#Hold him there hold him there both sides all the ways around

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 16: April 2024

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

His sister’s house in Belgium smelled like sunshine and something sweet baking in the oven. Easter sunlight spilled through the windows, warming the hardwood floors, and in the backyard, Luka and Lio were already running around, squealing with sugar-fueled glee.

Max stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning one shoulder against the frame. He hadn’t said anything in a while—just watched.

Belle was sitting cross-legged in the grass, a plastic Easter egg clutched in one hand, her other arm steadying Lio as he toddled toward her, half-unzipped bunny onesie flapping with every wobbly step. She was laughing—bright, breathless, and so gentle it made something ache in Max’s chest.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t trying to perform.

She was just… her.

Soft and real and warm, with her sleeves pushed up and her hair falling out of its braid. There was a smear of flour across the side of her skirt from earlier, when she’d helped Victoria knead dough in the kitchen, and her fingers still had flecks of pastel from painting eggs with Luka.

She glanced up and caught Max watching her.

Her smile shifted—smaller now, but still warm. Still for him.

Max swallowed hard.

God, he loved her.

Yesterday, she’d spent the entire day helping Victoria put together the nursery for the baby girl due in a few months. Folding tiny clothes and picking the perfect wallpaper, soft florals and honey-toned neutrals. Max had walked in to find her barefoot, cheeks flushed from effort and pride, smoothing a wrinkle out of a freshly hung panel with his dad—his dad, of all people—standing beside her, offering her the level with a quiet kind of respect Max rarely saw from him.

She had blended into his family like she’d always been there.

She belonged there.

He thought about the way she’d crouched down to Luka’s level earlier, letting him stick glittery stickers all over her hands. The way she’d gently wiped chocolate off Lio’s cheek with the corner of her sleeve and kissed his forehead after. The the way she held Luka close when he tripped, the way she helped Sophie clear the table without being asked and took the time to talk to Victoria about pregnancy vitamins like she actually wanted to know.

It wasn’t that she was trying to be anything.

It was just who she was.

Max could picture it so clearly it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Belle—curled on the couch with a baby in her arms.

Belle—yawning in the kitchen at dawn, holding a sleepy toddler on one hip.

Belle— with streaks of glitter or flour or god knows what else, just smiling at a kid that had her eyes and his stubborn mouth.

And it didn’t scare him.

It didn’t scare him.

It felt like a promise.

Belle waved Lio’s little stuffed bunny in the air, coaxing another giggle from him. Luka barreled over with a plastic egg in each hand, shouting something about chocolate, and she caught him without missing a beat, hugging both boys against her sides like she was made for it.

Max’s mother stepped up beside him quietly. She held a tray of little tea cups and didn’t speak right away.

“She’s good with them,” Sophie said softly, watching Belle too. “With all of us.”

Max nodded, his throat thick. “Yeah,” he said. “She is.”

Sophie turned to look at him. “You don’t have to rush anything,” she said gently. “But when the time comes… she’ll be wonderful.”

Max didn’t look away from Belle.

“I know,” he said.

And he did.

He really did.

Because this wasn’t just the woman he loved.

This was the woman he wanted a life with.

The kind you built from scratch.

The kind that lasted.

***

Stream Transcript: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Max Fewtrell: Oi Lando, are your shelves… like, actually bolted to the wall?

Lando Norris: (suspicious) Yes? I think? Why? (There’s a loud creak off-camera. Something clatters violently. Lando jumps.)

Lando: OH MY GOD.

Max F: WHAT DID I JUST SAY.

Lando: (ducking) One of the helmets nearly took me out!! It just slid right off the shelf! I could’ve died!!

Chat:

 HELMET DOWN PROTECT THE MERCH WALL Lando vs Gravity: round 394 Helmet shelves tried to assassinate the talent 😭 Max Fewtrell manifested that

Max F: That’s it. That’s a sign. You need a proper streaming room. Like Max Verstappen’s setup.

Lando: (still checking behind him) You just want to live vicariously through me.

Max F: Yeah, so what? But also I don’t want to watch you get bludgeoned mid-game by your own merch. Have you seen Verstappen’s streaming room? It looks like an F1 spaceship.

Lando: Yeah, Belle Leclerc designed it.

Max F: I KNOW. I told you I was going to DM her my IKEA shopping list as a joke? She actually answered. Sent links. Furniture recs. Paint swatches.

Lando: (grinning) Yeah, that tracks. She helped Oscar with his apartment too. Said his lack of a sofa made her “deeply concerned about his lumbar support.”

Chat: ISABELLE LECLERC THE DESIGN ICON She’s redecorating the grid one boy at a time Max gets a spaceship sim rig, Oscar gets posture correction 

Belle? LANDO CALLS HER BELLE?!?! Lando pls let her fix your shelves before they finish the job 

Max F: I saw Verstappen’s room on the last Redline stream. He’s got mood lighting. Hidden cable management. Soundproof panels. I would sell my firstborn to have a room like that...So you should ask her to do yours. So I can in fact live vicariously through you. 

Lando: (dryly) Thanks. But I’d rather not get murdered by her brother.

Max F: Charles???

Lando: Yes. Last months, I got cornered by him because I was talking to her about ice cream toppings.

Max F: I’m sorry—what?

Lando: We were talking about which sprinkles are better: rainbow or chocolate. That’s it.

Max F: (cackling) You flirted with his sister over sprinkles???

Lando: I WASN’T FLIRTING. We were eating ice cream. I said I liked her choice. He looked at me like I’d proposed on the spot.

Chat:

 SPRINKLEGATE 2024 Lando complimented toppings and Charles prepped a eulogy Imagine dying because of rainbow sprinkles 😭 Charles Leclerc: ICE CREAM ENFORCER

Lando: Belle’s amazing. Sweet, kind, terrifyingly competent. But also? Not for me. I value my life. I’ve seen the look Charles gets. I’m good.

Max F: Honestly valid. She gives off “could fix your taxes and ruin your self-esteem in the same sentence�� energy.

Lando: Exactly. She’d help me fix my walls and then psychoanalyze me over gelato.

Chat: Belle Leclerc: therapist, designer, cat whisperer Charles: ready to fight over sprinkles Lando: emotionally in danger Helmet shelf: still plotting Lando in danger and it’s SELF-INFLICTED this stream is 90% chaos, 10% home improvement we demand Belle on the next one

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1streamtrash: Lando almost got murdered by his own helmet wall LIVE and the takeaway is that Isabelle Leclerc might be the only thing holding the grid’s interior design together

@/GridGossip: Max Fewtrell casually admitting he slid into Belle Leclerc’s DMs with an IKEA list and SHE ANSWERED 👀😂

@/LanDownUnder: “Charles cornered me because I said I liked her sprinkles” is now my Roman Empire.

@/TheBackmarkerBlonde: Isabelle Leclerc didn’t say a SINGLE word and still managed to: • Fix Oscar’s spine • Redesign Max’s sim room • Scare Lando into celibacy • Spark a domestic incident over ice cream toppings

@/F1catdad: Max: “Isabelle got me plants and installed acoustic panels.” Oscar: “Isabelle saved my spine.” Lando: “Isabelle almost got me killed with sprinkles.” This woman is single-handedly shaping the lives of the paddock and I need a Vogue profile on her IMMEDIATELY.

@/TeamCharlesSlander: Charles hearing Lando talk to Isabelle about chocolate sprinkles: 🔪 Meanwhile Belle just wanted to enjoy her cone in peace Let her LIVE, Charles

@/PadDockWivesClub: SPRINKLEGATE 2024. Lando: casually agrees with Belle’s ice cream order Charles: READY TO THROW HANDS Somebody protect this man from Leclerc family mood swings

@/BelleAndTheGrid: Lando: Belle’s sweet, kind, terrifyingly competent Me, whispering: …and maybe just a little bit magic???

@/gridandgranprix:  Max Fewtrell casually starting a home improvement cult with Isabelle Leclerc as the unofficial architect and Lando as the first martyr 😭

@/paddocktea:  the way lando said “i wasn’t flirting” with genuine fear in his voice. sir… you complimented her sprinkles. charles heard wedding bells. #f1drama #sprinklegate #justiceforlando

@/f1wagsupremacy: Isabelle Leclerc being the reason Max’s streaming room looks like a spaceship, Oscar’s apartment has actual lumbar support, and Lando is still alive (barely) is honestly the most powerful grid influence since Angela Cullen.

@/helmetwitness: helmet shelf: attacks lando: ducks max f: “you need a proper room like verstappen’s.” lando: “i don’t want to die via brother-in-law.” this stream is my roman empire

@/feralgirlpitlane:  Charles being mad about Lando talking to Isabelle about SPRINKLES is the funniest sibling lore ever. Meanwhile Isabelle out here designing soundproof sim caves and spine-safe lounges like it’s nothing. @/bellesdesignco petition for Isabelle leclerc to start a grid interior design company tagline: "saving lives, lumbar, and lighting schemes"

***

It was Simone’s idea.

They were near the end of a Thursday session, sunlight spilling gently through the windows of the quiet little room Belle had come to think of as one of her safest place in the world.

Simone sat across from her with that usual calm presence, hands folded gently in her lap, head tilted slightly like she was carefully sorting through every word Belle had spoken so far.

"You’ve been doing so much work, Isabelle," Simone said softly. "But healing doesn’t happen in a vacuum. And it sounds like Max is part of what’s helping you feel grounded. Maybe he could be part of the work too."

Belle blinked, startled. "You mean… like, bring him here?"

Simone nodded. "If you’re open to it. Letting someone you love into this part of your world — into the parts you’re still healing — that’s a step too. And it can be a powerful one."

Belle looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of her sleeve between her fingers.

 She didn’t ask Max until the next night.

They were on the couch, two of the cats asleep in Max’s lap, Lilly into the crook of Belle’s hip. Something soft was playing on the TV, long forgotten in the background.

Belle sat with her legs pulled up, oversized hoodie swallowing her, the edge of a blanket tucked under her chin like armor.

"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly.

Max turned to her immediately, remote dropping to the coffee table. "Always."

She hesitated. "It’s kind of… vulnerable."

Max’s expression softened. He reached over, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of her hand.

"I’m listening, Schatje."

Belle took a breath, let it out slowly. "I was talking to Simone  and she… she suggested you come with me. Just once. Not because anything’s wrong, but just… so you’d understand what the inside of my head looks like sometimes. And so I could let you in more."

Max didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

Instead, he squeezed her hand.

"Okay," he said.

Belle blinked. "Really?"

Max leaned closer, touching his forehead to hers.

"I’ll sit through one session, ten, a hundred — hell, years of couple’s therapy if I have to — before I ever give up on us. I want all of it, Belle. Not just the easy parts. Especially not just the easy parts."

Belle’s eyes went glassy. "You’re not scared of seeing how messy I am?"

Max kissed her nose.

 "Schatje, I already see you. I just want to understand you better. And help carry it, if you’ll let me."

She let out a shaky laugh, heart so full it almost ached. "Okay," she whispered.  "Then come with me."

And Max nodded once — like it was the easiest decision in the world.

***

The room was warm and still, sunlight slanting in through the high windows, catching on the edges of the soft rug. Max sat stiffly in the second chair, next to Belle’s — close enough to touch her if he needed to, but not pressing. Not crowding her.

He could tell she was nervous. Her hands were curled tight in the sleeves of his hoodie — his hoodie, stolen again this morning like she always did when she was feeling small — and her knees were drawn up a little, defensive, like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Max hated that. Hated that she even thought she had to make herself smaller for anyone.

He kept his hands loose, open, steady — letting her know he was there, but letting her come to him if she needed it.

The therapist — Simone — was calm, her voice low and even. She made it easy for Belle to breathe. Max appreciated that more than he could say.

They talked about surface things first — the accident, how Belle was recovering, how Max had been helping. He answered in short, steady sentences, always glancing at Belle, making sure he wasn’t overstepping.

And then Simone shifted slightly in her seat, her voice softer:

“Last session we talked about Blanche.”

Max watched Belle freeze, just slightly. Her shoulders went tight under the hoodie. Her fingers twisted harder into the fabric.

Max hadn’t missed the way Belle flinched at the name.

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and Max could see the struggle flash across her face — whether to say it at all.

But then Belle spoke, her voice small, raw.

"I was thirteen when they sold her," she whispered. "My parents sold her so they could pay for Charles’ karting. They said they didn’t have a choice. That they had to prioritize his future."

Max felt his hands curl into fists without thinking.

Not because of Charles. Not even because of her parents.

Because Belle — his Belle — had been a child, and they'd made her sacrifice something she loved like it was nothing.

Simone didn’t interrupt. She just let the silence settle, gave Belle space to keep going.

Belle wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, her breath shaking.

"I didn’t understand," she said, voice breaking a little. "I mean, I understood in the way a teenager does — when you’re told it’s for the greater good. But I didn’t understand why I had to lose something I loved for someone else’s future. It felt like..." she trailed off, laughing bitterly under her breath, "like I wasn’t even worth fighting for."

Max's chest twisted painfully.

Belle lifted her gaze, meeting Simone’s eyes with something fierce and fragile at once.

"It didn’t even hit me until much later," Belle said, voice steadier now. "But I’ve always felt like I was the one who had to give. Everything for them. Everything for Charles. And nothing for me. They didn’t even ask. They just... expected me to be okay with it. Expected me to just... let go."

Max pressed his palms flat against his thighs, grounding himself.

You shouldn’t have had to let go of anything, he thought fiercely. Not alone. Not like that.

Simone’s voice was soft but sure when she said:

"It sounds like you didn’t get a say. Like it was decided for you, without you having a voice in it."

Belle nodded, the movement small and heavy.

"Exactly," she whispered. "It wasn’t about me. It was about him. It always was."

Max wanted — violently, helplessly — to reach across the space and pull her into his arms. To shield her from a world that had asked too much, too soon, and given her too little in return.

Her hands curled tighter in her lap.

"I loved her," Belle said, her voice breaking again. "I loved Blanche. And when she was gone, I didn’t know how to explain the hole she left. I couldn’t even explain why it hurt so much."

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice calm, guiding.

"It sounds like it wasn’t just about losing a horse, Isabelle. It was about losing a piece of yourself. Something you were allowed to love, just for you. Without anyone else’s permission or need."

Belle let out a shuddering breath, her chest visibly tight.

Max could feel it — the weight of everything she’d never been allowed to say.

"Yeah," Belle said, almost inaudible. "It was about losing me. Losing the thing that made me feel like I mattered. And no one even asked. No one even thought about it."

Tears slipped down her cheeks silently.

Max’s heart broke open cleanly in his chest.

He wanted to stand. He wanted to rage at the world for her. He wanted to hold her until she believed — really believed — that she was enough.

Simone’s voice was steady, full of a compassion that Max could feel humming in the air.

"It’s okay to be angry, Isabelle. It’s okay to feel the hurt, to feel that loss. That’s yours to have, and it always will be."

Belle closed her eyes tightly, letting the words wash over her.

Max watched her hands unclench just slightly — watched her take a breath, shaky but real.

Belle opened her eyes again, blinking down at her lap, and whispered:

"How do I stop it from hurting?" Her voice cracked. "How do I stop feeling like I’m just... the one who always has to give?"

Simone smiled — a small, fierce thing. "You don’t stop the hurt," she said. "You learn how to hold it without it holding you back. You learn how to make space for your own pain, without letting it control you. And you let yourself be allowed to have something, Isabelle. Something that’s just yours. Something you love. Something that doesn’t come with a price tag."

Belle nodded slowly, the movement tentative, almost childlike.

Max exhaled a slow, steady breath. If Belle asked for it — anything, everything — he would give it to her. Not because she needed fixing. Because she deserved to have something that was hers, wholly and without apology.

And if he could be even a small part of that? If he could be the safe place she had never been given before?

He would spend the rest of his life making sure she never had to wonder if she was loved again.

****

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Hey. Need to ask you something. About Belle’s old horse. Blanche.

Emilie: 👀 Go on.

Max: Do you know what happened to her? I want to buy her back. For Belle.

Emilie: Oh, Max. I wish you could. I tried already. Right after Belle and I finished university in 2021.

Max: You did?

Emilie: Yeah. I tracked down the stable. I would’ve cleaned out my entire trust fund if it meant bringing Blanche back to her.

Emilie: But... Blanche passed away in 2019. Old age. Peacefully.

Max: Shit.

Emilie: Yeah. I told Belle. I’ve never seen her cry like that before. Or since. She just... shut down completely.

Max: She still talks about Blanche like she’s alive somewhere.

Emilie: That’s Belle. She doesn’t know how to let go of the people — or horses — she loves. Not really.

Max: Yeah. I know that too well.

Max: Did Blanche ever have any foals?

Emilie: 👀👀👀 Hang on. Let me check my old emails.

(A minute passes.)

Emilie: YES. She had a filly in 2017. Grey, like Blanche. Registered name "Blanchefleur" — but they just called her Fleur at the stable.

Max: Is she still alive?

Emilie: Last I checked, yeah. She was sold in early 2020 to a private owner. Somewhere in the south of France.

Max: Send me everything you have. Breeder, stable name, old records. Everything.

Emilie: Max... Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?

Max: If I can't bring Blanche back, I’ll bring her daughter home.

Max: How do I buy her?

Emilie: 😳 You don't just walk into a stable and order a horse like a pizza, Max.

Max: Why not?

Emilie: Because there's vet checks, paperwork, contracts, transport, insurance, negotiations—oh my god you’re serious.

Max: Completely serious.

Emilie: Alright. Give me five minutes. I’m texting every horse girl I know.

(A minute passes.)

Emilie: UPDATE.

Max: That was fast.

Emilie: You underestimate the terrifying power of horse girls when emotionally motivated.

Max: ...Should I be concerned?

Emilie: Always. ANYWAY. I found her.

Max: Where?

Emilie: Italy.

Max: ITALY???

Emilie: Yeah. Turns out Fleur was sold to a very fancy equestrian center just outside Florence last year.

Max: How does a horse just move countries??

Emilie: The same way you end up in a different country every weekend. Planes. Trucks. Madness.

Max: Inconvenient.

Emilie: For you. Imagine Fleur’s opinion.

Max: Fair enough. Can we buy her?

Emilie: Working on it. The stable might be willing to sell — depends on the price.

Emilie: Small snag, though.

Max: What now.

Emilie: Fleur is currently in foal.

Max: ...She’s pregnant?

Emilie: Yep. Due later this summer.

Max: Alright.

Emilie: ??? That’s it?? You’re not freaking out??

Max: No. If she's carrying a foal, then Belle's just getting two horses instead of one.

Emilie: 😂 You’re insane. I love it.

Max: Perfect. One horse from her past, and one for her future.

Emilie: You’re gonna make me cry at my desk.

Max: Just get me a number. I'll handle the rest.

Emilie: On it. And Max?

Max: Yeah?

Emilie: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. Just so you know.

Max: Nah. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: You speak Italian, right?

GP: …Yes? Why?

Max: I need you to translate something for me.

GP: Okay? What are we translating?

Max: I’m buying a horse. Well, two horses.

GP: I’m sorry, WHAT??

Max: A horse. In Italy. I need to negotiate

GP: WHY are you buying a horse in Italy?

Max: Because that’s where it is.

GP: That is NOT an explanation.

Max: It’s for Isabelle. I found a mare that’s the foal of her childhood horse. It’s a whole thing.

GP: …Okay, actually, that’s kind of sweet. But WHY do you need ME?

Max: Because the stable owners only speak Italian, and I do not.

GP: So your plan was just to message me and hope I’d be available to broker a literal horse deal for you?

Max: Yes.

GP: Max.

Max: Just help me. Please.

GP: Sigh. Send me the details.

Max: Also, do you know anything about horse negotiations?

GP: DO I LOOK LIKE I KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT BUYING A HORSE?

Max: I don’t know, you might have a secret past as a horse guy.

GP: Max.

Max: Okay, okay, just translate for me.

GP: This is so far beyond my job description.

Max: And yet, here you are.

GP: I hate you.

Max: No, you don’t. Now, how do I say, “I would like to buy your very expensive horse” in Italian?

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/MonacoMurmurs: OKAY. So I was just minding my business, having coffee in Monaco, and I swear to god, I heard Max Verstappen on the phone saying: "No, I don’t care how expensive this is. I want that one. No other one will do. Whatever price they want, I’ll pay it." UM?????

@/F1TeaSpiller: EXCUSE ME. WHAT IS HE BUYING???

@/CheckeredHeart: The way this man just casually drops “whatever price they want, I’ll pay it” like it’s nothing???

@/SoftForMax: The phrase “No other one will do” is haunting me. WHO IS HE SHOPPING FOR.

@/OversteerAndTears: The way he said “No other one will do” like sir??? That is some ROMANTIC ENERGY.

@/SoftForMax:I just know he had that determined little frown while saying this.

@/PitLaneSecrets: Wait wait wait. Did he say anything else???

@/MonacoMurmurs: I swear I heard him say something like: “I’d prefer not to pay through my nose, but I don’t care.” LIKE??? Max Verstappen is out here just throwing money at something because it HAS to be that one.

@/FastCarsAndDrama:WHAT IS HE BUYING THAT HAS TO BE THAT ONE AND NO OTHER????

@/RedBullTactics: This is giving “I saw this and immediately knew it was perfect for her” vibes and I can’t breathe.

@/CheckeredHeart: If Max Verstappen is out here buying something perfect for someone and money is literally no object, I am going to need THERAPY.

@/MonacoMurmurs: I regret not following him to see where he went next 😭

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: I got the horse.

Emilie: YOU WHAT.

Max: The horse. It’s mine now. Well, Isabelle’s.

Emilie: HOW DID YOU DO THAT SO FAST??

Max: Negotiation skills.

Emilie: …

Max: GP translated. I wired the money. Done.

Emilie: YOU BOUGHT A WHOLE HORSE LIKE YOU WERE ORDERING A PIZZA.

Max: She was in Italy. The comparison is valid.

Emilie: MAX.

Max: What.

Emilie: Do you even know how to ship a horse across countries??

Max: I’ll figure it out. How hard can it be?

Emilie: Oh my god.

Max: Relax. I have contacts. People move racehorses all the time.

Emilie: THIS IS NOT A RACEHORSE, MAX.

Max: No, it’s better. It’s Isabelle’s horse.

Emilie: …You’re actually insane.

Max: And yet, you’re still helping me.

Emilie: I can’t even be mad. She’s going to cry.

Max: That’s the goal. Happy tears.

Emilie: You are raising the bar way too high.

Max: Her brothers should take notes.

Emilie: They won’t.

Max: Then I’ll just keep winning.

Emilie: Okay, but logistics, Max. What’s the plan?

Max: She’s being transported next week. I have a stable lined up near Monaco.

Emilie: You really thought of everything, huh?

Max: Of course. I wasn’t going to just buy a horse and go, “Good luck, figure it out.”

Emilie: That’s literally what her family would do.

Max: Yeah, well. I actually care.

Emilie: …You’re setting an impossible standard.

Max: Not my fault they suck.

Emilie: True.

Max: Anyway, what’s the best way to tell her? Do I just show up and go, “Hey, I got you a horse”?

Emilie: Absolutely not.

Max: What, you want me to wrap it in a bow?

Emilie: …Wait.

Max: No.

Emilie: PLEASE. Just a little ribbon. Maybe a cute note attached.

Max: I am not putting a bow on the horse, Emilie.

Emilie: You’re no fun.

Max: I just bought two whole horses for my girlfriend. I am very fun.

Emilie: Yeah, yeah. But okay, serious answer—you should take her to see the horse without telling her first.

Max: Just casually drive her to the stable and be like, “Surprise”?

Emilie: Yes! Can you imagine her face when she realizes?

Max: …Okay, yeah. That’s actually perfect.

Emilie: Of course it is. I’m a genius.

Max: Debatable.

Emilie: MAX.

Max: Fine, fine. You’re slightly above average.

Emilie: You’re lucky I like you.

Max: No, I’m lucky Belle loves me.

Emilie: …You really are.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

 (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, and Lorenzo)

Arthur: well. My girlfriend dumped me.

Charles: What???

Lorenzo: Wait, seriously?

Arthur: Yeah. She said I’m "emotionally unavailable" and "self-centered."

Charles: Bit harsh, no? You’re just busy.

Lorenzo: Exactly. You have your own life. Can’t drop everything for someone 24/7.

Arthur: That’s what I said. She didn’t get it.

Isabelle: ... Arthur, what happened?

Arthur: I don’t know. She was upset because I missed some fancy dinner with her friends. And some family event she wanted me at. And a couple calls.

Isabelle: How many calls?

Arthur: 😒 A few.

Isabelle: Arthur.

Arthur: It’s not like I did it on purpose. I was busy.

Isabelle: You always say you’re busy. You make people feel like they’re last on your list. She didn’t dump you because you were busy. She dumped you because you made her feel like she didn’t matter.

Arthur: Oh come on.

