freaked out.”

“Alright. Just making sure you’re not gonna try crawling into my bed tonight after you have a nightmare.” Jake teases, pushing his knees further apart and sinking down into the comfort of the grey fabric couch he helped the movers bring in here last August.

He didn’t push you away when you sat right next to him and curled against his side. He reached out himself and stroked his fingers along your stomach.

Confidence surges through you like a wave, swelling big enough for you to giggle and press closer to him. “Come on, would that be such a bad thing?”

“What did you say?��

The swell has passed and the wave crashes just like all the others do, breaking over an otherwise calm sea. You swallow softly, growing exceptionally still.

“I was just kidding—“

Jake’s fingers leave your hair and curl instead around the nape of your neck. He turns his head, attempting to get a look at your face. “No, no. Say it again. What did you say?”

You shake your head, pressing it closer against his toned stomach. “I was just joking. You wouldn’t mind it that much if I had a bad dream and had to come sleep in your bed.”

He’s quiet for a moment and the movie draws tense. The main character is creeping around in the dark, the music is building, and Jake’s far too quiet for your liking.

“Don’t joke about that.” Jake says quietly.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You answer him, hugging your cheek into the dark fabric of his t-shirt. That way, there’s no chance of him seeing the shame on your face. Going after your dad’s best friend— you should be ashamed of yourself.

Jake rubs a palm over the stubble on his jaw, trying to focus on the screen in front of him. This movie can’t possibly take much longer.

He knows he has upset you. You’re uncharacteristically quiet, and he can feel you trying to sit still. He shifts his hips a little, reaching out and resting his palm against your waist.

Your brows draw together as the main character bites into the apple she was eating and glass shards drop to the floor in front of her. Jake feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Sweat beads on the nape of his neck.

His thumb swipes back and forth over the inch of bare skin on your hip.

Jake glances down at you. Laying against his middle like this. It feels all too natural. He isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Truthfully, the only thing on Jake’s mind is how soft your skin feels against the pad of his thumb.

Imagining how soft your body would feel in his palms, every inch of your skin in his capable hands.

You gasp as the camera pans to the main character’s bleeding mouth, and the shattered lightbulb in your hands, twisting your head and burying your face in Jake’s shirt.

Jake flinches, his attention drawn back to the screen as his fingers curl into your skin. His face twists in distaste, groaning at the gore on the screen.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about this being freaky.” Jake mutters with a soft shake of his head, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers massage at the pillowy skin of your waist. He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to the way you’re nestled just above his waistband. He tries a weak chuckle, mind racing for something to lighten the mood. “What am I meant to do if I’m up all night after this, huh?”

You laugh softly against his stomach, pressing closer to the warmth of his rigid torso. Jake stares at the screen as he feels your open palm brush over his abdomen, fingertips grazing the waistband of his sweats by mere millimeters. He strokes your skin, setting his knees further apart by an inch.

Even with the score of the movie in front of you, everything feels so quiet. Even with the floor lamp to your right and the table lamp to your left, it all feels so dark. It all feels so slow. Truthfully, you imagine this is as close as you’ll get to understanding what it feels like to tightrope across Niagara Falls.

One misstep, a strong gust, the loss of balance in any capacity and its all over. The best friendship that your father has ever had, thrown away because you made a pass at a man far too old for you to begin with.

Then, Jake’s fingers break their almost surgically precise pattern. The tips stretch just slightly under the fabric of your tank top, reaching for the silken skin of your stomach. It’s brief, before they retreat to the safety of circling the skin that you’ve chosen to expose. You drop your gaze, watching all five of his digits follow their intricate pattern, and stretch under the cotton white of your top once again.

Maybe Jake notices that you’re watching him, or maybe he finally notices it himself, but he stops all at once. Fingers pulling back to rest platonically against your hip, green eyes trained seriously on the television, his lips stretched into a flat line.

“It’s okay,” You whisper without turning your gaze away from the screen. Jake doesn’t look at you. He feels your fingers brush across the top of his, curling through the digits, linking them together. “It’s okay, Jake. You can. I won’t say anything.”

Your parents aren’t going to be home for another eleven days. What’s Jake supposed to do until then, ignore your existence? — Avoid you entirely?

He wants this, and you’re on to him, giving him permission.

“Honey,” It’s caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, an exhale of restraint and desperation all at once. He wishes he could at least pretend he’s half interested in this movie. “Don’t talk like that.”

Your brows draw together, eyes going wide as a child in the movie creeps through the house, headed for the master bedroom. Bloody sheets on the bed. A smashed plate on the floor. Jake’s hand gripping your hip. The child inches forwards, the music swells, a chill rushes down your back. In frame, the little girl rounds the edge of the bed and someone leaps out, bloodied and frenzied. Jake hasn’t been paying enough attention to gather who.

Neither one of you will care in a few moments.

The surprise makes you jolt, leaping up from your spot against Jake’s stomach, sitting upright all of a sudden, grabbing onto his forearm for support.

“It’s alright, cutie,” Jake breathes out in soft amusement, rubbing a heavy circle on your back. That’s the first thing he called you. When he’d seen you struggling to lift the icebox in the garage. Let me get that for you, cutie. And now, he has the nerve to pretend like it’s just you that has led the two of you here. “Maybe we should turn it off now, huh?”

Your heartbeat is already thudding in your ears and there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep after any of this. Fuck it. You turn, brace your palm against his shoulder, and take the dive.

Jake has thought about what those pretty lips feel like. Every time they stretch upwards into those pretty smiles, each time you sink your teeth into the bottom one. He should be prepared, in theory. Is there any way to prepare for something like this?

“Sweetheart…” Jake mutters against your lips, eyes screwed shut, hands reaching out for your hips. Pained, he gives a slow shake of his head. “Come on, we can’t do this.”

“But do you want to?” Your lips graze his. He feels the way you arch your back, knocking your chest into his, angling yourself in a way that just begs him to grab hold of your waist and drag you into his lap. You close your mouth, pecking softly at his still lips once more. “If you didn’t know my dad… you would. Right?”

Yes. Of course he would. He would be insane not to. He’s driving himself insane trying not to.

“But I do, and… and he trusts me.” Jake turns his head just slightly, but his hands reach for you. His big hands find your hips and grab onto them tight, hard. He just holds you right there. There’s got to be some kind of way he can regain some of the power here.

“I trust you.” You tell him, kissing his jaw tentatively. Delicate fingertips skim along the throbbing vein on the left side of Jake’s throat, reaching for the nape of his neck. Soft, slow kisses lead a trail to his earlobe, passing plains of stubble and angled bone. “I know you won’t hurt me, and I know you want me. It’s okay, Jake, I want you too.

“Fuck.” Jake swears, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hips harder and harder. By the time Jake drags you forwards, his grip is so tight that you would have no choice but to follow. You fall into his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as Jake’s deep pine coloured eyes study your face.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. His fingers stretch up from your hips, reaching under the fabric of your tank top, extending across your bare abdomen. He stretches the brushed cotton further, taking it up with a gentle touch.

“Your father would kill me.” Jake muses as his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, his eyes solely on your face. You smile back at him, only partly because your father is an airline pilot who couldn’t bench half of what Jake does on a good day.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Jake grits his teeth. It has started to rain outside now. That storm that channel four had promised is starting to roll in. The movie will be over soon. The rain will be the only sound on this entire street. This house is completely empty, beside the two of you. He exhales through his nose and pushes his hips up. He’s half-hard under you, and giving you another disapproving shake of his head.

“Little fuckin’ minx…” Jake curses you, his words fanning out across the span of your exposed neck, hot and cold all at once. “You get off on teasing me like this, or something?”

A smile works its way across those pretty lips. Jake could see more of that smile than he sees sunsets and he would still be pretty damn content. Your nails rake softly through the almost buzzed fade at the back of his head as you give a shake of your head.

“Well, it’s not teasing if we take care of it,” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug as Jake’s fingers trail further upwards, taking your tank top with them and exposing your breasts to the cool autumn air. The rattle of the air conditioning unit that your dad tells you not to mess with reminds you of the real culprit as your nipples harden and perk with the exposure. You lean back, bracing each of your hands on Jake’s knees, arching your chest out, letting Jake see the newly exposed skin. “If you’ll let me.”

His eyes are pretty when he smiles. When he’s staring at your tits, they’re hooded and hungry, a shade of green that threatens to draw you in and hold you captive. What a happy captive you would be. His hands grab at both of them at once, squeezing roughly at the supple flesh.

All at once, his mouth is on yours too. He’s sucking at your bottom lip, growling into your mouth. He smells of smoked wood and he tastes of scotch. It paints half of a picture. A lonely man sitting in his home alone on a Saturday night, burning a candle given to him by a girl half his age and drinking liquor older than he is himself.

You’re straddling his hips now, your bare thighs squeezing into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, pulling yourself closer with each hungry kiss. Jake’s touch is experienced, expert; he pinches softly at your nipple, anticipates the way your mouth will draw open in a soft gasp, and licks into your mouth the second that it does. He sucks softly at the tip of your tongue, revelling in the feeling of your soft breasts in his hands.

“Arms up.”

You’re such a good girl. The way that you comply with a wordless grin and bite at your lip once the tank top hits the floor has Jake in even more trouble than he was before. He kisses softly at the space between your tits, pushing them together in his hands, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue into your skin.

Men like boobs. Big boobs, small boobs — your shared gossip sessions with friends in college always led to the same conclusion, men don’t care. They bite, suck, grab regardless of size. It shouldn’t be anything new. But then Jake reaches your left nipple. His right hand palms at the underside as his tongue swipes in a circular motion, just before his lips clasp around the sensitive bud.

You know he’s watching you through those esurient green eyes, but you find yourself playing right into his capable hands anyway. Any leverage you may have had in seeming like his charms don’t work on you are washed away with the dulcet tone of your first moan. It spills from your lips, your nails pressing into the nape of his neck as Jake sucks expertly at the sensitive skin.

He pulls away with another ravenous exhale, something between a sigh and a groan. His hands feel heavy on your body as they paw at your chest with a capability you’ve never encountered before. His cologne is expensive and mature, a smokey blend that has you intoxicated and enthralled. His mouth is wet and eager, but oh, so slow as it explores the areas of you he has dreamt about.

The rain outside is growing heavier, like it’s learning to mimic the deepness of each of your breaths. The movie must have finished by now. Neither one of you is going to check.

His stubble prickles, rough and masculine, abrasive compared to the adept caress of his tongue. His right hand grabs forcibly at the nape of your neck, drawing the sweetest little squeak from your already open lips. You knew he would be better than the guys you’ve been with before, but not like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

Jake’s lips seem to pinpoint each and every nerve ending in your chest, sucking and licking at your skin through feverish kisses. The tenderness seeping away each time a breathy moan falls from your mouth, fanning out against his clothed shoulder. He pulls away from the top of your breast with his teeth, already knowing, in his years of experience, that that’s going to bruise.

Jake lifts his head, letting his eyes drift shut as you lean forwards and press your mouth to his neck. He can feel your nerves in your trembling fingertips, in the way your chest shivers when it brushes his, in the way your lips suck at his pulse point. But you’re doing so well. Dragging your lips along the length of his neck, biting softly at the skin just above his collarbone, feeling him shiver at the sensation.

“Off.” You demand, grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt, feeling him grin against your jaw. He complies wordlessly, grabbing at the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

You’ve seen Jake shirtless plenty of times, wandering around his property or opening the front door without shame. You’ve always wondered what those muscles, that dusting of golden chest hair, would feel like up close. Forgetting that you’re being watched, your hands explore his toned torso. The line down the middle of his stomach, the sharp divide of his collarbones, the swell of his pecs.

“What’re you thinking?” Jake asks, brushing your hair back from your face tenderly, concern coating his features.

A bashful smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch your fingers ghost along the thick muscle of his shoulder. “That you’re really hot.”

Jake breathes out a chuckle, reaching up and grabbing at the back of your neck to cradle you against him as he pushes up from the couch and turns quickly, planting you on your back and covering your body with his.

“That smile is gonna get me in big trouble, sweetheart,” Jake wastes no time in pressing his mouth to your stomach, holding you by your waist as he sucks filthy kisses into your skin to mark his path downward. “You know that?”

“I know.” You answer back, just to tease him this time. Jake stops at your waistband as you giggle, looking up at you through hooded eyes with a devilish grin on his face. He drags his teeth across your hip, hooking his fingers into the sides of your shorts and tugging them down your legs.

“God, honey, you weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” Jake exhales, eye-level with the most intimate part of you and completely unashamed. Your mind fumbles for an answer, lips getting into position to finally respond when he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your soaked core. Then, he moans. His hands grab fistfuls of your soft waist and he goes in again, lapping hungrily at your excitement, groaning against your sensitive skin.

“O-Oh… Jake.” Your voice trembles, knees trying to press shut around Jake’s broad shoulders. He grabs firmly at your thigh, closing his lips loosely around your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and making you jolt against him.

“Yeah, honey?”

“That feels really fucking good.” You tell him, closing your eyes finally.

“Attagirl. Just hold on, girlie, I’m gonna get you there.” He promises without once diverting from his apparent mission. If he’s as devoted to the Navy as he is to making you cum at this exact moment in time, the military is lucky to have him. You’re soaked, excitement pooling between your legs. Jake already knows he’s going to spend tomorrow cleaning this couch, and he wishes he cared enough to make better decisions.

“Look at this,” Jake breathes out as his gaze falls back down to rest between your legs. He couldn’t care less about the fucking couch. You swallow hard, practically aching for his touch. You’ve waited so long already. His index finger dips between your folds, his brows raise as he gathers your excitement on the tip of it. “Making such a fuckin’ mess for your old man’s best friend. Dirty fucking girl.”

He can’t see the way his words make you grin, but he can feel the way you reach for his hair and tug softly at those blonde roots, begging for more. He’s more than happy to give it to you. Jake groans against you, working his tongue in soft circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. His eyes are still on you. Your eyes are closed — if you look him in the eyes then you’re going to get all embarrassed, and you’ll be damned before you let someone ruin how good this feels. Especially not yourself.

Jake’s hand trails up your naked torso, pawing at your rising and falling tits as you pant into the chilled air, sweat beading on your skin.

He’s gentle between your legs. More gentle than he could be. Pressing his stubbled mouth firmly against your core and working his tongue against you, each languid movement making you keen into him. The tip of his nose bumps your clit periodically. It feels like your head is spinning.

Dragging his mouth back up to your sensitive, throbbing clit, his free hand slides between your legs, he dips the tip of his index finger into you, then slides it in up to the knuckle and curls. Just testing the waters. It’s enough to earn him a moan, enough to have you grab a fistful of his short blonde hair, ensuring that he doesn’t get ahead of himself and lose pace with his mouth.

He slips his ring finger into you alongside his middle whilst his tongue works confidently along your core and back up to your clit. He lets go of your thigh and rests his forearm across your stomach, keeping you nice and still for him. Maybe he should feel ashamed of himself for how much he’s enjoying this.

All of those times he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, and sat with the afterthought of how much he’d enjoy the sound of your moans. It’s hard to be ashamed when it turns out he was right.

He scissors his fingers inside of you, making you gasp louder this time, pulling against him. You tug at his roots, he moans against your clit. You both shiver, and not because of that now thundering storm. Jake’s tongue flattens as he drags it along your core. He pulls his fingers from you and puts them immediately to work, taking over the pace on your clit, burying his face between your legs, curling his tongue into you.

Jake growls against you, his cock growing now uncomfortably hard in the confines of his sweats and his fingers and mouth switch places once again. After all the time he has waited, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of looking up at you, writhing at the feeling of him between your legs. All that does is make his sweats feel even tighter again. His fingers fuck into you mercilessly, curling and twisting, making you keen into his touch and arch your back and gasp all at once.

You cum with his name on your tongue and your fingers in his hair. The comedown feels like weightlessness. Jake doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the first time a man has made you feel like that, the adoration in your eyes as he comes in to kiss your mouth tells him everything he needs to know.