Charles: It’s not that deep.

Lorenzo: Yeah, you can’t prioritize everything. You have to focus on yourself too.

Isabelle: It’s not about choosing yourself. It’s about neglect. She wasn’t asking you to quit racing. She was asking you to show up sometimes.

Arthur: You don’t know anything about it, Isabelle. Stay out of it.

Isabelle: I’m trying to help you understand. So you don’t keep hurting people you actually care about.

Arthur: Maybe if you knew what it was like to be in a real relationship you’d get it.

Isabelle:  Good luck next time.

Arthur: Whatever.

Lorenzo: Can we all just cool down?

***

Belle sighed as she pushed another hanger aside, her eyes half-focused, her mind still somewhere in the Leclerc sibling group chat.

Emilie glanced over from across the boutique, one eyebrow already raised. “Okay,” she said, “that’s the third sigh in under two minutes. Who are we mad at today?”

Belle didn’t even hesitate. “Arthur.”

Emilie snorted. “That tracks.”

“He got dumped,” Belle said flatly, holding up a hanger, immediately making a face and putting it back.

“Oh no,” Emilie said, mock-gasping. “Did he forget she was a person with feelings?”

Belle let out a short, sharp laugh. “How did you guess?”

“He’s a Leclerc brother. It’s always a safe bet.”

They both paused, clearly considering that.

Belle leaned against a rack of sundresses, crossing her arms. “Charles and Lorenzo immediately jumped in to defend him. Said he was just busy. That he can’t be expected to prioritize everything.”

“Classic,” Emilie muttered.

Belle pressed her lips together. “I just… I tried to explain why she was upset. I told him he made her feel like she didn’t matter. Like she was at the bottom of his list.”

“And how did that go?”

Belle gave her a pointed look. “He told me to stay out of it. Said I wouldn’t understand because I’ve never been in a real relationship.”

Emilie blinked. “Oh.”

Belle’s smile was tight. “Yeah.”

“Does Max know he said that?” Emilie asked casually, flipping through a rack of skirts like she wasn’t already ready to throw hands.

“No,” Belle said quickly. “And please don’t say anything. I’m not dragging Max into this.”

Emilie gave her a knowing look. “He wouldn’t just be dragged. He’d sprint into it with a flamethrower.”

Belle smiled faintly. “Which is why I’m not telling him.”

There was a beat of quiet between them — one of those moments where it was clear they were thinking the exact same thing but neither wanted to say it.

Finally, Belle sighed again and rubbed at her temple. “God, why is this lighting so weird? I’ve been dizzy all morning.”

“Have you eaten today?” Emilie asked, immediately switching gears.

“Croissant and coffee,” Belle said. “Which was three hours ago. Maybe I need something salty. Or sweet. Or both.”

“You always want sweet when you’re tired,” Emilie said, looping a silky hanger off the rack. “Or hormonal.”

Belle didn’t react, too distracted by the way the room seemed to sway slightly when she turned her head.

“You okay?” Emilie asked.

“Yeah, I just—” Belle waved a hand vaguely. “Probably just low blood sugar or something.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting you a granola bar before we go anywhere else,” Emilie said, and then held up a hanger with a little grin. “And you’re trying this on.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at the dress. “White? Really?”

“It’s a beautiful dress,” Emilie said. “Max is going to pass out when he sees you in it.”

Belle rolled her eyes — but took the hanger anyway.

Ten minutes later, she stood in front of the mirror in the changing room, smoothing her hands down over the fabric. The dress was soft, floaty and a little too pretty.

And it fit perfectly.

She stepped out, blinking into the hallway light.

Emilie looked up — and grinned. “There she is.”

Belle tilted her head. “You really think it’s not too much?”

“I think Max is going to malfunction,” Emilie said simply. “And that’s reason enough to buy it.”

Belle flushed, but she didn’t argue.

She looked back at the mirror, the soft silk falling over her hips, the way the white made her skin glow just a little. She felt oddly… peaceful.

Even with her brothers being impossible.

Even with everything.

She didn’t say anything else — she just turned back into the changing room and hung the dress on the “buy” hook.

One quiet victory. ***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: I have the ring.

GP:  …The ring?

Max: The ring.

Max: It’s a very nice ring. She’s going to cry.

GP: Tears of joy or terror?

Max: GP.

GP: Okay, okay. Do you know how you want to do it?

Max: No.

GP: Excellent start.

Max: I want it to be private. Not like… public public. Max: But still special. Max: Not over the top. But meaningful. Max: Lowkey. But not boring.

GP: So basically you want the emotional equivalent of pole position without the media circus.

Max: Exactly. GP: When it happens, just make it about her. Not the moment. Not the pressure. Her. The life you want with her. Keep it simple. Keep it real.

Max: What if I mess it up?

GP: You won’t. 

GP: Propose when it’s quiet. When she’s happy. When you’re already laughing. GP:  You don’t need fireworks. Just give her the one thing she’s never had.

Max: What’s that?

GP: Someone who chooses her first. Without question. Every time.

Max: She already has that.

GP: Just don’t do it mid-race weekend. I don’t need you distracted and proposing during a pit stop.

GP: Why are you even asking me?

Max: Because you’re married.

GP: That doesn’t make me a proposal expert, it just means I survived it.

Max: So how did you do it?

GP: I kept it simple. Just us, no big scene, no stress. And it worked.

Max: Yeah. I like that.

GP: And Max?

Max: Yeah?

GP: She’s going to say yes.  Probably before you finish the sentence.

***

Pascale’s Dining Room always looked nicer in the evening, when the light softened and made the crystal on the table sparkle. Alexandra had helped Charlotte with the flowers this time — something understated, nothing over the top — and they’d both arrived early to actually help set the table. For once.

Not to watch Isabelle do it all herself.

Isabelle had already laid out the linen napkins and finished folding them with practiced, almost mechanical ease by the time they arrived, but Charlotte slid in next to her without a word and took over the cutlery. Alexandra poured the wine. Between the three of them, the atmosphere felt lighter than usual — like something unspoken had been reset.

There wasn’t a lot of chatter at first. Pascale was in the kitchen, issuing gentle orders; Charles and Lorenzo were in the living room arguing softly about tires and someone’s new dog; Arthur arrived late and looked like he’d slept in his hoodie.

Isabelle, to her credit, looked… calm.

Different.

Still soft-spoken, still gracious — she greeted them all with kisses on the cheek and asked about everyone’s week — but there was something else now. A steel edge underneath all that quiet.

Alexandra didn’t know what had changed, exactly. 

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it at first. The table was full, the food was good, the siblings were loud in the way siblings always were. Pascale hovered, fussed, smiled. Lorenzo made some dry remark that no one laughed at. Arthur was in a mood—understandable, post-breakup—but even his sulking had a familiar rhythm to it.

The difference wasn’t around Isabelle.

It was Isabelle herself.

Alexandra noticed it in the kitchen, when Isabelle didn’t rush to take over. Usually, she was the one checking on the roast, plating the salad, folding napkins without being asked. This time, she’d helped, yes—but only what she chose to help with.

Charlotte, bless her, had already stepped in to cover what Isabelle left untouched.

"I’ve got the starters," Charlotte said cheerfully, sliding past Pascale with a tray. "You sit, Isabelle. Seriously."

And Isabelle had. No protest. No automatic rise. No quiet martyrdom.

Alexandra handed her a glass of wine on the way by and got a grateful smile in return.

Progress, Alexandra thought. Real, tangible progress.

Later, at the table, Arthur was complaining about how no one "warned him" that relationships required emotional availability. Charles laughed a little too hard. Lorenzo made a noise of agreement.

Isabelle didn’t even look up from her plate.

"Maybe next time, try listening instead of defending," she said calmly.

Arthur blinked at her. "What?"

"You keep saying your ex didn’t get it," Isabelle said, her tone cool, even. "But maybe she just got it sooner than you did. That she wasn’t going to wait around forever."

It was the kind of sentence that, even six months ago, she would’ve swallowed. Bitten her tongue. Let it pass to keep the peace.

Now?

Now she met Arthur’s stunned silence with an arched brow and took another sip of her water.

Alexandra exchanged a glance with Charlotte.

Interesting.

Over dinner, the change became even more obvious. Isabelle, who usually sat back and filled glasses and smoothed over awkward silences, didn’t hover this time. She served herself first. Didn’t get up to clear plates halfway through. When Charles grumbled something about the seasoning being off, she didn’t apologize or jump to fix it.

She just raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should cook next time.”

Alexandra nearly choked on her wine. Charlotte, across the table, tried very hard not to smile.

Later, when Isabelle reached for the bread, the sleeve of her blouse slipped slightly and something glittered on her wrist.

Alexandra blinked.

It was a delicate emerald tennis bracelet. Stunning. And definitely not costume jewelry.

And when Isabelle leaned over to pull her phone from her bag — a small, quilted black Chanel purse with the gold chain strap looped twice — Alexandra’s brain paused.

Because Isabelle had always dressed nicely. Classic. Understated. But not… that.

Not luxury.

Not the kind of luxury that didn’t scream but whispered.

Charlotte leaned over at the same time to grab the wine, and Alexandra caught the way her eyes lingered just a moment too long on the bracelet.

So it wasn’t just her who noticed.

They didn’t say anything. Not right away. But Charlotte gave Alexandra a slight nudge under the table, her brows lifting ever so slightly.

Do you see it too?

Oh, she did.

Something had changed. And not just the jewelry.

Isabelle was still sweet. Still generous.

But Isabelle Leclerc had finally put up a door between herself and the rest of her family.

And she was the one holding the key.

Isabelle didn’t let her brothers talk over her this time. When Lorenzo interrupted her story — not even rudely, just casually — she didn’t fall silent or shrink back. She finished her sentence calmly, firmly. Charles frowned a few times when she deflected a passive-aggressive comment from Pascale, but didn’t say anything.

And Arthur — Arthur, still bitter from his breakup — made a snide comment halfway through dessert about people thinking they know better than they do.

Isabelle didn’t flinch.

“I’d rather be the girl who tries too hard than the boy who gives up the moment something gets hard,” she said lightly, reaching for the espresso spoon.

The table went silent.

Charlotte coughed quietly.

Alexandra sipped her wine and tried very hard not to grin.

When the dishes were done and the conversation finally wound down, Isabelle hugged them all goodbye — even Arthur, who stiffly muttered something like an apology.

She left with her shoulders straight, that little bag swinging against her hip, and a quiet sort of confidence that Alexandra hadn’t seen before.

As they watched her disappear into the Monaco night, Charlotte leaned in, her voice low.

“Is it just me,” she asked softly, “or is she finally choosing herself?”

Alexandra smiled. “About damn time.”

Charlotte hesitated. “The bracelet?”

“And the bag,” Alexandra added.

“Think she bought them herself?”

Alexandra just hummed thoughtfully, eyes still on the door.

If she had to guess?

No.

***

The second Belle opened the front door, she smelled home.

Warm spice and something sweet from the candle he always lit when she was gone. The low hum of the dishwasher in the background. The quiet shuffle of paws on hardwood as one of the cats wandered toward her with a questioning meow.

And then she saw him.

Max was on the couch in sweatpants and a shirt, barefoot, hair still damp from a shower. He had a bowl of popcorn in his lap and was halfway through some racing docuseries, one hand absentmindedly scratching behind Lilly’s ears.

Belle didn’t speak.

Didn’t drop her bag.

Didn’t bother with hello.

She crossed the room in five fast steps, dropped straight into his lap, and kissed him like she meant to erase the entire Leclerc family from her memory.

Max made a startled sound against her mouth but caught her instinctively, one hand flying to her waist, the other slipping beneath the hem of her blouse as she pressed closer.

“Okay,” he managed when she let him breathe for a second, his voice already hoarse, “so I’m guessing dinner went well?”

Belle didn’t answer. She just kissed him again—hot, hungry, all teeth and frustration and fire. Her fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, nails scraping lightly along his neck as she pressed herself more firmly into him.

Max groaned, tightening his grip. “Not that I’m complaining, schatje, but are you okay?”

“I am now,” Belle said, her voice low and breathless, and then kissed him again like she couldn’t get close enough.

Max let himself fall back against the couch, pulling her with him. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” she said, her mouth trailing along his jaw. “Want to pretend it didn’t happen. Want to be here. Want you.”

Max didn’t need to be told twice.

He shifted them easily, her legs sliding to either side of his lap, his hands moving over her hips like he was grounding himself. Like she was something holy and he needed to memorize every part of her.

“You’re tense,” he murmured against her neck. “Your brothers being assholes again?”

Belle pulled back just long enough to look him in the eye. “They always are.”

He studied her face—her flushed cheeks, her messy hair, the faint crease in her brow she hadn’t even realized she was still wearing.

And then he kissed her—slower now, deeper. One hand cupped her jaw, the other settled over her heart.

“You’re home,” he whispered.

She nodded, eyes softening. “I know.”

“And here,” Max said, voice thick with something almost reverent, “you don’t have to carry anything.”

Belle exhaled shakily, her fingers curling into his hoodie.

“I don’t want to carry anything else tonight,” she said.

“Good,” Max murmured, kissing her again. “Then let me.”

She didn’t respond—not with words.

But her mouth found his again, and that was all the answer he needed.

Because whatever the world had thrown at her—judgment, silence, pressure—here, in his arms, she didn’t have to hold any of it alone.

Not ever again.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: hey

Victoria: Oh no. What did you break?

Max: Why does everyone assume I broke something?

Victoria: Because you're you. And also: “hey” is how you text when you’re about to be weird.

Max: not weird… serious actually

Victoria: Now I’m worried.

Max: I need advice

Victoria: What kind of advice? Relationship? Life? Skin care?

Max: engagement

Victoria: OH MY GOD

Max: stop yelling

Victoria: I AM NOT YELLING I AM CELEBRATING IS THIS REAL???

Max: I have the ring

Victoria: The ring??? You picked it already??? How did you not ask for my input?? I’m hurt.

Max: It's perfect. I promise. You’ll cry.

Victoria: Okay I forgive you. Now. What do you need help with?

Max: How do I actually do it?

Victoria: Max. You drive a car at 300km/h every weekend. And you’re scared of proposing?

Max: Yes, because Belle is not a race. She’s everything. 

Victoria: 😩🥹❤️ Victoria:  Okay. First of all: AWW.Victoria:  Second of all: good. You should be a little scared. It means you care.

Max: I want it to be quiet Not dramatic. But not like… just while brushing our teeth

Victoria: Well thank GOD you’re not proposing in the bathroom. Victoria:  Let’s set the bar higher than toothpaste and LED mirrors, yeah?

Max: I’m serious

Victoria: Okay, okay. What feels like her?

Max: Home. Cats. Candles. Soft things. Making fun of me while stealing fries off my plate.

Victoria: That’s the energy you need. Do it when she’s already glowing. When she feels safe. Maybe after dinner. Or one of your cozy nights in. You don’t need fireworks. You just need to mean it.

Max: I mean it so much it makes my chest hurt

Victoria: You sap 😭 I’m so proud of you.

Max: You think she’ll say yes?

Victoria: She’s been saying yes to you for a long time, Max. Victoria:  This is just the easy part.

Max: I want her to know it’s forever. Like really know it.

Victoria: Then tell her that. And if you cry, that’s okay too. Just not while holding the ring box. You’ll drop it.

Max: Should I tell mom?

Victoria: ABSOLUTELY NOT Victoria:  She’ll book a chapel and ten florists before you finish the sentence Victoria:  Tell her after. Or I’ll tell her for you.

Max: noted

Victoria: And Max?

Max: yeah?

Victoria: She’s already part of our family. Victoria:  But I can’t wait to call her my sister for real. Victoria:  Now go make it official, Romeo.

Max: thanks, Vic. love you

Victoria: Love you more. Victoria:  Now go be soft and romantic and terrifyingly in love, or whatever it is you’re doing. Victoria:  And text me the second she says yes. Or I’ll assume you passed out.

***

Nico Hulkenberg didn’t expect to run into Max Verstappen at a café.

He especially didn’t expect to run into that version of Max Verstappen.

It was a quiet weekday afternoon in Monaco, the kind of day where the sun was warm but not blistering, and the harbor breeze made everything feel like it was lifted straight out of a postcard.

Nico was sitting with his wife and daughter at a shaded café terrace—iced coffees, orange juice, tiny pastries. A good mood. A good day.

And then he heard a voice behind him.

Familiar. Low. Laughing.

Max?

He turned his head.

And there—across the terrace, half-tucked into a corner table beneath a bright umbrella—was Max Verstappen.

Wearing sunglasses. One arm slung lazily over the back of the chair next to him.

A chair that was currently occupied by a woman.

A very pretty, very familiar-looking woman.

Dark hair pulled back in a soft braid. Linen blouse, minimal makeup, sun-warmed skin. Laughing softly as she leaned in to steal a bite of Max’s croissant.

Max let her. Smiled at her, even.

Not a quick twitch of the mouth. A real smile. Soft. Stupid. The kind of smile Nico hadn’t seen on Max’s face since... ever?

And then it clicked.

Isabelle Leclerc.

Ferrari’s golden boy’s sister.

Nico blinked hard.

Max and Isabelle were sitting side by side, ridiculously cozy. She had one hand casually resting on his knee, and when the waiter brought a second iced tea, Max slid it toward her without even glancing down.

It was domestic. Intimate. The kind of casual comfort that didn’t happen overnight.

And Nico—who had known Max for years, had seen him at his most guarded and most cutting—felt like his brain short-circuited for a moment.

WHAT.

Max noticed him then.

Lifted his sunglasses just enough to meet Nico’s wide-eyed stare. And smirked.

Because of course he did.

Max nodded in acknowledgment, gave a little wave.

Nico stood, made some vague excuse to his wife, and walked over, trying not to look like he was entering a psychological thriller.

“Max,” he said slowly. “Hey.”

Max looked up, entirely unbothered. “Hey, mate.”

Isabelle turned, polite smile already in place. “Hi, Nico. It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Nico said automatically, shaking her hand. “It’s been a while.”

“Monaco’s small,” she said with a shrug. “We figured it’d happen eventually.”

We.

WE.

Nico blinked at Max again. “So this is... a thing?”

Max just shrugged, arm still resting comfortably behind her. “Yeah.”

“Like a real thing?” Nico asked, unable to help himself.

Max raised an eyebrow. “What would you call brunch with your girlfriend?”

Nico turned to Isabelle. “Are you okay? Is he... being nice?”

Isabelle laughed. “He made me breakfast this morning. And fed the cats.”

Nico blinked. “You have cats?”

Max took a sip of his coffee. “Three.”

Three??

Nico stared. “How long has this been happening?”

Max tilted his head thoughtfully. “A while.”

Isabelle gave him a look and gently nudged his knee with hers.

Max sighed, as if put upon. “A year and a bit.”

“You have been dating Isabelle Leclerc for a year!?”

Max grinned. “You say that like it’s a scandal.”

“It kind of is! Does Charles know?!” Nico hissed. 

Max, meanwhile, was completely serene. “No. But there’s a group chat.”

Nico frowned. “What group chat?”

Max’s smirk deepened. “The one other drivers made when they found out. You know. The one they think I don’t know about.”

Isabelle elbowed him gently. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m offended I wasn’t invited,” Max said with mock gravity. “Oscar’s in it. Lando. Lewis. I’m told Daniel runs it like some form of reality tv series.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Nico muttered.

Max raised a brow. “You sound like Lando when he found out.”

“I am Lando right now,” Nico said, staring at Isabelle. “And you’re just...okay with this?”

Isabelle smiled sweetly. “He’s not that scary once you get to know him.”

Max leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m charming.”

Nico blinked at them. Then sighed. “You’re telling me they all knew—before me?”

Isabelle looked genuinely apologetic. “Sorry. It wasn’t personal. We were just… keeping it quiet.”

“Quiet?” Nico echoed. “You just kissed her in a cafe in Monaco!”

Max just shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah.”

Nico stared at them both for a long moment, then finally let out a breath and sat back in his chair. “Jesus. Charles is going to have an aneurysm.”

“We’re working on that,” Isabelle said dryly.

Nico blinked again, then started to laugh. He shook his head and raised his espresso in mock salute. “Good luck. To both of you.”

“Thanks,” Max said, and leaned over to press a quick, fond kiss to Isabelle’s temple. “But I don’t need luck.” Max glanced down at her, the smirk softening into something fond.

Nico blinked again.

“Okay,” he said faintly. “I need to sit down.”

Max just gave him a lazy thumbs-up. “Enjoy your pastries.”

***

Text Messages: Nico Hulkenberg & Daniel Ricciardo

Nico: DANIEL. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Daniel: 👀 hello to you too, sunshine

Nico: I just saw Max. With a woman. At a café. IT WAS ISABELLE. ISABELLE LECLERC.

Daniel: OH MY GOD WE GOT ANOTHER ONE

Daniel: Nico. Nico buddy. I’m one of the founding members of the support group.

Nico: WHAT SUPPORT GROUP

Daniel: say less you’re coming with me

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon and Nico Hulkenberg)

Daniel added Nico Hulkenberg to the group.

Lando: ANOTHER ONE HAS SEEN THE LIGHT

Alex: rip nico

Carlos: bienvenido al infierno

Lewis: welcome. please proceed to the panic corner

Nico H: You are all insane. How long has this been going on??

Lando: March 2023-ish?? It’s fuzzy. Like trauma memory.

George: We were so innocent once.

Daniel: So. How’d you find out?

Nico H: Café in Monaco. Saw them sharing a croissant. He called her his girlfriend. They have cats. He kissed her on the cheek like it was nothing.

Carlos: a casual public kiss?? he’s escalating

Nico H: They looked… happy. Like really happy. Max was smiling. LIKE. PROPERLY.

Oscar: it's disarming, right?

Nico: And he said you guys have a group chat that he “knows about”

Lewis: ...well shit

Daniel: he wasn’t supposed to know

Alex: he always knows

Carlos: i bet belle told him

Lando: Did you tell Charles?

Nico H: NO. Do I look suicidal?

Daniel: good answer

Carlos: we don’t tell Charles. that’s a rule.

Lewis: He finds out when the rest of Monaco does.

Nico: I need a drink.

Daniel: don’t worry you’ll get used to it Max + Belle = our collective emotional crisis but also the healthiest relationship in the paddock

Oscar: and she sends cookies sometimes

Lando: and fixes your interior lighting plan if you ask nicely

Nico: You’re all too comfortable with this

Daniel: you will be too in time

Nico: Okay, hold on. Just so I know how far down the rabbit hole I’ve fallen— Who else actually knows?

Carlos: good question

Lando: like… besides us?

Oscar: uh. I may have told Mark Webber at one point

Lando: YOU TOLD MARK WEBBER??

Oscar: HE ALREADY KNEW! I JUST ACCIDENTALLY CONFIRMED IT. 

Oscar: Apparently he and Coulthard had a bet? 

Lando: WHY DOES DC KNOW?!

Lewis: I told Seb.

Daniel: YOU WHAT

Lewis: I needed a sanity check!!

Carlos: that’s fair

Daniel: Okay. Great. Good. We’ve gone from “don’t tell Charles” to “this is a United Nations subcommittee.”

Alex: Max told me Nico Rosberg knows.

Lando: do we have a list???

Lewis: we NEED a list

George: Okay hold on. Running tally. People who know:

Lando

Oscar

Daniel

Carlos

Lewis

Alex

George

Nico Hulkenberg

Mark Webber

David Coulthard

Sebastian Vettel

Nico Rosberg

Daniel: …There is no way Checo doesn’t know. He’s literally Max’s teammate. 

Carlos: We should just invite them all in here at this point.

Daniel: Seb knows. Coulthard knows. Webber knows. We're three ex-Red Bulls away from summoning Christian Horner.

Oscar: Do we… invite them all?

Daniel: YES.

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Sebastian Vettel to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Mark Webber to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added David Coulthard to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Nico Rosberg to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Sergio Perez to the chat

Sebastian Vettel: Hello everyone. Lewis told me. I love them. I’m emotionally invested. Carry on.

Lando: THE GOAT HAS SPOKEN

Daniel: Thanks for coming, Seb. We’re just trying to track how many people know about Max and Belle.

Sebastian: Oh. I told Kimi.

George: YOU WHAT

Alex: Oh my God.

Oscar: You told Kimi Räikkönen?

Sebastian: Yes. He said “Tell Max if he breaks her heart I’ll run him over with a snowmobile.” It was very moving.

Carlos: I believe this

Lewis: I… yeah that sounds about right

Sergio Pérez: WHY AM I HERE.

Daniel: Hey Checo! 😊

Checo: No. No, don’t smile at me like that. What the hell is this group.

Oscar: Support circle for drivers emotionally impacted by the Belle + Max reveal.

Alex: Also informal Charles Leclerc Early Warning System™

Checo: Absolutely not. I already know Max and secrets is a bad combination. I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE.

Lewis: Too late. Welcome. Take a seat. Don’t stand near Lando, he attracts chaos.

Mark: Fernando knows too. 

Daniel: Oh my god. He does, doesn’t he?

David: …yes.

Sebastian: This is better than any paddock meeting I’ve ever been in.

Nico H: This is a deeply cursed chat. I’m afraid to check my notifications.

Nico R: I told no one. I’m being so responsible.

Lewis: Shut up.

Nico R: You shut up. 

David: Can we add Kimi? For science?

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Fernando Alonso to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Kimi Raikkonen to the chat

Fernando: Hello. I have been expecting this.

Oscar: What do you MEAN you’ve been expecting this??

Fernando: They were inevitable. I saw it in her posture. And in his eyes.

Alex: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.

George: Is this… prophecy? Does he have prophecy powers?

Fernando: I am simply observant. You are all very slow.

Daniel: FERNANDO YOU HAVE BEEN SILENT THIS WHOLE TIME

Fernando: Some truths must reveal themselves on their own.

Carlos: Why are you the way you are

Lando: Please someone put that on a t-shirt

Daniel: He saw it “in her posture.” I’m losing it.

Kimi: Stop tagging me

Sebastian: Hi Kimi! 😊

Kimi: I already said what I had to say. If he hurts her I will deal with it.

Nico H: This is getting terrifying

Checo: This is already terrifying

Daniel: Okay okay okay, Let’s take stock

George: We’ve gone from “this is a small secret” to “seemingly every major F1 figure of the last decade is now here”

Oscar: And all of us are more stressed about Charles than Max himself

Mark: Charles is going to spontaneously combust

David: Honestly I’m surprised he hasn’t already

Alex: He’s probably still too busy thinking Lando is flirting with Belle over sprinkles

Lando: IT WAS A NORMAL CONVERSATION ABOUT ICE CREAM

Daniel: ...do we tell Christian?

Lando: NO.

Sebastian: Absolutely not.

Mark: God no.

Fernando: Let the chaos unfold naturally.

David: It’s already unfolding unnaturally

Oscar: Next person to find out gets added automatically?

Mark: Yes. It’s law now.

Carlos: So what happens when Charles finds out?

Lewis: The group chat will spontaneously combust.

Alex: Or evolve into a new form. Like a Pokémon.

George: HELP ME: FINAL BOSS EDITION

[emillionaireee]

warnings: softdom!matt, unprotected p in v (don't do it girl), finger sucking, oral fixation in a way?, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl 😩😫)

if you don't feel comfortable with these themes feel free to click out! 💞

matt usually loved your noises during sex. not that he didn't right in his moment but it definitely was an inconvenience while his brothers were downstairs. not aware of the sinful acts happening upstairs in matt's room.

you were in missionary your legs over matt's shoulders as he slowly slammed into you again and again. his thrusts were deep but slow and loving making sure you felt all of him. "ohh!" you moaned as you felt him hit a spongy spot higher up inside you.

"baby i already told you to keep quiet" matt said starting to grow frustrated. "m'sorry! it's t-too mhm good!' you said quick to defend yourself. matt continued to rutt his hips into your wet slick over and over again as you took him whole.

both of his hands were on your knees holding your legs over his shoulders. he moved one hand slowly moving it to your mouth. he fiddled his middle and ring finger into your mouth. "c'mon sweetheart you know what to do" he whispered. your tongue glided around his fingers and you sucked them rollin them around in your mouth.

matt suddenly picked up the pace causing your back to arch taking his fingers deeper in your mouth. "mgh ngh" you moaned, matt's fingers muffling the sound greatly so only matt could hear. the sides of your mouth drooling as matt watched you lustfully.

"fuuuuck baby" he said going faster than before. the pillows placed between the headboard and wall beforehand coming in handy. your eyes rolled back as the familiar knot in your stomach formed as you felt yourself reach your high. "c-close" you managed to whimper

"go on baby it's okay" matt said giving you permission to come. you whimpered around his fingers as you came your pussy clenching around him making him come inside you. he rode both of your highs out and pulled his fingers out your mouth with a wet 'plop'.

"such a good girl f'me hm?"

notes: that photo has me in CHOKEHOLD anywayss my bday in 3 dayss, and tysm for the support on my last fics!! also send requests !!

currently WORKING on masterlist!!

[simonscumdump]

Simon finds out he has a breeding kink.

Now, the prospect of it was just a joke at the time, you and a few friends had been diving into the dirty topics of your relationships over a few drinks.

There’s no harm in a little gossip after all.

But when one of those friends piped up with the fact that their man had the biggest breeding kink on the planet…it had you thinking how Simon would react should you pull that card in bed…

Just a harmless little joke right?

Wrong.

This man utterly loves you, you are everything in his life and he worships the ground his pretty woman walks on.

Whilst he knows there are no actual risks of pregnancy simply due to you being on birth control…the moment the words “Let me make you a daddy.” Tumble out of your mouth so casually when you returned home…

Oh it had him seeing red.

This man would never purposefully hurt you, you both know it. But the possessive itch the mere thought of getting you pregnant properly gives him has him bending you over the arm of the sofa before he can even check your secure enough.

He wouldn’t even bother taking your clothes off, he’s too impatient…too greedy. Instead the bottom of your dress would be shoved up around your hips and your underwear shoved off to one side in a rushed movement.

Now. Simon knows how important prep is, he’s not exactly small and he doesn’t want to hurt you. But the sheer ferocity in the way he dropped down behind you and pressed his mouth to your cunt was borderline feral.

He can’t get words out, even if he’d normally be spewing out the most erotic filth…all you’ll be getting from him is these hungry sounding groans like he’s barely holding himself together.

And the moment he knows you’re prepped enough? He’s ruthless. Plunging in as deep as you’ll take him with an almost pathetically desperate moan leaving his lips.

But even when he came, when you took everything he could give…he still kept going, he’d be merciless, unforgiving. Aching to give you everything you could ever want from him.

“Gotta make sure it takes lovie. Gon’ keep fillin’ this pretty cunt up till we have a little one.”

Even if he knows it most likely won’t happen.

[woozinhos]

How about scoups making you use a vibrator outside?

What a tease|| Choi Seungcheol

Notes: nah cos he would be such a tease don’t even get me started

Seungcheol had a special surprise planned for you today - a trip to your favorite lingerie store. As you walk through the aisles, he pretends to look at the lingerie while surreptitiously slipping something into his pocket.

"Why don't you try this on?" he suggests, holding up a particularly sexy set of lingerie. "I think it would look great on you." You head into the fitting room, oblivious to the fact that Seungcheol is still following you. Once inside, he quietly closes and locks the door behind him.

"I've got a little gift for you," he whispers, pulling out a small vibrator from his pocket. "Thought we could have some fun while we're here." Seungcheol notices your nervous gulp and smirks, his eyes darkening with desire. He steps closer to you, pressing the vibrator against your core through your clothes.

"Shh, don't worry," he murmurs, his free hand trailing up your side. "I'll take care of you. Just try on the lingerie and pretend everything's normal." He slowly turns the vibrator on, keeping the setting low enough to tease you but not enough to make any obvious noises. The sensation is subtle but delicious, sending shivers down your spine.

"Now, go on," he encourages, stepping back to give you space. "Put it on and show me how beautiful you look." You carefully slip on the lingerie, feeling the vibrator buzz against your sensitive skin. Seungcheol watches intently, his eyes roaming over your body as you adjust the straps and fabric.

"Absolutely stunning," he breathes, moving closer again. "But I think there's something missing." He reaches out to touch the vibrator, increasing the intensity slightly. "Let me help you with that," he says, his fingers teasing the sensitive area around the toy. "You look so gorgeous like this, all dressed up for me."

The combination of the lingerie and the vibrator is driving you wild, and you have to bite back a moan as you lean against the fitting room wall for support. You whimper softly as Seungcheol abruptly turns off the vibrator, leaving you aching for more. He grins at your reaction, clearly enjoying your desperation.

"We're not done yet," he says, straightening your clothes. "I want you to keep that in while we shop for a little longer. It'll make things more interesting." He helps you adjust the lingerie so that the vibrator is still snug against you, but hidden beneath the fabric. "Can you do that for me?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. "Be a good girl and keep it in until we get home?"

You nod, feeling both nervous and excited about the challenge ahead. The thought of being out in public, surrounded by other shoppers, while secretly wearing the vibrator is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. Seungcheol leads you out of the fitting room, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. He takes you to different stores, always making sure to find ways to tease you with subtle touches or whispered promises of what's to come.

"See that dress over there?" he murmurs, nodding towards a nearby rack. "Imagine how beautiful you'd look in it while I'm playing with that vibrator. Would you like that?" You blush deeply, trying to keep your composure as he continues to push your limits in public. You're walking past the shoe section when Seungcheol suddenly turns the vibrator back on, causing you to stumble slightly. He catches you, pretending to help you regain your balance while smirking knowingly.

"Careful there," he whispers, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. "Wouldn't want you to fall and make a scene." The vibrations are stronger now, pulsing against your sensitive flesh as he guides you through the store. He deliberately slows his pace, making you walk with deliberate steps to avoid any obvious signs of pleasure.

"You're doing so well," he praises quietly. "But I can see you're getting more and more desperate. Maybe we should find a private fitting room again?" Seungcheol walks ahead of you, knowing exactly what he's doing. The vibrator is buzzing steadily against your clit now, and you're struggling to keep your composure as you follow him.

"Come on, baby," he calls over his shoulder, his tone dripping with playful dominance. "We've got more shopping to do. Unless you want to give up and head home early?" He stops in front of a jewelry display, pretending to admire the necklaces while sneaking glances at your flushed face. "You look so needy right now," he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "I love seeing you like this." As Seungcheol kisses your neck, the vibrator continues its relentless stimulation. You whimper softly against his lips, your body trembling with need.

"Maybe we should get you something pretty," he suggests, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass. "A new necklace to match the lingerie you're wearing under those clothes." He turns you towards the display case, his body pressed against yours from behind. "Pick something you like," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "And I'll take care of the rest when we get home." You try to focus on the necklaces in front of you, but it's difficult with Seungcheol's body behind you and the vibrator still buzzing away. He's making sure to press against you just right, letting you feel his hardness against your back.

"See anything you want?" he asks, his fingers trailing up your arm. "Or should I choose for you?" He reaches past you to pick up a delicate silver necklace, holding it against your throat. "This one would look perfect," he says huskily. "The way it sparkles reminds me of how beautiful you look when you're all dressed up and desperate." You gasp as the vibrator reaches its maximum intensity, your legs nearly giving out as pleasure courses through your body. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your waist to steady you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"You're getting so wet," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "I can practically smell it on you. Are you going to come right here in the middle of the store?" He doesn't wait for an answer, instead pressing a button to turn on a pulsing pattern that makes your legs shake even more. "Let it happen," he urges. "Let everyone see how good I make you feel." Seungcheol watches with satisfaction as you try to control your reactions, but the pulsing vibrations are making it impossible. He leans in closer, his lips hovering just above your ear.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs. "Cross your legs all you want. It won't stop what's about to happen." He pulls you against him tighter, his hand sliding down to rub your thigh. "You're so close, aren't you? I can feel how tense you are."

The necklace he chose still dangles from his fingers as he waits for you to fall apart, completely uncaring of the other shoppers around you. Seungcheol feels your body trembling against him as you orgasm, and he lets out a low growl of approval. He turns off the vibrator but keeps you pressed against him, your chest heaving with silent pleasure.

"Good girl," he whispers, his hand stroking your hair. "That was beautiful to watch. You're so fucking sexy when you cum for me." He grabs a tissue from the display case and discreetly wipes your thighs, pretending to straighten your clothes. "Let's get out of here before you make a bigger mess," he suggests with a smirk.

[myntrose]

12:11 am - sylus can't keep his hands off you (slightly suggestive, Sylus yearning lmao)

We all know how Sylus, despite his experience in guns and other weapons, still chooses to use his bare hands to fight? That's still crazy to me. We're not just talking about fighting normal people. He's throwing hands at people who definitely handle heavy artillery, wanders, machines and mechs that can gun anything down in seconds- despite all that he's still prefer a good beatdown instead.

Despite all of that, plus his workouts that consist of a lot of boxing, his hands are still pretty. It's unfair. Despite how rough and callous they are, he still takes great care of them, like a sculpture does with their own.

See, Sylus has always enjoys teasing and messing with you with his words. He likes the fact that all he needs to do is speak, and he can get a rise out of you. He even maintains his distance from you, ever so slightly, early on with your relationship.

But one day, when you both were walking around the city at night, you reach out for his hand. It's almost natural, an instinct, the way his hands wrap around yours so perfectly. You carry on with your walk, talking about whatever topic you had been chatting to him about. But you don't realize that at some point, all Sylus can think about is the way your hand feels so soft, so delicate compared to his- he thinks that if he was a piece of art he would be made of marble, and you of porcelain compared to him.

It doesn't matter if your hands are on the smaller or bigger side. His compared to yours are still huge, and it makes Sylus go crazy. He loves the way that his scarred and broad hands feel against yours. It's a rush he absurdly needs.

He thought that he would only feel like this with your hands. But the closer, physically and within your relationship, that you both get with each other, the more he realizes that no, it's not just yours hands that he's obsessed with, it's just you.

At night, when he's got you sleeping on top of him, he loves running his hands on any and every inch of your exposed skin. Running his fingers up and down your arms, rubbing your back, and going lower and lower until he physically has to stop himself- he realizes that just touching you alone is a bette drug than anything else the world has to offer.

On days that you offer to do his skincare, he pretends to not want it, but is secretly screaming for you to do so. He loves the way your hands massage his skin. The proximity between you two. He'll pull you closer and closer, his hands gripping your waist, until you're practically on top of him. Not like he ever minded that before.

He thinks that all these light touches were enough. That's what he thought for the longest time, until you both start to become more intimate with each other. The barrier of your clothes no longer prevent him from touching you, actually touching you.

Sylus would run his hands over every patch of skin, be there scars, stretch marks, moles, bumps, or freckles- he's committing everything to memory.

It's gone to the point where he subconsciously will reach out for you. He doesn't realize that all his stress and fatigue instantly go away the moment he makes contact with you.

God forbid you try to avoid his touch. One time, you've decided to prank him by avoiding his hugs. You swear you've never seen Sylus so moody. He looked so offended and borderline hurt, and it wasn't until you moved him to touch you that he bounced right back to his usual behavior.

Yeah, Sylus just yearns for you. Like how a dragon hordes his treasure, Sylus has the need to hold and keep you close too.

god I need this man rn. need him to use his hands on me WHO SAID THAT 🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️

[wendichester]

⋆˙⟡ refills & rides,

summary. tonight's clientele is too good to pass on. honest, you've never been happier to clock into work.

pairing. sam winchester x waitress!reader genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 717

notes / warnings. car sex, downright reckless.

Sam’s supposed to be researching.

That’s what Dean told him before vanishing off to “take care of something”—which probably meant hustling a local bar or flirting with someone’s mom.

So, he parks himself in the corner booth of this roadside diner, laptop open, books stacked, coffee going cold. He’s trying to focus. Really.

But then you walk by.

Tray balanced on your hip. Not a hair out of place. Uniform hugging you like it was made to be sinful—short skirt, fitted blouse, apron tied tight. You move like you own the room. Like you know damn well you’re being watched.

And Sam? He’s watching.

Can’t help it.

Every time you glance his way, his pulse stutters just a bit. Every time you flash that smile—sweet, a little teasing, like you’re in on a secret—he forgets what he’s even supposed to be reading.

You’re hypnotic.

And you definitely notice him.

Your steps slow when you pass. You lean in a little closer when you pour his refill, fingers brushing his. "Need anything else, sugar?" you ask, eyes warm and sparkling.

He swallows hard. “Uh. N-no. I’m good. Thanks.”

But he’s not good. He’s anything but good.

The Impala’s parked around the back, hidden from the road.

You find him there after your shift. You knock once on the driver’s side window, and when he rolls it down, you’re smirking. “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

The second the door’s closed behind you, it’s like something snaps.

Sam leans in fast, grabs your face with both hands, kisses you so deep and desperate it knocks the breath out of you.

You melt into it—his lips, his hands, his body already pressing over yours. You climb into his lap without thinking, thighs straddling him, skirt already rucked up around your hips.

His mouth trails to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he groans, nipping lightly. “All night. All shift. The way you walk—how that uniform hugs you—fuck.”

You gasp as his hands slide up your thighs, slow and reverent. “I noticed you staring.”

“Yeah?” His voice is low, gravelly. “Then you know exactly what’s about to happen.”

Your fingers fumble with his belt. You don’t even bother with foreplay—not when you’ve been this turned on for hours.

He slips your panties to the side, groaning when he finds you already soaked. “Shit,” he growls. “You’re killing me.”

You grind against him, desperate and needy. “Then do something about it.”

And god, he does.

He sinks into you with one slow, deep thrust, the stretch making you cry out. You cling to his shoulders, bury your face in his neck, moaning shamelessly.

“Sam—fuck—you feel so good—”

He thrusts again. And again. His hands grip your hips tight, guiding your rhythm, matching every roll of your body.

The Impala rocks beneath you, fog creeping up the windows. Sam’s head falls back against the seat, lips parted, sweat shining on his throat.

You’re a mess. Desperate, moaning, panting against his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groans. “God—can’t believe you’re mine right now—”

You clench around him, crying out at how deep he hits. “Yours, Sam. Yours.”

That’s what undoes him.

His thrusts grow erratic, rougher, and your body is already so close. He slips a hand between you, thumb circling your clit in fast, tight strokes—

And you break.

Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and wild and perfect, your whole body shaking as you cry out his name.

Sam follows a second later, groaning into your shoulder, his hips jerking as he spills into you, holding you tight like he never wants to let go.

Minutes pass in silence, both of you still tangled up, sweaty and flushed and breathless.

You finally pull back, your smile smug. “Think I deserve a good tip for that service.”

Sam chuckles, resting his forehead to yours. “Baby, that was a goddamn religious experience.”

You laugh, kissing him slow. “Guess you’re coming back for breakfast.”

He grins. “Only if you wear the uniform again.”

You wink. “Only if you promise not to last through your coffee this time.”

And in the fogged-up silence of that classic car, you swear you've never been looked like this before—like maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[oopsiedaisydeer]

could you make something with touch starved matt and clingy reader? some angst thrown in there too, like maybe he doesn't like all the sudden touches but then grows to love them and need them.

ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

…𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥!𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

It starts with a flinch.

You don’t mean to startle him—just a gentle touch on his arm as you pass by, a brush of your fingers against his hoodie sleeve—but Matt recoils like he’s been burned. Not visibly. Not dramatically. Just a twitch of muscle, a second of tension, like his body’s asking what are you doing before his brain can remind him that it’s just you.

“Sorry,” you murmur, pulling your hand back.

He shrugs. “You’re good.”

But he doesn’t look at you when he says it.

You try not to let it hurt. He’s always been like this—quiet, a little closed off, always with that guarded look in his eyes like the world’s asking too much of him. And maybe you are, too. Always sitting a little too close. Resting your head on his shoulder like it’s nothing. Grabbing his hand when you cross the street even though you don’t need to.

You tell yourself you’re just affectionate. That it’s your love language or something dumb like that.

But when he pulls away again one afternoon—your pinkie barely grazing his as you both sit on the couch, and he shifts, subtly, but enough—you stop trying.

The silence stretches for a few days. You still talk. Joke. Sit beside each other, but farther now. And you don’t touch him. Not even once.

It makes your chest ache.

But Matt… Matt notices.

He notices the way your hand twitches and then stills against your thigh when he leans close to show you something on his phone. He notices the way you tuck yourself into the corner of the couch now, instead of against his side. He notices how you flinch, just slightly, when your fingers brush accidentally and you’re the one who pulls away.

And it makes him feel—he doesn't know. Cold? Hollow? Like something that was quietly good and warm is missing and it’s his fault. Because it kind of is.

One night, a week later, you're standing in his kitchen with a mug of tea. You’re quiet. Soft around the edges. Something about you looks dimmer than usual.

Matt steps beside you. Hovers.

Then, cautiously, gently, his hand reaches out. Fingers wrap around your wrist.

Your eyes widen. You blink.

"Can I…" His voice is low, hoarse. "I think I get it now."

You don’t say anything.

But your lip trembles.

And when he tugs you in, arms tentative around your waist, your hands curl into the back of his hoodie like you’ve been waiting forever.

He lets out a breath against your shoulder. "I didn’t know I needed this," he whispers.

And you just hold him tighter.

thanks @bernardsbendystraws for dividers !!!

a/n: requests go brr

main taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz  @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz @auttysturnz

[ayukas]

part one

brother's best friend!haechan who can't seem to wait any longer—not when your almost-confession lingers in the back of his mind like a song stuck on repeat. he remembers the way your fingers were stained with melted chocolate that day, how your voice trembled like you were about to say something that could change everything. but you didn't. and he waited. but alas, patience was never his strong suit. so one afternoon, he marches into your favourite candy store, the one you've dragged him to since middle school, and asks the employee behind the counter how to make something from scratch. something sweet. something meaningful. he spends the whole day there, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he tries to mold soft sugar into the perfect shape. he messes up a few times, fingers sticky and uneven jelly hearts scattered all over the table. but he doesn't stop—not until he finally crafts one that feels just right.

brother's best friend!haechan who shamelessly lies to your brother after realising he forgot his wallet, facetiming and begging for money to pay for the handmade candy under the pretense of buying a new game. "it's co-op," he insists over the phone, eyes wide with fake innocence. "we can play it together, dude." your brother grumbles, suspicious but ultimately soft, mumbling something about how he better get first player privileges.

brother's best friend!haechan who texts you in all-caps to meet him at your usual cafe at 4pm, the same one you both used to wait at after school while your brother finished class, saying he has something extremely urgent to tell you. you expect another one of his silly ideas, maybe a new inside joke. but when you arrive, he's already there, sitting at your favourite table, fidgeting with his rings and tapping his foot under the table leg. there's a mug waiting for you, your usual, as well as a small box placed right in the center like it's holding his entire heart inside. when you sit, he doesn't speak right away, just watches you with that look he always gives you—the one that sees too much, that lingers too long. then, slowly, he pushes the box toward you with both hands, eyes darting nervously. you open it. see the candy. a tiny, misshapen heart. when you look up, he meets your gaze and says, "i'm in love with you."

boyfriend!haechan who suffers through hours of your brother's dramatic yelling after finding out, arms flailing, voice rising three octaves higher than usual. "you?! and—and you?!" your brother screeches for the third time. haechan's trying his best not to laugh, and you're trying not to bury your face in your hands. when your brother finally storms off, muttering about betrayal, haechan simply throws an arm around your shoulder and presses a kiss to the side of your head, grinning like it was all worth it.

boyfriend!haechan who holds your hand differently now, not cautiously, not half-hesitant like it used to be. but with certainty. with a sense of home. he laces your fingers together like he never plans to let go, swinging your joined hands between you as he hums a tune neither of you can name. even when it's hot and your palms are sweaty, even when your brother is glaring from two feet away, he doesn't ever want to let go. instead, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes dancing with mischief and affection, daring the world to try and take you from him.

boyfriend!haechan who leaves sticky notes in your bag, your books, your hoodie pockets—little pieces of his heart tucked between your daily life. some are doodles, a wonky bear with hearts for eyes. others are confessions disguised as jokes, today's forecast: 99% chance i'll fall harder for you. when you confront him on the way home, he acts innocent, gasps dramatically, and insists it must be some kind of secret admirer. but the pink on his ears gives him away every single time.

boyfriend!haechan who can't seem to keep his hands off you, always needing to touch, even in the smallest, softest ways. he cups your face after a long day like it's a ritual, like it resets his energy. he threads his fingers through your hair with care, pulls you onto his lap when you're too sleepy to sit upright, lets you nap on his shoulder while playing with your hand, tracing the lines in your palm as if he's memorising every curve like it was written just for him. he kisses the corner of your smile like it's his favourite place in the world.

boyfriend!haechan who takes you stargazing on a warm night, lying side by side on the rooftop, your hands tangled between you. he talks about dreams and silly things—how he's always wanted to be a dancer, how he's still scared of heights. you laugh until the night settles into a soft hush, and then he turns toward you, eyes reflecting the moonlight, voice quieter than the breeze. "you're my first love, you know," he says. it's not at all dramatic, not a setup for a joke. just honest. "and if you'll have me… you'll be my last, too."

notes inspired by poppop! the employee in question is daehee bc i believe haechan would bully him into letting him in the kitchen orz also this was delayed for way too long im sorry plz come back to me brother's best friend hyuck yearners!!!!!

perm. taglist ♡ @renjunsversion @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun

[daylighted]

─ HIDE AWAY THE SIGNS, dad's best friend ! jackles

you didn't think jensen was leaving and saying goodbye without a proper taste of you, did you?

warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this series if you're a minor. hefty age gap. oral (f receiving). dirty talking. manhandling. edging (kind of). thigh biting. minor exhibitionism. he's mean </3. word count. 3.4k

sneak into his room here!