His mouth tastes like you, his chin is wet with your slick and his cock is straining against the grey cotton of his sweats, pressing in to your stomach. Jake’s fingers brush your hair back softly from your forehead, a sudden calmness in the green of his eyes as he studies the peaceful euphoric smile on your face.

“We don’t have to go any further—“

“Stop trying to be a gentleman.” You huff, lifting your head and kissing him hard, hooking your legs around his waist. Drawing him closer, you’re both painfully aware that the only thing stopping him from touching you is his sweats. “I want you.”

Jake pauses for a moment. Rain slams against the windows, and the television goes dark as it passes into standby mode. His hands squeeze softly at your waist, eyes darting downward at your naked body under his. He would be a damn idiot to say no to everything he has been fantasising about.

“You keep condoms here?” He breathes out.

Your eyes light up before him, gleaming with mischief. You give a confident nod of your head as a cunning little smirk spreads across your lips.

“There are some in my parents’ bathroom,” You can tell right away that he doesn’t like that idea, but that’s okay, option two was by far your favourite anyway. “Or, you could just cum in me. I won’t tell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jake drops his head forwards to rest against your naked chest, panting out a dry laugh. His fingers bruise into your middle as he starts to consider the choices that have led him here. Once he feels composed enough to look you in the eye again, he lifts his head and squints seriously. “You did not just say that.”

“I want you to. I’m on birth control anyway.” Long gone is the nervous girl standing on his porch and asking him to fix her lights. There’s a devious, lustful look in your eye and Jake’s pretty damn sure there’s magic in that look. All he knows is that it could make him do just about anything you asked of him. “Please?”

Jake swipes his thumb along the curve of your jaw, studying the depths of your irises for just a moment. He leans forwards and kisses your bottom lip, sucking at the plush skin, pulling away with his teeth. You swallow as he sits back, pushes his sweats down his legs and frees his swollen cock. From under him, you’ve got the perfect view.

Every ridge and valley in those impossible abs, each follicle of hair that lines his tanned chest, trailing down below his navel and sitting neatly around his pubic bone, trimmed just as neatly as his navy-standard hair cut. His cock is a good size, considerable even when he’s got one of his large hands wrapped around its base. Wide too, throbbing red at the tip, bending just slightly to the left.

Just looking has your mouth running dry.

Fisting his cock, Jake sits back on his heels and lets his gaze fall down to your glistening core once again. He looks down at your pretty face, then lowers himself between your legs, pressing his chest into yours, kissing you dizzyingly hard.

“You want it?” Jake asks one last time.

“I want it.” You answer him, smiling softly back at him, squeezing your thighs around his hips.

You’re looking up at him with such trust in your eyes that Jake can barely stand it. His heart thuds in his chest as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds, hesitating just briefly. There’s already no coming back from this. There’s no way to make up for the things he has already done. You’re so special, and he wants this so bad.

Your mouth sucks softly at his throat, quiet, pleased sounds spilling from your lips as he grinds the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Jake kisses your shoulder softly, then lowers his head to rest there as he drags his cock down to your warm entrance. You gasp softly as he presses into you, pushing forwards until he’s buried and stretching you open completely.

“Oh,” You whimper against his earlobe, pressing your nails into the swell of his shoulder blade. “You feel really fucking big.”

“So fuckin tight.” Jake grunts, his throat thick with desire as he stills inside of you, thumbs bruising into your hips. “Sweet fucking girl. Feel like you’re made just for me.”

This makes you smile into the curve of his jaw, humming in soft agreement as he starts to slowly rock his hips. Lightning flashes outside of the window, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The rest of the world is a million miles away. In here, it’s just the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” Jake shivers, eclipsing your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth as he drags his hips back until it’s just the tip. You gasp sharply against him as he snaps his hips forwards until he’s buried into you completely once. “Fuck. You like that?”

“Yeah. I want it like that.” You whimper into his skin, hugging your legs tight around his hips. You moan eagerly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply, drawing an excited squeak from your parted lips.

Jake grunts, rocking himself into you hard and fast. He’s waited so long for this, and so have you. The way you’re clawing at his back makes him want to give it all to you. Leaving feverish kisses along your collarbones, he fills you over and over. You curl both legs tighter around his waist, leaning your head back as far as you can against the couch cushion to give his lips better access to your throat.

The living room is filled with the sounds of your sex. Your desperate moans, panting and hard. Jake’s pleasured grunts, muffled softly by the curve of your shoulder. His skin slapping yours. It smells like him, smoky and mature. Sweat beads along his back and his forehead as he keeps up that merciless pace, fucking you so hard that you couldn’t tell him your own name anymore.

Jake pulls back just enough to grab the backs of your thighs and pin them to your chest, hooking your knees over his shoulders, filling you even deeper than before, making you cry out.

“Jake!” You beg, babbling incoherently into the curve of his shoulder as he goes right back to the pace he set before. Fucking you hard and fast, scrambling your brain to the point that the only thing on your mind is the ravenous way he’s staring down at you.

Your walls are squeezing around him perfectly and the sounds you’re making are just driving him insane. It’s been a long time since Jake felt as crazy about someone as he feels about you. He pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers tug at your hair, making you moan out even louder.

“I’m gonna cum — fuck, honey,” Jake grunts out like he’s been punched, his eyes screwing shut as he reaches between your bodies and rubs uniformed circles around your clit. “Are you close? — Can you cum one more time for me?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out, already trembling as you squeeze your thighs tighter around him. “Just—“ You don’t have the words, so you just reach out and grab his hand. Jake swallows hard as you wrap his open hand around the column of your throat and look up at him with that big, trusting look in your eyes again.

He grits his teeth as he squeezes at the sides of your throat, watching your sweet face contort in pleasure. Your hand dips between your legs and replaces where Jake’s had been, rubbing feverish patterns on your clit. Your stomach tightens in knots, your breathing grows heavy and Jake’s cock drives into you at just about the perfect angle each time. You open his mouth to warn him, but it’s already too late. You couldn’t find the words if you tried.

All you can do is grab onto those thick shoulders and cry out his name against the salty skin of his neck. Jake slows just slightly, offering you some reprieve through your sensitivity. Trying to be a gentleman once again. The brain fog starts to clear, you lift your head and press your lips to your earlobe.

“Cum in me,” You pant out, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake groans against your chest, nodding his head feverishly. “Just like that, Jake, please.”

He’s relentless, fucking your through the sensitivity of your post-orgasm haze hard enough that grabbing onto those broad shoulders is the only thing that keeps you down to earth with him. Jake groans desperately. He wraps an arm under your back and pulls you as tight against him as physics will allow. You gasp softly, taking your lip between your teeth as he fills you, his cock throbbing against your walls. He seeks out your lips and kisses you hard, somehow more desperate now.

“Fuck, honey…” Jake breathes out, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your jaw. He makes no effort to move at first. “You alright?”

“Better than alright.” You answer contentedly, a soft smile toying at your lips as lightning flashes outside once again. Jake chuckles tiredly, lifting his head and kissing your lips.

He sighs, moving slow as he slips out of you and looks down at his cum dripping from between your legs.

“Oh, shit!” You realize, sitting up quickly and trying to reach around Jake for something to clean it with. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Truthfully, from the moment that you had laid your head on Jake’s abs, you hadn’t thought once about the consequences of fucking him right here in this spot.

“Forget it, I’ll — I’ll fix this,” He tells you calmly, already regretting that he’s going to have to live with what he has done on this couch. “Come on, cutie. Let’s go take a shower.”

It’s clear that this is foreign territory for you. Not the sex, but what comes after. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t run away with regret for what he did. He ran soap across your body and found your pyjamas for you.

You swallow softly, walking to sit on the edge of your bed. Jake runs a hand along his stubbled jaw as he lingers in the doorway to you room. You can’t help but notice that he got dressed again. Including his shoes. He looks you over, sitting there in fresh pyjamas, staring at him with that worried little look on your face.

He hasn’t ever seen your room here. It’s probably the one room in the house he has never been in. He’s been wondering what it’s like.

But that isn’t why he’s standing there. He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I should go — I mean, Ace is over there by himself.” Jake says quietly. You nod at him. You should probably say something too, but truthfully, not all of your words seem to have come back into your mind yet. “Are you coming with me?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you over here by yourself after that weird ass movie.” Jake answers you with a shrug of his shoulders. “I figured you could just spend the night. If you want.”

Your mouth twitches at the corners as you push yourself up from the edge of your bed, nodding eagerly at him. You’ve got eleven days until your parents get back in town, and Jake permitting, you’re planning on making the most of that.

…

#jake hangman seresin #Jake hangman Seresin smut #Jake hangman Seresin x reader #Jake hangman Seresin x y/n #Jake hangman Seresin x you #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin fic #Jake Seresin smut #Jake Seresin x you #Jake Seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin x reader #dbf!Jake

[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

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

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re going golfing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m coming – why?”

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

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

“And I want you there with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

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

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

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

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

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

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

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

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

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong with it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s aware.”

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

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

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

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

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

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

“I know,” he affirms.

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

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

----------

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

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

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

“What?” he asks, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

Joel nudges your elbow.

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

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

“Last time, promise.”

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

“Your round, asshole.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

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

“Me, too,” you admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He isn’t given the option.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And did you want to go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wanna go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s hard. Already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

“Baby?”

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

Fuck it. Right?

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

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

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

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl. He there?”

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

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

“He watching?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

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

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

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

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

You lift your brows and nod along.

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

----------

taglist: @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @noisynightmarepoetry @@isimpforfictionalmen @lizzie-cakes @sarahhxx03 @tobuildahomeinthewoods @kittenlittle24 @suzmagine @adaslittleblog @bbyanarchist @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @dizzyforyou @partyofone3413 @whatsliferightnow @slvbl @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @acornacreacure @totallynotastanacc @alejaa-a @aphterthoughtt @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @cool-iguana @serenaxpedro @lizzyervs @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @patti7dc @pattwtf @atticrissfinch @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @jessie8605 @caitispunk @vickie5446 @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal characters #the last of us hbo #sugardaddy!joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #fluff #smut #angst #sex on fire

[itneverendshere]

guilty conscience (+18)

chapter iii

pairing: rafe cameron x female!reader

summary: when ward cameron, a renowned business man and millionaire specifically requested your services through an escort agency, you assumed it would be just another job—brief and straightforward. however, your entire world shifted when ward disclosed his true intentions and rafe cameron stumbled into your life. there were rules, and rules were meant to be followed.

was money worth breaking someone’s heart?

taglist: lmk if you want to be added (comment down below! if you've already asked me to be here and I didn't tag you LET ME KNOW AGAIN CAUSE IM VERY FORGETFUL) : @tiaamberxx @haruvalentine4321 @maybankslover

Your phone buzzed in your nightstand, startling you out of your reverie. 

With a sigh, you fished it out, glancing at the screen to see Ward's name flashing in bold letters. You’d just texted him an hour earlier but spared any details for your sake.

Taking a deep breath, you answered the call, plastering on your most professional tone. 

"Hey, Ward. How's it going?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by Ward's booming voice, filled with impatience. 

"Well? Did you find him? How's it going over there?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to tell him you royally fucked up. The truth was things hadn't exactly gone according to plan. Rafe had slipped through your fingers not once, but twice, leaving you feeling more defeated than ever.

But you couldn't let Ward know that. Not yet, at least.

"It's... going." you replied vaguely, trying to keep your tone upbeat.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could practically hear Ward's mind whirring with impatience.

 "Make it faster," he snapped, his tone sharp and demanding. "He’ll be at the golf course tomorrow, 9 sharp.”

The golf course?!

You had never golfed a day in your life, let alone attempted to blend in with a bunch of rich snobs on the green. For fuck’s sake. This was going to be a disaster.

On the other hand, you were nothing if not resourceful. You didn’t know the first thing about golf, but you were a quick learner. And if there was one thing you were good at, it was improvising on the fly. 

“Sofia works there. Get his attention off her.”

Easier said than done. 

“Ward, your son looks at her like she hung the moon and the stars."

"I don't pay you to play matchmaker, sweetheart," he retorted sharply, his tone laced with irritation. "I pay you to get the job done. Now, I don't want any excuses tomorrow. Make sure you're at that golf course bright and early, and don't screw this up."

With that, he hung up the phone.

Fucking assshole.

You slammed your phone down on the nightstand, cursing under your breath.

Ward might have been your current employer, but that didn't mean you had to like him. Dealing with his crap was like dealing with a spoiled toddler throwing a tantrum. Except, you know, this toddler had a lot more money and power, which somehow made it even worse.

You were not some puppet he could just yank around whenever he felt like it, constantly ordering you around like some sort of lackey.

But you were not about to let Ward's ridiculous demands get the best of you. If he wanted you to be a professional golfer, you would give him just that.

The evening turned into a crash course on all things golf. Who knew there was so much to learn about golf etiquette? You spent hours glued to your laptop, absorbing every last detail you could find. And those YouTube tutorials? Let's just say you had never clicked on a video so fast in your life.

Then came the real fun—practicing your swing.

Spoiler alert: it was a hot mess. You must've looked like a total dweeb flailing around with that golf club in your hotel room. 

And let's not forget about perfecting your fake smile. You must've spent a solid hour in front of the mirror, trying out different variations until you found the one that said, "I'm totally a golf pro, trust me."

By the time morning rolled around, you were as ready as you'd ever be. 

You found yourself standing outside the gates of the local Country Club, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. You glanced down at your outfit, a bunch of preppy pieces that you hoped screamed "I belong here" rather than "I have no idea what I'm doing." 

And hey, bonus points for the fact that it made your ass and legs look great. Confidence boost, check.

With a mental pep talk and a final adjustment to your collar, you stepped through the gates, steeling yourself for what lay ahead. The crisp scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of clubs striking balls and polite laughter. You felt like a fish out of water in this sea of polo shirts and khaki shorts, but you refused to let it show. 

Taking a deep breath, you approached the pro shop, hoping they had something available for a last-minute rental. Inside, it was bustling with old men browsing through rows of shiny clubs and chatting with the staff.

You stepped up to the counter, plastering on your best smile as you tried to appear confident. 

“Hi there," you greeted the clerk, your voice coming out a little shakier than you would have liked. "I was wondering if you had any clubs available for rent?"

The clerk eyed you curiously, clearly noticing your lack of golf attire. "Sure thing," he replied with a friendly smile. "What kind of clubs are you looking for?"

You paused, realizing you had no idea what kind of clubs you needed. "Um, just something... basic?" you ventured, feeling completely out of your depth.

The clerk nodded understandingly and disappeared into the back room, returning a moment later with a set of clubs. "These should do the trick," he said, handing them over to you. "Just sign here, and you're all set."

You hastily scribbled your signature on the rental form, feeling a rush of relief as you finally held the clubs in your hands. 

The course stretched out before you, lush green fairways bordered by trees and dotted with sand traps and water hazards. It all looked so pristine and posh, like something out of a magazine. You couldn't help but admire the luxury of it all, even though you felt like a total fish out of water.

Glancing around, you realized you were flying solo. No caddy to show you the ropes, no fellow players to offer tips or cheer you on. It was just you, your instincts, and the vast expanse of the course.

And let's not forget, your sheer power of delusion. 

Taking a deep breath, you placed your ball on the tee and tried to remember everything you'd learned from those YouTube tutorials.

Grip firm, eye on the ball, swing smooth. Easy, right?

With trembling hands, you lifted the club and took a practice swing, hoping to shake off some of the jitters. Then, with a quick scan down the fairway, you drew back and swung.

The ball sailed through the air, arcing gracefully before landing with a satisfying thud on the fairway. It wasn't the most impressive shot in the world, but it was a start. You hadn't missed the ball entirely or accidentally hit someone in the head.

Small victories and all.

You grinned, feeling a rush of pride. Maybe this golf thing wasn't so bad after all.