THE FIRST THING YOU HEAR WHEN you wake up is the sound of rustling around on the other side of your bedroom wall. with an odd sense of disappointment, you realize immediately what it is. suitcases zipping, bedsheets rippling as the big duvet is fluffed and spread flat over it. you’d know the sound of someone preparing to leave anywhere — you’d only just done it days ago prior to returning home. 

it feels wrong to get up and say goodbye. to your parents, jensen was a stranger you talked to sometimes, when you passed each other. even in your mind, you only knew him at base level. you don’t know his favorite color, what high school he went to, if he had any pets wherever it was that he was from. 

so you weren’t going to say goodbye. you’d sit on your bed and stew on this realization that it was fun while it lasted, but it wasn’t meant to last. not really. you’d been told to get some spontaneity in your life by him, made to step out of every single comfort zone you had, and now you could say you did. that was the whole point, wasn’t it? he was sent into your life by some god, probably not any that were going to let you through heaven’s gates or anything, and now that he’d served the purpose he came for, he’d leave.

it still felt bittersweet in the most painstaking of ways. you didn’t have to completely close yourself off from him to know that fact.

the sound of things flipping around halts, and the door clicks shut, and footsteps start down the hallway to the staircase, not once pausing in front of yours. 

somehow, it hurt more that he’s just as dismissive as all of this as you were trying to be. you were trying, he didn’t even need to make the efforts to push you out of his head, it seemed.

four days you’d been home and you hadn’t reached out to your friends. you pull your phone out of your pocket to do that, needing some sort of distraction from the fact that you’d let yourself become your dad’s best friend’s temporary plaything while he stayed over. maybe he had a wife back home, not a dog. maybe his favorite color was the color of her eyes. maybe they met in high school.

the thought makes you feel sick, your fingers hovering over the group message with your friends in town.

you nearly jump out of your skin when a knock echoes on the doorframe behind you. there, standing in its open space, is jensen. 

“weren’t downstairs,” he says, eyebrows raising like he was accusing you of something. he’s wearing a baseball cap, the brim shadowing over the greens of his eyes. the strap of his duffel bag is slung over one shoulder, catching on the bunched up fabric of his hoodie. “thought i’d come up here n’ see why.” 

you raise your eyebrows right back at him, just as much accusation in them as his. “well, i’m not your girlfriend or anything, so…” 

“no, you aren’t,” he says easily, crossing his legs at the ankle as he braced his shoulder on the doorframe. “but i thought we were past the point of pretending we weren’t something.” 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

he raises a closed fist, holding up fingers as he counted them off. “friend. good fuck. good fuck who’s a friend. fuckbuddy—”

“your best friend’s daughter,” you interject, hissing it through your teeth at him, eyes darting over his shoulder to make sure both of your parents were downstairs like he’d implied. “you should do better to keep that little tidbit at the front of your arguments.” 

jensen takes a step into your room, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. “if you wanna play mean, pretty girl, by all means, i’m not stoppin’ you. but i’ve already warned you that you won’t like it when i’m mean.” 

“why are you so adamant on me going to tell you goodbye, huh?” you sit up on your bed now, no longer laying on your stomach facing the pillows, but flipped over to properly argue. all of the hurt you felt over the fact that this was ending and it meant nothing by this point was starting to bubble over, out of your control. “you probably have a wife at home! you probably— probably have a job, and kids, and a dog named, like, spot or something—” 

jensen nods along with everything you’re rambling on about, his lips pursed in disamusement. it’s when you stumble on the syllables out of your mouth that the sentences falter, and you’re staring at him with your chest heaving and your lip wobbling against your will. you weren’t supposed to miss him, and especially not now, when he wasn’t already gone. “you done?” 

“no!” you choke on it, spit it out like it burns your tongue. “i bet you’re really happy, too, with your little family. i bet you came here and saw something young, and new, and because you’re jensen ackles you couldn’t help yourself! you never could help yourself, i know this, dad always said so — you’d see one thing you wanted, and you—” 

his duffel clatters to the ground with a heavy thud, the strap scraping along the hardwood as it lands. you can barely process jensen’s footsteps crossing the space to you before he’s hauled you into his arms, all of your protests dying in your mouth. 

he’s taking you down the stairs, your mouth opening and closing before you can even think of telling him no, or to put you down, or to never let go. 

over his shoulder, you see your parents small forms from the screen door of your front entrance. they’re at the mailbox, talking to one of your neighbors, both of their backs to you and the neighbor turned to face them, capable of seeing you at any moment through his peripheral vision if he chose to glance over. 

you duck your head like that alone could save you from that possibility, tucking it behind jensen’s shoulder. “talkin’ to me like i’ve got somethin’ to prove,” he rasps in your ear, scoffing in disbelief, “who do you think you are, tryin’ to make me feel guilty?” 

jensen shoves you onto the countertop, his head hovering over you, looming like a shadow — overtaking you in a single breath. “the news flash, sweetheart, is that i don’t owe you shit.” his fingers close around your thigh, digging into the bare flesh as he pushes it open. “i don’t owe you my wife’s name, my kids’ names, my fuckin’ dog’s name, if i had any of that shit. i don’t owe you what my job is. i don’t owe you what i do in my freetime.” 

he curls his index finger over the crotch of your panties and tugs downwards, his other hand forcing each of your thighs up to wiggle the fabric down your legs. immediately, your eyes dart to the doorway, to the screen door open for anyone to see, to where you’re directly in the sights of any potential straying eyes. 

“and you know what i especially don’t owe you?” jensen asks, sinking his teeth into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the skin before lapping it under his tongue. he sits back a little, just enough so that one hand could come up and flip his baseball cap backwards on his head. “i don’t fucking owe you on why i like you, pretty baby,” he hums, giving you a wolfish grin before diving into the space between your legs, his head beneath your skirt.

you couldn’t hide your sharp gasp, not when it was all so sudden, and not when the scratch of his beard teases and rubs at the highest parts of your inner thighs and the sensitive skin of your folds, his tongue dipping between them to lick a stripe up the wet slit. one of your hands curls around the edge of the countertop, the other clamps over your mouth to keep quiet.

the last thing you wanted was for either of your parents to wonder what you were making noise for, or for your neighbor to catch too much movement through the glass door and peek over, and to see jensen’s head between your legs, or the throes of ecstasy he was beginning to drag you through. 

his hands grip your calves, keeping your legs open for him with a bruising grip on the skin, but his tongue and lips play a different story. they’re slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring the proper taste of you and not just the fleeting flick of his tongue or the wetness around his fingers. the thought alone has you squirming on the marble surface, knowing that he was teasing you on purpose, that he was just as capable of being much worse as he was being much more ravishing. 

his tongue flicks over the bundle of nerves between your folds and your fingers tighten over your mouth, just in time for him to suck it between his two lips. one of jensen’s hands lets go of your calf to grab upwards at your wrist, looking up at you with dark eyes through the span of his eyelashes. 

“uncover it or we’re going to the living room,” he breathes, his voice a delicious vibration against your clit, “and if you keep pushing me, baby, i’ll put you on the porch.” 

you let go of your mouth with haste, looking down at him with wide eyes. “but—” 

“you think i’m scared of them?” he asks, eyebrows bouncing up on his forehead. “why would i be? you think you’re nothing to me, that this is just bullshit, so why should i care who sees what i do to you? why should i care about you at all?” 

jensen’s glistening lips curl up into that sneering grin again, and he pushes your one leg open further, moving it to the back of your knee to hook his fingers around it and drag you closer to the edge of the countertop. he shifts his attention, trailing his tongue downwards to lap at the seeping wetness from your entrance, before pushing through it and into the tight throb of your heat.

it’s all you can do to not make a sound. the only outlet you have is the grip he still has on your wrist, your nails dug hard into the back of his hand. he doesn’t lift his head to see as he lets go of your hand to smack your digging nails away from his skin, the crescent marks evident in the tanned skin. 

instead, he grabs your fingers in a vice grip, holding them in his own tight enough that you can’t pull them free — like he’s almost afraid of the risk that you’ll let go. he’s relentless in his unabashed tongue fucking, breaking away for seconds at a time to suck and lap at your clit before returning. 

your breath leaves you in heaving gasps, your thighs closing tighter around his head, writhing against him. it only seems to encourage jensen further, the arching of your hips into his face making him groan in between your pussy lips.

he takes the time to learn all of your secrets. how you can’t help a gasp when he nuzzles closer, his beard leaving red splotches on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. how your spine arches when his teeth graze the throbbing nub of your clit. how you whimper softly, just for him, when he closes his mouth around your clit and sucks at it until it aches, and soothes it with the lap of his tongue as he collects every bit of your wetness on it and breathes it in. 

“please—” you beg, though you’re not sure for what, not when he’s started to pay special attention to your clit again and every thought in your head becomes a puddle, replaced with a constant buzz that only builds and builds.

he nips at it again and you whine throatily, just as he relents. jensen’s head dips lower to your entrance again, moaning against the new wave of wetness he finds in place of what he’d just swallowed down. “please what?” he rasps, making your toes curl at his sides. “thought i wasn’t happy with you. thought i was real fuckin’ happy to get away from this pussy.” 

“no!” you gasp the word out, no breath left in your lungs to rise above that sweet whisper of a sound. “no, no, no—” 

“yeah, you backtrack real fuckin’ fast when i’m eating your pussy, huh?” his laugh is bitter and cruel, but the kiss he presses to your clit is sweet, and so is the look he gives you through his eyelashes. a thin strip of green around the expanse of his pupils, big and glossy like he might actually like you, but dark enough to remind you that this, like everything, is a fleeting moment in a span of millions of other little moments.

you’re right on the cusp of the feeling you’ve been chasing, and he’s stopped. his cheek is pressed against your thigh, lips wet with the taste of you, the facial hair around his mouth wet and red from the friction. “you want the truth?” 

your heart screams yes. “no.” your head’s answer slips through your teeth.

he nods once, letting go of the back of your knee to smear his finger teasingly along your entrance, brushing the juices upwards and circling the pad of his thumb over your clit. “try again.” 

you shake your head. the tightness is beginning to curl up beneath your navel, each little brush of his thumb starting a slow crescendo. your head knocks back against the cabinet behind you with a soft thud, your legs spreading open wider in an attempt to grind your hips against his touch. 

jensen grabs your inner thigh again and holds it tight in his big hand, keeping you from squirming too much, no longer about to push you over the edge of the impending orgasm. “try. again.” 

you let out a little mewl at the lack of his touch leaving you panting and empty, the pleasure teetering right over the cusp. “stop it,” you manage to whimper out, again trying to wrestle your hand free from his other one. 

his lips twitch. “do you. want. the truth?” 

“no,” you rasp back at him, leaning your head off of the cabinets to be closer to eye level with him. 

silence follows like a heavy blanket. his thumb strokes slowly along the inside of your thigh where he holds it steady, his eyes never once dragging away from your face. “okay.” 

there’s no preemptive warning before jensen lets go of your leg and slides two fingers deep inside of you, just like there’s no preparation as he pumps them, curling them upwards to brush against the gushy spot inside of you that makes you whine again. the sparks of pleasure are so much more intense with how close you were, everything building at a speed you can’t keep up with. 

your fingers go slack in his grip, your head tipping forward that little bit more to press your forehead to his while you try to catch your breath. never once did jensen take his eyes off of you. and again, he doesn’t falter in that eye contact when he pulls his fingers out of you.

each breath is shallow in your lungs, your lips trembling as you fight against the need to scream and whine and hit him, probably, if you had access to your dominant hand. yeah, you’d hit him, and then you’d kiss it better, and—

“i meant it.” jensen ducks his head to catch your downturned eyes, nudging your head up with his nose along your jawline to force the eye contact. “when i said i wanted you to look at me. wanted you to see me.” he lets go of your hand, then, and surprisingly, you don’t swing on him. not immediately, anyways. “you’re the only fucking person here in this place who doesn’t have some idea of me in their head, you know that?”

you guessed he was right, but how were you supposed to take any of this to heart when you felt like you were made of lightning? when your tears sprung in your eyes with the need for release that he wouldn’t give and kept you from getting on your own? “you try and lie to yourself, baby, try to make yourself feel better about the fact that i’m walkin’ out of that door today. you made up stories to make it easier, assigned me a happy family waitin’ back at the ackles residence, just so you didn’t have to think about the fact that i’m gonna be in my bed every night, fucking my hand raw to the thought of what those moans would sound like if i didn’t have to force them into a pillow, or my fingers.” 

jensen leans up to brush his mouth along yours, glancing between the both of your eyes for an answer he’s not getting. “now are you gonna be a good girl and let me make you come on my tongue, or do i have to keep arguing with you?” 

he doesn’t move an inch as he waits. his eyes are brutal, piercing, watching you with a conviction that no one else has dared to. everyone around you has had high expectations without the room to catch you if you missed them, but his expectations are in the realm of something you want.

just like you’re the first person to look at him without the precognitive impressions your father tried to instill in you, he’s the first person to look at you and see past the goals and the blind hope. you could fall and he’d catch you, so long as you fell from somewhere within what you wanted, and not someone else.

you nod, but it’s not enough. his voice is made of gravel and sin when he whispers, “use that pretty little voice of yours for me.” 

“okay,” you sputter out quickly, as if that alone could make him give in any quicker. “yes, yes yes—” 

his head cocks in his amusement. “yes what?”

“yes, i’ll be good—” 

jensen let go of your hand and your thigh at once. his forearms slip underneath your knees to drag you just a little closer, pulling your thighs up and over his shoulders. and when his tongue dips between your folds and licks up the slick slit before he can close his mouth around your clit again, he moans. 

he licks at your clit and your entrance like he’s starving, nibbling along your clit with each flick of his tongue, each slight movement of his head making the raw skin of your inner thighs that much more inflamed. 

it doesn’t take long for the crest of your orgasm to crash over you, not with the way he ravished with tongue and teeth along your puffy clit and dove his tongue into your entrance with the same intensity he fucked you with. your head tips back into the cabinets, shaking fingers pressed to your mouth being the only thing stopping you from letting out a wail that would inevitably alert the whole town to what you were doing. 

jensen doesn’t stop, though, as you ride out the intensity of your comedown. he laps up every drop of your juices, soothes the beardburn on your inner thighs with kisses along every part of your skin he can reach, sucks your throbbing clit in between his lips just to feel you squirm a couple more times.

when he finally rises to his full height, dropping your legs back down from his shoulders, he keeps his palms on top of your thighs, rubbing little circles through the fabric of your dress. “you look pretty like this,” he whispers, capturing your lips in a kiss so much more gentle than how he was being before, pressing the taste of yourself back into your mouth, “i think i need to see you like this more often.” 

it takes a moment for the words to register, blinking your eyes back into focus when you meet his again. “you can’t—” 

jensen gives you an unimpressed look, still wearing the slick of your juices along his mouth like a wet trophy. he goes to the fridge to take out the nearly empty orange juice bottle he’d drank from a couple days ago, messing with the cap between his two fingers. “give me your phone.” 

you want to question him, but the look he gives you makes your mouth shut. you pull your phone out from underneath your thigh, something that just makes him smirk. he holds the juice in one hand and your phone in the other, swiping through things outside of your line of sight.

he looks kind of ridiculous, in an endearing sort of way. he has an uncapped bottle of orange juice in one hand and a cell phone in the other, mouth wet like he’d been drinking right— 

oh. you almost laugh, then, at how simply he’d reduced what he’d just done to the cover story of drinking juice. like he hadn’t just about had you in tears for the third time in his weekend stay with how good he’d made you feel. 

you hop off of the counter onto wobbly legs, bending down to tug your panties back up from where he’d aimlessly tossed them beneath you. 

the screen door squeaks open and slams shut just as you straighten back up to your feet. your heart nearly leapt out of your chest at the sound of it, at the intensity of the close call you’d narrowly missed. 

jensen forks over your phone again, giving you a wink in the process. “should be all good.” 

“hey, you heading out?” your dad asks from the kitchen doorway, patting his hand on the kitchen wall. he glances between the both of you with a little grin, so oblivious it’d make you feel nauseous if you weren’t so focused on staying upright.

jensen lifts the juice bottle to his mouth again, finishing the rest of the juice off in a quick swig before wiping the excess — and the remainder of your wetness — away with his thumb and sucking it into his mouth. he doesn’t even need to look at you for you to stumble on a breath, looking down at the phone in your hand. 

“yeah,” jensen says, placing the glass bottle down next to you on the countertop you leaned up against. “got a little thirsty. needed somethin’ sweet to tie me over on the drive.” 

he shrugs his duffel over his shoulder again. you can hear the rustle of it without needing to look up, afraid that your expression will give everything away if you look at him now. “bye, little lady,” jensen says, and that draws your attention. he’s devastating like this for many reasons: because he’s leaving, because he smiles with the sun in his teeth, because he can be so sweet after he can be so mean. his two finger salute makes you smile, and you mimic one right back to him before his back turns again. 

daring to see what he did on your phone, you find it open to text messages, where he’d sent something to, assumedly, his number from your phone, after very sweetly naming his contact daddy a.

to: daddy a staying at a hotel for a few nights. i’ll send the room number if you’re feeling brave enough to sneak out.

a dare and a promise all in one. you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, your face blooming in pink, just as your dad lets out a scoff of laughter. “and i always thought that orange juice was too sour, not sweet.”

notes | i dont rly have commentary for this one i just want in his drawls so bad. i was sweatin from the moment i wrote him turning the hat around ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfeedback & reblogs appreciated <3 !!

tags | @soldiersgirl @seven7lee @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @winchestersbgirl @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @lonelylonelybaby @mourningthewicked @ultravi0lence14 @1-imbroglio @hughesinthebox @angels-silhouette @blossomingorchids @chris444evr @cassiecourtemanche @writtenbyhollywood @adrienneleclerc @losers-clvb @bluemerakis @fuckedupfate @legalmente-loca @k-slla @fxckingjo @blueschevy @fitxgrld @viluren @youdontknowe @sizzlingcheesecakepanda @cupidluvzz @lanasgirlfr @h8aaz @coralfacecrown @doublecrazyyymofo @1ghxstt1 @mahi-wayy @narniabusinessbitch @zqarax @angelicjackles @arcannaa @am0rem @sthefferrete @v1v1-3 @spxideyver @suckitands33 @beausling @pieandflannel @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @deanswidow @aurevina

[eufezco]

NEW OLD JOEL 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

old man!joel x younger!fem!reader

synopsis – after years on the road, you and joel finally settle in jackson and there's nothing you love more than coming back from work to your old man wearing those glasses.

smut. fluff

the last of us masterlist

after traveling what felt like the entire world following joel, you both finally decided to settle down in jackson. it was peaceful, a not so small community anymore where you could breathe again, where you could do more than just survive. eat three meals a day. sleep through the night without one eye open. and with all that peace came space, to feel, to think, to finally let yourself consider what had been quietly building between you and joel all this time.

he was reluctant at first. the age gap weighed on him more than it ever did on you. you’d never brought it up, never even seemed to notice it in the ways he did. but you two had lived too much together since you first started traveling with ellie. that kind of bond didn’t come easily. yet joel didn’t think he had the right to want something as soft, as tender, as the love you showed him. and jackson helped him with that. the town gave him the kind of peace he never thought he’d earn. and slowly, as the years passed, joel softened and started to accept the life he deserved and appreciate the little things.

the way you massaged his shoulders after a long day of work, the way he always made sure you were warm in the mornings when he had to leave early, how you'd wake up tucked beneath an extra blanket. you built a life together made up of shared breakfasts and quiet evenings walking through the snow-covered streets of jackson, of fixing things around the house side by side, of laughter in the kitchen when something burned, and the way he'd kiss your temple like it didn’t matter.

—hi, —you said coming into the house. joel looked up from where he was sitting at the table, glasses low on his nose, hands busy with something that needed to be fixed. his eyes softened the second he saw you.

—hey, darlin’, —he said, —you’re back early.

—yeah, the snow is getting worst, there wasn't much we could do in the garden, —you replied, shrugging off your coat and hanging it up by the door.

joel gave a small nod, eyes following your every move, —i figured, —he said, —how’s the ground looking? any chance we can save anything before the winter really sets in?

you sighed, taking a moment to pull off your gloves and slide them into your pocket. —a few plants are holding up, but it’s mostly the cold that’s making it tough. i’m thinking of giving it another shot in the spring, once everything starts to warm up.

joel hummed. you approached him and hugged him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. his hand, still holding the small tool, paused for a second before he gently placed it down, he took one of your hands in his, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

—how was your day? —you asked.

—good, busy. dina told me the cracked main lines are full of roots. should've checked them but i forgot, —he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly annoyed with himself. you could see how much he cared about getting things right, about showing that he was still capable, still useful. he picked the piece again and fidgeted with it.

—it's okay, you can get it done tomorrow. the main lines aren't going to move, —you reassured him, your voice gentle, as you smoothed your hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm.

—yeah, you’re right. tomorrow’s another day, —the therapy sessions were working, somehow, because never in your life would you have imagined the joel you first met would learn to take things slow.

you kissed his cheek, his beard tickling your lips, as your hand slid slowly over his chest. you couldn't help but smile at how lost he was in the task, not even seeming to notice the way you were touching him. you pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, letting your lips pressed there for just a second before pulling back.

—joel, —you murmured. your fingers brushed against his before you gently took the small tool from him and set it on the table. you moved closer, slipping one knee over his lap, easing yourself down until you were straddling him. —are you planning on working all night?

joel's hands instinctively found your hips, steadying you, surprised but not willing to stop you. —was just about done here, —he said, —then i was gonna give you every bit of my attention. but i see you've got other plans for me.

you loved how he looked with the glasses low on his nose, made him look more domestic, but you gently slid them off, folding them and setting them on the table. his eyes followed the movement, then back up to yours, darker now but entirely focused.

—thought you liked those, —he murmured.

—i do, —you whispered, —but i'm afraid they might get in the way.

he hummed, his eyes fixed on your lips.

you unbuttoned the flannel he wore beneath his jacket. he watched you, barely breathing, his hands still resting on your hips but his thumbs began to trace soft circles through the fabric of your jeans. you sighed softly as the last button came undone, revealing his body. your hand moved over his chest, tracing the old, pale scars that marked his skin. your eyes moved lower, taking in the softness of his belly, the way he relaxed under your gaze instead of tensing. you bit your lower lip, what if you said this was the sexiest he has ever looked?

—i couldn't wait to get back home to you, —you brushed your nose against his, you hips started rolling against his own. joel swallowed, his hands flexed where they held you, fingers tightening just a little.

—yeah? —he asked, his voice low, a little gruff.

you nodded, and your lips finally met his in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen all day. it was desperate, needy, but slow and passionate. your fingers sank into the soft, graying hair at the back of joel’s head, tugging gently, needing him closer. he groaned low in his throat, his hands working hungrily on the zipper of your jeans.

you lifted your hips from his so he could slid your jeans down your legs and immediately after, you straddled him again. as your fingers worked on the buckle of his belt and then unzipped his pants, joel's big hands cupped your ass, pushing you forward and encouraging you to grind against his crotch.

you whined, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans through the thin one of your panties. you pulled down his underwear, just enough for his cock to sprung free. you connected your lips with his again, his hands now on your cheeks as you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan.

you took all of him. joel let his head rest on your shoulder as his hands traveled down your body to your hips. he helped you move, at first just rocking your body back and forth against his. your lips, half parted pressed together, made it easier for your breaths to mingle. then, you lifted your body and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again.

—fuck, yeah, just like that, —joel groaned in your ear.

you tried not to be so loud, you didn't want to attract anyone's attention or cause a scandal. but your cries and his moans eventually echoed on the walls of your living room every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

joel rose from the chair in one fluid motion, his strong hands holding your weight. with a sweep of his arm, tools and scraps went to the floor, forgotten. he laid you down on the now-cleared table, the wood cool against your back, contrast to the heat building between you as his cock never left your body.

—did so good for me, now let me take care of you, hm?

he grabbed your thighs with firm hands and guided your legs around his waist so he could go deeper. your heels pressed into his lower back as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. the table cracked with each one of his thrusts and you feared it might break, it wouldn't be the first time joel would need to ask his brother for help in repairing a piece of furniture that you had broken since your arrival in jackson.

one of his hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit, his fingers moving fast and with urgency as he felt how you were getting tighter and tighter. you closed your eyes shut, feeling a little dizzy from all the panting as your body jerked and squeezed his own between your legs as you came. after that, he didn't last much longer and released himself inside you.

you both stayed there for a few minute. joel rested on top of you and with your legs still around him, you welcomed the weight of his body pressing you down onto the table. you played with his hair as he finally looked at you. you showed him a little smile and he gave a quick kiss to your lips.