You continued to take swings, each one feeling a little more confident than the last. It was all about finding that rhythm, hearing that satisfying "thwack" when the club met the ball, and watching it soar through the air.

You got lost in the game, forgetting all about the stress of the morning. The sun was climbing, spreading this warm, cozy light over the course, and all around you, there were these little moments of nature - birds chirping, clubs swishing, and the occasional "fore!" from nearby players. 

It was kind of peaceful, in a way. All you cared about was nailing that next shot. Walking down the fairway, you couldn't help but grin to yourself. Sure, you weren’t exactly a golf prodigy, but who cared? 

Just as you were lining up for another swing, a voice startled you from behind. "Hey new face, need a hand?"

“Fuck!” You blurted out, nearly dropping the club at the sound of his voice.

There he was, Rafe Cameron, looking all cool and collected in his golf gear like he'd just stepped out of a magazine. And of course, he caught you in the middle of your amateur hour on the course. You were hoping to find him during a break, probably around the bar, lurking around Sofia.

"Hey.” he said with a smirk, sauntering over to where you stood frozen in embarrassment. "Didn't mean to scare you.”

You tried to muster up a nonchalant response, but all that came out was a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. Just, you know, getting some practice in."

For the first time in my life, you’d like to add. 

Rafe glanced down at the clubs in your hand, a glint in his eyes.

"Practice, huh? Well, you definitely look like you're giving it your all."

You wanted to die.

You forced a smile, hoping he couldn't see the panic swirling beneath the surface. "Yeah, well, gotta start somewhere, right?"

He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Mind if I join you?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. This was not part of the plan, but you welcomed it anyway. You couldn't help but feel nervous at the thought of him witnessing your less-than-stellar golfing skills up close. But then again, you weren’t here to become a professional golfer, you were here to woo him off his feet and get paid.

Ward's words echoed in your mind—get his attention off her. And what better way to do that than by keeping him occupied with small talk on the golf course?

You shrugged, "The more, the merrier, right?"

"Exactly.” He said, falling into step beside you as you headed down the fairway. "So, how long have you been playing?"

You hesitated, not wanting to admit that this was your first time on a golf course. "Oh, you know, just getting into it recently," You replied vaguely, hoping he wouldn't press for details. "How about you?”

Rafe ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Been playing since I was a kid," he admitted. "It's kind of a family thing."

Of course, it is. Rich people. Nothing like a little golf for some family bonding time. But it gave you the opening you needed to make a personal connection. Nothing like sharing personal information to establish contact.

 “That’s cute. My family thing was shoving pizzas down our throat every Friday.”

Rafe chuckled at your comment, the sound genuine. “Pizza Fridays sound pretty great, actually."

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. Maybe this wouldn't be as awkward as you'd feared. "Yeah, they were definitely the highlight of the week," you admitted. "But I have to say, golf seems a lot more... sophisticated."

Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Sophisticated, huh? You must be hanging out with the wrong crowd."

You felt yourself relax a little more with each passing moment. 

"Maybe I just need the right teacher," you said, giving him a sideways glance.

Rafe's smile widened, and he stepped a little closer, "Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a thing or two about golf."

 "Is that so?" you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the sudden flutter in your stomach.

Rafe nodded, his expression turning more serious. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you're interested, I'd be happy to show you."

You could feel every little detail, like how close you were and the intensity in his eyes, like they were trying to unravel some mystery hidden deep inside you. 

No, no, no.

Pull yourself together! You mentally slapped yourself, shaking off the dreamy haze that seemed to cloud your brain whenever he looked at you. You had goals, a mission to nail, and getting all googly-eyed over some suave, wealthy guy was not on the agenda. 

You flashed him this playful grin, trying to play it cool even though your heart was doing somersaults in your chest.

 "Oh, I dunno," you teased, taking a little step back to collect yourself. "Golf lessons? Sounds like it could burn a hole in my wallet. Can't be going broke over a new hobby."

Rafe chuckled, his eyes lingering on you for a second before he backed off, “You think I’d charge you?”

The way he said it, so casually, it sent a thrill through you, but you knew better than to let yourself get carried away. This was part of the game, after all.

“You’re always this nice to strangers?”

His blonde, tousled hair fell just so, framing his angular jawline, while a subtle stubble added a rugged charm to his appearance. And his smile... ugh, it's like he knew how fine he was. Rafe had this smirk that was just... chef's kiss. And his eyes? Sparkling like he was up to no good but in the best way possible. You couldn’t stop staring. 

“Only the pretty ones.” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with flirtation.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, trying to maintain your composure despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach. But damn, if he didn't have a way with words.

"Well, lucky me then," you quipped, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. “But don't think you're getting off that easy. I’m not just some pretty face, you know.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, gaze fixed on your hands as you moved them to fix your ponytail, “Is that so?"

Ah, you have no idea.

"Guess you'll just have to stick around to find out,” you replied with a cheeky wink, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you. “But fair warning, I'm not exactly a pro at this.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Don't worry,” he said, his voice softening. “I'll go easy on you.”

His confident demeanor was infectious, and you couldn't resist playing along.

“Who said I wanted easy?”

He tilted his head slightly, his hair shifted with the movement, “You think you can take me?”

With that, he gestured for you to take the next shot. You could feel his eyes on you as you lined up your shot, the weight of his gaze fueling your focus.

Taking a deep breath, you blocked out all distractions and focused on the ball. Grip firm, eyes locked on the target, you swung the club with all the force you could muster.

The ball sailed through the air, soaring gracefully before landing with a satisfying thud on the fairway. You couldn't help but grin as you watched it roll to a stop, a surge of pride coursing through your veins.

Rafe let out a low whistle, his expression somewhat impressed. "Not bad," he conceded. "Let's see if you can keep it up."

“Sounds like you’re scared…”

His eyebrows practically hit the sky when you threw down the gauntlet, his lips curling up. "Scared?" he shot back, his voice oozing with playful doubt, “Of you?”

Oh boy.

“Of losing.”

“Pretty girl, I don’t lose.”

Yeah, we’ll see about that. 

“And you’d swing a lot harder if you arched your back just a little.”

"How so?” you retorted, your tone teasing.

Rafe stepped up behind you, his presence suddenly much closer than before. His large hands gently adjusted your posture, touch gentle yet firm. 

"Like this," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he guided you through the motion.

The warmth of his palms seeped through the fabric of your shirt, sending a wave of tingles across your skin. His fingers rested lightly against your sides, the pressure just enough to provide guidance without feeling intrusive. You tried to focus on his instructions, on the proper form and technique, but it was so fucking hard with him standing so close.

Every subtle movement, every brush of his body against yours…goddamn. You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, unable to believe how good it felt to have him so close.

"Alright, let's work on that swing.”

 There was a confidence in his tone, a subtle reassurance that made you want to combust on the spot. The way his voice rose and fell with each word…it was difficult to do anything with the sensation of his touch sending your senses into overdrive.

You tilted your head slightly and threw out the question, "Like this?"

Before he could even answer, you couldn't resist the urge to push the boundaries a bit. So, you arched your back ever so subtly, pressing yourself back into him. It was a total spur-of-the-moment move. 

There was a beat of silence that felt like an eternity. And then, oh my god, you felt his hands tighten slightly on your waist.

“Just like that.”

But then he stepped back and you couldn't help but feel disappointment at the loss of his proximity. You gave yourself a mental shake and got back into the swing of things – pun totally intended.

Grabbing the club again, you were all set to take your next shot. With Rafe's tips fresh in your mind, you took a swing, putting everything you had into it. And would you believe it? The ball actually went where you wanted it to, landing way closer to the hole than you expected.

Rafe's reaction was priceless. His eyebrows shot up again, and there was this look in his eyes like, this time he was genuinely impressed.

Score one for you.

But you weren’t about to get cocky just yet. So, you gave him a smirk and threw down the gauntlet. 

“Funnily enough, I never lose either.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe cameron fluff #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe x female!mc #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-six] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, alcohol

word count: 3k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

“Nice hat.”

You gave Minho a sideways look. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s cute.”

You tipped the brim at him, grinning. “Thank you. Jisung picked it out.”

“He has good taste.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to the double entendre so you didn’t, choosing instead to direct your attention forward, where your fake boyfriend was teeing up. 

Back at school, Jisung had gone off to play golf with a few of your mutual friends once or twice, but it was an expensive hobby, and as broke college students, they couldn’t exactly make a habit out of it. For a little while, Jisung worked as an assistant chef at a nearby country club for a couple of months which allowed him free access to their course in his off time, but juggling the job and his studies quickly became too much to handle and he couldn’t even keep up with his responsibilities, let alone have any free time to take advantage of the course. 

Considering how long it had been since he last played, you weren’t expecting much from Jisung’s first swing, but when he stuck the golf ball with his club, it actually went relatively far. Of course, you didn’t have much knowledge of the sport to go off of when it came to gauging how well he was actually doing, but from the looks on his brothers’ faces, you assumed he’d done pretty well. 

“Good job!” you cheered, running up to your best friend and kissing him on the cheek. “That was good right?”

He caught you with an arm around your waist and pulled you close. “Thanks, baby. It wasn’t bad, but it could have been better.”

“Whatever, you’re just being humble.”

“He’s not,” Felix piped up from behind the two of you. “Let me show you how a real golfer plays.”

You rolled your eyes in unison with Jisung but stepped back to let Felix tee up anyway, both watching as he took a couple of practice swings. 

“How much do you want to bet he comes in last?” Jisung muttered in your ear. 

“I’m not willing to go bankrupt over this, sorry.”

Jisung snorted and tried to muffle his laugh in your shoulder but it was still loud enough for his twin to hear. 

“Oi! I don’t want to hear it when you’re up thirty points over me.”

“Yeah, we’ll see, Lix,” Jisung scoffed. “Just swing already! We don’t have all day, mate.”

Felix shot his brother a look but did as he was told. He rolled his shoulders and focused in on the ball, huffing out a breath and drawing the club back over his shoulder. He put more power into his swing than Jisung had but hit the ball with the edge of the clubhead instead of the center which sent it flying a little off to the left. From what you could see, the ball still landed on the pitch. It hadn’t gone into the trees or the lake, it was just in a trickier spot to clear. 

“What was that you were saying about points?” Jisung asked smugly.

Felix groaned and turned back around to argue with him as Minho came up and took his place at the starting point. 

“It’s going to be a long day, isn’t it?” you muttered to Minho. 

He gave you a tight half-smile and shrugged. “You have no idea.”

-

It had only been an hour since the boys started and you didn’t think you’d ever heard so many insults and curse words thrown around in such a short amount of time, which was saying something. 

Jisung, Felix, and Minho were all neck and neck with each other, with Dom far ahead of all three of them. 

The course itself was beautiful. It was just across the street from the resort you were staying at, right on the edge of the water. You were able to see the ocean from the tops of the faux hills on the green, sparkling with the reflection of the sun. The waves were dotted with little boats and surfers all enjoying the good weather and making the most out of the afternoon.

You would have been content to spend all day there if it wasn’t so hot and you weren’t forced to stand around listening to your best friend argue with his brothers.

“How many more holes are there?” you asked Nikki, leaning over and whispering quietly so that the others wouldn’t hear you. 

“Too many.”

“Kill me now.” 

“Why don’t we get ourselves a drink when the cart girl comes around? It’ll make the time go faster.”

You grinned. “I like the way you think.”

-

You weren’t a stranger to day drinking, not by a long shot, but you didn’t want to get too sloppy while the sun was still up. You had long since given up on the little pact you’d made with yourself not to drink for the remainder of the trip— not that you’d ever really followed it in the first place. Nikki got herself a High Noon when the aforementioned cart girl came by, so you did the same, insisting on covering the tab for both of you.

“Please?” you practically begged. “It’s literally the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

She seemed to think about it for a minute. “Fine. I’ll let you do it this one time. But don’t get used to it.”

You did a little dance in celebration and handed over some cash to the cart girl after she popped the tabs on both of your cans. 

“Want anything?” you called to the boys. “It’s on me!”

Felix was the only one to take you up on the offer, both Minho and Jisung making a fuss about not spending your money on them. Where was this attitude back at school? you asked yourself, scoffing at Jisung’s refusal. 

“I’m in the lead, I can’t afford to lower my inhibitions now!” Dom said. “But when I win, I’ll treat you to a pint, even though you’re canoodling with one of my opponents.” 

“I’m starting to think you guys have something against me,” you accused the two non-participants as you handed Felix his beer. “What, do you think I’m broke?”

“We’re just gentlemen,” Minho said pointedly, shooting Felix a look.

“You are broke,” Jisung muttered.

“Watch it,” you shot, waving your drink at him. “You’re not getting a sip now.”

“Babe, I didn’t want a sip to begin with.”

“Okay, well even if you change your mind you can’t have one.” 

He laughed and shook his head at the ground, walking back over to the teeing-off point with his hands on his hips.

Nikki was right, the afternoon did indeed pass a lot quicker with drinks in your hands. They kept you cool in the heat of the sun and the alcohol made the hours blend into each other.

In the latter half of the game, you started to pay more attention. You had finally begun to pick up what was good and what was bad from everyone else’s reactions to the shots and could actually tell for yourself. 

“Baby, can you switch this out for the driver?” Jisung asked, holding his current club out to you.

“Which one is that?” 

“The big one.” 

You selected the club he described and passed it to him, taking the one he’d just used to put back in the golf bag. He kissed you when you met him in the middle to swap the two, smiling against you when he noticed Minho looking on. 

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” he whispered in your ear. “It’s too fun to fuck with him.”

Confused, you turned around to see what he was talking about only to see Minho standing a few feet away with his tongue in his cheek. 

“Thanks, baby,” Jisung said, putting his hand on the small of your back to remind you of what you were doing. “You make a cute caddy.”

Minho mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t catch but you figured that was probably for the best.

-

After golf, you hung out with Jisung’s family at the pool for a few hours before heading back up to the rooms to get ready for dinner. 

“Do we need to dress nice?” you asked.

Jisung peeked out from the bathroom to answer you, shaking his wet hair dry with a towel. 

“Uh, not like nice, nice but nicer than just jeans.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

You turned back to your open suitcase and rifled through it in search of something that fit the dress code.

“By the way, where did you go last night?” 

“With Minho?”

“Yeah, you were gone for like hours. I fell asleep and then woke up randomly and you still weren’t back.”

“Minho took me to some beach.”

“Did you have sex with him?”

You looked up. “Yeah. Why?”

Jisung shrugged. “Just wondering.”

You could tell he wanted to say more but you didn’t push. If you did, you’d only be hurting your own feelings. He had told you that himself. Jisung had been very clear that he wasn’t ready to talk about the Minho thing with you so all you could do was be honest and answer the questions that he asked, even if it was awkward and uncomfortable. 

You were so used to guilt by now that you almost didn’t notice the fresh wave that washed over you. You knew it was wrong to still sleep with Minho after everything— hell, you knew it was wrong before everything, but neither of those facts stopped you from doing it. 

You realized Jisung was still looking at you so you shook it off and picked up a random sundress from your luggage. 

“How’s this for tonight?”

“Looks good to me.”

An hour later, you and the rest of the Hans were seated around a table in a dimly lit restaurant. The sundress had been the right choice. The place was right on the water and open to the outdoor air so all of the other patrons were dressed pretty similarly. 

Jisung ordered for you after you looked over the menu together like always. Your hands rested on the table, fingers entwined for his family to see. You had been doing this for so long now that it was almost second nature to you. You had fallen into the routine a long time ago but you didn’t even have to think about it anymore. You probably wouldn’t even be giving the action a second thought had it not been for Minho staring at your hands from across the table. 

It looked like he was zoning out, like he wasn’t actually glaring at you holding hands with his brother but you couldn’t be sure. You kicked him gently in the shin to get his attention. He jolted and locked eyes with you immediately, erasing any trace of subtly.

“You okay there, son?” Dom asked, patting Minho on the back. 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine. Just got a chill.”