—my body's gonna hurt so much tomorrow from this.

you giggled, —i'll make sure to give you the best massage ever.

you showed him a little smile, and he gave you a quick kiss to your lips. but as you pulled away, both of you noticed the mess of tools and pieces scattered across the floor, the work joel had been focused on before everything had shifted between you.

—i'm afraid you're gonna have to start all over again.

—with that or with you?

[ohburgee]

a clingy shedletsky x reader :o? also LOVEE your writing btw!💙💙

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Shedletsky x Gn!Reader

c: fluff, clingy an: Finally someone who requested my boi, Shedletsky. He gives the vibes of a grown man who loves goofy things. I hide a Easter egg in this story, if you guys found it leave on the comment, also thank you glad you love my writing and for your Shedletsky requests 🩷 summary: you heard footsteps coming closer and turn around to see Shedletsky wanting to stay by your side. You let him stay with and now he doesn't go away.

Another round to survive again. You're running around, looking for a generator to fix. You see the others running too.

You spot an untouched generator and rush over to start working on it. As you're fixing it, you hear footsteps. 

You immediately turn around and see someone in a yellow outfit, it’s Shedletsky in his chicken suit.

“Shed, it’s you! You scared the hell out of me,” you say as you finish fixing the generator. You stand up and look at him. “Do you need anything?"

“Can we stay together? I feel like I’ve been followed,” he says. You glance at him and reply, “We’re always being followed.”

He nods.

“Yeah, you can. Let’s stay together and find another generator,” you say, and he smiles.

You both walk together, searching for the next generator. 

You understand why he wants to stick with you, because last time, while you were searching for the others, you saw Shedletsky getting grabbed by his own creation, 1x1x1x1.

You pulled out your gun and shot 1x in the shoulder. He turned to face you, and you fired again. 

The second shot forced him to dodge, giving you the distraction you needed to grab Shedletsky and run.

You didn’t just save him, you protected him. You even defended him when c00lkid was about to stab him with his own sword. 

You stopped the kid and scolded him. Since you’re c00lkid’s best friend, he listened. He didn’t hurt Shedletsky and instead went after the other survivors.

That’s where it all started. Now, Shedletsky follows you around like a chicken chasing the seeds you hold, just like the game you played.

As you walk together, you suddenly grab Shedletsky’s arm and pull him behind a tree. You spot John Doe patrolling nearby, looking for survivors.

You feel a warm hand wrap around your arm. You turn to see Shedletsky clinging to you like a lifeline. He looks at you, his eyes full of worry.

You smile, silently reassuring him that you’ll both be okay. As Doe walks away, you still hold onto Shedletsky, who clings to your arm like a koala.

Eventually, you both make your way to the group. You see Chance and Taph fixing a generator, while Builderman keeps watch.

“Is there another generator left?” you ask.

Builderman shakes his head. “This is the last one.”

You look at Chance and Taph just as the generator finishes repairing. The round ends, and all of you sigh in relief.

…

Now, you're all back in the lobby, relaxing. Chance and Taph chat together, Builderman tinkers with his tools, and others talk in the living room. You watch everyone enjoying their time.

You feel someone behind you, you already know who it is. You turn to see Shedletsky again, still staying close.

“Shed?” you call, using the nickname you gave him. He looks at you. “I’m sorry... I just want to stay close to you.”

You give him a look full of both worry and sympathy.

“Pizza’s here!” Elliot calls out.

You take Shedletsky’s hand and head toward the table. Everyone grabs a slice.

You grab two slices and hand one to Shedletsky. He whispers, “Thank you,” and you smile.

He sticks to you the entire time. Even when Elliot talks to you, Shedletsky stays right behind. 

When Builderman talks to him, you think he might walk away, but he always comes back to your side.

When you get tired, you lie down on the couch, enjoying a rare moment of peace. But it doesn’t last long, you notice Shedletsky sitting nearby, still close.

You sit up and glance at him. Maybe he’s this clingy because of the trauma. Maybe he just feels safe with you.

“Shed,” you call gently. He looks at you.

You open your arms, inviting him to lie down with you on the couch. He doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around you and lays on top of you.

You both rest together, taking in the peace, at least for now. Until the next round begins.

n: credit to the art.

[joelsrose]

A Hundred Mornings More

⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖fluffy ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The wooden boards of the porch creaked beneath the slow rhythm of the rocking chair, its gentle sway keeping time with the sleepy hush of dawn. You were curled up in his lap, settled against him like you belonged there—because you did. The air was still thick with morning mist, soft and dewy, clinging to your bare legs and dampening the hem of your oversized sleep shirt, but neither of you moved to go inside. It was too peaceful, too perfect a moment to disturb.

Joel’s arm was draped across your waist, hand resting on the curve of your hip, thumb brushing slow, lazy strokes against your skin like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—like his body just needed to be touching you, always. He was warm beneath you, wearing nothing but a threadbare henley and his old sweatpants, his glasses perched low on his nose as he sipped from the chipped mug in his other hand. The steam rose between you in lazy curls, and you could smell the dark roast and a hint of cedarwood from his skin, sun-warmed and steady, like safety.

The sun had just begun to peek over the trees, casting long golden rays across the dewy grass. You could hear the low cluck of the chickens from the coop out back, and the soft rustle of the breeze through the tall fields stretching out beyond the fence. It was so quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ribs and makes you aware of your own heartbeat.

You leaned forward and kissed his temple, his silver-streaked hair soft against your lips, a few curls still mussed from sleep. He didn’t flinch or speak right away, just let out a long breath through his nose, like your affection was something sacred, something grounding. Then, after a beat, his voice rasped low, husky from sleep and age and softness, “What’s that for?”

You smiled, your eyes drifting over his profile—those deep lines around his eyes, the stubborn stubble along his jaw, the weathered, lived-in hands that held you like something precious. You didn’t even have to think before replying, your words spilling out like honey, quiet and full of truth, “Just feelin’ grateful,” you said, voice barely louder than the wind. “To be here. With you.”

He turned his head to look at you then, really look at you, the sunlight catching in his eyes—warm brown and familiar, a little tired, a little shy. And for a long, slow moment, you just stared at each other. No words. No need. Just the steady thrum of shared mornings and soft silences and the way your soul quieted when his was near.

He kissed your shoulder with a tenderness that made the breath catch in your throat—not rushed or expectant, not meant to lead to anything more, just a soft, reverent press of his lips against your skin, like he was thanking you without words. The stubble along his jaw scratched lightly against you, and it made you shiver, not from the cold, but from the way it felt, the way it meant something—like that kiss carried every unsaid thing he didn’t always know how to give voice to. Your heart fluttered in your chest, all warm and aching, the kind of ache that felt like love blooming too fast inside a body too small to hold it.

Joel lingered there for a moment, his lips resting against your skin, breathing you in like he needed to memorize this second, like he knew life was always ready to steal away soft things when you weren’t looking. When he pulled back, he didn’t say anything at first, just stared out over the land that stretched out in front of you both, a sleepy world wrapped in light and mist and the promise of one more day.

Then, in a voice rough with sleep and emotion he didn’t bother hiding, he whispered, “Don’t know how I got so damn lucky.” He shifted slightly in the chair, his arm tightening around you like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold on tight enough. “To have this. To have you.”

Your eyes burned a little as you turned your face into the side of his neck, the scent of coffee and woodsmoke and something purely him flooding your senses. You kissed his pulse, slow and soft, and felt it jump beneath your lips.

And then you just sat there together, breathing in the morning, the horizon blushing pink and gold as the sun crept higher over the hills. Neither of you spoke again—not because there was nothing left to say, but because some moments were too sacred for words. You both knew this couldn’t last forever, not really—not when time had already carved so many years into Joel’s skin, not when the world had taken so much and given back so little—but still, you found yourselves wishing for it anyway.

For just one more morning like this. And another. And a hundred more after that. A whole lifetime of sunrises shared from this same porch, on this same chair, in the safety of each other’s arms—wishing, selfishly, sweetly, for more time. Always just a little more.

Because loving Joel Miller felt like chasing the sunrise: brief and golden and painfully beautiful—something you’d wake early for every single day, just to witness it all over again.

[pokesturns]

STURNIOLO FANFIC ⇢ POST-VIDEOSHOOT DRYHUMPING

sum. matt and y/n, caught in the heat of the "like me" music video shoot, steal a passionate moment in a cramped dressing room.

feat. matt sturniolo

cw. dryhumping, sexual content, smut, nsfw.

wc. 1.233 words

the studio hummed with the aftermath of a long shoot, the air thick with the smell of coffee and warm lights. matt and nick had been at it for hours, filming a music video for a surprise diss track aimed at chris—just a playful jab, something to make their brother laugh. the set was mostly cleared now, the crew on a quick break, nick sprawled in a corner scrolling through his phone, oblivious. the chaos had dialed down, leaving a quiet that felt almost intimate, like the world was holding its breath.

matt didn’t notice the quiet. he couldn’t, not with y/n pressed against him in the tiny dressing room, the door locked, the space so cramped their bodies had nowhere to go but closer. they’d been together for months, the kind of couple that thrived on stolen moments—quick kisses between takes, her hand in his back pocket, his arm slung over her shoulders like it belonged there. but this? this was something else, a desperate edge to their need, the kind that comes when you’ve been teasing each other all day, brushing past, catching eyes, knowing exactly what’s coming.

the dressing room was a mess—makeup brushes scattered on a narrow counter, a chipped mirror reflecting their tangled shapes, a single chair pushed against the wall. y/n was up on the counter, her legs spread, matt slotted between them, his hips grinding into hers with a slow, filthy rhythm that had them both panting. her hands were in his hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, her breath hot against his neck as she arched into him.

“fuck, matt,” she whispered, voice low and ragged, her lips brushing his ear. “you’re gonna ruin me like this.”

he grinned, teeth grazing her jaw, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her tighter against him. “good,” he murmured, voice rough. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” he rolled his hips again, deliberate, the friction of his jeans against her thin leggings sending sparks up his spine. he was hard, achingly so, the bulge in his pants pressing right where she needed it, and the way she gasped told him she felt every inch.

they weren’t new to this—grinding like horny teenagers, stealing moments where they could—but today was different. maybe it was the adrenaline of the shoot, the way y/n had been teasing him all morning, brushing her ass against him when no one was looking, whispering dirty shit in his ear during a lighting reset. whatever it was, it had them both wound tight, ready to snap.

her crop top was rucked up, bunched above her bra, and matt’s hands were everywhere—sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts through the lace, his thumbs brushing her nipples until she moaned, soft but desperate. “you’re such a tease,” she said, but there was no heat in it, just want, her legs hooking around his waist to pull him closer.

“me?” he laughed, low and dirty, his lips trailing down her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. “you’re the one wearing these fucking leggings.” he punctuated it with a harder thrust, his cock straining against his jeans, dragging against her core through the layers of fabric. she was soaked—he could tell, even without touching her, the way her hips bucked, chasing the pressure, her breath hitching every time he hit the right spot.

“shit,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, scratching through his shirt. “matt, faster.” her voice was a plea, and it lit him up, made him grind harder, faster, the counter creaking under her weight. the mirror rattled, reflecting their mess—her flushed cheeks, his dark eyes, the way their bodies moved like they were made for this.

he slid one hand down, gripping her ass, squeezing hard as he pulled her against him, setting a rhythm that was almost brutal. the denim of his jeans was rough, perfect, catching against her leggings just right, and she was falling apart, her moans getting louder, needier. “fuck, you feel so good,” he said, voice low, almost a growl, his forehead pressed against hers. their breaths mingled, quick and shallow, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and her perfume.

“matt—god,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling, her hands clawing at his back like she was trying to climb him. “i’m so close.” her voice cracked, and that sound, that desperate edge, sent a shiver down his spine. he wanted to hear it again, wanted to make her shake, wanted to feel her come undone without even taking their clothes off.

“yeah?” he said, his lips brushing hers, not quite a kiss, just a tease. “come for me, baby. let me feel it.” he ground into her harder, angling his hips to hit her clit through the layers, relentless, his hands keeping her pinned so she couldn’t squirm away. she was panting now, her moans turning to sharp little cries, her body tensing, arching, so close he could almost taste it.

“fuck, fuck, matt—” her orgasm hit like a wave, her body shuddering against him, her nails biting into his skin, her mouth open in a silent scream that turned into a low, broken moan. he felt her hips jerk, her thighs clamping around him, her whole body pulsing as she rode it out, grinding against him like she couldn’t stop. the sight of her��head thrown back, lips red, eyes half-closed—nearly pushed him over the edge.

he wasn’t done, though. he kept moving, slower now, dragging it out, chasing his own release. his cock throbbed, trapped in his jeans, but the friction was enough, her heat against him, the way she was still trembling, still clinging to him. “shit, y/n,” he groaned, his hands tightening on her hips, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. “you’re gonna make me lose it.”

“do it,” she whispered, her voice wrecked, her lips brushing his. “want you to.”

that was it. he ground into her one last time, hard, and came with a low, guttural sound, his body shaking as the release hit, hot and overwhelming, his jeans damp where he’d spilled. he buried his face in her neck, breathing hard, her scent grounding him as he came down, their bodies still pressed together, sweaty and spent.

they stayed like that, catching their breath, her hands softening in his hair, his arms loosening around her. the mirror showed them disheveled—her top still pushed up, his shirt wrinkled, both of them flushed and grinning like idiots.

“we’re a fucking mess,” y/n said, her voice hoarse, a laugh bubbling up as she fixed her bra, tugging her top down.

“worth it,” matt said, stealing a quick kiss, his lips lingering on hers, soft and lazy now. “always worth it.”

she smirked, hopping off the counter, her legs a little shaky as she smoothed her leggings. “you’re gonna have to act normal out there,” she said, nodding at the door. “nick’s gonna know something’s up.”

“let him,” matt said, adjusting his jeans, still buzzing, still half-hard just looking at her. “he’ll get over it.”

y/n laughed, low and teasing, as she unlocked the door. “round two tonight?” she asked, glancing back, her eyes glinting.

“count on it,” he said, and followed her out, the studio lights bright, the crew filtering back, the world snapping back into place; but the heat between them? that wasn’t going anywhere.

©pokesturns any and all forms of modifications, reposts, and translation of my work are prohibited.

[jarofstyles]

All Night Long

Hi my ducklings! This is a one shot about 70’s rockstar H. Loosely inspired by the song All Night Long by rainbow. Very random but I’ve been meaning to do something like his for ages! 🎸🥀💫

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings 🫢

WC- 7k 

Warnings- talks of being with other people (from both), unprotected sex, oral, impact play/ spanking, light possessive behavior, etc

Every night was similar, but there was always a different crowd. A different energy. A different section would hold their lighters up first, creating the domino effect until the entire arena was lit up, making his heart swell. Music had always been his thing, and it always would be. Getting picked up on a whim after stopping into the very last label with nothing but his acoustic guitar, which he had aptly named Betty, and a duffle bag on his back? It had been a sheer stroke of luck for both the label and himself. 

He was quickly on the rise. The radios playing his songs, record sales reaching new heights, and money he had never even dreamt of seeing. When he’d arrived in Los Angeles, his dream had been to make it big- but the real goal had been to make enough money to keep his mum and grab afloat back in England. The glitz and the glamour had appealed to him always- he wouldn’t lie- but he knew his true values. Some may have changed or slipped along the way, but Harry knew what he wanted from a young age- and that hadn’t changed now as he sat in his dressing room, undone from the show he’d just preformed. Glitter still clung to his slightly damp skin, liner smudged on his waterline barely there, but there was no denying exactly what he was. 

A star. 

He had adapted surprisingly well. In his head, he attributed it to being slightly delusional. Growing up he had always said this was what he was going to do. Constantly getting told off for being a show off, singing on the street corners, finding any gig he could, he had long dreamed for a time like this. The grammy’s were two weeks away and he’d be playing a string of shows in California on the way there- the California Lovin’ tour. $9 a ticket was considered pricey by some, but they were all sold out. The label was happy and the man himself was happy- but something was missing. 

The last four shows, a notable figure had been missing from the crowd. Her long hair wasn’t swaying as she bobbed to the music, no drink in her hand. The alluring energy she always brought when she eyed him up and locked gazes as he gyrated against the mic stand was missing. The flames of heat hadn’t licked up the sides of his stomach when she wrapped her lips around the pink straws he had at his venues. She wasn’t there at all, and that wasn’t something he liked. He’d grown fond of her, his little dove. It seemed she had flown away for a bit, but when she had come right back to him tonight? He had every intention of keeping her in his golden cage along with him. 

 Harry leaned back against the plush velvet couch, his long legs stretched out before him as he watched her walk in, shutting the door firmly behind her. Finally. His body relaxed slightly as she was finally in front of him again, where he was fairly certain she belonged. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he eyed her appreciatively. Gorgeous legs highlighted by a tiny little shift dress, long hair swaying behind her back- it was in pretty waves tonight, with a scarf tied around her head like a headband-, arms crossed as the slightly faded red lips quirked up in a smirk at the sight of the man in front of her. 

Y/N had always been gorgeous- stunning, even. She was someone that had taken his breath away mid song, making him cough as he pulled away from the mic. Between the next song he had bent down to his main guard to tell him to get her backstage as soon as he was off. He knew just from the first time with her it would be a repeat thing, but he had underestimated the hold she would have on him. Being out of it the last few shows had been unacceptable, but with his little dove flying free, his mind wasn’t all there. 

It was fucked, and no one else had brought his mind back down to earth.

 "Been searching for you all night, love. Thought maybe you'd gotten lost in the crowd. Y’know I like to see a pretty face when m’singing." He tapped the ash off his cigarette, patting the seat beside him. The rings had been discarded onto the coffee table, right into the little tray that his gran had brought him the first time he’d been able to afford to send them both tickets to fly here. "Come sit, dove. Tell me what's kept my favorite girl away so long."

“Couple’a bands been in town lately, Styles.” She murmured, slinking over to his side. Heeled boots were kicked off to the side, she got comfortable on the all too familiar couch as she stole his cigarette from his lips to take a drag. Exhaling the smoke right in his face, she gave him a laugh at his wrinkled nose before collapsing back into the seat. “Wanted to taste the flavors. Been getting too comfortable backstage with you.” 

Y/N wasn’t dumb. As much as she knew she had gained a bit of a reputation, she was smart about it. She knew how the rockstars were. regardless of having a favorite girl, a muse, as he had once called her, her mind didn’t sugar coat it- no matter how tempted she was to add caramel to the slightly burnt thought. Y/N was a groupie. There was no illusion that she was something truly special to him, even if she wanted to be. 

Living this sort of way, you had to protect your emotions. Musicians were emotional and sugary creatures. They may feel that you’re their soulmate in the moment, but when the sun rises and the post orgasm clarity hit- or the high came down- they were ready to find the next thing. A new girl, a new flavor. They had the entire world to sample so she couldn’t exactly say that she blamed them. But some of the girls came into this thinking they’d snag a rockstar forever. A few, very select ones did. It didn’t last too long, usually. A tour cycle, perhaps, but they were left in the dust after the fact. Writing and calling became too hard for the stars and their little muses melted into faded memories and lyrics they sang of on the stage. Their presence in their minds because two minutes and forty seconds as they preformed the songs and faded back into the obscurity after they moved onto the next. 

Y/N was looking to have fun. Not getting hurt.

Y/N was good at being trouble, and trouble always made things interesting. The smoke curled around them as he reached out to snatch it back, taking a long drag before crushing it out in the ashtray beside him. "Flavours, huh?" He repeated, his gaze narrowing on hers. "Y’mean you've been out there fucking other bands, love?" His tone was light, teasing even, but there was a hint of something else beneath the surface.

No, he didn’t like that. Not one bit. She didn’t want to admit that it pleased her that he had any reaction at all.

“Mhm.” The girl nodded, stretching her legs out in front of her. She would say that he wouldn’t get the pain of heels, but the size of the chunky heel on his boots he preformed in sometimes rivaled hers- so she bit her tongue. “I’m sure you had a few other girls back here too cause I wasn’t here.” That was how it was supposed to work. These musicians? They were dripping in pussy. Or ass, depending on what they wanted. Life was a piece of cake for them despite the slightly grueling days. She had followed enough of ‘em around to know to expect it.

Running his hands through his messy waves, he let out a laugh - genuine but with an undercurrent that hinted at something more. It didn’t please him to know that she was out there with god knows fuckin’ who. Jagger? Please. That fucker didn’t have shit on him.  "Maybe I fucked other birds, love." He shifted closer, intentionally invading her space. He wanted to smell her again, the spicy vanilla, incense- he knew it was Ciara by Revlon because she’d had it in her bag last time she went back to his bus. "But they didn't mean shit. None of 'em have your mouth, or those legs.." His hand moved to brush against her thigh, testing her reaction. "You know I always save the best for you." His voice dropped lower, more intimate as he gaged her reaction. They weren’t promised to each other, nothing like that- but it did burn him a bit to think of sharing.

Y/N clenched her jaw before relaxing it, cursing herself for feeling the telltale heat rising between her legs. Her traitorous pussy. It always did this around Harry. He always illicted some sort of heat that made her want to start panting,  roll over and spread her legs. It had been hard to beat, and no one had- even if she had gone off to try and chase the feeling with other people. The man was addicting, and it was precisely why she had made herself miss a few shows to go fuck. As much of a maneater as she wanted to claim to be, her soft spot for the man was dangerous. “Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re flattering me to get laid. Again.”

Harry snorted, amused at her bluntness. He could never accuse Y/N of being anything less than straight-forward. It was refreshing, actually. Most girls would swoon at his flirtations, simper and blush. Not Y/N. She called him on his bullshit and it appealed to him more than she would ever be able to know. In a world where people bullshit him daily for money, sex, tickets, whatever- an honest woman was a rarity in it. A little treasure. A smirk played about his lips as he leaned back, lounging deliberately, showing off his arms as he stretched them over his head. He’d been getting workouts in every day and keeping up… and he knew his arms were her favorite things to bite. "Is that what you think, little dove?"

“Mhm. It’s what I know.” Y/N knew the song and dance. She knew him better than she portrayed. At least, she was confident she did. 

Harry was interesting, a bit weird, and he wasn’t exactly like the other men- but he was similar enough. The same song and dance, but with him it was a different tune. Another octave, maybe. He sat in his dressing room shirtless, with his glittery trousers hanging off his hips, and he’d made sure one of his crew had grabbed her from the crowd. She knew he would be wanting her. Making them wait would work on normal guys, but she had tested the theory with him.

"Well… maybe you're right." He admitted, leaning closer with a slow smile. Most girls would get their panties wet right now at seeing him like this - but Y/N just rolled her eyes again, completely unimpressed. It shouldn't have turned him on so much, but fuck it really did. He reached over, intentionally letting his fingers brush against her thigh again as he put his pack of cigarettes from the table. "Did they disappoint then? S’why you came back to me? Couldn’t get you off the way you want it?"

No one would be able to make her get off the way Harry could. People joked he had magic fingers, that everything he touched turned into a beautiful song- but it was true. Y/N sang for him every time he sucked on her clit or dug as deep as he could inside of her cunt, he knew how to make her cum so quickly her head spun. Multiple times, if given the night with him. It was part of why it was so infuriating. How did he manage to make her feel so good? “Don’t get a big head.” She scoffed, rolling her head to look at him.

He snickered, the sound low and raspy as it echoed in the room. Harry knew exactly what he did to her, how he made her feel. And fuck if he didn’t love it. Loved the way her body responded to him, the way she came undone under his touch. Letting his lips brush her skin his breath was hot against her ear as he spoke. "Too late, love. Already got a big head." He paused, his hand sliding up her thigh slowly, fingertips underneath the hem of her dress. "And it's not the only thing that's big. Y’know that very well."

Letting out a shaky breath, Y/N hated herself for letting her legs open up a little for him. As much as she wanted to resist him? She didn’t. She wanted his hands, his mouth, his cock. Everything, so long as he was the one touching her. She craved the filthy words of his as he got her cockdrunk and whimpering. So far, he was the only one prancing around a stage singing about sex that could actually uphold his lyrics. He loved pussy, he loved sex, and he was good at making other people love it too. “Stop being smug.” She huffed, trying to hold on to the irritation.

Harry just grinned at her, knowing he had her right where he wanted her. He loved the way she tried to hold onto her anger, her irritation with him. It was fucking adorable. It only made him want her more. "If you want me to stop, just say the word. Y’know I will." He challenged, his hand sliding even higher up her thigh until his fingers were brushing against the lace of her panties. He could feel the heat of her through the thin material, and it made his own body temperature rise in response. "I don’t think you want me to, though. I think you and this pretty pussy missed me far too much.”