Thankfully, everyone seemed to move past it and the conversation resumed. Dinner was otherwise uneventful. The boys recounted the golf game and Dom’s landslide win, while you just listened and nodded along when it felt right. It was a relief not to have to add anything to the discussion. You didn’t have the energy to. 

Dom stayed true to his word from earlier and bought everyone a round from the bar at the restaurant. You weren’t a big beer drinker but you didn’t want to be rude so you suffered through the whole pint, ignoring Jisung’s worried glances from the side. 

“You know I could have finished that for you,” he muttered. 

“I don’t want to look like a pussy in front of your dad,” you hissed back. “He bought it for us. And I didn’t want to be left out.”

Your best friend scoffed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ll do anything to prove a point, won’t you?”

“You know me.”

-

Minho pulled you aside after dinner, once you were back at the resort. 

“Think you can ditch your ‘boyfriend’?” he whispered as you both fell back a couple of steps.

You stopped. “What, why?”

“I just want a moment alone with you.”

“A moment or several moments?” you challenged. 

He smirked. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“I can’t keep blowing Jisung off,” you sighed, “and neither can you.’

“You know he doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.”

“That doesn’t mean you should stop trying!”

“Look, can we not do this right now? When they’re literally right there?”

“You’re the one who pulled me aside right in front of them.”

You watched his jaw clench in frustration but he didn’t say anything else because he knew you were right. 

“Can you ditch him or not?”

You sighed again and looked back to Jisung. He was in what looked to be a heated debate with Felix. You didn’t need to hear it to know it was over something stupid.  

“I’ll see what I can do.”

-

Jisung barely bat an eye when you told him where you were going. 

“Okay, be safe,” he said as he kicked off his shoes. 

That’s it? That’s all he had to say to you? You wanted to ask him just that, but you were afraid of creating another rift between the two of you. Jisung had said he wasn’t ready to talk about it so you shouldn’t push, right? But was it wrong to keep leaving like this?

Going back and forth with yourself was only wasting time and Minho was still waiting for you downstairs. Fuck it. 

You grabbed a spare room key from the dresser, shoved it in the pocket of your dress, and left without another word before you could change your mind. 

Minho was right where you left him, leaning against the wall by the elevator hub. He grinned when he saw you. 

“Thought you’d never escape.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you let him lead you through the lobby by the hand. You were still wary of people seeing you together but the lobby was seemingly empty. 

“Jisung didn’t care. It was me who took forever.”

Minho paused, letting go of your hand as he gave you a concerned once over. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I don’t really want to talk about it. So, where are we going?”

He frowned, but only momentarily, quickly covering it up with a smile. “I- okay, um... remember how you said we don’t do ‘couple stuff’?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought maybe I could take you somewhere where we can do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m taking you on a date, silly.”

“Really? Where?” When he didn’t answer, you groaned. “You and your stupid surprises.”

“It’s more fun this way and you know it,” he insisted, tugging you along by the hand.

“I like being prepared,” you argued. 

He grinned. “So be prepared for a good time.”

The drive wasn’t far at all this time but you were confused when he pulled into a crowded lot. You were even more confused when he didn’t turn off the car or more to get out of it. 

You turned to him in confusion. “Minho?”

“Y/n?” he parroted. 

“Where are we?”

“We’re on our date.”

“Yes, but where?”

“Did you not see the sign when we turned in?” You shook your head. He grinned. “It’s a drive-in.”

“Really?”

“Why do you think no one’s getting out of their car?” 

“I didn’t really notice, to be honest.”

“Too distracted by your hot date?” 

You didn’t spare him a reaction. “How’d you find this place?” 

“I did some research the other night,” he explained, “when you, you know, we talked about it. I figured this is about as close as we could get to a real date. At least right now.”

“That’s… really thoughtful.”

He shrugged. “Nah, it’s nothing, really.” 

“Well I was going to kiss you, but if it’s nothing—”

“No, no. I want the kiss. Give me my kiss.”

You chuckled, relenting as you leaned in. He met you halfway over the center console and kissed you sweetly. It was short but eager, just enough to leave you wanting more. 

You had to remind yourself not to get your hopes up. Sure, Minho was showing interest in you now, but what about when this was all over? Would he want to do long-distance? Did he want to date you at all? You had been telling yourself that it was just sex all this time but now you were on a date... but what did it mean? You could just ask but you were scared to ruin the moment, ruin whatever it was that was actually going on. 

You’d been asking yourself the same questions for weeks now and the scary thing was, it seemed like Minho was serious about you. He had all but said it outright to you. And here he was taking you on a fucking date. It was you who kept pushing back. You told yourself it was because of Jisung, but if you were being honest with yourself that was only half of it. You were afraid of getting hurt. You had never been in a real relationship before for that very reason. Well, that and you liked being single. It seemed favorable considering the dating pool of your university. 

“I want another one,” Minho murmured, leaning in again. 

“Nope, that’s all you get for now,” you teased, even though you did very much want to kiss him again. 

His lips parted in surprise. “Wha- why?”

“Because I only promised you one! I can’t just go giving my kisses away, can I?”

“Sure you can,” he argued. 

“That would lessen their value. I can’t wager them to get what I want if they’re not worth anything.”

“Your kisses are very valuable to me,” Minho insisted. 

“Because I’m sparing with them.”

Minho inched even closer to your face, eyes trained on your mouth. “So I can earn them,” you started to nod, “if I’m a good boy?” 

You almost choked on nothing, swallowing a moan. Minho watched your reaction with a self-satisfied smile and then settled back in his seat, turning his attention to the giant projector screen at the front of the parking lot. 

“We’ll see,” you muttered hoarsely.

He hummed, still looking forward. “I’ll be good then.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

#instead of you stray kids #instead of you skz #iou stray kids #iou skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lino x reader #lee know smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee minho smut #lee minho x reader #lee know series #stray kids series

[seat-safety-switch]

Without the power of television, we'd all be living perfectly normal lives. Sure, some of us would read novels about moving to Australia and having cool adventures or something, but on the whole our aspiration would be a little lower. TV makes things happen. They make an exotic, dreamland lifestyle seem attainable. You can make your house beautiful. You can make your ass bounce pennies off it. And you can have an exotic sports car.

For years, the Porsche dealership has been doing a little test-drive event in my neck of the woods. They'll bring all of the latest beetle-shaped sports cars around and send the community's richest folks a little invitation to show up to a secret location. At that point, they let the rich folks bag on the cars a bit, shake some hands, serve some barbecue and booze, and it's a good weekend for everyone. The idea is that they sell extra cars the next week, to folks who just hadn't considered buying a new Porsche until they got all these nice gifts. They never counted on me.

While I'm not especially rich, I have managed to leverage my friend Letter-Carrier Louise's connections at the post office into knowing when and where this event is. It's not legal for me to open someone else's mail, but it is perfectly okay if I stand next to her while she sorts postcards, and read the words that say "hey rich guys come drive a Porsche at Boonies' Country Club and Horse Embalmatorium." Sometimes she has to go a little slow on the ol' letter sorting, because she knows I don't read very quickly anymore, not since the electroshock therapy.

You might be surprised that, although I'm not moneyed, I do own rich men's clothes. My secret? Estate sales, or to be more accurate, the thrift store closest to the rich part of town where they have the estate sales. Sure, they're not the latest fashions, but that means the salesmen will think that I'm an eccentric hyper-richo, and not, say, some degenerate who is only there to scare the shit out of a golf course owner by four-wheel-drifting a 600-horsepower electric hypercar around the bar until the tires explode. And they're right. I'm also there for the free barbecue, and as many cans of beer as I can stuff into the trunk of my 1978 Volare, which has been tactically parked in the groundskeeper's shed, ready to make good my escape.

Was this ethical? Absolutely not, but the acquisition of obscene wealth rarely is. They say you have to fake it until you make it, and I'm sure once that second part hits I'll swing by the dealer to make it up to them.

[bad268]

Hi I was wondering if you're comfortable with writing one for Andrea kimi antonelli with a chronically ill reader? (I have pots so preferably something similar or about that) but just a kinda fluff/comfort where the reader is having a bad flare up day? Only if you're comfortable but tysm if u do write it I love your writing! (I'm also a writer)

- em

At Least 75% (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I FEEL LIKE HE'D BE SO SOFT FOR YOU) (Also, thank you so much Em <3 Send me some of your stuff if you're comfortable with that, I'd love to read your stories <3)

Warnings:  Chronically ill reader (not explicitly stated what illness)

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1181

Summary: Flare-ups and hot tracks are not fun.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Maybe he would understand if you missed one day. Just one day this weekend was all you needed. You woke up this morning and felt like hell. Your mind was foggy and you felt like throwing up. Honestly, you really did not feel up to walking around period, let alone walking around a crowded paddock in the heat. Still, you knew that you wanted to support Kimi this weekend, and you would do everything in your power to do so even if it meant you would suffer for the day.

You looked to the other side of the bed, seeing Kimi’s side empty. He had an important meeting with Mercedes this morning and told you he would meet you in the Prema garage whenever you got to the track. Groaning, you moved to sit up in bed, almost immediately stopping to lay back down as you were hit with a dizzy spell.

You waited a few extra minutes, taking some deep breaths to slow your rapid heartbeat. When you finally felt it slow to a normal rate, you gradually sat up on the bed. You waited again before swinging your legs over the side and standing up slowly, holding for a minute as you regained your balance. It did not take as long as it normally did, so you decided that was a sign to go about the day as normal.

Well, that was a mistake.

It did not take long after getting to the track for you to feel the wrath of your body. The heat was unforgiving, your head was pounding, your heart was starting to race, and you just wanted to hide away in Kimi’s arms. Thankfully, you were able to hitch a ride from a passing golf cart, but the closest they could get you was the start of the pitlane. Unfortunately for you, the Prema garage was in the middle.

You groaned to yourself, not wanting to walk that far, so you took a seat on a nearby stack of tyres. You pulled out your phone, and just as you were about to text Kimi, he showed up, standing in front of you.

“I was just about to text you,” You chuckled as you weakly wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned against his chest.

“I had a feeling,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as his hand held your head to his chest. “How are you feeling? Is the heat too much? Please be honest.”

“I don’t think I can walk to the garage, mio vita (my life),” You sighed in defeat as your shoulders sagged, but Kimi held you tighter to his chest when he felt you sink. “It’s been a bad day, and it’s only just started.”

“Why didn’t you stay in the hotel?” Kimi consoled as he rubbed up and down your back to calm you down. “Your health will always come first.” 

“I wanted to support you,” You wined, pulling back a little to look up at him, resting your chin against his chest. “It’s a big weekend for you, and you know I’d never miss qualifying.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” He mumbled as he left a few kisses around your face. You began laughing, but you cut yourself short when a wave of nausea hit you. You hid your face in his chest once again as you breathed in his scent. Even he could feel your heart rate rising from just sitting there, and it did not help that SkySports had spotted you. They looked like they were going to make their way over, so Kimi tried to pull away slowly, He turned around and gestured for you to hold around his neck. “Hold on. I’ll carry you to the garage, and we can lay down before quali.”

“Can we get food or smoothies first? I haven't eaten all day and I know I probably should,” You whispered into his ear as you laid your head on his shoulder, and he held your legs tightly around his waist.

“I’ll go get you a smoothie after I drop you off in the garage,” Kimi compromised with a small smile as he started down the pitlane. “Look at you remembering to eat! I’m proud.”

“I knew you would like that,” You chuckled to yourself. You almost fell asleep, but you reached the Prema garage before you could. Kimi carried you into the back room where the driver’s room was set up and set you down on the massage table. Kimi pulled off his Mercedes jacket and laid it over your legs before leaning down to leave a kiss on your forehead. As he pulled away, you reached out to grab his hand before he could get too far. “You leaving to get food now?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back in a few,” He sighed with a loving smile as he leaned down to be at eye level with you. He lifted your entwined hands to leave a kiss on your knuckles. “Your usual?”

“You’re too good to me,” You replied dreamily as you closed your eyes again. “What would I do without you?”

“Starve.”

~

After qualifying (front row!!) and after the debrief, you and Kimi were free to head back to the hotel for the night. Despite wanting to suck it up and celebrate Kimi’s pole position, he knew you better than that. He knew as soon as he saw you sway in the garage after he pulled the car in that he was not letting you lift a finger that night. And true to his internal promise, he did not let you even walk.

“You know, it’s not that hot. I’m okay to walk,” You chuckled as he swept you into his arms and carried you through the paddock. Interviewers and fans that remained got a few pictures that you would be seeing later, but the gesture from Kimi made you happy nonetheless. “Are we going to dinner with the team?”

“Nope,” He quipped back as he popped the ‘p’ as he walked out of the gate and toward the car that Rene was pulling forward since they carpooled. “We are going back to the hotel, ordering room service, watching whatever you want to watch, and relaxing. I need your health at least at 75 percent tomorrow. I know your 100 percent is hard to come by, so I’ll settle for 75.”

You could not stop yourself from laughing. Even after hearing this joke many times, it never failed to put a smile on your face. “Can we make a fort?”

“By we, you mean me?” He joked, looking down at you just as Rene pulled up. Kimi helped you stand on your feet momentarily, so he could open the door. Then, he helped you sit down. Even going as far as to buckle your seatbelt for you. Once he clicked it in, he moved his head, so he could leave a small kiss on your lips. He pulled away slightly before whispering, “If you want a blanket fort, I will happily make you one.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

#andrea kimi antonelli x reader #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli #kimi x reader #formula 2 imagine #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 #f2 x reader #f2 #f2 imagine #mercedes amg petronas #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

[weemsfreak]

Full Circle -Par 3

Part 1

Larissa Weems x fReaderOC

Summary: After Prudence's fathers death, she struggles to get back to her sport, golf. Larissa finally has time to indulge in her long forgotten sport as well, meeting some friends and culprits along the way. Both women hope to find joy on the course, but will they find something unexpected as well? ~6.9k words.

✂ Song that goes well with the fic: Dear Prudence by Siouxsie & The Banshees (linked at bottom)

Note: Hi everyone! So, many people seemed to like the idea of Larissa being part of a country club. I chose golf because I'm more familiar with it than tennis or anything else. There were so many ways I wanted this to go, so I hope that I met your expectations! This is pt 1 of probably 2. (If anyone else wants to be tagged in pt 2, let me know)

Warnings: A bit of misogyny, harassment, alcohol

@dopenightmaretyphoon @danverssawyer @dingdongthetail

Also, you're welcome for blessing your eyes with this image. I wanted to create digital art of her, but I haven't had time, so this is partially AI generated.

☼☼☼

Larissa's life had always been busy, excessively busy. For years, she had been caught up in the rollercoaster of a journey to becoming a teacher at Nevermore Academy, and eventually the Headmistress. She has had little to no time for herself, even during the summer months. However, about five years ago, a weight had been lifted. Well, it felt lighter, as she now had time. Time to return to a passion that she had long neglected and missed dearly. 'You're not getting any younger', she reminded herself. 'Get back out there'.

With that, she found herself at a golf club just outside of Jericho, purchasing a new set of clubs.

After playing alone for most of the season and getting back into the grove of things, she crossed paths with a trio of seasoned golfers: Tom, Glen, and Richard. They had noticed her playing by herself a few times, and one day asked if she would like to join their group.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing playing alone?" Richard asked, winking at Larissa. The headmistress scoffed at the label, 'pretty little thing'. "I'm just getting back into the swing of things" she replied, trying to brush off his comment. "Come play with us, we've never had the pleasure of playing with a young lady before" Richard replied, wiggling his eyebrows. Tom chimed in, "Yeah, we could teach you a thing or two."

Larissa reluctantly agreed to join the men, and found that their persistent staring during her address wasn't doing her any favors, as her shots were less than ideal. About halfway through the game, Larissa regained some confidence, and started putting more power into her shots. "Pretty good, for a woman" Richard commented with a sly smile. Larissa rolled her eyes at him.

Despite Richards teasing and rude comments, the older men had recognized the potential in the younger woman. They knew that she had strength hidden behind that 'slender frame of hers', as they called it. Hell, she already had the precision.

"I'll make you a deal" Richard smugly said, smirking up at the woman. She straightened her posture and nodded down at him, "Alright." Richard observed Larissa's clubs, noting that they were top of the line. Perhaps money wouldn't motivate this woman. "You got a very nice set of clubs there, it's clear that you have potential. If you beat me on this hole, I'll give you $100." Larissa raised her eyebrows, a bet? She wasn't motivated by the money much, but beating this elderly man and showing them up, well, that was intriguing. "Deal" she said confidently.

As it was, Larissa put her all into everything that she did. Her drive sent the ball soaring with remarkable distance and precision. When it came time to putt, she had hope that she could beat Richard, for she prided herself on her putting skills, which for a lot of people was not a forte. Larissa and Tom managed to finish with a birdie, and Richard and Glen on par. "Well I'll be" Tom marveled. Richard let his eyes rake over Larissa's tall form, a smile pulling at his lips. "She has talent and beauty gentlemen, she's a keeper." Larissa couldn’t' help but shake her head at him as she let out a giggle. "Here you are" Richard said, handing Larissa a crisp hundred dollar bill. "Don't spend it all in one place."

Larissa continued to play with the three men for years, earning their respect and forgoing genuine friendships. She learned a lot from them, not only about golf, but also about life. When a golf season ended, she looked forward to the next. But, as fate would have it, after three seasons Richard didn't show up for golf. Tom and Glen solemnly informed Larissa that he had passed away. She silently thanked him for what he did for her, for he had turned her into a better golfer.

☼☼☼

You have been playing golf since you were a child. Over the years you have learned all the ins and outs of the game from your father, who had been a professional golfer himself at one point. His passion, and yours, for the sport was unmatched. Together you dedicated countless hours to perfecting your swing, honing your putting, and mastering every aspect of the game.

After your fathers passing, you found it very hard to muster the energy or motivation to play, especially without him by your side. Yes, you were grieving, your father and the game. It felt like when you lost him, that part of your life was lost too. Golf, for you, was lost in translation, out of the question, and thrown into the abyss.

And that was how you felt, for the longest time. That was, until your most recent life changing decision. You quickly fell in love with the mountains, greenery, and breath of fresh air that was Jericho, Vermont. You had never ventured far from your hometown, but now, you figured it was time.

Your father had gifted you a set of clubs once you had stopped growing. They were the latest models at the time, and they suited you perfectly. The only club in your bag that was not so new, was your driver. When you were younger and your father had stopped playing professionally, he had gifted you his pride and joy, his driver. After years of wear and tear, though, it was becoming a bit shabby.

You pulled up to the golf course just outside of Jericho, 'West Bolton Golf Club'. You had been here a couple of times recently, your first time back out was harder for you than you had anticipated. Yet, after not playing for a long while, you were still as good as ever. A tad rusty, you will admit, but you thought your father would be proud. You stood your clubs next to a table outside the clubhouse and opted for a sandwich before teeing off. You hummed quietly as you ate, soaking in the sun and the warmth it brought you. It was a beautiful day for golfing, gorgeous in comparison to the other days that you were here.

As you sat and ate, excited to get out on the course, you heard some men laughing at a nearby table. Old men jokes, you thought, never really funny. You turned your attention to them as you watched an older man reach his hand out and playfully swat at a woman's arm. They were all laughing, seeming like they were genuinely enjoying each others company, it made you smile. When you were finished with your sandwich, you walked to the trash and discarded your wrapper, then made your way back to your table. You had caught the eye of one of the older men, as he watched you sit back down and rearrange your clubs. You were glancing at the woman at the table, trying your best to be somewhat stealthy. She was an image, she looked like she was straight out of an old movie. She was definitely a member here, there was no doubt about that. Her whole demeanour screamed wealthy, though it was odd. Usually it would be no surprise to see an older woman at a golf club dressed to the nines, but this woman looked considerably younger than these elderly men. The color of her hair was making you think otherwise, but you'd swear it to be blonde, not white. "Hi there" one of the old men smiled, waving at you and pulling you away from your staring. You smiled and looked around, was he talking to you? He was looking at you. "Hi" you waved back, blushing in embarrassment.

Your attempt to be stealthy was not successful, it seemed. He definitely saw you gazing at the woman, what if she was his wife? The man smiled and made a 'come here' gesture with his hand, to which you stood and made your way to their table. "I haven't seen you here before, you new?" You looked around the table and found six eyes focused on you, two of which were distractingly beautiful. You swallowed, "Yes, I just moved here." The man nodded and responded warmly, "Well, welcome to West Bolton, sit, sit." You returned a quiet thanks before settling in the only empty chair, next to the woman. "I'm Glen, this is Tom" Glen gestured to the man beside him, then turned to the woman, "and this is Larissa." Tom nodded your way, and Larissa extended her hand with an enchanting red-lipped smile. The woman's appearance was nothing short of stunning. She exuded an air of wealth and sophistication, from her golf attire to her jewelry, from her meticulously styled hair to her bold yet elegant makeup. The way she laughed, the way she drank her wine, not to mention her confident demeanor, screamed at you. It was clear now that she was considerably younger than the older men, her porcelain-like complexion fixing you in a trance.

"Nice to meet you, darling" she greeted. You stammered as you shook her hand. You knew that you should give them your name in return, but your breath caught in your throat when the woman's smooth British accent hit your ears. "Y-you too, I'm Prudence." The woman continued to hold your gaze, and you then realized how close you were sitting to her. From this proximity, you could see that her skin was smooth and pale. You couldn't help but feel that you'd hurt her if you touched it. You didn't mean it in the way that she looked old and fragile though, heavens no, but in the way that artists would portray angels- bright, creamy, delicate, exquisite.

"So Prudence, do you play often?" Tom asked, breaking the silence. You shook your head, "Not much anymore, but I used to." Tom gestured to your clubs, "Those are nice clubs you got there." You smiled and nodded in agreement, "Thank you. My father gave them to me, he taught me how to play." "Who's your father? Would we know him?" Glen asked in curiosity. "Paul Clair" you replied proudly. Tom's eyebrows raised, "Paul Clair? From Tennessee?" You confirmed with a nod, "That's him." The old men paused and exchanged glances. "He was excellent at his sport, our condolences" Glen replied. After another moment of silence, Larissa turned to you. "We're going to tee off in a minute, would you like to join us, Prudence?" You considered her invitation, you were intrigued by this woman. But, you were working on your technique, and you didn't want to hold them up.

After politely declining, you allowed the group to get ahead of you before making your way to the first hole. You placed your tee into the ground and set up as you let the fresh air of the fairway fill your lungs, relief flooding your veins. You had always found solace in the manicured fairways and lush greens, which you desperately needed recently, especially today. After teeing off and sending the ball soaring through the sky, you smiled to yourself, "Pru, you still got it".

You took your time to correct your silly mistakes and scold yourself for things about which you knew better, until half way through, when you caught up with the group in front of you. Glen, Tom, and Larissa were at the next hole, joined now by two younger men. You scrunched your face up in confusion, there were only four allowed in a group.

Tom spoke to the newcomers, who looked eager to impress. "Newbies, eh? You wanna learn a few things?" The younger guys exchanged glances before nodding at the old man, "Yeah, sure." Tom demonstrated, setting up the ball and taking his shot, sending it straight down the fairway, out of sight. "Alright, your turn" Tom motioned to one of the boys. You observed the younger men, noticing that they carried themselves rather tall, chests puffed out and chins high. One of them walked up to the tee box and set his ball up, gripping his club and getting into position. The other boy was seemingly fixated on Larissa, and you realized that she was who they were eager to impress. You watched as the ball was sent flying with great strength, but it was a slice, and it landed in the trees. The next newbie took a turn, but didn't make contact with the ball on his first swing. He cursed before trying again and making contact, but not sending the ball far, at all. "Alright, alright" Tom intervened, giving the boys a few tips. After a few minutes, Tom walked back over to Glen and elbowed him playfully. You watched as Larissa chuckled and shook her head, as if she knew what was coming. "Alright boys, I'll make you both a deal." The boys smiled and replied with okays. Tom pointed to Larissa. "If one of you drive the ball further and with more precision than Larissa here, I'll give you each $50." The boys both turned their attention to Larissa, before giving her a one over and a smile. "You boys better buy the woman a drink with your winnings" Glen joked, the boys agreed happily.

You moved closer, eager to see how this bet would play out. Larissa turned to you as you walked up behind her. She smiled, "Shall I give them a run for his money?" You chuckled and nodded your head, "Give it all you've got."

The boys tried again, determined to impress. You had to give it to them, they did better than the first time. "Not bad boys, not bad" Tom praised. "You're up, Rissa." Larissa approached the tee box with a graceful sway of her hips, and placed the tee in the ground. As she set up, you couldn't help but roll your eyes. The boys wandering gazes were venturing lower, they weren't even trying to hide it. Larissa took an elegant practice swing before aligning her club up with the ball. You watched her, captivated by her movements. She was so proper and graceful with everything that she did, every move that she made. She swung and drove the ball, sending it straight down the fairway with grace. "I think that went further than mine" Tom laughed. The boys let out frustrated groans and chuckled in embarrassment. "Well boys, the lady beat you. Don't dwell on it too much, I'll buy you both a drink when were finished." You watched as they all packed their clubs and hopped into their golf carts. Larissa headed to the cart and returned her driver, but before she left, she turned her attention to you and gave you a wink, leaving you in awe.

☼☼☼

1

After a particularly taxing day at work, you sought comfort from the golf course. You decided to sit at a table and order a drink before you started. It was relatively calm tonight, as the beautiful day had turned chilly far too soon. However, the day turned beautiful once more when you caught a glimpse of light blonde hair in a passing group of people. To your surprise, and utter delight, Larissa was sitting at a table, alone. You wasted no time in gathering your belongings and walking over to her. "Hi!" you greeted, gazing down at the older woman. Larissa's face lit up with a smile when she met your eyes, "Hi darling, have a seat."

You settled into the chair beside her and took note of her choice of drink, red wine. You watched as long elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass and manicured hands brought it to her lips. "You blew the boys out of the water the other day, quite impressive" you giggled. Larissa swallowed and chuckled, "Oh, you flatter me so."

You looked around at her empty table, "Where's Glen and Tom?" Larissa waved her hand dismissively, "Sometimes they're too much. I'm flying solo today." You nodded in agreement, "So, how do you know them?"

The woman smiled, reminiscing about the day she met her older friends. "Well, when I first started here, they made a bet with me, much like yesterday. Richard, may he rest in peace, said that if I bet him, he'd give me a hundred dollars." Larissa chuckled, shaking her head, "I got the hundred, and they invited me to play with them. At first they flirted with me and made stupid jokes, but I fired back, and they soon learned that I wasn't going to take any shit." 

You laughed at Larissa's story, "Wow, that's amazing!" The woman nodded, "I still have the hundred, it's on my wall." Your eyes widened in shock, you would've spent that money so fast. "So neither of them are your boyfriend, or husband?" you blurted. Immediately regretting your question, you slapped a hand over your mouth. You don't know what prompted you to ask that, you just wanted to clarify, for some reason. Larissa burst into laughter, throwing her head back as her hand flew to her chest. "No! No love, I'm not with either of them" she replied reassuringly. You let out a breath of relief, "Oh! Okay." Larissa suddenly narrowed her eyes at you. "Did you really think I was that old?" Heat crept up your cheeks, and you felt the need to explain yourself. "Oh, no! I knew you were younger. Well you look younger, but that doesn't mean anything" you smiled, embarrassed. The woman nodded her head in understanding and looked down at her wine glass. "How old do you think I am?" she asked. You froze, you hated that question. Um, 30? 50? You were horrible at this guessing game. "Umm, 40?" you replied sheepishly, it really was your best guess. She smiled, "Close, I'm 49." Your jaw dropped, she didn't look anywhere near that age, not that 49 was old. "How old do you think I am?" you asked. Larissa furrowed her brow as she studied you carefully. You just sat there, feeling like you were being penetrated by her gaze. "Late twenties" she finally said. You shrugged and smiled, "Yeah, good guess."

After Larissa's red was gone, she asked you to accompany her on the course, to which you happily agreed. This woman was a beast at the game, being on par almost every hole (and sometimes under), and never slicing the ball into the trees, water, or bunker. She was a joy to golf with, sharing tips and tricks whenever you needed them. You thought that she would be an excellent teacher. It was apparent that she loved to help and pass on her knowledge.

You watched from behind as Larissa putted, noting the small details of her form. Her putting form, that was. Well, maybe her physical form too. She wore a baby blue colored golf skirt that showed off her long legs and accentuated her wide hips. Her white colored polo shirt fit her perfectly. Her clothes were always pristine with no wrinkles, you could learn a lot from her. Her shoes were white, of all colors, stained with nothing, no grass, no dirt. As your gaze raked over her form from head to toe, you berated yourself internally, for you were no better than any man.

As the sun set and darkness fell, making it impossible to see, you both decided to call it a night. "You did amazingly today, darling" Larissa complimented. Blushing, you packed up your clubs and took them out of the golf cart. "Thank you Larissa, as did you." Larissa's gaze shifted down to your clubs, and she noticed a charm hanging off of your bag. She took the photo delicately in her fingers, "What's this?" It held a photo of your father, which you had placed in a clear case and attached to your bag. It made you feel like he was with you whenever you golfed. "That's my father. I didn't golf for a long time after he passed, so this makes me feel like he's still golfing with me." Larissa looked at you sincerely before running her hand down your arm soothingly. "Well, I'm so glad that you decided to get back to your sport, Prudence. He would be so proud." Larissa smiled down at you before holding her hand out to you. "Can I have your phone for a moment?" You reached into your pocket and handed her your phone, unsure of her intentions. She quickly entered her number into your contacts and handed it back. She had called herself 'Larissa (from golf)' which made you chuckle. "There's my number, incase you ever want someone to golf with, or just to talk to." You smiled up at the lovely woman, reveling in the warmth that her bright blue eyes radiated. "Thank you, Larissa."

☼☼☼

You found yourself driving to a liquor store in Jericho one evening. You had been non stop thinking about wine recently, but you were unsure as to why, you weren't usually a wine drinker. You were searching the store for a brand or variety that may appeal to you, when you set your eyes on red. You had in mind white, or perhaps rose, but something about red was very, very tempting. You picked up the bottle and read the description, you knew it would be strong and dry. You scrunched your face up in question, why was this so appealing to you? Suddenly, you remembered where you got the craving for red, Larissa.

You heard the door bell ding, indicating that someone was entering the store. Speak of the angel and she shall appear, or rather think of her. Her eyes scanned the store as she subconsciously made her way to your isle. She stood next to you and grabbed a bottle of red, the same bottle that you were holding. She didn't notice you standing there at first, and you used that time to take her in. She was wearing a sage green sleeveless dress, and a scarf tied around her head. She adorned nude colored kitten heels, and when you realized how tall she really was, you gasped lightly. Larissa swiveled her head around quickly to find you peering up at her. "Oh, hello love" she spoke, surprised but delighted to see you. You quickly smiled and averted her gaze, hoping she didn't notice your staring, "Hi Larissa." The woman took the bottle in her hands and held it next to yours. "We have the same taste, do we?" she chuckled lightly. You blushed and spoke hesitantly, "I actually never tried red before." Larissa turned to you with a grin, looking you up and down. "Well, I recommend it. It is my favorite, after all." You nodded, if this was Larissa's favorite, you'd at least try it. "So, I take it you live in Jericho?" You replied with a yes. "As do I" she smiled. After you purchased your wine, you walked out of the shop together. "Would you like to golf together again, Prudence? Perhaps Saturday?" You smiled wide and nodded your head excitedly, "I'd love to, I'll see you then."

☼☼☼

2

Saturday rolled around and you were eager to get on the course. You had played a couple of times by yourself recently, and your body ached from the exercise. Being out of practice was defiantly taking it's toll on you.