His tone was wicked as his finger traced the edge of her panties, deliberately pressing against the fabric covering her clit. "All those dicks not hitting the right spots... were they?" His voice dropped to a whisper, like velvet against her ear. "Did you miss my tongue on your pussy, dove?  You try to fuck other people but ended up thinking of how deep I can go. What a shame." His other hand came up to lightly pinch at her bottom lip. "You can sit there pretending you don't want it, but this cunt’s weeping for me."

Her eyes darkened as his fingers teased her clit through the lace. Her jaw tightened, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to hide a whimper- but he didn’t let it stay there, pulling it from between her teeth. He watched those beautiful thighs clamp together slightly, giving herself the tiniest bit of relief. His dirty words didn't help her at all. They only made her more fucking wet. "Don't flatter yourself." She threw back at him, voice slightly tighter than before.

Harry chuckled darkly, his fingers idly tracing the seat of her panties, feeling the heat seeping through. "Too fucking bad, love. I can see right through you. And your cunt is screaming for my attention." His thumb pressed down on her clit, circling it slowly through the fabric. "You're so wet, baby. Should have just asked me for something different if you wanted to switch it up. Now you know no one else is going to cut it, so you came back t’who you knew could.” It would be a lie to say that didn’t stroke his ego.

 Harry loved being good at things. Singing, songwriting, guitar, art, poetry, exercises, selling out arenas- but most of all, being able to make someone orgasm. To be the best they ever had. For some reason, it felt a lot more important to be the best Y/N’s ever had, and now he gets to prove it. “And I’ll do it well enough that you won’t be under any fuckin’ delusion that anyone else can make you feel as good as I can."

She gasped, back arching slightly as his thumb pressed against her clit with more pressure, her mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping back open to glare at him. "Fuck you." She hissed, trying to sound angry, but it came out breathy and weak. Her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction. It pissed her off, looking at him as he watched with a smirk as her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of her dress- but it also turned her on. Why was his arrogance arousing? 

"Language, dove." He teased, increasing the pressure on her clit, feeling her wetness soak through the lace completely. "Look how needy you are right now. All that attitude but this pussy's crying for me." His other hand slid up her stomach, fingertips brushing the underside of her breast. Her dress was lovely, but it would need to go soon. Y/N was far too gorgeous to be covered up, especially with him. She was a piece of art. She’d no idea the songs she had already written about her, the things he wanted from her. "You missed my cock too much to even fake it with another man properly." He pressed harder on her clit, making her legs tremble. She had no idea how much that pleased him.

"You know what I love most about you, my little dove?" He whispered, his voice low and husky. "How fucking honest your body is. You can roll your eyes, stomp your feet,  give me shit all you want, but this pussy... it doesn't lie." He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under his lips. "It knows what it wants. And right now, it wants me."

She shuddered as his lips brushed her neck, pulse jumping wildly beneath his touch. Her eyes narrowed, a furious blush staining her cheeks as she tried desperately to maintain her glare. "Up yours, Styles." She spat, even as her thighs parted further involuntarily, inviting more of his teasing.

Harry laughed at her defiance, loving the way she tried to maintain her tough exterior while her body betrayed her completely. Without warning, he slid his fingers underneath the lace of her panties and gave her swollen clit a sharp, deliberate smack. The sound echoed through the room - a wet, intimate slap that made both of them gasp. 

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms—the only way to keep from grabbing him. "Don't flatter yourself. I just—ah!"

"Now, now. Enough of that.” He crooned, condescending as he rubbed back over her cunt, letting his palm rest over it. It was pure art that her hips moved up on their own accord, grinding into it. “I love you bein’ bitchy, but I think you’re getting a bit too worked up. S’been a few days since you’ve properly came, hm? We can take care of that now.” That was probably why she was even more irritated, and he was more than happy to help.

"Oh, fuck off." Y/N snapped, her face flushed with her annoying juxtaposition of arousal and annoyance. "You don't know shit all about me or my habits." She glared up at him, but her voice hitched as he continued to circle her clit. Harry just chuckled, the sound making her bristle. It was infuriating how much any part of the man affected her. She’d messed around with a lot of different stars, gotten her fill, but it never made her feel the way that his hands on her did. Electric.

"Don't I?" He murmured, before suddenly smacking her clit again - harder this time. The sound echoed through the room, and Y/N cried out, her hips jerking up off the couch. “I don’t think you would have come rolling back here if I didn’t know what you liked. You woulda’ moved on to the next man with his name in lights. Instead-“ His fingers swatted her again as she hitched her hips. “You came crawlin’ back to me.”

"Goddammit!" She growled, her face contorting. Her thighs tried to snap shut, but Harry was between them, keeping them where he wanted. It was obvious he got what he wanted, and she was cursing herself for wanting to give it to him. His fingers were back to rubbing lazy circles around her entrance, teasing. "You hit like a girl." She sneered, trying to regain some sort of upper hand. "No wonder you need a guitar to get laid." He threw his head back and laughed. He loved her mouth. It was like napalm - burning and dangerous.

Harry's eyes glinted with amusement at her biting remark, but he wasn't about to let her get the last word. With a swift motion, he tugged her panties to the side, exposing her dripping cunt. "Funny, this pretty little pussy doesn't seem to mind how I hit." He purred, slipping a long finger inside her without preamble. She gasped, back arching as he filled her, his fingertip curling just right to graze the spot he had become well acquainted with. "On the contrary, little dove- I think she really likes it. Look at how she’s dripping for me.”

Harry pumped his finger slowly,  feeling her clench around him desperately. "Funny how wet this needy cunt gets when I smack it. You can huff and puff all you want, princess, but we both know you fuckin' love it." He added another finger, stretching her deliciously as his thumb circled her clit. "Went off to get laid and it was for nothin’. I know they didn't make this pussy sing like I can. You’re wound up like you were the first show I got t’fuck you."

Y/N's breath hitched as he added another finger, her eyes fluttering closed despite her best efforts to maintain her defiant gaze. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more friction, more depth. A soft moan escaped her lips, betraying the pleasure she was feeling. She bit down on her lip hard enough to leave marks, trying to suppress the sounds of enjoyment that threatened to spill out.  Hands gripped the couch cushion tightly, knuckles turning pale as she fought against the overwhelming sensation of his fingers moving inside her. Thick, long and skilled, she fought herself valiantly- but it was nearly impossible not to lift her hips and chase them.

 It was infuriating that he was right.

 She hated letting men get a big head over shit like this, but it was undeniable. Harry was the best fuck in the entire industry, and he had the skills to prove it to her right now. The very skills etched into the horniest corners of her brain. Even those weren’t enough to have her pretending anyone else she’d laid with could compare to him. The reality was that he ruined her, a reality she didn’t want to accept.

"Look at you, trying so hard to act like you don't want this." Harry whispered, his breath hot against her ear as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her slowly. "Like you didn't come back here just for me to fuck this pretty cunt in the ways I know you like." He curled his fingers, rubbing that spot inside her that made her see stars. “You wouldn’t have had t’be missing it at all if you’d just kept comin’ to my shows. The music’s better- and so is the private encore.” 

"Goddammit." She whimpered, throwing her head back. Y/N could feel herself getting wetter, slicker, more needy - just like he said. He was right. She was a damn liar, she wanted his cock, and it was pointless to deny it. "Harry." She hissed warningly when he hit that spot again. "Stop being right."

Harry laughed deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest. He loved the way she tried to maintain her bad girl persona, even when she was writhing on his fingers like this. His lips captured hers without warning, swallowing any further sounds she might make. He kissed her deeply, aggressively - tongues fighting for the upper hand as his fingers sped up inside her. He ate up her moans, his free hand tangling in her hair.

The man kissed like he owned her. It was hard to deny that in moments like this, he sort of did. She had no intention of fighting back as he finger fucked her, kissing her and tasting the roof of her mouth and sucking on her tongue as she felt him groan into her lips. It was filthy- everything about the man was- but it was exactly the stuff she wanted.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this." He murmured against her lips, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against hers. His fingers never stopped moving, never stopped driving her closer to the edge. "All pretty and disheveled with my fingers buried deep in this tight little cunt. Tell me, love. How many of them got you this wet?" He nipped at her bottom lip, his voice low and possessive before he soothed the sting. "None of 'em could make you feel as good as I can, could they?"

Y/N's defiance finally crumbled as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her hands flew to grip his hair, nails digging into his scalp as she held on for dear life. "Fuck you," she whimpered, but there was no bite behind it anymore. Just raw honesty in her husky voice. "None of them ever made me feel like this." She arched into him, shamelessly riding his fingers now. "You ass." The insult was breathed out like a prayer as he simply smirked against her.

"That's right, love." He praised, his fingers curling perfectly inside her as his thumb pressed down hard on her clit. "Only I can make this greedy little pussy sing. Only I know just how to touch you to make you fall apart." He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his voice dark and commanding. "So why don't you be a good girl and get on those knees, get my cock wet so I can fill this cunt up?” He slipped his fingers out of her, cooing softly at her whine at being empty. “You were a smart enough girl to wrap it up with them, right?”

He pulled back slightly to look at her face, knowing the sight of his shiny fingers coated with her wetness would drive her wild. His voice dropped to a lower register, pure sex. "Because fuck me, love, I think… I want to bury my dick deep inside you, nice n’bare. Want you to feel every inch as I stretch you tight..." His thumb, still slick with her arousal, traced her bottom lip. "And I know you want the same."

If anyone else heard him say it, they’d probably threaten his contract on the spot. Drag him out with his pants round his ankles, right by his hair. A baby wasn’t something he should chance, but his impulsiveness in this moment wasn’t purely for his own pleasure. It was to go deeper with her than he’d done before. Maybe he was out of his mind, but he didn’t want to feel a thing there. He wanted someone no one else got to have.

Y/N's pupils were blown wide, her chest heaving with heavy breaths. She nodded eagerly, her tongue darting out to taste herself on his thumb. "Please," she whimpered, her voice dripping with desperation. It wasn’t something she’d ever consider with anyone else. Despite the other girl’s dreams of rock star babies, she wasn’t for that at all- but having Harry that uninterrupted? 

Maybe she’d be stupid. Just this once. 

"I'm on the pill... just fuck me, Harry. Fuck me raw." Her hands were already moving to unbutton his trousers, her eyes locked onto his with a fierce hunger. "I want to feel you finish inside me." It was irresponsible and something she knew she shouldn’t do but it would be a lie to say she didn’t think about it often. It wasn’t something she’d done before with anyone at all- famous or not- always making sure they wrap it up- but Harry? That was… different. As much as she didn’t want to admit it- at all- he was different in all the ways.

"Fuck yes." he hissed, quickly unbuttoning his trousers and pushing them down. His fully hard cock sprang free, already leaking. In all honesty, he’d been worked up since the sight of her had graced his eyes during the opening number, and it was well enough time to get it taken care of. He grabbed her hair in one hand, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. It took her a moment to scramble down onto her knees, but she did it easily. It was a place she was more than familiar with now, and he had to admit she looked the best there.

 He’d had plenty of women, but none of them looked at his cock the way she did- like she was hungry for it. "Look at you, so ready to take my cock like a good girl." His voice was strained as he guided her mouth towards him, fingers wrapped in her hair. "Look at those pretty lips..." He ran his free hand over his cock, stroking it firmly as her breath washed over him. "Get it wet, y know how I like- Christ..." he gasped, watching her spit directly on the head of his cock before he had even finished his sentence.

 It dripped down the length, making it slick and glistening. Her dirty little habit of prepping his dick was fucking perfection every time. "You're such a- fuck." He tightened his grip on her hair, guiding her head forward slowly. "A dirty fucking girl." The way she looked up at him with those bedroom eyes drove him wild. "Suck me right, dove. Show me that you missed it."

As she took him into her warm, wet mouth, he let out a loud groan. She knew exactly how to move her tongue, how to apply the perfect amount of pressure with her lips. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, just like he loved. He started to gently thrust his hips, fucking her mouth slowly. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing over her bottom lip as he watched himself disappear between her lips. "So fucking good." He praised, his voice strained with pleasure.

Her mouth was a goddamn masterclass in sucking cock. Y/N took him deep, her tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of his shaft before sucking hard on the head. He could feel her saliva coating him, making his cock glisten and slick. She knew exactly how to use her hands too, one wrapping around the base of his cock while the other cupped his balls gently, rolling them in her palm. "Fucking hell," he groaned, his hips moving faster as he fucked her mouth deeper.

"Goddamn. You really do love it." he laughed incredulously. He’d had a pretty good feeling of it, but actually feeling it in her actions was something that made him feel that bone deep satisfaction. With his deep breathing, he tried to commit the very vision of her mouth stretched around his cock to memory. His fingers tightening in her hair unconsciously as she gagged just a bit before pulling up, letting the spit drool down to his sac with little hesitation. Y/N knew he liked it messy.

In fact, she knew how to make him lose control quickly - too quickly. He'd had plenty of blow jobs, but none that made his body tense up and his balls draw tight like hers. He could feel his release building fast - too fast- and he needed to stop it before he blew. He pulled back sharply, his length shiny with spit. "Damn you," he muttered, watching her lick her lips innocently. "One more suck like that and I'd be coming down your throat."

Fluttering her lashes at him, she let out a giggle as she licked back over the length of his cock, letting him rub the tip over her tongue before pulling her back. He’d asked her to get it wet, and she’d done just that.

"Fucking tease." he growled, but there was no real anger behind it. More like frustration and desire. He yanked her up by her hair, his mouth crashing against hers in a rough, demanding kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue and it only turned him on more. "Need to be inside you." he muttered against her lips, spinning her around and bending her over the couch. "Gonna fill that little cunt up like I promised."

Making sure she was comfortable in the position, he pushed her face down to rest against the arm of the couch. This was a view he’d never tire of either. Her body was a dream, something he was obsessed with when he closed his eyes. The obsession had only continued to build as the days went on. 

He rubbed the thick head of his cock up and down her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal. The sensation made him grunt, his fingers digging into her hips. "Fuck me, little dove. You're soaked." he groaned, feeling her wetness smear over his length. He circled her clit teasingly with the tip, making her shudder and whimper. "Look at how eager this greedy pussy is." He teased, pressing the head against her entrance but not pushing in yet.

"Such a pretty little cunt. All swollen and needy..." he continued to taunt her, pressing just the tip inside her before pulling back. He knew she hated this - hated when he made her beg. And fuck if it didn't make him harder. She bucked her hips backwards trying to force him inside, and he merely snickered at the efforts. "So impatient, love." He smacked her ass hard enough for a handprint to form. "Ask nicely, hmm?" His voice was pure sin - knowing exactly how she wanted it.

Y/N whimpered, her nails digging into the couch cushions. She hated how much he liked to toy with her, how much he loved to make her beg. But fuck, she was so desperate for his dick right now, she'd suck his ego up if she needed to. "Please," she choked out, her voice strained with need. "Fuck me, Harry. Please, fill me up." Her voice was so soft, so pleading - it was like music to his ears.

"That’s my girl. Going t’give it to you." He promised, finally lining himself up and slamming home in one smooth stroke. He groaned loudly, feeling her tight walls stretch around him beautifully.  Pulling back almost completely, he thrusted right back into her again, hard enough to make her cry out. His pace was punishing, meant to make her feel every inch of him.

Make her remember who fucked her cunt this good.

"So perfect, baby. Like your pussy was made just for my cock." He grunted, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks. He could feel her inner muscles fluttering around him, trying to pull him in deeper. It was different being inside of her with no rubber, no barrier at all. Hotter, more wet. It was a raising fear that he wouldn’t ever be happy with another pussy ever again, but that was something he’d unpack while he plucked at his guitar strings later on. "You like that? You like being stretched out on my dick?" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust, his balls slapping against her clit. "Seems like you do. You're so fucking greedy for it."

He watched as her fingers gripped the couch tighter, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps each time he bottomed out inside her. Her body was tense, completely focused on the overwhelming sensation of being filled. Small whimpers slipped past her lips with every thrust, her attempts to bite back noises completely futile. The handprint on her ass looked perfect against her skin, and the sight of his cock disappearing into her wet pussy was the most obscene, beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Look at you, taking it so well," he praised, his voice gruff. He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her covered back as he wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand snaked down between her legs, finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. "Such a good girl, taking my big cock so deep. I know you’ve been so disappointed lately…” the condensing sneer made her grit her teeth. “But I’m here to make it all better. Make sure you know how can do this to you- the only person who can." He rolled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. The onkk man that had been able to get at.

"Oh god," she whimpered, surrendering the bratty act. It felt too good, pleasure all consuming, for her to keep it up. There was no denying that it was embarrassing how quickly he could make her orgasm, how good he could make her feel in a matter of moments. She’d blame it on not having a proper orgasm in a weeks time, but deep down she knew it was him.

It was always Harry. 

He had ruined her and it was all his stupid fault. He had managed to make her go insane by default. Harry and his charming smile and filthy words, his glittery outfits and chunky rings, his large platformer boots and soft hands with guitar made callouses to break them up. Harry fucking Styles and his fluffy wavy hair and dimpled cheeks and his big, perfect cock that had made her into a melted puddle on the velvet couch of his dressing room- a place she was going to keep going back to until he wouldn’t have her anymore. 

"Baby, please... Oh fuck, Harry!" He felt her internal walls squeeze him tight as he hit that perfect spot over and over. Her legs began to tremble, and he knew she was close. So close.

 "Shhh, my little dove," he crooned against her ear, his voice soothing despite the dirty promises he was whispering and how deep his cock was inside of her. "Just let go, let me feel you come all over my dick. Show me how much you missed it."

He felt her body tense, her back arching as she let out a loud, uninhibited cry of pleasure. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vice as she came undone, her orgasm ripping through her and dripping all over his cock. It took everything to keep himself from spilling inside of her right there, but it was too soon. There was still more to prove to her, specifically that he was the only one that was going to be able to make her feel the way she wanted. He continued to thrust through it, his fingers still working her clit and drawing out her high. "That's it, love. That's my girl," he praised, his own release building rapidly.  "You're so fucking perfect like this. So perfect for me." 

Harry was going to write about this. After he took her back to his bus, then his hotel, he’d take his notebook out and write lyrics about how heavenly it felt to be inside of her, how the warmth could be felt in his bones. How being squeezed tight brought him to another dimension. Y/N’s cunt was top tier, and having her underneath him showed him that much. He’d lay her in the bed in one of his shirts and let her sleep as he mulled through how she made him feel. 

Considering he hadn’t had any plans on committing to anyone, Y/N had been a curveball in every sense of the word, but he didn’t like the ugly feeling that had come up at the knowledge she had been with someone else. If she wanted a threesome, he could make that happen- an orgy, if that was what tickled her fancy- but he wanted to be the one she came back to. 

His little spitfire, his little dove, his groupie, his. That’s what she was meant to be, and he was going to prove it.  Once her orgasm subsided enough that she wasn’t trembling, he pulled out, flipping her over onto her back with surprising ease. She barely had a moment to catch her breath before he was aligning himself at her entrance again, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Hope you're not done yet, love," he teased, rubbing his hard cock against her sensitive clit. "Because I'm far from finished with you."

[sai-int]

rts!simon saying ily for the first time

ndsmkdwjsk

why am I crying rn omg

it happens late, like most things between you do. the air is still, heavy with the afterglow of something soft and slow—love made in the hush of your shared room, all quiet gasps and murmured names, limbs tangled beneath the sheets simon insists on keeping tucked so tight it’s a miracle you ever manage to wrestle under them.

the only light is from the bedside lamp, dim and amber, though bright enough to cast everything in that dreamy haze that makes the world feel smaller. safer. like the rest of it doesn't exist. like it's just the two of you, tucked away from reality.

he's on his side, propped up on one elbow, just... looking at you.

you blink up at him, chest rising and falling gently beneath the covers, flushed from pleasure, drowsy with warmth. “what?” you ask, brows furrowing. “do I uh— have, like… something on my face?”

he just shakes his head. once.

“no.” a beat. “just… can’t believe y’real.”

your stomach flips. “simon,” you say quietly, teasing but a little breathless, and he only keeps staring.

your hand’s resting between you both on the mattress, bare and easy, and his reaches out for it—fingers brushing yours, then lacing together. he lifts it, eyes never leaving your face, and presses a kiss right to the band on your ring finger. one that you had were longing for, one that cost more than it should’ve because it reminded you of a daisy, with little delicate diamond petals etched into the gold.

—you’d cried when he gave it to you. told him you truly didn’t need that one. and he’d said “anythin’ f’you, sweet’art. it’s yours.”

now, he holds it to his lips, and his voice is barely more than a whisper when he says, “i love you.”

it knocks the breath right out of you.

not because you didn’t know. god, you’ve always known. you’ve seen it in the way he cares for you, the way he shows up, again and again—even when it’s hard, even when the world’s tried to beat the softness out of him.

simon loves you in a hundred ways: in the food in the fridge, in the shirts turned inside out in the laundry, in keeping the hallway light on when he knows you get nervous in the dark.

he loves you in silence. in acts of service. in the way he’s built you a life and quietly placed himself at the center of it.

but hearing it? soft, tentative, so unlike the man the rest of the world knows?

it wrecks you.

“simon,” you whisper, teary-eyed before you even realize it, and then you’re climbing on top of him, throwing your arms around his neck, giggling like a fool as you pepper kisses over his cheeks and jaw and mouth.

“i love you so much,” you say between kisses, “so, so much, you idiot, i’ve been waiting forever for you to say it—”

he groans but he’s smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen it and genuine, the kind of grin he only ever lets out when he’s with you, and he wraps his arms around your waist and rolls you over so you’re under him again.

“wasn’t ready,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “but y’waited.”

you nod, eyes glassy. “always would.”

he kisses you slow. sweet.

—and later, when you're tangled together and drifting off—his face buried in your neck, your fingers playing with the dog tags he never takes off—you think about how love isn't always loud. sometimes it’s quiet. sometimes it’s late.

but it’s always worth it when it’s him.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Soulmate(s) | Part 3

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 11.3k

Summary: In a world where you get the name of your soulmate tattooed on your skin the night you turn 21, there should be no reason to even think about fucking around with anyone else. Why would you when you know that the perfect person who is made just for you is somewhere out there waiting for you to find them? 

So how the hell did you end up messing around with your two best friends and what are you going to do if neither of them ends up being your soulmate or worse, what if one of them is your soulmate?

Warnings: fem!reader, soulmates au, this is not a light fic, there will be backstabbing and manipulation, sub!soobin, dom!soobin, sub!gyu, dom!gyu, switch!gyu, switch!soobin, handjob, cunnilingus, blowjob, tit-fucking, cumming all over oc lol, use of fleshlight/vibrator, somno

Bit by bit, the boys convince you to go further, telling you that two of you are bound to be soulmates and that since you all like each other so much anyway, there would be no harm in sharing for a little bit–to explore this new intimate side to your friendship before the official reveal, and that because you all cherish each other so much, that there would be no hard feelings when the third person eventually has to gracefully step back and seek out their own soulmate after having had this unforgettable, almost sacred experience with the people closest to them in the world. It would all turn out fine if you just keep it lowkey. 

That would all be good and well were you one of the boys, but as it stands, you still find yourself holding back due to your persisting sense of unease about the taboo situation and the possible fallout despite their nonchalant reassurances, and you naturally find that you’re not experimenting with them as often as they are with each other. It’s easy to proclaim that none of you would have hard feelings when you’re not the one being left out while the other two grow closer and closer each day.

You know you have no right to feel jealous. You’re the one holding yourself back while the boys have been nothing but welcoming and enthusiastic about your participation, but you just don’t understand how they can be so chill about this. First of all, what you were doing was highly frowned upon and you’d get a lot of flack if this were to get out to others. Second of all, someone is bound to get hurt no matter what they say, and you have a bad feeling it will end up being you if the way they’ve been acting so lovey-dovey with each other is any indication. 

Just like they are right now. 

You have just woken up and headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat, pulled there by the delicious smell of pancakes cooking, but before you can step fully in and announce your presence, you see the two boys in each other’s arms–or more like Soobin in Beomgyu’s arms as the older boy tried to cook the pancakes while the other wraps his arms around his waist and teasingly jerks him off. 

“I’m seriously going to burn this.” Soobin complains, struggling to keep his eyes open and his attention on the stove in front of him. 

“That’s okay. We’ll just grab breakfast outside.” Beomgyu brushes him off, kissing his neck, but Soobin still resists. “The fire alarm will wake her up.” 

Your heart flutters at the mention of you–at least Soobin is thinking of you, right? How pathetic–but then Beomgyu chuckles. “Let it. Her lazy ass should be awake anyway.” 

You frown. Fucking asshole. 

“She’ll kick our asses.” Soobin hisses as Beomgyu brushes his palm over the head of his cock, his knees buckling at the pleasure. 

“Aw, you’re scared of her. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll protect you.” Beomgyu purrs, quickening his pace on the older boy’s cock and tearing a loud moan from him. “Just shut up about her and focus on me.” 

Fucking asshole, you repeat in your head. Well, if he’s so intent on excluding you, you won’t let him.