You played with the older woman, and delightfully you two became closer. You  learned that Larissa was the headmistress of Nevermore Academy, which you were not surprised about at all. When she had told you what type of school Nevermore was, you were a bit nervous, due to being unfamiliar. As you and her talked though, you became increasingly intrigued by Larissa's stories. You learned that her name was Larissa Weems, and you decided that you loved how her name rolled off of your tongue.

"Do you mind?" Larissa asked with a grin, handing you a bottle of sunscreen. She turned around so that her back was facing you, and pointed to the parts of her shoulders and neck that weren't covered by her tan sleeveless polo. "I can't reach very well, but I'm afraid I burn fairly easily."

You poured some sunscreen out into your hand, gently smoothing it over her skin. The warmth of her pale skin, and the contact in general, quickly brought a blush to your face. You tried your best to not miss any spots as you focused on not feeling, or looking, too flustered. Once you applied the sunscreen, you ran your hands lightly down her forearms. On purpose? By accident? You didn't know. Larissa turned around and took the sunscreen from you with a side smile and a flutter of her lashes, "Your turn."

As you spent more time with the headmistress, you quickly found yourself becoming enamored with the tall woman. She was a remarkable golfer, and you both bonded over your similar taste in clubs and similar techniques. She was easy to talk to, she was very sweet, and she was incredibly kind hearted. She had a playful, youthful spirit that was apparent with her constant jokes and antics. She was always ready to bring a smile to your face. Yet, she possessed a mature and responsible side, and when the situation called for it, she could assert herself firmly. You admired this quality of hers, especially since you tended to avoid confrontations. Larissa was the guidance that you needed in life, yet the friend that would support you. You prayed that your connection with the woman would continue to deepen, as you cherished your moments with her.

☼☼☼

"It's a beautiful day for it" Glen remarked, pulling his driver from his bag.

"Sure is" Tom replied. The older men watched Larissa as she prepared to tee off, carefully placing her tee in the ground and taking a practice swing to gauge her aim, factoring in the breeze.

"So Larissa, we haven't-"

"Tom, can't you see that I'm golfing here?" Larissa interrupted, standing and turning to her friend while narrowing her eyes at him. Tom held up his hands in surrender, "Sorry."

After Larissa took her shot, she turned back to him. "I was going to say that we haven't seen you in a bit. Have you grown tired of us old bags?" he joked, elbowing Glen.

Larissa chuckled and shook her head. "No, of course not. I've just been busy."

Tom and Glen teed off, moving to find their place on the fairway. "Busy huh, with what? You're off for the summer, you can't be doing work" Glen exclaimed.

Larissa rolled her eyes, they loved to get her going sometimes. She glanced down at her ball on the fairway, balancing her hand on her club. "I've just been doing my own thing."

Glen and Tom glanced at each other, giving knowing looks. "You've been playing with that young girl, haven't you?" Glen huffed in false annoyance.

The elder men knew that Larissa was interested in women, and they were always supportive. That's why they found it amusing to watch the young men flirt with her, for they didn't stand a chance. Yet, Larissa has been single for a long while, the old men were aware of that too. She didn't want them making jokes about you and her when you were purely just friends. Hell, she didn't even know if you liked women, let alone her. She scrunched her face up at the older men, hoping to appear convincing in her lie. "No I have not, why would you say that?"

Tom chuckled, "I saw your name in the books."

 Larissa stared at them, expressionless, before sighing and nodding her head. "Okay, we have played together a few times."

The old men laughed before moving on to their putting. "Nothing wrong with that" Glen spoke.

"Is she good?" Tom chimed in.

Larissa smiled, thinking back to the times that you two had played together. "Very good, almost as good as I am" she replied, sinking the ball and beating both men by a stroke.

"Shit" Tom murmured.

"Well, bring her out next time, Rissa. We'd love to see her play," Glen suggested.

Larissa gave them a knowing look, "You'd love to annoy her, you mean."

Tom chuckled and placed his hand on Larissa's upper back. "Yes, that too."

☼☼☼

3

Although you were confident in your golfing abilities most of the time, you had always been nervous about golfing with others. You feared that you might hold them back, or appear too cocky, or god forbid have a particularly bad day. Alas, when Larissa texted you and asked if you wanted to play with her and the older men, you had decided that was 'the way of the game', as your father used to say.

You loaded your clubs into a golf cart and sat next to Larissa. Her outfit of the day caught your attention, as it always did. She looked stunning in her red sleeveless dress, which matched her red lips and contrasted nicely against her porcelain skin. She smiled down at you when she saw you eyeing her outfit. She reached out and stroked your arm, making a rush of warmth spread over you as your gaze shot up to meet hers. "How are you today, darling?"

You felt your heart flutter at her question, her eyes brightly boring into your own. She never failed to make you feel cared for and important. "I'm good Larissa, how are you?"

Larissa turned the cart on and shifted into drive, smiling wide.

"Much better now that I'm here with you."

As Larissa drove to the first hole, you dug out a cold alcoholic beverage. You knew it wasn't allowed on the course, as they wanted you to buy drinks from the shop. Sucks for them, you only had so much money, and the prices at the club were steep. "What have you got there?" Larissa asked, peering down at the can in your hands. "Vodka soda, want one?" You dug through your bag, pulling out another. Larissa shrugged and scrunched up her nose playfully, "Sure, why not."

As the day progressed, you found that you were playing rather well. Glen and Tom occasionally made remarks, one about you being so young, and something about Larissa and women. You didn't know what they were getting at exactly, so you ignored them. Larissa and the men shot comments back and forth as you sat in the background in hysterics. The old men really seemed innocent, and you now understood why Larissa liked them so much. By the 9th hole, you had become relaxed and comfortable with their bickering. It was all in good fun, after all.

"Aww, ducks!" you exclaimed, pointing to ducks in a pond while you were passing by in the golf cart. Larissa turned to catch what you were pointing at and stopped to let you enjoy the moment. However, she stopped so abruptly that Tom and Glen almost rear ended your cart. "Rissa, get going!" Tom yelled. Larissa ignored him and turned to you, "Do you want to go see the ducks darling?"

You excitedly nodded your head and exited the cart, walking over to the pond. You observed the ducks happily as they dived for food and quacked, swimming about the small pond. You remembered how your father would point all the animals out to you while golfing, the ducks in the pond, the rabbits in the woods, and the cows that lived next to the golf course, the one back home. You were always scared that if you didn't send the ball straight, it would curve and hit one of the cows.

"C'mon, they're just ducks" Glen chuckled.

"Leave her alone, what are you in a hurry for" Larissa replied, sitting in the cart patiently watching you. She smiled as she marveled over you. She thought that your interest and love for the simple things was adorable, and she would never want to take any joy away from you. She found that, even though you had only played together a few times, you reminded her to slow down and take her time with things, to appreciate them more. In Larissa's busy everyday life, she had forgotten how to do that. She admired the way you thought about things twice, so that you would do them right, but at the same time, you weren't too caught up in the competition, in the hustle and bustle. You went at your own pace and did your own thing, and that was how it should be.

You walked back to the cart and got in, smiling ear to ear. You were grateful for her support, and you appreciated her sticking up for you. "Thanks, Larissa" you said, blushing slightly at her. "Of course love" she replied, reaching for your hand and stroking her thumb over your skin.

You were teeing off at the next hole when Glen noted your worn out driver. "You got a lot of use out of that" he said, pointing to the scuffed up and dented head. You picked it up and brushed it off, "Yea, I guess I could use a new one." "You'd do better with a new one, that one is probably throwing you off" Tom noted. You nodded and chuckled, "I'll get a new one, eventually." Larissa took note of your attitude, it was like something was bothering you. "They have nice ones at the shop darling, we can go look at them" she chimed in. You shrugged, "Maybe another day, I'll have to save up" you embarrassingly admitted.

You sat in the golf cart enjoying a snack as Larissa conversed with the older men. Your jaw almost dropped when your gaze landed on her, the sun cascading around her form and accentuating her red accents. The sky was unusually colorful today, with pink, orange, and yellow hues blended together smoothly. Larissa's smile glowed even more than on a normal day, and her eyes crinkled with joy. She was truly a breathtaking image. An image. You gasped excitedly when you recalled packing your polaroid camera, and you quickly pulled it out of your bag. You looked through the camera lens and focused it on her, your hands shaking as you tried to keep it steady. As you were about to snap the photo, Larissa turned and started walking toward your cart. You pulled away from the camera nervously, hoping to snap a photo without her seeing. You said screw it as you lined the camera lens up with her, ceasing an opportunity that was too good to pass up. She smiled to herself and her gaze met the sky as she made her way to you. You snapped the shot. Candid photos were always beautiful, as they captured the essence of a person. You laid your camera carefully back in your bag, listening to the whirring of the printing photo. Larissa sat next to you, still smiling wide as she gestured to the sky. "Isn't it beautiful, darling?" You looked up at the array of colors, before lowering your gaze to your bag. You chuckled to yourself, debating on letting your thoughts run with the breeze and carry themselves to her ears, 'It's not as beautiful as you.' Alas, you refrained and your gaze met hers warmly. "It really is Larissa, it's so beautiful."

After the 16th hole, you loaded your clubs into the cart and settled in the passenger seat again. You had a few drinks while on the course, which may have affected your performance, but not too much. You were caught off guard as Larissa stepped on the gas, giggling, as she thought it would be hilarious to leave Tom and Glen in the dust. You squealed as you fell gently into the woman, and quickly grabbed the handle to pull yourself away. She raced down the dirt path to the next hole, and you watched as the sunscreen fall out of the cart and onto the ground. "Shit Rissa, the sunscreen!" you hollered. The older woman slammed on the breaks, the cart drifting in the dirt and gravel. You jumped out and retrieved the sunscreen, laughing hysterically. "Geeze, you gotta be somewhere?!" you said, eliciting a cackle from Larissa as she drove down the path. When you stopped, she leaned closer to you and took your hand in hers again. Her plump lips curled up into a cute smile as brown eyes met blue, and you blushed. "You're very fun to be around, Prudence. Thank you for coming out today" she whispered. Your blush deepened as you looked down at your intertwined hands and squeezed hers reassuringly, "It's my pleasure. You're a delight, Larissa."

Glen ended up winning this round, with Larissa in second and you in third. Tom, being the loser, offered to buy the drinks. As you all sat, worn out from the day, a man appeared at your table, "What can I get you all?" He looked younger than Larissa, yet older than you. You noticed that he was paying an unusual amount of interest towards the woman. He talked enthusiastically, and you watched him as he took the old men's orders of beer, your order of a rum and coke, and Larissa's order of red wine. He took Larissa's order last, looking her up and down with a smirk. He then opened his mouth, to your dismay. "I saw you playing today Larissa, not your best day huh? Maybe it's because you're not wearing your blue skirt. That one shows you off nicely" he winked. Before you, or anyone else could say anything, the man walked away. Larissa let out a groan in annoyance and placed her head in her hands. "What the hell is his problem!?" you asked, frustrated and confused. Larissa sighed and turned to you, about to respond, when Glen spoke up. "He's a cocky young thing. He works and plays here. When Larissa first started playing, he challenged her."

"He challenged her, and Rissa beat him! Now he's sour about it" Tom added, rolling his eyes. Larissa leaned in closer to the men and whispered in disgust, "He never leaves me alone. I always see him eyeing me, little pervert."

"He'll get what's coming to him" Tom replied confidently, taking a drink of his beer.

After a drink and some much appreciated golf advice from Glen and Tom, another man made his way to your table and stopped next to Larissa. "Red wine, a fine choice" he said, flashing her a toothy smile. Larissa smiled back and nodded, "Yes, it's my go to." The man looked around the table at the older men, then at you. "May I buy you another?" he asked, gesturing to her drink. Your eyes narrowed at him, how arrogant, it seemed that he had deemed her available to flirt with. Tom laughed and shook his head, "You're barking up the wrong tree pal." Larissa glared at Tom with an expression that said 'shut up.' She then looked up at the man and waved her hand dismissively, "Thank you, but I'm fine." The man replied while eyeing Larissa up and down. "Are you sure? I saw you golfing today, and I'm pretty impressed." Larissa chuckled but shook her head no, about to politely decline again, when you spoke up. You furrowed your eyebrows at the man and placed your hand on Larissa's, "She said she's fine." The man's eyes widened in surprise as they shot to you. He then nodded and headed back to his table. Larissa gazed down at you and chuckled in amusement and surprise, squeezing your hand lightly. She hoped you couldn't read it on her face, but she thought it was precious, how you defended her. "Someone has a crush" Glen spoke, picking up his beer and taking a sip. Larissa smiled, "I'm sure he just wanted to talk about golf." Glen raised his eyebrows as he looked at you, "I'm not talking about him."

Larissa gave him a questioning look before letting go of your hand, "I'll be right back." As soon as Larissa entered the building and was out of sight, the men turned to you. "So, what are your intentions with our friend here?" Tom asked. You tilted your head in confusion, "What do you mean?" "Do you like her?" Glen chimed in. You raised a brow, "Well yeah, I like her. Why wouldn't I?" Tom and Glen smirked at each other before chuckling at your obliviousness. "No, are you interested in her? Do you like women?" Your mouth dropped open as you blushed lightly. You knew the answer to that question, but why did they care? You shrugged, "No, no. I mean maybe, yeah."

Larissa was making her way back from the washroom when caught your conversation. She stopped at the door and discreetly listened in. "Well, she likes women, and she's single" Glen replied, hinting. Larissa's mouth opened in disbelief, they were just casually outing her to you? Okay then. "You know she's 49, right?" Tom laughed. Larissa's mouth dropped further, they weren't ones to talk about age. You chuckled and shook your head at the men, now eager to speak the truth. "I don't care if she's 49, she's fucking lovely." Glen and Tom erupted into laughter at your response, but inside, a toothy smile lit up the older woman's face. Larissa's heart swelled in her chest at your words, you innocent thing you. She returned to the table and settled down next to you, scooting her chair closer to yours. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled down at you, and when you returned a side smirk, she gave you a knowing wink.

☼☼☼

Part 2

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[xoxoskai]

Before anything else, I want to make it abundantly clear that these are all speculations.

I have taken whatever I could from the books and little hints and crumbs and come up with this theory and in no way does it reflect what will really be in the book.

Before I present my theory as to who the White Mask is, I want to cover who it isn't.

1. Vaughn Morozov

For everyone who doesn't know who Vaughn is, he's Kirill and Sasha's son and was, until recently, prime suspect #1 but Rina confirmed he will not be a part of Legacy of Gods so that essentially votes him out of this immediately.

2. Remington Astor

Before I started reading this series and had only heard of the White Mask, my first immediate guess went to the most unsuspecting person, Remi. Simply because no one would expect that from him and also because chances were that my man had more demons in his closet than he was letting on (like his Dad). However, he is not getting a book and the White Mask mystery is too good to not be revealed in a book which made me rule him out (sorrows and prayers, RemiAri you will always be famous)

3. Eli King

First of all, why would a 26 y/o participate in a passtime game of tag with college students? He's preparing to inherit an entire kingdom and I can't see him chasing people around for shits and giggles or for a more bloodthirsty reason. He simply does not have the time for it. Besides, even if he's not part of the Elites, he's dedicated to the entire united front that the Kings love to showcase which he won't betray just to satisfy his bloodlust (he might have other methods for it that does not require him to join the Heathens).

Which brings me to my prime suspect,

Ava Nash

Over the course of the first three books (Legacy of; Malice, Pain and Wrath), there were a lot of things that were said about Ava or in connection to her that hinted on something far more than simply words tossed to the wind.

(I will be referencing all of them and going forward will refer to the White Mask as WM)

I think the first, most obvious conclusion most people made was that the White Masked Heathen could be a girl. While the four known Heathens are all described as tall and muscular, it was specifically mentioned that WM was leaner.