You announce your presence with a fake gagging sound, and both boys’ heads whip towards you, Soobin looking as if he was caught red-handed while Beomgyu maintains a smirk on his face.

“Do I really have to wake up to this first thing in the morning?” You ask sourly, pretending to be disgusted at the display to hide your jealousy. What the hell did Beomgyu mean by telling Soobin to shut up about you? Isn’t it enough that they’re doing this without you? Now he wants to banish the mention of your name too? What is he playing at? 

Oh, there you go again acting crazy over their close relationship with each other. This is exactly why this whole thing was a bad idea. Even though the three of you are very close friends, you were the third and last addition to the friendship. They had been friends for years before Soobin clumsily and literally stumbled into your life and dragged Beomgyu along with him, and even though you’d all been close since then and the boys never said or did anything outright to give you the impression that they favoured the other, you always secretly knew that you could never compete with the special bond they have with each other and that you’ll have to content yourself with being the unspoken third wheel in this friendship. Which is fine, you’ve had years to come to terms with it, but now you have to deal with being the third wheel in this illicit threeway too, and you don’t know if your heart and ego can take it.

“What’s wrong with this? You don’t like what you’re seeing?” Beomgyu teases, continuing to pump Soobin’s dick despite the other boy’s embarrassment. Not that he makes any effort to stop him. He just bites his lips and averts his eyes away from you. 

You do. You do like what you’re seeing, but sadly it also fills you with unbridled jealousy and feelings of inadequacy. 

“Not near my food. I don’t want cum splatter on my pancakes.” You hold onto your scowl, and Beomgyu laughs. “Fair enough.” 

He puts Soobin’s cock back in his pants before petting it teasingly, making the other boy whine. “We’ll finish this later, baby.” 

Beomgyu washes his hands and sets the dishes down while Soobin finishes up the last of the pancakes before making his way to the table, awkwardly struggling with his prominent boner that bunches up his sweatpants comically. 

Unfortunately, even with you sitting there at the table, they are still all over each other, chatting away about their plans for the day and what they have been up to. They try to keep you engaged and ask you questions but it’s hard for you to match their energy this early in the morning, especially when your mood has already been soured. You just sit there and listen to them talk each other’s ears off about this new album released by an artist they both like but you’re indifferent to, and all the hidden meanings behind his lyrics that throw back to previous songs only true fans will know. 

You feel completely isolated from them and it is only made worse by how touchy they’re being with each other, patting each other on the head affectionately or reaching forward to give a playful shove in jest or even just the way their bodies naturally lean close to the other person when they’re speaking. It fucking hurt your heart. 

To be fair to them, they try to include you too. Soobin makes sure to look at you when he’s talking so you can feel involved in the conversation and Beomgyu has one of his arms permanently draped around the back of your chair in a semi-embrace, but still isn’t the same. And soon your jealousy and annoyance reach their peak.

“Oh, hyung, this is so delicious! Have a taste.” Beomgyu holds up a piece of whipped cream covered strawberry but when Soobin leans in to try to have a bite, Beomgyu moves his hand and smears the whipped cream over his cheek, laughing. 

“Really, Beomgyu?” Soobin pouts, looking painfully adorable. 

“Sorry, hyung. You’re just so fun to mess with. Here, let me clean you up.” Beomgyu cradles Soobin’s face and brushes the whipped cream off with his thumb, but instead of wiping it on some tissues, he pushes it past Soobin’s plush lips and into his mouth, making the older boy suck it off. 

“There. How does it taste?” He asks, eyes dark as he watches Soobin suck on his finger. 

“Beommie.” Soobin slurs, “Stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing.” Beomgyu denies, biting his lip, making Soobin huff and pull him into a heated kiss, obviously still affected by what happened earlier. 

God this must be your own personal hell for agreeing to this diabolical deal. The boys look so fucking hot kissing each other mere inches from you but the sight also breaks your heart as you’re left seemingly forgotten once agin.  

Are they going to end up together?

You don’t want to be the one left out. Is it horrible to admit that? But if two of you end up together, the third gets left behind—and you’re scared it’ll be you. You don’t want that to be you. They fit together so easily, like they were made for each other. How are you supposed to compete with that?

You know Beomgyu is largely the instigator in this but Soobin is also much more receptive to his advances than you have been. You know you shouldn’t feel resentful and jealous since you're not making it any better for yourself either but you can’t stop yourself from getting pissed off at Beomgyu. If the pervert could just hold back a little bit, then you wouldn’t always feel so left out. Soobin at least has the decency to shy away from flaunting in front of you, but Beomgyu doesn’t seem to care if you’re there or not. In fact it seems as if he gets a kick out of riling you up. 

God, how you want to punish him for it… well, why don’t you? You’re part of this relationship too, no matter how neglected you’ve been. You’ll show him. 

You reach forward, grabbing onto Beomgyu shirt and yanking him back, disconnecting them and pulling him towards you instead. He barely gets any chance to react before your lips are on his. 

They are not as pliable as Soobin’s. You don’t allow him any control over the kiss, making it clear right away that you’re the one in charge, and your bruised heart is somewhat soothed when he gives in immediately, opening his mouth and letting you push your tongue in. 

“Do you ever not think with your dick?” You hiss when you pull back for breath and he has the audacity to smile. 

“Sorry, princess, I am just so horny.” He tells you shamelessly and you scowl. “And so bad. Maybe you need to be punished.”

He wears a shit-eating grin, his eyes glinting with excitement. “Oh, kinky.” 

______________________

He wasn’t so excited now. Not when he was bound to a chair and forced to watch you pleasure Soobin the way you've been metaphorically bound and forced to watch them love on each other. 

He tries to voice his displeasure, tries to whine but he can't say much when your panties are stuffed in his mouth, shutting him up for once. You can see how pissed off he is and if he can talk, you're sure he would chew you both out like he was before you had the bright idea to shut him up. Beomgyu loved being the centre of attention. He wanted both of you to dote on him and he hated seeing you play with each other and ignore him–but it is exactly this, giving him a taste of his own medicine, that gives you immense pleasure. 

Beomgyu writhes in his seat, grunting unhappily as he tries to break free of his restraints, his hips bucking into thin air. 

“Calm down, Beommie. You're gonna hurt yourself.” You tell him, actually concerned, and he glares at you, fighting against his restraints harder. 

Are you taking it too far? Is he actually upset?

Scared to ruin your tentative relationship, you reach forward to finally touch him–needing to prove to yourself that he doesn’t actually hate you, and as soon as your fingers brush his nipples, his back arches and he moans out from behind his gag pathetically. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so sensitive.” You tease, relieved, and he glares at you again but this time the intensity is tempered by the pleasure.

“Yeah, does that feel good, baby?” You coo, pulling lightly at his nipple and watching as his cock twitches and leaks precum, the sight of it making you rub your legs together in need. Fuck, you wanted him, and he wanted you too. 

He whimpers behind the makeshift gag and stares at you with big pleading brown eyes that make you weak. Fuck, why did he have to look so pretty?

“Fine, I'll be nice even though you don't deserve it.” You sigh, and instruct Soobin to get you your toy box from under your bed. He scampers away quickly to get it and for the two whole minutes he is away, Beomgyu does his best impression of a kicked puppy, whining and whimpering for you to give him some attention. 

“Damn, baby, relax. I said I’ll be nice.” You laugh, acting decidedly not nice as you kiss and nip at the skin of his thighs, so close to his cock, you can feel it almost bursting with need, and by the time Soobin comes back with your box, you’ve already left a few marks on his pretty skin which Soobin eyes up with envy for a second before their attention is quickly drawn to the item you pull out from the box. 

“Woah, why do you have this?” Soobin asks as you brandish a fleshlight, and you grin. “I got it to take care of my horny boys because I know you’re both just dying for a warm wet hole to stick your dicks into. Why, you wanna give it a try?” You ask Soobin but he surprises you by shaking his head no.

“No. Want you.” He says meekly and you frown.  “Soobin. You know I can't actually fuck you.”

“I know but…” He trails off, silently brushing his fingers between your thighs, and realization dawns on you.  “Oh you naughty boy. You wanna fuck my thighs?”

He nods eagerly and you laugh. “I suppose you can. It's dirty but I don't see why not.”

You turn towards Beomgyu, leaning forward so that your tits are hovering over his lap as you arch your back towards Soobin, letting him put his legs on either side of yours and push his cock between your thighs. 

“Oh.” You bite your lip, making eye contact with Beomgyu as Soobin's dick glides under your pussy as it moves in and out between your thighs. 

Beomgyu really doesn't look happy about being left out and you suppose you’ve tortured him enough. After all, you don’t actually want him to have a bad experience and ruin this for yourself even more. You gotta keep him happy too. 

“Don't give me that look.” You roll your eyes at him, gathering some of your spit in your mouth before letting it spill onto his cock, relishing in the sharp intake of breath he takes and the way his thighs tense as it makes contact. You then place the fleshlight at the head of his cock and slip it over it just slightly, teasing him. 

You hear a growl rise from deep in his chest and you laugh, pumping only the head of his cock, continuing to tease him. You have to admit it brings you a sick sense of pleasure to torture him like this when he's done nothing but drive you crazy lately. You want him to fall apart for you. You want to prove that he can want you as much as he wants Soobin. 

“Is it good, Beommie?” You taunt, your words coming out broken as Soobin fucks your thighs. Beomgyu's eyes narrow, staring at Soobin’s hands that were fondling your tits, and you grin with satisfaction. He’s the one feeling left out now. “Binnie’s having the time of his life fucking me and playing with my tits while Beommie’s all tied up, huh? Poor baby.”

He angrily jerks in his seat again, trying to free himself, but the sudden movement causes him to bottom out into the fleshlight, his ass falling backwards into the seat as he mewls at the sudden pleasure. Deciding you’ve been mean enough, you move your arm to continue to fuck his dick all the way with the fleshlight, and before long he was too delirious to fight anymore, his head lolling back at the pleasure and his hips shaking as he struggles to meet your fast pace. 

“There you go, Beommie. Does that feel good on your needy dick?” You ask, your voice suddenly rising in pitch as Soobin grabs your nipples and pulls on them more roughly as his hips smack against your ass harder and faster. “Pay attention to me. I thought he was the one being punished.” 

“He is. You’re the one getting to play with me however you want while he’s stuck fucking a plastic toy. Don’t be greedy, Binnie.” You chide him breathlessly, but you secretly love every bit of it. You love to have them fight over you. It soothes both your ego and your worries about being left in the dust. 

“You’re right. I'm the one who gets to do this.” Soobin says, pulling you up by the shoulders so you're sat upright instead of leaning over Beomgyu before he pulls your shirt up to expose your breasts to Beomgyu’s hungry eyes as he flicks the nipples and kisses your neck. “Beommie must be dying to do this. He talks about your tits a lot.” 

Beomgyu narrows his eyes at him in warning but Soobin doesn't care. “Yeah, what does he say about them?” 

“That he can't wait to fuck them.” He says, pushing them together to give Beomgyu a good show. He was teasing him and you’re living for it.  “Says that sometimes when we're sleeping in the same bed, your tits would fall out of your tank top and he'd have to hold himself back from climbing on top of you and fucking them until you wake up with his cum in your hair.”

You gasp, pressing your thighs closer together at Soobin's brazen revelation of Beomgyu's dirty fantasies. Your pussy flutter and drips onto Soobin's cock as he rams it between your thighs while you watch Beomgyu desperately fucking into the fleshlight in your hand, unfazed by Soobin spilling his secret fantasies to you. 

“Yeah, and what about you? I could feel your big, hard cock pressed against my ass every morning. Don't think you’re slick either.” You say and Soobin chuckles, pushing you back onto Beomgyu. You almost crash into his lap as Soobin palms your asscheeks in his big hands. “Yeah, wanna fuck your ass. That's not a secret. Me and Beomgyu wanna plug you from both ends.” 

Fuck. When did Soobin get so confident? Was all that was needed was to tie and gag Beomgyu in order to let Soobin's freak flag fly? 

“Do it then, baby.” You take the fleshlight off Beomgyu's dick, ignoring his muffled protests, and put it between your legs, offering it to Soobin to simulate him fucking you, and he is too far gone to think about it twice, immediately pushing his cock into it with a loud moan. 

“Yesss.” He hisses, hips picking up pace quickly, rocking your body back and forth to the point where you struggle to get your mouth on Beomgyu. So you grab his dick with your free hand and guide it towards you, finally taking it in and making the boy cry out at the sudden warmth surrounding his aching cock.` ~

Once he’s in your mouth, Soobin’s savage thrusts serve to push you over Beomgyu’s cock over and over again, at times making you gag on the other boy’s length, the tightening of your throat making him shake in pleasure as he meets your mouth with his desperate thrusts that choke even harder. But despite your dwindling air supply and the soreness of both your jaw and ass, you stay put, soldiering through it to fulfill the boys’ dirty fantasies and secure your spot in this ill-advised relationship. 

“Fuck–fuck–I’m close. Gonna cum inside you.” Soobin slurs, deep grunts are turning to breathy moans as his hips lose their rhythm and his large hands grasp onto your ass to push you backwards to meet his hips.

“Do it, baby.” You take your mouth off Beomgyu and replace it with your hand, maddeningly slowing your pace down on him to focus on Soobin. 

“Fill me up, Binnie. I need it bad.” You say sweetly, though your smile is anything but as you stare up at Beomgyu and watch him whimper and cry at having his own orgasm stolen from him.  

“I’m cumming. Take it, baby.” Soobin cries out, lost in his pleasure as he cums inside the fleshlight. 

When his frantic thrusts still, you pull the fleshlight off him, taking care not to spill any of his seed. You hold it up for Beomgyu to see, pushing two of your fingers inside and pumping them in a few times, coating your finger’s in Soobin white cum before you pull them out, brandishing them for Beomgyu to see. 

“Fuck, please.” He whimpers when you pull your underwear from his mouth but you quickly replace it with your fingers. 

“Taste it, baby. It’s delicious.” You mock his previous words and Beomgyu’s pretty lashes hang heavy with unshed tears. He obediently licks them clean for you, even sitting still while you push your fingers to the back of his throat and make him gag on them until the tears finally fall from his eyes. 

When you pull them back out, trailing a string of saliva behind them, Beomgyu pleads, “Please. I’m going insane. Please.”

“Aww, poor Beommie… I’ve been so cruel to you, haven’t I?” You taunt him, patting his cheek with your dirty hand and he nods. “You wanna cum now?” 

He nods again. You grin and bring the still cum filled fleshlight to his cock, pushing it down on his length and fucking him rapidly–Soobin’s thick, white cum covering his cock in seconds. 

“Oh–Oh, fuck… yeah, just like that. Please, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” He cries, but your evil laugh is quickly cut off when you feel a hand sneak between your legs, and look back to see Soobin grin as he rubs your sopping pussy. 

“Want you to cum too.” He tells you and you bite your lip, annoyed at him for undermining your moment of control and at yourself for how close you feel already, but you can’t keep that energy up for long because the pleasure quickly overcomes you after you’ve been on edge and neglecting yourself for so long. You frantically jerk off Beomgyu while you hump Soobin’s hand–the obscene wet noises from your activities filling the room. 

“Yes–yes–yes! Thank you!” Beomgyu screams, lifting his ass as far off the chair as he can as he bottoms out into the fleshlight, cumming and almost falling over in the process. You’re not far behind him, gasping as your legs shake and you struggle to stay up, the pleasure almost blinding you for a second.

By the time you all calm down, you’re all sweaty and dirty and achy but utterly blissed out. 

“Fuck, that was awesome.” Soobin laughs as he undoes Beomgyu’s restraints. 

“It was.” Beomgyu agrees, massaging his red wrists and ankles, “Next time, I get to tie one of you up.” 

“No way, freak.” You shudder. You hate to think what the perv would make you go through if he ever got you helpless in his hands. “Not happening.” 

He pouts. “Well, that’s just unfair.” 

“Tough shit.” You roll your eyes, standing up and heading to the bathroom to take a long hot shower. 

__________________

Even after doing all of that, you still can’t keep up with them. They’ve thrown themselves into this headfirst, as if the best-case scenario doesn’t end with someone’s heart in pieces, and you can’t bring yourself to do the same.

The relationship has gone beyond just sex. You all go on dates together now, but it still feels like you’re constantly vying for their attention. They move in sync, seamless in a way that makes you feel like an outsider in your own relationship. The inside jokes, the shared glances, the unspoken understanding between them—it gnaws at you, eating you from the inside.

Today is no exception.

This café used to be your favorite. The three of you had spent countless afternoons here—studying, venting, just existing together. It is very dear to your heart, almost like a second home. But today, it is anything but. Today, you find yourself wishing to be anywhere else.

You fiddle with your bracelet absently as the waiter arrives. Beomgyu orders without hesitation—his usual iced americano, your caramel macchiato, and—

“Strawberry matcha for Soobin,” he says easily, handing over the menus.

Your fingers pull at the bracelet, almost snapping it.

What?

“Since when does Soobin like matcha?” you asked, surprised, and a bit annoyed by how Beomgyu had made the order so casually as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Soobin hated matcha. He always said it tasted like grass so why was Beomgyu now acting like he's been a matcha connoisseur for years. 

You don't know why you’re fixated on that small, insignificant detail but it just felt like yet another thing you weren't included in. 

“Oh, since we tried that new shop, remember?” Beomgyu tells you offhandedly as if you should already know. He laughs loudly and nudges Soobin playfully, an unspoken joke between them.

“Ugh, don't remind me.” Soobin groans, hiding behind his hands, and your eyes flit between Soobin’s embarrassed expression and Beomgyu’s teasing one. 

“What, what happened?” You fake a laugh, trying to sound casual, trying to be included. 

“We almost got kicked out. You don't remember?” Beomgyu frowns then his eyes draw up in realization and he brushes the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oh right. You weren’t there.”

“No I wasn’t.” You don’t mean for your voice to come out bitter but you couldn’t help it. You clear your throat and try to cover your slip up with a tight smile. “What happened? Why did you almost get kicked out?” 

Soobin flushes, ears burning, his eyes still on Beomgyu. “Someone couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“No, someone couldn’t keep quiet.” Beomgyu retorts, putting a hand on Soobin’s thigh, making the older boy shift shyly and push his hand away. 

“Stop it! You’re gonna get us kicked out again.” He whines lowly and Beomgyu bites his lip and regards him with a hungry look as if he could just eat him up right then and there. 

You wish you would get kicked out so you don’t have to bear witness to your own heartbreak like this. You have been here with them many times before and you're sick of it. Each time it feels like they’re slipping away from you more and more, and you’re left chasing after their mirage.

“That sounds like fun,” you mutter, your smile fighting for its life to stay on your lips. “What else did I miss while you two were off without me?”

There was a slight hitch in Beomgyu’s smile, like he recognized the edge in your voice, but if he did he quickly masks it with his usual charm. 

“Oh, you didn’t miss much, really,” Beomgyu said, his tone remarkably casual. “Soobin just likes matcha now. That’s all.” Then he attempts to lighten up the mood, “Though I have trouble even calling what he drinks matcha. It’s all dessert flavoured processed crap that barely resembles real matcha.” 

“Oh, wow, we got a matcha supremacist over here. Not my fault, that's the only tolerable way to drink that stuff.” Soobin says defensively, but there was a fondness in his voice. He reaches out and lightly punches Beomgyu's arm, making Beomgyu let out a genuine laugh–not like the uncomfortable ones they’ve been putting on for you. 

You force a chuckle, but it rings hollow even to your own ears. You want to be part of this—to be in this relationship—but every shared glance, every effortless laugh, every unspoken understanding between them only makes you feel more and more like an outsider.

“Yeah, well maybe I’d like it too if it tasted like my caramel iced coffee.” You try to joke but the words fall flat. The boys still offer you half-hearted smiles, but they don’t quite reach their eyes.

Soobin’s smile falters—just for a second—before he masks it with something warm, something reassuring. Beomgyu’s gaze softens, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. They exchange a glance, that unspoken connection flaring between them, and then Beomgyu finally speaks.

“Next time, we’ll definitely bring you along.” Soobin tells you, and Beomgyu nods, “Definitely… but maybe we’ll keep the fun at home this time.” 

You watch as Beomgyu leans in towards Soobin, a teasing lilt in his voice, reveling in the way Soobin laughs shyly. 

They’re in their own world. And you’re just standing outside of it.

“Yeah, sounds good,” You mutter, unsure if they even hear you. 

__________________________

You couldn’t stand back and watch them anymore. It was slowly driving you insane. You are always the third wheel, always trailing behind, and soon, you feared, you’d be forgotten entirely.

So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

If you can’t break into their world when they are together, then maybe you can when they are apart. If you can’t compete with them as a pair, then maybe you had a chance if you split them up. Maybe it’s not playing fair, but the thought of standing by while they fell into each other and leave you behind, makes your skin crawl.

Nobody knows how the soulmate thing works. Maybe it wasn’t just fate—maybe it depended on the bonds formed before the tattoos appeared, and that by standing by and letting yourself be pushed out of the relationship, you’re undermining your own chance at a happy ending. 

No, you can’t let that happen. You have to act now, or risk being left behind forever.

You start small—little things, easy to overlook. You laugh a little louder when Beomgyu makes a joke, speak a little softer when Soobin needs quiet. You’re the one who reminds them of plans they’ve made, the one who fills the silence when things go tense. You begin showing up with little things—Soobin’s favorite tea when he’s stressed, a new hair tie for Beomgyu when he forgets his (again). You slip notes into their bags, nothing big—just dumb doodles, inside jokes, gentle reminders that you’re thinking of them. You find yourself sitting between them on the couch, brushing shoulders with one of them, draping your legs over the other's lap during lazy movie nights. 

Bit by bit, you carve out your place within theirs, until the silence between their conversations starts to include you, until their glances begin to seek yours. You weren’t naive. It wasn’t enough for them to care about you—they had to want you, need you, in ways they couldn’t find in each other..

Still, it was rare to catch either of them alone, but your first opportunity came when all three of you had the day off. Beomgyu had errands to run that morning, leaving you with the perfect chance to have Soobin all to yourself, even if just for a couple of hours.

Beomgyu didn’t make it easy, though. You had woken up—not just from the sound of him moving around and getting ready in the morning, but because you were waiting. Waiting for the moment he was gone so you could finally make your move on the still-sleeping Soobin.

But Beomgyu, noticing you were already awake, didn’t leave right away. Instead, he lingered, trying to convince you to come with him instead.

"You wanna come with me?" Beomgyu asked, trying to make his voice sound cute as he gives you his signature exaggerated pout. Normally, it was an infuriating mix of annoying and endearing, but right now, it was just annoying. You had a plan, and you weren’t about to let him ruin it.

You shifted on the bed, your gaze drifting to Soobin beside you. He was still sound asleep, his breathing steady, his features relaxed in a rare kind of peace that only sleep can provide. For a moment, you envy him his rest–free of all your troubles and overthinking, and you almost feel guilty for your plan to rob him of it. 

You glance back at Beomgyu, meeting his expectant gaze. Letting out an exaggerated yawn, you stretch before sinking deeper into the blankets.

"Mmm, I think I’ll pass. Too warm, too cozy," You murmur, pulling the covers snug around you, burying yourself into the warmth.

Beomgyu huffs, rolling his eyes before stepping closer.

"Come on, baby," He drawls, voice whiny and playful. "You’re really gonna make me suffer through errands all alone? That’s so cruel." He pouts dramatically, fingers hooking onto the blanket as he gives a gentle tug. "You know I hate doing things by myself.���

You bite back the urge to snap at him. If he kept this up, he’d wake Soobin—and if that happened, there was a chance Soobin might actually agree to go with him. That would ruin everything.

Forcing a smile, you reach out, brushing your fingers over Beomgyu’s hand in a gentle attempt to placate him.

"Sorry, baby," You say, your voice laced with just the right amount of sweetness. "I’ve been exhausted from college lately, and I really need the rest. But when you come back, maybe we can all go out for lunch? We could finally try that new spot you wanted."

A perfect compromise—one that should hopefully get him off your back.

"Or," Beomgyu counters, tilting his head with a hopeful smile, "You could come with me now, and I’ll treat you to lunch there after we’re done."

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t let this go.  

"Beomgyu, I’m really tired," You say, firmer this time, making it clear you’re not budging.  

He exhales, the playful glint in his eyes dimming as his shoulders sag ever so slightly. And for a moment, guilt creeps in. As frustrating as he can, you hated seeing him sad.

"Alright, alright," He sighs, finally relenting. Leaning down, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Guess I’ll survive without you."

You nod, eager for Beomgyu to leave. But he lingers for a moment longer, his eyes flickering between you and Soobin, hesitation etched in his features, as if there’s something more he wants to say.

But in the end, he just gives you a small nod and turns toward the door.

"You two have a good rest," He says, his voice light, casual, but there’s a hint of something else—something you can’t quite place—before he finally steps out, leaving behind a hush of quiet in his absence.