(God of Wrath, Chapter 1, pg. 10)

Comes and goes as they please.

(God of Malice, Chapter 19, pg. 1)

Cherry could seduce the guards but not WM.

(God of Malice, Chapter 38, pg. 13)

Choice of weapon: Chains.

I always found this the most interesting because Killian, Jeremy and Nikolai rely on their strengths to wield their weapons whether it's a bat or a golf club or bare fists. It takes a considerable amount of power to swing those and inflict enough damage and pain.

But chains are easier to maneuver if you do not possess the actual strength to physically overpower your opponent. They can be swung at someone, used to disarm them or trip people or effectively cut air supply without exerting too much energy.

(God of Wrath, Chapter 1, pg. 9; God of Malice, Chapter 16, pg. 2)

Yes, I hear you. All of this is nice and good and obvious but where does Ava fit in?

Remember when Ava Nash took a shot for having done illegal things but not elaborating? There is so much more to her than what meets the eye.

Time and again, Ava has displayed tendencies that depict that violence does not bother that. That she finds it fun.

God of Malice, Chapter 7, pg. 2; God of Wrath, Chapter 4, pg. 8; God of Pain, Chapter 5, pg. 3; God of Wrath, Epilogue 2, pg. 1; God of Wrath, Chapter 25, pg. 2 God of Wrath, Chapter 25, pg. 2

Most Heathens: Jeremy, Killian and Nikolai partake in the brutal initiation to satiate their bloodlust of some sort. While Ava might not necessarily have the same level of thirst for violence as them, she is definitely a rule-breaker, loves treading the line between what is allowed and what isn't and has the most inside knowledge about the Heathens, something I will discuss in more detail soon.

If it's not obvious enough still,

Rina Kent does not like going with the obvious. She loves surprises and plot twists and I love getting surprised and having my mind blown.

Ava finds the entire concept of the initiation "fun" when mostly everyone outside of the Heathens has expressed distaste.

The reason I brought up WM's weapon of choice is because it was fascinating to me how Rina didn't go the conventional way of making Ava a pianist or a violinist which are usually what music majors in fiction pursue. She's a cellist. So, she probably has experience lugging her instrument to and from places. It speaks of considerable strength that she probably has carrying an instrument that weighs roughly 5-7 pounds around the campus daily, for years.

Every LoG book so far has been a Heathen X REU pairing.

Killian Carson X Glyndon King

Annika Volkov X Creighton King

Jeremy Volkov X Cecily Knight

Mia Sokolov X Landon King

Nikolai Sokolov X Brandon King

And lastly, Ava Nash X Eli King.

MORE STUFF SOON<3

#eliava #legacy of gods #god of malice #god of fury #god of pain #god of wrath #god of ruin #god of war #eli king x ava nash #ava nash #eli king #creighton king #landon king #brandon king #nikolai sokolov #jeremy volkov #killian carson #cecily knight #glyndon king #mia sokolov #maya sokolov #remington astor

[asgoodeasgold]

Matthew Goode at Dunhill Links 2023 - Part 1 - Meeting Matthew

Day 1 of the tournament on the Old Course at St Andrews, I finally met lovely, gorgeous Matthew and as predicted, I was utterly tongue-tied, star-struck, could not think of what to say! 🤦🏻‍♀️ 🤦🏻‍♀️

I was actually petrified, ridiculous I know, a grown woman (I have talked at conferences in front of 600 people and not felt anywhere near as nervous 🤷🏻‍♀️).

But Matthew is lovely and puts people at ease.

The first thing that struck me about him, even from metres away, was his gaze. INTENSE!!! @pleasereadmeok (J) had warned me the eye contact was insane but you have to see it to believe it.

And you can see it in these close-ups, that piercing gaze and magnetic presence. Nobody looks at a camera or people like that. I don't know how his co-stars manage to function frankly.

The other thing that struck me was how tall and lithe he is. And how at ease in his body, when he walks, sorry I mean swaggers, around the course (gigantic stride!) or takes a swing.

What did I think of Matthew? Well it's always a bit scary meeting your heroes, I was worried about being disappointed.

But meeting Matthew was wonderful (even though I was embarrassing 😂). Watching him play and interact with people for 2 days confirmed everything I thought he was: charming, kind, friendly, funny, humble, self-deprecating, and beautiful. And you can't fake that for 10 hours.

He always made time to come and chat with spectators.

2 stories to give the measure of the man, the way he behaves towards children and animals.

There was a kid in golf shoes watching and Matthew handed his driver to him and said "I think you should take over". The kid was so chuffed, tried a few swings, Matthew had a chat. So lovely.

And everytime there was a spectator with a dog, he had to go and pet it. One dog was literally rolling on its back in happiness. Aw. [Hot tip if going to watch Matthew play, bring your dog, or borrow one 🤣, chat guaranteed!].

This is my last shot of Matthew on Day 2 at Carnoustie as he was leaving (little did I know I would not see him again, the tournament was abandoned the next day due to flooded courses).

This was at the end of a tough day with lots of ups and down (some incredible drives, Matthew is so powerful! and a stunning putt from 35m). Such a wonderful smile to end this wonderful experience. I am blessed really.

📷 My pictures and edits [1st one with phone, rest with SLR, much better - I always find phone pics distorted]

#matthew goode #matthewgoode #dunhill links #dunhill links 2023 #golf

[star-going-supernova]

Gregory, instead of acquiring the Faz cam from Monty golf, acquires a reinforced golf club, i'm pretty sure what happens next is very obvious.

Another prompt from ao3, this one from Canada W.E, and it’s number 47 of the tumblr generated prompts! Man, this one was fun to write.

Hole in One

See, it might not have been a problem if it had been one of the standard golf clubs for the guests. Those ones bent easily if smacked against a rock. But Gregory didn’t find one of the normal ones, no, he got his hands on one of the special, heavy-duty, reinforced golf clubs that were made specifically to withstand Monty’s strength. 

So the animatronics were doomed, basically. 

• • •

Gregory skidded around a corner and immediately stopped, holding his breath as he waited. He listened to the creaking sound of Moon prowling closer and wound up with his golf club, holding it like a baseball bat. 

The second those creepy red eyes came into view, Gregory put all his strength into his swing. The crash of metal against metal reverberated through his arms, but it was so worth it for the way Moon’s head full-on spun around with a horrible crack. The animatronic stumbled back with a raspy shout. His hands shot up to his backwards head. Gregory took off with a panicky but victorious little cackle, high on adrenaline and unwilling to stick around long enough for Moon to regain his bearings. 

Hell yeah. Taking the golf club had been a fantastic decision. This one felt heavier, more solid, than the other ones he’d poked at. Screw a camera; this was how you did self-defense. 

He glanced back only when he had to wait for the elevator, and Gregory immediately burst into giggles at the sight of Moon waving his hands around in front of him, his head still facing the wrong way. 

• • •

Chica was his next victim. She had him cornered near the kitchen, where so many of the dumb doors were locked and needed a security pass higher than the one he’d snatched. She was taller than Moon and didn’t hunch over the way he had, so Gregory zeroed in on her vulnerable knees. 

She seemed to catch on to his intentions too late, only managing to come to a stop as her eyes widened. The knee he made contact with popped sideways so violently that her entire leg collapsed out from under her, taking her straight to the floor with a screech. 

He leapt over her prone body while she was distracted and fled the scene of the crime with no small amount of glee.

• • • 

The STAFF bots took the majority of his attacks. They were, he’d discovered, actually weirdly fragile, so long as you attacked higher than their base. Their arms and necks snapped easily with a good, solid thwack. 

One of them managed to sound the alarm before he could decapitate it. That didn’t stop him from decapitating it, of course. The head sailed through the air and landed in a startled Freddy’s hands. 

“Gregory!” he cried, and it was unclear whether he was disapproving or just shocked. He dropped the head like it was diseased. 

Roxy burst through a door at the end of the huge hall. Now, Gregory might have been mad with golf-club related power, but he wasn’t stupid. Roxy could lunge fast and hard, and unless he was able to sneak up on her, he’d be leaving her alone. 

Freddy’s stomach hatch opened as Gregory beelined for Freddy. “Hold this, please,” he said, thrusting the golf club at his protector. 

He climbed in, leaving Freddy stiffly holding the golf club and eyeing it warily. “It is… an interesting choice of weapon,” he said after a moment. 

Ahead, Roxy turned away now that Gregory was safely out of sight. He snickered. “I’m gonna keep it as a souvenir,” Gregory told him. 

Freddy made an alarmed noise, but he seemed to realize that he had no real say in Gregory’s crimes against robots and/or humanity. He briefly contemplated going after Vanny, then decided if she made herself into a nuisance, he’d take action. If she was smart and stayed away, she could keep her bones intact. 

• • •

Nothing beat his attack against Monty. Nothing. 

It’d been luck that he’d managed to knock Monty off the catwalk with one of the gondolas over the mini-golf course, and it’d been luck that he’d managed to race down there before Monty could get up. 

Slowly raising to his knees, a cacophony of modem screeches coming from somewhere in Monty’s body handily covered up the sound of Gregory’s rapid approach. Positioned behind Monty, Gregory swung at his head, and the golf club connected with a tremendous and satisfying clang. 

Between the damage from fall and Gregory’s attack, one of Monty’s eyeballs popped free of its socket, rocketed halfway across the green, bounced twice, rolled a bit down a slight incline, and sank into the hole. 

Propped up on one hand, Monty stared, frozen. The virus in Monty’s head, pretty thoroughly short-circuited from “brain damage,” fizzled and deactivated. Behind him, Gregory began to vibrate with destructive joy. 

“All right, all right,” Monty said, sounding defeated but also impressed, “that was pretty cool.” He sat down the rest of the way with a grunt and lifted one of his hands. “Rock on, lil guy.” 

Gregory high-fived him with a whoop. Oh, he couldn’t wait to tell Freddy. 

#fnaf fic #fnaf security breach #star's stories #life and times of star

[taffycandyqt]

👉👈 can I get some head-cannons on how 1987 and 2003 Casey would act as dads to his and the readers kid…….i have to imagine ‘87 Casey would be an interesting parental figure……not a bad one just very…..very interesting

Very interesting indeed...

03' & 87' Casey Jones x reader

Warnings none:

Fluff

2003 Casey:

Will cal the child squirt, tiny, chump, and/or kiddo

It all just depends on his mood.

If the kid is a girl he'll definitely call her princess or little darling and if they're a boy he'll call him little man, or buff little man.

He will love the crap out of your kids, dude is honestly so happy to be a dad.

When he first married you he wanted kids but he was also pretty scared and wasn't sure he was ready.

When it finally happened though?

He was so happy.

Just picture this man laying in the bed with your new born in his hands while they moved their little hands around without any real reason.

He would have literal stars in his eyes.

Dude would probably start taking his baseball bat with him every time he left the house.

Ain't no way he's going out with his kids without proper protection in New York of all places.

He would have a blast teaching the kids about hockey and if they were genuinely interested hockey games would become their biggest bonding moments.

Bro is honestly just a really fun dad.

Any game the kids play with him he will be 100% into it.

Doesn't matter what role he's playing he will literally destroy your house if your kids say it's what his character would do.

In short you had to tell the kids (and your fully grown adult husband) that real weapons were not, infact, toys and to stop stabbing your furniture.

You almost blew a gasket when you walked in the room to see Casey rip one of your couch pillows in half.

Yeeeeeah...

He won't be doing that again.

Also, ice cream trips are a staple in your house.

the kids want iced cream?? Why not!

Honestly he wants ice cream just as much as them.

If you say no he will join in with the kids and either try to get you to say yes or just try and convince you with puppy dog eyes.

when you kids hit the rebellious teen phase he will wil feel so much internal conflict.

On the one hand what they are doing is extremely dangerous, irresponsible, and/or disrespectful and it's infuriating.

But on the other... He also did those things at their age.

...

BUT HE WASN'T AS BAD (this is true. He was worse)

He is still happy with their teenage stage though.

The proud dad moments will be golden.

I feel like your guys kids would gravitate towards certain turtle uncles.

They would just click more with one than the other and he's happy to see his kids still having a connection with his old friends.

Mikey will complain to him often though if none of your kids pick him as their favorite uncle.

Overall, Casey is a top tier dad.

1987 Casey:

This dude is an entire basket case.

Not to say he isn't a good dad! He is.

You just have to thoroughly explain child safety and proper emotional reactions.

Examples would be, "You can't let our kid beat up their teacher for giving them an unfair grade" or "you can't hand a toddler a golf club to swing around the house" or "Sticking a fork in an electrical outlet will electrocute them"

Once you show him how to legally and safely go about certain situations, there actually aren't many problems!

He is very strict on what he believes to be right and wrong.

While his methods may be a tad counterproductive he means well and he will do everything in his power to mold your kids into well mannered law abiding citizens.

And in case you were wondering, he sees the whole beating up the teacher thing as the teacher lying on an official government document sooooooo.

In any case he's doing his best.

Casey doesn't really spend much time around the turtles in this version so their less like uncles to your kids and more just, "People dad knows".

If your kids show an interest in the turtles though, he will make a point to hang around more often.

When it comes to his mask Casey likes to leave it on.

It makes him feel prepared for any potential danger and he honestly doesn't feel fully dressed without it.

9 times out of 10 though, if your kids ask him to take it off he will.

He just loves them so much, and as paranoid as he can be he still wants his kids to know their fathers real face.

When it comes to raising your kids he is usually the one dishing out punishments. Not because you don't, he's just quicker at it.

He understands your kids are learning the ins and outs of life and he wants to make sure they know the consequences of their actions so they're prepared when they go out into the real world.

That being said he is also very fair.

If your kid didn't know something was wrong he won't punish them.

He'll just tell them why it was wrong and not to do it again. If they do it after that? Then they get time-out.

Like 2003 Casey, he is also very playful and loves playing games with the kids.

He will run with them around the house, dress up in costumes, do weird voices and all that jazz.

It's so cute honestly. This big buff dude in a hockey mask who prides himself in his strength and ruthless attitude towards "evil doers" will also have the most legitimate tea party while your kids call him Mrs. Whittlebottom.

With the way you both go about raising your kids it seems unlikely, to me, that they would become rebellious teens.

However if that were to happen Casey would be at a complete loss.

Casey has never felt tied down by the rules or "the man" as long as they kept the peoples best interest at heart.

Don't steal things, don't break others property, don't sell harmful substances.

It all made perfect sense to him.

When people follow the rules they are happy and safe and peaceful.

People don't get hurt and they are able to do what they love.

So when your children express feeling trapped by the rules of the house or call the punishment they get by breaking them "unfair" he is straight up confused.

Like, what do you mean its unfair that your growned for seeking out?! You know it's against the rules and you could have gotten hurt! WTF???

This could potentially cause a lot of tension between Casey and your kids but at the end of the day they still love each other.

It just might take some time for them to properly understand the other.

For everyone's sake though, let's not bet on your kids hitting the rebellious phase.

Also, your kids may or may not pick up some of his weird mannerisms such as calling criminals "evil doers" or hunting down literally anyone in the name of justice.

Yeah, it really doesn't help he raises them on super hero shows.

All in all, very dedicated husband and father. Will literally die for his family.

#tmnt 87 #tmnt 1987 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtle 1987 #1987 casey #2003 casey jones x reader #casey jones x reader #casey x reader #2003 casey jones #1987 Casey Jones #87 Casey x reader

[gobbogoo]

Peppino's Spaghetti's Hypothetical Smash Moveset:

Jab:

A three-hit jab based on the various ways he kicks and punches enemies. Notably, the first part of this jab sends him forwards a few steps, making it close gaps. It can also be held down to turn into a rapid jab, based off an unused animation.

Forward Tilt:

A golf swing, knocking opponents upwards. Utilizes a sword/like disjointed hitbox.

Down Tilt:

Peppino's little zip-through-gaps move. Not too much knockback or damage, but a solid combo starter that can let you slip under attacks.