You watch the door for a moment, a frown tugging at your lips. Was he thinking the same thing you were? Did he, too, fear being left out? Maybe the boys weren’t as secure in this relationship as you had thought.

But when Soobin shifts beside you, the moment breaks, pulling you back to the present. You exhale softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly.

Now, it was just you and him. No interruptions. No distractions. Just the quiet rise and fall of his breath, the peacefulness etched into his sleeping face.

These moments were rare—just the two of you, without Beomgyu’s overwhelming presence filling the space. And maybe, just maybe, this was how it was meant to be.

You watch him sleep for a few more minutes. You can feel the pulse of the quiet in the room, the way the light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his handsome face. There is something about being with him like this, without Beomgyu’s constant yapping, without the unspoken tension that always hung between the three of you, where you could actually sit back and pay attention to Soobin and everything that makes him uniquely him. 

You slowly reach out, fingertips brushing over his skin, tracing the delicate contours of his face. Where Beomgyu was all effortless charm and playful charisma, Soobin was something quieter and more familiar—tall, dark, and oh so sweet, the picture perfect image of first love that everyone yearned to have. 

Gently, you take his arm and drape it around yourself, savoring the warmth, the way it feels so natural. Then, without thinking, you lean in, pressing the lightest kiss to his lips—soft, chaste, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Do you want Soobin to be your soulmate? He’s sweet, sometimes shy and reserved, but lately, he’s shown you a side of him that’s unexpectedly bold. Could you see yourself ending up with him, waking up to this every day—wrapped in his arms, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, just enjoying the peacefulness of the early mornings?

You could. He feels safe, like a warm cozy night with whispered conversations under the soft glow of your bedside lamp. He’d know when to tease and when to hold his tongue, when to push and when to take a step back–never challenging you but never pushing you past your limits either. With him, love wouldn’t be a puzzle to solve or a bid to win the upper hand—it would be just there, steady and unwavering  A stable presence, always there, always yours. Like the boy next door—not the kind who sweeps you away in a whirlwind, but the kind you could build a steady life with.And maybe that’s enough.

With a soft sigh, you ease yourself out of his arms, ignoring the soft whimper of protest he makes in his sleep at the loss of your warmth. You press a gentle shush against his lips, soothing him even as you slip from his grasp.

Your steps are quiet as you make your way to the familiar drawer—the one that holds your box of toys. Fingers brushing over the contents, you find what you’re looking for. Your trusty wand vibrator.

You wear an excited grin on your face as you walk back to the bed and see Soobin perfectly sprawled out for you. All you had to do was pull the blanket off him gently and you had full access to his pliant body which you take full advantage of, turning the vibrator to the lowest setting before pressing it against his clothed cock. 

You start slow—so slow that at first, he barely reacts, just a faint shift in his breathing, a subtle twitch of his fingers. That’s exactly what you wanted. You didn’t want to wake him abruptly; you wanted this to build gradually, for the pleasure to have fully taken hold of his mind by the time he is slowly eased into awareness.  

Carefully, you continue, increasing the intensity in small increments, watching as he starts to squirm. His brow furrows, his fingers curl slightly, and his body shifts as if caught between dreams and reality. Every small reaction sends a thrill through you, anticipation coiling in your chest as you wait for the moment his mind finally catches up to his body.

“I… please…” He gulps, begging sweetly even in his dreams, his hips canting ever so slightly towards the vibrator, a small patch of precum staining his sleeping shorts. 

“It’s okay, baby, enjoy it.” You coo in his ear, letting your voice seep into his subconscious mind. “I got you.”

“Mmmhh.” He whimpers, bucking into the vibrating wand and craning his neck backwards, giving you the perfect opportunity to plant bruising kisses there, intent on leaving your marks for Beomgyu to see. You pay special attention to the spot right under his ear, relishing in the sweet way he keens and whines for you before you make your way down his neck to bite down on the spot joining his neck and shoulder.  

He is already far gone by the time he wakes up.

“Oh, god.” He cries, jolting awake and looking around in confusion. “Wha–” 

“Morning, Binnie.” You grin, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

“What's g-going on?” He rasps, his hips still ever so slightly bucking up towards the stimulation. 

“You got a bit too excited in your sleep and I thought I’d better take care of you. Aren’t I so nice?” 

“Y-yeah…” He pants, looking down at his dick and his shorts that were already stained with precum.  “Where–where is Beomgyu?”

Your face falls but you quickly school it back into a playful expression, reaching out to tweak his nipple with your fingers. “Running some errands. Why? Can't we have fun without him? Am I not enough?”

Your tone is light, teasing, but there's a quiet ache behind the words—are you too late? Have they already made their decision?

“No, no. You are.” He rests his head back and arches into your touch, giving in. “Just didn’t think you'd be interested in doing this.”

“Silly boy, of course I am interested.” You bend down to wrap your lips around his nipple, making him gasp in shock. 

“Fuck, I think I might cum in my shorts if you keep doing that.” He slurs, sweat beading on his forehead and in the dips of his shoulders. 

“Oh no, we wouldn’t wanna ruin them now, would we?” You grin, pulling down his shorts and boxers to reveal his red, weeping cock. The touch of the vibrator against his bare skin has him thrashing around, causing the wand to miss his cock repeatedly. “Please, please!” He cries as if he’s not the one making it harder on himself. 

“Shhh, calm down, baby. Do you need me to hold it?” You drawl, reaching out to grab his cock with one hand as you press the vibrator directly under the head of his cock with the other, making him lose it, moaning loudly at the intense direct stimulation. “Holy shit, I’m gonna cum. I really need to cum. Can I please cum?”

“Hmm, what if I said no? Will you hold it?” You pretend to actually think about it and he whines in despair. “No, please, I can’t. I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Yeah, is it really that bad?” You coo as if you’re talking to a pet, and Soobin nods pitifully. “So bad. Need you so bad. You’re driving me crazy.”

You laugh gleefully. Soobin is so easy. As weak as he is for Beomgyu, he can be for you too. After all, he has never been subtle about his lust for you. Whenever you wear anything even slightly revealing around the house, he openly gawks at you, almost as if he doesn’t realize that you’re able to feel his stare on you and see the boner he half-heartedly tries to hide. 

“Aww, poor, baby. I can’t have you lose your mind, now can I?” You tease his slit with your thumb as you increase the speed of the vibrator to maximum, making him arch his back and cry out as his pleasure quickly reaches its peak. “Cum for me, Binnie. Let it all out, baby.” 

White hot cum starts spurting from his slit, and you keep the vibrator pressed just under the head of his cock while you use your other hand to jerk him off, milking every last drop from his balls and painting his tummy and chest with it. 

“Goood boy.” You coo, marvelling at the amount of cum he lets out, making a right mess of himself. 

“Thank you.” He pants meekly, body shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm and the continued stimulation from the vibrator. Before long, it becomes too much, and he cringes back, “Ah, please, too much.” 

You begrudgingly turn off the vibrator and take your hand off him, wishing you could keep his attention on you for a little longer. You run your index finger through the little pool of cum in the dip of his tummy and swirl it around. “Look at the mess you made, baby. Did you need it that bad?” You ask, seeking confirmation from him that he wants you as much as you want him. “Has Beomgyu not been taking care of you?” 

“No, he has but…” He throws his arm over his face to hide behind it. “Just wanted you so bad.” 

You smile happily and take his arm away, forcing him to face you. This is exactly what you wanted. “You’re so cute.” You bend down to kiss him and he quickly reciprocates, his lips slow and languid, but eager nonetheless, matching your every move but letting you lead. 

When you eventually part, he asks, searching your face, “What caused this change of heart? You don't usually initiate these things.”

You shrug, feeling called out. “Can't I think you look hot in your sleep?”

You watch him blush, and you smile, successfully throwing him off your scent. “Hey I wouldn't mind if you woke me up like this every day.”

“I know. I wake up to your boner against my ass every day, remember?” You laugh, and he blushes even deeper, and mumbles, “I haven’t gotten you off yet.”

“No, you didn’t.” You grin, happy at his enthusiasm. “How do you intend to fix that?”

“You could ride my thigh.” He says shyly and you laugh, dutifully taking your pants off and straddling his sweats clad thigh. “Another fantasy of yours?”

He nods, grabbing fistfulls of your ass and helping you grind against the cotton material, not caring about messing it up anymore. In fact, he stares hypnotized as the wet patch grows bigger and bigger with your arousal. 

You’ve never thought about this before but it feels surprisingly good, especially as he tenses his thick thigh and uses his large hands to press you firmly against it, your entire pussy getting stimulated at once.

“Fuck, that feels good.” You moan, throwing your head back, and Soobin reaches out to pull the neckline of your tank top over your breasts, exposing them to his hungry eyes. 

“Fuck, these are pretty. Wish you'd walk around the house topless from now on.” 

“What is it with you boys and tits? You like them that much?” You laugh, making sure to bounce on his thigh a little, making your breasts jiggle from the motion and the horny boy reach for his hardening cock to stroke it. 

“Yeah, they’re so fucking sexy.” He groans, fisting his cock in a blur as he encourages you to grind against his thigh faster and harder, the lewd scene getting to his empty head. “Are you close?” He asks, already feeling the desperation, and you nod, biting your lip. “Yes, baby, gonna squirt all over your thigh. You ready for it? 

He nods enthusiastically, pinching the head of his cock and squeezing out a few large drops of precum. “Fuck, please, do it. Please.” 

You reach out for the discarded vibrator, bringing it to life and pressing it against your clit. It doesn’t take long for you to cry out and cum all over his thigh, your release soaking his sweats and pushing the horny boy over the edge again, except this time, he aims towards you, shooting his cum all over your body, some of it landing on your tits that he loves so much. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” He groans, reaching out to cup them in his dirty hands, clearly admiring the view. 

You’re both so blissed out, that you don’t notice that Beomgyu has come back from his errands and has made his way into the room until he speaks out, his voice playful but with an edge of frustration to it. “Hey, what the hell? You having fun without me?” He makes his way towards the bed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He leans in, trying to capture your lips with his but you quickly raise your hand, pushing him back. “I’m beat, Gyu.” Your tone is flat, not allowing for much give and take from him. You don't want him to overtake this moment. You’ve worked too hard for it. You want the only impression of this morning left on Soobin's brain to be just you and how good you can make him feel. You can't have Beomgyu waltzing in and hijacking all your hard work. 

He freezes for a moment, clearly thrown off by your unexpected resistance. “That's not fair. How can you expect me to see you both so filthy and covered in Soobin’s cum like this and not get horny?”

“I don't expect anything. You can be horny all you want.” You shrug, the moment feels oddly satisfying. It’s like giving him a taste of his own medicine—making him feel the sting of alienation he has unknowingly inflicted on you too many times.  

Beomgyu stands there, stunned, the usual playful energy suddenly replaced by something unreadable. His expression flickers, unsure if you’re joking or serious, and he looks like he’s reconsidering his next move. 

“You’re really going to do this to me?” He finally asks, a mix of disbelief and amusement in his voice, as he runs a hand through his hair, trying to put on some of his usual confidence.

You smile faintly, leaning closer, but keeping just enough distance to make your point. “You can jerk off to the thought of my tits. You like doing that, right?”

He steps back, a laugh escaping his lips. “You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” 

“I can help you get off, Beommie.” Soobin offers and you fight to keep the ugly scowl off your face. Damn it, why is Soobin so damn easy?

But to your surprise, Beomgyu declines his offer. “That's okay, baby. You both look exhausted. I'll let it pass this time, but you better wait for me next time.” He jokes, throwing a pointed look at you. 

You chew on your lip nervously. You wonder if he can tell what you’re doing. Beomgyu has always been unexpectedly perceptive, after all. 

Well, you better hope and pray that he is as easily distracted by some tits like Soobin is. 

_____________________

Your chance to make a move on Beomgyu comes when Soobin has a late lecture, leaving you and Beomgyu with some time to kill by yourselves. So you set up a “playdate” with him, luring him in with the promise of playing video games, though you don’t really have to do much to convince him. The boy cannot survive by himself for long, and you suspect it’s because even he will drive himself crazy if left alone with his motor mouth.

You put on a convincing set up of his favourite games and snacks, planning to start off by actually playing for a little bit before you make your move, making it look natural.  

But Beomgyu surprises you when he walks into the living room holding a new game in his hands with a proud smile on his face. “Babe, look what I got!” 

You glance up from the couch, raising an eyebrow. The game wasn’t something he would normally be into—it was your favorite genre, not his. You’d talked about it a few times, how much you were looking forward to playing it, but it was clear Beomgyu wasn’t particularly excited about the idea of it. 

“Huh,” You mumble in confusion, not expecting this. "You don’t even like this game, though."

Beomgyu grins, his eyes glinting with that playful, confident spark. “I know, but you’d talked my ear off so much about it that I figured the only way to get you to shut up is to buy it for you.” 

You couldn’t help the massive smile on your face at the unexpected gift. It wasn’t that Beomgyu didn’t do sweet things for you, but this was something different. You know how serious and particular he is about his games. He likes the ones he likes and never bothers with the ones he doesn't. So for him to go out of his way to get you something only you liked, means a lot despite how trivial it may seem to others. 

Still, you can’t resist teasing him just a little. "You really wanted to suck up to me, huh?" You say, a sly grin tugging at your lips. 

He shrugs nonchalantly, his smile never faltering. "Maybe," He says with a wink, his voice playful. "What can I say, I’m willing to suffer through this to make you happy. I’m hopelessly romantic and a perfect gentleman like that."

You chuckle, shaking your head, but secretly, you were touched by the effort. “Maybe next time, I’ll get you one of the stupid and clearly inferior games you like so much.”. 

“Deal. But for now, why don’t give it a try and I’ll try to not die from boredom.”

You start the game, and before long, the two of you fall into a teasing, comfortable rhythm. You poke fun at each other for the mistakes you make—him more often than you—offering tips and laughing at each other’s blunders. The playful banter fills the space, and for a while, it’s just the two of you, lost in the ease of the moment. You forget about soulmates, eternal love, and the nagging fear of being left behind.

You’re having so much fun that you end up playing longer than you’d planned. Beomgyu is loud—his laughter is constant, infectious, and he yells at the TV seemingly every two seconds as if that would help your characters play better. He makes a big deal out of everything, and it’s impossible not to be caught up in it. Every moment with him is larger than life, filled with energy and excitement. 

You can just picture a life spent with him, never a dull moment. You imagine your children thriving in that chaos, their lives full of his boundless energy. They would love him so much. He would be such a fun dad.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him as your husband and the father of your children. But is that the life you really want? Constant chaos, never a quiet moment to call your own?

You steal a quick glance at Beomgyu, but he catches you, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing look. “What?” he teases, flashing his signature lopsided smile at you. 

“You’re loud,” You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, and immediately feel silly. Beomgyu rolls his eyes dramatically, tossing his controller aside before leaning forward, his grin growing wider as he looms over you.

“Is that all?” He asks, face mere inches from yours. You don’t know why his straightforwardness was making you so nervous. You’ve wanted this exact outcome out of this hangout anyway, but why are you now suddenly acting like your intentions had been innocent? 

“Yes.” You mutter, turning your head back towards the game, but if you thought that might deter Beomgyu then you were sorely mistaken. If anything, he uses this opportunity to press his face into the crook of your neck and pepper your skin in kisses. 

“Beomgyu…” You whine, goosebumps bursting all over your skin. “You’re gonna make us lose.” 

“Who cares? Aren’t you done already?” He huffs, one of his hands grabbing your thigh as he sucks on your sensitive skin. “Want you to pay attention to me.” 

“Stop it. I’m trying to play the game.” You keep up your act, not wanting to appear too eager. Beomgyu is more perceptive than Soobin, and if you give in too easily, he might be able to tell that you’re up to something. 

“Why? Do you only mess around with Soobin?” He snorts, trailing his hand between your legs to cup your heat, making you jump. “I want some attention too.” 

“But I’m not done playing.” Your heart rate picks up at the hint of jealousy in his voice but you keep pretending as if the game in front of you wasn’t just a blur of colours and sounds, your real focus on his hot lips against your neck and his long fingers rubbing against your pussy. 

“Then keep playing and I’ll keep playing too.” He says, pushing your shorts down your legs before pulling them onto the couch, splaying them open so he can stick his face between them and give your underwear-clad pussy a few chaste kisses. 

“Beomgyu, I’m serious…” You warn, your voice anything but, yet Beomgyu–whether playing along or too desperate to notice–still falls for it. 

“Please, baby. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to stop playing. Just please let me have this.” He licks a long stripe along your covered slit before pressing a few kisses against your clit. 

“Fuck, Beomgyu.” You grit, feeling your legs shake already. You hazard a quick glance down at him, your chest bursting into flames at the sight of him looking up at you from between your legs like a horny pup. 

“Just focus on the game, baby, and let me make you feel good.” He persuades, pushing your now drenched underwear to the side so his tongue can access your pussy directly, and you fight to keep your legs from clamping around his head at the sudden spike in pleasure. 

“Fuck.” You curse under your breath, trying to bring your attention back to the game and making a miserable effort at it. The heat pooling inside you from where Beomgyu was kissing and licking at your most sensitive spots is distracting, sending a rush of warmth through your veins, making your head spin and your ears ring. 

The room quickly fills up with a mix of your breathy moans, the obscene sounds of Beomgyu’s wet kisses against your soaking pussy, and the nearly forgotten video game. You try to keep your focus on it but you give up when, out of the corner of your eyes, you see his hips working in tandem with his mouth, rocking against the couch underneath. 

“Are you seriously humping the couch right now? How pathetic.” You mock, acting as if your arousal is not currently dripping down his chin. But since when has Beomgyu been shy about his horniness? No, he meets your gaze straight on and says, “I’d be happy to stop humping the couch and bury my cock in your pussy any time you want, baby.” 

“Shut up.” You mutter, flustered at his brashness, but you can’t keep up the pretense for long, not when he pushes his tongue into your pussy and nuzzles your clit with his nose, completely burying himself in you. You have never had anything inside of you before, and the feeling of Beomgyu’s wet, rough tongue every so slightly brushing against your inner walls has you finally abandoning the game and throwing away the controller so you can pull your shirt up and play with your breasts while he tongue-fucks your pussy. 

“Fuck, you made me lose. You better make it up to me, brat.” You push his face into your pussy further, and for a second you worry that you might be hurting him, but when you look down you see that your roughness just excites him, his hips driving into the couch faster.  

And he does make it up to you. He is so inexplicably good at this, and you hate how easily he drags you towards the edge, as if he has done this many times before, his tongue knowing exactly how to lap and curl to have you gushing, his lips knowing exactly where to kiss and suck to have you whole body seize up, and before long, your panting like you’ve run a marathon and can see the finish line in sight. 

“Beomgyu! Beomgyu!” You cry out, crashing into your orgasm, unable to hold yourself back anymore from clamping your thighs around his head. Not that Beomgyu cares, continuing to literally lap up everything you give him until he has sucked you dry. 

“Oh god,” You shudder, pushing him away from your pussy. He lets you do it, using the opportunity to kiss up your body instead until he makes it to your lips, making you have a taste of your own need on his tongue. 

“Did I make it up to you?” He asks, raising a hand to your chest to roughly grope your tits. 

“Maybe.” You breathe out, the shakiness of your voice betraying you. 

“Well then maybe you can help me out too.” He says, pointedly bucking his cock against your pussy. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if it was that good.” 

“Not that good? You almost smothered me with your pussy.” He scoffs and you blush. “Don’t get me wrong, I would have died a happy man, but not that good, my ass.” 

You roll your eyes at him, pushing a hand between your bodies to grab his dick and jerk him off. “There, are you happy?” 

He closes his eyes for a moment, seemingly savouring your touch, but then he opens them again and asks, “Come on, I just let you hump my face and all you’re gonna give me is a lousy handjob? At least suck me off or let me fuck these perfect tits.” He kneads your breasts with his hands while he bucks into your grip despite his protests. “God, if my soulmate has tits like this, I wouldn’t be able to keep my dick out of her.” 

He wraps his lips around them, kissing and sucking them desperately, but your mind lingers on his words. Her? Does he think he’ll get a female soulmate then? Could it possibly be you…

“Okay.” You answer in a small voice but Beomgyu’s eager ears pick it up, and he quickly climbs over you so he’s straddling your upper body, leering down at you with dark lust in his eyes. 

“Push your tits together for me, baby.” He instructs you and you bashfully do it, looking away. “Fuck you're such a pretty whore.”

“Beomgyu.” You frown, chastising him as he rocks his hips forward, fucking his cock between your breasts. 

“Shhh, it's okay, baby. You’re my whore.” He tells you, and as you open your mouth to protest his possessive proclamation, he uses the opportunity to push his cock into your mouth, getting to fuck your tits and your mouth all in one. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s just what I wanted.” 

You frown up at him but don’t push him off. He’s looking down at you like he’s drunk off you, and isn’t that exactly what you wanted? You may not have maintained the upper hand but the way he’s looking at you like you hold his balls in your hands is enough to justify letting him do this. 

“Yeah, keep looking at me. You look so sexy with my cock in your mouth.” He continues to spit filth at you, his cock thrusting between your breasts and right into your open mouth, the pleasure clearly getting to his head if the bleary look in his eyes or the whiny tinge to his voice is any indication. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand and you didn’t even have to try. He did it all for you. 

“Say you want it, baby. Tell me you want my cum in your pretty mouth.” 

“Beo–gyuuu–” You slur, barely able to speak with his cock filling your mouth over and over again. 

“Come on, baby. You let Soobinie cover you with his cum. It is only fair for you to swallow down mine.” He coaxes, continuing to play with your breasts with his hands as he feeds you his cock. You glare up at him but really you’re loving it. This is exactly what you wanted, the boys vying for your attention. 

“Do it, please.” He begs, desperation growing more clear the longer you take to give in. Whether he knows that that would get him what he wants or he simply got lucky, you don’t know but the shiver of pleasure that zaps through you at his pathetic whimpers gets you to finally give in, looking up at him with lustful eyes and begging him oh-so-sweetly, “Please, cum in my mouth, Beommie. Wanna taste you at the back of my throat.” 

“Fuck–” He cries, grabbing your hair to steady your head and slamming his cock into your mouth, giving you exactly what you asked for. Your throat closes up around the intrusion and your eyelashes brim with tears but the look of ecstasy on Beomgyu’s face makes it all worth it. “Holy shit, you’re s-so goood…” He whines, emptying part of his load at the back of your throat before he pulls out to finish on your face, jerking himself off into overstimulation just so he can give you every last drop of his cum, covering your face in his hot, sticky seed while your mouth was filled with the salty taste of him. 

“Shit,” he breathes, his thumb gliding over your swollen lips. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent.

You scoff weakly, turning your head away, your hair clinging to your skin with sweat and cum making you feel anything but beautiful. “Shut up. I must look disgusting right now.” 

But Beomgyu doesn’t relent. Instead, he reaches out, fingers brushing against your skin as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“No,” he whispers, gaze full of adoration. “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the world. And you’re mine.”

His words stun you and you blink rapidly, trying to make sense of what is happening. What the fuck is he trying to do? Has he been playing the same game you’ve just now started to play all this time?

Your stomach swirls with a confusing mix of happiness, suspicion and guilt, making you nauseous. “Beomgyu… You need to stop saying stuff like that.”

He frowns, confusion flickering across his face. “What stuff? That you’re mine? That I love you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, defensive walls springing up around you in alarm. “Yes. You can’t keep saying that to me and Soobin. You’re gonna get one of us seriously hurt.”

“Sorry, I am not a fucking coward.” Beomgyu looks pissed off, as if you’re the one making wild and dangerous proclamations. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. One of us is going to get hurt anyway, and it could be me. But I’d rather face that than live with the regret of never letting you know how I feel, of not savoring this while it lasts.”

His words hang oppressively between you, even after the intensity is long gone from his face and his eyes take on a pitiful look. They search yours desperately, pleading for something you’re not sure is okay to give.  

“Will you say it back?,” He presses, his voice trembling. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

You hesitate. The words seem so simple…I love you–they should come easily. You’ve said them many times before, light and carefree. But now they carry a double meaning–no longer are they just an expression of unbreakable friendship… Now they hide behind them a world of heartbreak and hurt, waiting to pounce on you and tear you apart, starting with this moment as Beomgyu continues to stare at you with hope and anticipation.

You can’t withhold the words from him, and maybe you’re being stupid, trading the small hurt of holding back now for the much bigger pain of possibly taking it away later. But at this moment, you can’t bring yourself to do it. Not when he looks at you like he won’t be able to breathe if you don’t say it.

“I love you too,” You swallow hard, the words barely escaping your lips, but Beomgyu accepts them eagerly, his face lighting up, the tension fading from his features. “That’s all I needed to hear.” 

________________

A/N: the plot is finally start to plot lol what do you guys think so far