Up Tilt:

An upwards slap, based on one of Peppino's many unused animations. Combos with the forward tilt at low percentages.

Dash Attack:

A mach-run style headbutt. It gives his head complete invincibility as he does it, allowing him to punch through projectiles or attacks.

Forward Smash:

A shotgun blast. Not as huge as the original, but it IS disjointed. It's slow to come out, requiring Peppino to pull out his shotgun.

Down Smash:

Peppino's sweet breakdance skills. Classic down smash that whacks opponents on either side. Good horizontal reach but no vertical reach, making it good for ledge-trapping but easy to punish.

Up Smash:

Peppino's Super Taunt. Turns his body into a big, up-sending hitbox. Quick to come out, but low active frames and a longer endlag.

Neutral Air:

A spin move based off Peppino's aerial attack when he gets the Devil's Choice pizza. Fast and safe, but with a small hitbox, demanding aggression.

Up Air:

Guest-Starring Mort! A big disjoint great for juggling.

Down Air:

Peppino's dive. While it does basically no damage, it comes out basically instantly and can be cancelled out of, making it a very useful utility.

Forward Air:

His aerial shoulder-bash. Similar to the dash attack it grants a moment of invincibility on his arm, allowing it to punch through attacks. This is balanced by a split-second delay in its execution where it can be interrupted, demanding timing. It also sends you forwards, which can be a handy recovery tool OR an easy way to launch yourself into the abyss.

Back Air:

Use Peppino's unused pizza cutter for an attack. The hitbox is somewhat disjointed, making it one of your very few poking tools.

Forward Special:

Peppino's iconic grab dash. Interrupts movement and acts as a command grab, allowing Peppino to carry his opponent and launch them in a direction of his choosing.

If grabbed in the air, it can be turned into a pile-driver with a downwards input, with damage and knockback increasing depending on how long the move takes to hit the ground.

While powerful, it can be interrupted with a disjointed hitbox or if struck in the few frames before its execution. It also possess a lot of end-lag if it misses, ESPECIALLY if used in the air.

Neutral Special:

Peppino's taunt/parry. Comes out very fast, freezes him in place, and unique in that it can be used to interrupt Peppino's other moves during their initial wind-up frames. Once the move ends (;provided he hasn't been hit) Peppino resumes doing whatever it interrupted, including maintaining his momentum. While a very powerful mixup tool, it DOES have fickle timing and a good second of end-lag if it misses, meaning timing it wrong can get you whacked.

The parry itself does very little damage and has fixed knockback. Its primary use is not to deal damage, but to negate it.

Up Special:

His uppercut move, which grants him invincibility during its use. If utilized on the ground, it instead uses his super jump. While the super jump itself isn't too effective catching opponents in the air, it CAN be used to duck attacks due to how heavily is squishes Peppino's hitbox. It also temporarily removes Peppino's player collision, allowing enemies to move over him and get struck when he jumps.

Down Special:

His bodyslam. If he does it from high enough in the air, it'll grant him invincibility until he hits the ground similar to Kirby's rock attack.

Grab:

As you'd expect, Peppino's grab is very powerful, with excellent reach and powerful throws. His pummel involves slapping the opponent repeatedly, again using an unused animation:

Like the game's climax, Peppino loses his goddamn mind and charges into his enemy. If he connects, he proceeds to beat the cheese out of them, and ends with his legendary pile driver.

Bonus Stuff:

Spot-Dodge:

Knocked Over:

Fight Intro:

#This took way too long to put together... #His final smash would be what happens at the end of the game #but didn't include it because spoilers #pizza tower #Peppino #peppino spaghetti #super smash bros #smash ultimate #smash bros

[atiny-for-life]

Xikers Full Storyline Explained - Part 3

Masterlist

NOTE: Apologies for the new post - I accidentally deleted the old one when I was cleaning up my old posts in the mass editor so I had to rewrite it from scratch.

DO or DIE

While this MV doesn't move the storyline forward (which is likely due to Junghoon's absence at the time), we can still take a little look at its self-contained plot for the fun of it!

We begin with a shot of an old tube TV with an integrated cassette player

Note the 'Xikers' and 'Do or Die' tape, as well as the blue-and-yellow background (the latter will be noteworthy in a second)

We zoom in on the screen as it switches on and displays the main menu of a little game called "The Adventures of Xikers: Zombieland"

A little pixelated red and black van comes flying at us as we select "Play" and cut to the Mission screen which announces: "Mission: Capture zombie's heart"

From there, we cut to the interior of (presumably the before seen) van where we find ourselves in the company of Xikers themselves

However, we're also quit to cut to another version of Xikers who're lounging on a couch and cushions in front of a familiar yellow-and-blue wall

It's now conveniently already been established that we've got both the in-game and real-life versions of them and we'll be cutting back and forth between the two throughout the duration of the MV

Their in-game versions roll up to a zombie-infested street with their weapons already in hand, kicking off their mission

(It's here where I'd like to point out the super extravagant outfits they're wearing which tell us that their real-life counterparts spent a ridiculous amount of time in the character creation section just to put as much random extra items on their avatars as possible)

Now at the starting point of the game, their in-game selves are quick to knock out a couple of zombies in a row, swinging bats and pipes to lay them out flat and stand threateningly over them

And by threateningly, I mean adorably

We've got Yujun hopping onto the roof of a car, while Jinsik, Yechan and Seeun push along a zombie whom they've placed on a hospital gurney

Meanwhile, Sumin has made himself at home in the back of a van stacked full of boxes labeled "xikers" which he then exits to show off its exterior (there, we can then also see the van company's motto: "We blow up everywhere" - a line from the song)

The members then gather around the gurney and begin to fasten electrodes to the zombie's chest, place headphones over his ears and inject him with an unknown substance (something tells me these kids don't have a medical license)

They then proceed to dump him in a wheelchair and push him along the street until they've reached the stage built at its end

Xikers take the stage and begin to perform as the zombies flock around the parked cars they'll sometimes be jumping onto

Some of the already treated zombies then also join in on the jamming as a drummer and guitarists respectively

As we move into vers two, we return to the real-life versions of xikers who, for now, stop playing and roam around the store they've been chilling in

The little "Tricky" video rental place is very much reminiscent of the Blockbuster stores found around the US from the mid-80s up until a decade or ago

This then raises the question what the fuck these kids are doing in there and why they're not being supervised by an older adult

Do Yechan's parents own the place? Did they start a business themselves at such a young age? Does one of them live in a house that has a fake video rental store in its basement for some reason? Guess we'll never know.

Either way, they return to the game after a bit and have Junmin absolutely obliterate half the earth for the sake of going full Happy Gilmore on an innocent golf ball

They then jam out with the zombies some more until they've fully converted them with the power of music and performance, at which point they join in on the dancing and fireworks explode in the sky, declaring the mission was successfully cleared which marks the closely followed end of the MV

#xikers #xikers lore #Minjae #Junmin #Sumin #Jinsik #Hyunwoo #Hunter #Junghoon #Seeun #Yujun #lee yechan #do or die mv #how to play

[sweetbottletops]

Birdie Wing 1x15 thoughts...

I'm going to have to have everyone submit a blood test to clear this up.

We 100% sure Kazuhiko is Aoi's real father and not Reiya who her golf appears to more naturally take after with this late power up? Aoi unlocked something in herself when switching away from Kazuhiko's style to the new swing at his direction. Like it was a perfect fit. And she noticed they had the same club. Something's up with that.

"It didn't happen to him until he was in his 20s!" That was her mom talking about the coach and his medical thing right? Why would her mom connect that weakness in her daughter to the coach if there was no relation? And Reiya was unconsciously calling her by her first name when she struck ill the first time and unusually hovery in general. Both her mom and coach seemed to be watching but hoping this wouldn't manifest.

Also the coach planted Kazuhiko's "rainbow" quote in Eve's mind that unlocked something in her too. It seems like their innate golf form isn't coming from the same dad.

Kazuhiko and Reiya were called rivals. Eve and Aoi are rivals. It'd just make more sense if they are carrying on the rivalry of the two who had theirs cut short vs literally being sisters via Kazuhiko.

It doesn't help Aoi doesn't look like any of the adults and mainly resembled her parents via her golf... until now.

#birdie wing #birdie wing spoilers #i can beat these allegations

[inkinthequill]

🔞Makima's Devilishly Erotic Golf Lesson🔞

[Series: Chainsaw Man

Pairing: [GP]Power/Makima

Word count: 1,416

Contains: Explicit sexual content, including: gloved handjobs, groping and teasing, an extraordinary amount of public indecency, and Makima generally being a possessive freak. You can also view this work and more specific tags on AO3]

Makima has brought Power onto a golfing course to teach her a very important lesson in control and discipline. Makima, being the pure-hearted angel she is, is completely normal about it and has absolutely zero underlying motivations, I swear!

“Hiiiiii-ho!”

A sharp ”twang“ rang over rolling green hills as Power struck a golf ball with enough force that it started burning through the sky like a flare. Several broken clubs littered the ground beneath her, and she had settled one formed from her own blood on Makima's recommendation. Makima, for her part, was situated a small distance behind her and offered a quiet clap. 

"See, see?! Witness how quickly I master your human games and despair!" Power decried, paired with a deranged laugh— directly staring and pointing at a group of elderly men passing by in their cart, who all made the collective decision to speed onto the next hole. 

"Power.” Makima said, her voice as equal parts quiet and commanding as ever. Hearing it caused the Blood Devil to stiffen in place, clearing her throat nervously and trying to keep calm. Her superior approached from behind her, laying leather-gloved hands on her shoulders. "That was very good."

“Y-Yes?! Yes, of course it was!” Power nodded in agreement, striking a triumphant pose and giggling again. "Did you see how far I struck it?! No human could manage that!"

"Yes, Power, your drive was very good." Makima said, giving the girl's shoulders a sudden squeeze. "However, the reason I've brought you here is  not  about showing off your strength. It's about control. The goal, again, is not to hit it as far as possible." she said, leaning over Power's shoulder and pointing at the flag pole several hundred meters in front of them. "It's to strike it precisely into that hole over there. Do you understand?"

Power gave a fanged grimace, pouting and kicking the turf slightly. "I  hardly  see how that's any better than simply..." she began, but catching Makima's steely gaze quickly made her shut her mouth and swallow spit. 

"Power..." Makima started again, her cool breath washing over the fiend's neck. "Control is everything. No matter how strong you are, it won't matter if you can't control it," she said, pressing her back against Power's. She slid her hands down the girl's arms, cupping her hands over Power's. Power stiffened, feeling her skin tingle all over— the scent of Makima's perfume was vibrant this close to her, and she knew all too well the overwhelming power that Makima herself held in those hands... 

Power felt her arms be guided in a smooth swinging motion. Once. Twice. Three times. Makima remained quiet, before meeting Power's eyes on the third swing. "See...? Firm, but precise. It's called a stroke for a reason. Stroke, stroke, stroke... isn't that so much nicer than simply smashing something...?"

Power had started to squirm at this point, her face burning brightly. "I-I don't see how that'd... help... in a fight...."

"Hmm...? You don't, Power? How would you describe my capture of you, then? Was it a thrashing, or something more elegant?"

The fiend flinched slightly, looking away in embarrassment. "I wasn't... you know I wasn't at full... strength..."

"Sorry, what was that? You need to speak up, Power." Makima stated firmly, a gloved hand slipping down from Power's arms, and trailing down her body. She hovered it over Power's crotch, then pushed her palm against it right as the girl tried to speak. 

"I-I! W-What are you doing...?!"

”Demonstrating the strengths of a controlled touch, is all. Please, tell me more about how you would've won, Power.” 

"I... well..." Power murmured, biting her lip as her skirt started to tent from the stimulation. "I-If you had given me a fair chance to recover, I could... have..." she trailed off, gasping as Makima reached under her skirt and gently freed her cock from her panties. The black leather of her glove was hot from being worn by the woman over the last two hours, the fingers of which delicately wrapped around her shaft and squeezed down. 

"Mhm. Keep going. Don't get distracted now, Power..." Makima said, an almost soothing tone to her voice as she began openly stroking Power's cock. 

"I-I would've crushed you in seconds..." Power mumbled, unable to keep herself from haphazardly bucking her hips, eager and desperate to gain more pleasure from Makima's hand. 

"Because you're such a strong girl, right, Power?" Makima asked, her voice just as quiet and calm as ever. 

"Y-Yesss..." Power said with a moan, shuddering and whining as Makima ran her thumb in tight circles of the tip, the leather of which grew slick from precum. Just as pleasure had been given, it suddenly stopped, leaving Power a weak, whimpering mess. The hidden strength in Makima's arms kept the girl from thrusting into her hand, as much as Power desperately tried. 

"Power..." Makima whispered by her ear, sliding her other hand under her shirt. "Do you understand who you are to use that power for now? Who do you obey?"

"W-What...?" 

Power yipped as Makima gently nibbled on her earlobe, grasping one of the fiend's breasts in her hands and squeezing. "Who do you belong to, Power?"

"I don't..." Power started, shivering at the continued absence of any stimulation to her dick. While she hated to say it, she was being given a very new and powerful motivator, and she was strongly compelled to obey. "M-Makima..." she whispered.

"You belong to me?" Makima asked. 

"Y-Yes..."

"Say it, then, Power."

"H-Huh? A-Again?"

"I need to hear you say it, Power." Makima said, a disciplinary tone in her voice that accompanied a strikingly cold stare. 

"I..." Power started, feeling tears well up in her eyes from the sheer desperate need her body was enduring in the absence of Makima's continued touch. "I belong to Makima..."

"That's a good girl," Makima whispered, a soothing warmth returning to her voice as she began to stroke Power again. Her fingers pumped and squeezed and glided skillfully, in a perfect pleasuring rhythm that practically put the fiend into a trance. "Obedience feels better, doesn't it?"

"Y-Yes..." Power murmured, starting to loudly moan. Part of her realized that they were still in a public area where anyone could catch them, but every pump of Makima's hand pushed the thought away, and every whispered word locked her worries out. 

"My pet fiend... so strong..." Makima cooed, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at her lips as Power's voice got louder and louder. "Are you going to be a good, strong girl for me, Power?"

"Y-Yes!" Power cried, the additional praise and ego-stroking getting her even more into it than she already was. 

"You'll follow my orders? Whatever I say? Kill whoever I say?"

"Yes! A-Anything!" 

"Good girl. You can cum, now."

Though it was a statement and not an order, something in Power's body was immediately pushed over the edge by Makima's words, almost like her body itself was under the woman's direct command. Power let out a sharp, cute cry, biting down on her lip as she thrust her hips forward and started painting the emerald grass with her hot, pearly-white cum. Makima continued to stroke her off the entire time, the faint smile she had before remaining frozen on her face as she watched Power empty herself onto the golf course. 

She halted her stroking as the fiend finally stopped shuddering, getting as much cum off Power's cock and onto her glove as she could manage-- holding her hand up to Power's face. 

"Next lesson. When you make a mess, you have to be responsible and clean it up. Understand, Power?"

"I..." Power mumbled, gulping and staring at the ”mess“ presented to her. "I-I understand."

"Good girl." Makima said, using her clean hand to soothingly stroke Power's hair as she started licking the cum off of her glove. Makima rotated the other around so Power could clean the back and front, before slowly slipping her fingers into Power's mouth one at a time when they were the only thing left to clean. 

"That's it... you're a fast learner, Power..." she whispered, gently kissing the girl's cheek as the fiend obediently sucked on each of her fingers-- despite having ample opportunity to bite down on her boss's fingers with those dangerously sharp fangs. 

Makima pulled the last finger from Power's lips with a wet pop, squeezing the girl's shoulder. She leaned past it, meeting her gaze once more as she cupped her face. "Now..." she said, turning Power's face to stare out into the rolling green hills and thick tree-line. "We still have eight more holes to go, Power. Are you ready for your other lessons?"

"Y... Yes, ma'am... ❤️"

#makima #power #chainsaw man #makima x power #fanfic