#and even though i did open myself up to this by playing the game. because i dont want it it feels like its being forced on me

[pensthoughts]

plus-one | v.p

part 3 of home turf pairing: adult!van palmer x reader summary: what starts as a rainy-day coffee date with van turns into sideline tension, stolen glances, and a big game that leaves your heart racing for more reasons than one. word count: 4k a/n: hi guys i'm alive!!! sorry for not posting in like ten years i've been super busy with lacrosse and school and just life in general. i think of home turf basically every day of my life so after a lot of hoping for free time, i decided to not study for a final so that i could write this because tbh i care about this a lot more and studying is overrated anyways. also!!! i did not proofread this yet so please don't mind typos bc there definitely are a few in here lol

it starts with a gray sky and the smell of rain on pavement. that kind of drizzle that barely counts, soft enough to ignore but persistent enough to hang in the air, humid and clinging. you're staring out the front window, arms crossed, a tiny knot of nerves forming in your stomach. not from the weather, obviously. from her.

you've changed shirts three times.

and now you're standing barefoot in your sister's hallway, tugging gently at the hem of the one you finally settled on—light blue, casual enough to pass for effortless, even though there's nothing effortless about the way your heart keeps racing.

you pull your hair up. then down. then half-up. then sigh and start over.

it's just a coffee. a cup of coffee with your niece's soccer coach. the one with the quick wit and even quicker smile, who keeps looking at you like she knows somethign you don't. the one who asked you out in your own kitchen.

you smooth your hands over your jeans and catch your reflection in the hallway mirror. "get it together," you whisper, then immediately cringe.

the house is quiet. sophia's already out—some team thing at one of the other girls' houses before the game, leaving you alone to spiral.

you drift into the kitchen and start fidgeting with the fridge magnets. you open the freezer, close it again. you think about texting someone, then remember you don't really have anyone here to text.

the clock on the microwave blinks. you've got maybe ten minutes before she shows up.

you reach for your jacket. then stop. then reach again.

you're pulling it on when you hear a car engine outside—low and distinct—and your heart skips.

you rush to the window like you're not already waiting. then pause, tug the curtain back an inch.

she's here.

of course she is.

and of course she's driving the coolest car you've ever seen.

you open the front door too fast and regret it, like maybe you should've waited a few seconds, made her knock, done something cooler. but then she looks up from where she's leaning against the side of her car—hands in her jacket pockets, head tilted—and grins like you've just made her day by stepping outside.

and honestly? that grin makes your stomach flutter.

"hey," she says, pushing off the car with one sneakered foot.

"hey," you echo, then freeze. "sorry, i didn't—um. you didn't have to get out."

"i didn't," van says, "just wanted to lean dramatically. like in a movie."

you blink. "did it work?"

she smirks. "well, you're here, aren't you?"

you try not to smile, but it's already happening. she opens the passenger door for you and waits, one eyebrow raised, like she's daring you to comment on the car.

you do. "okay, wait. this is yours?"

"it's an '87 trans am," she says, like it's obvious. "got her for cheap and fixed her up myself. be honest—are you impressed or intimidated?"

you pause, "honestly? a little bit of both."

van's eyes flash. "noted."

you slide into the seat and immediately notice how the interior smells faintly like cinnamon and leather. there's a mixtape playing really softly—real cassette, not just a playlist—with mazzy star humming low in the background.

when she gets in on the driver's side, you pretend to look out the window instead of watching the way she tugs her sleeves up and adjusts the rearview mirror like she's done it a thousand times before.

"you good?" she asks, starting the car.

"yeah," you say. "you?"

van shrugs. "can't complain. taking a pretty girl to get coffee. got a game in a few hours. feeling kind of lucky."

you blink. "you always say stuff like that?"

"only when i mean it."

you're quiet for a second, staring at your hands in your lap, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve.

"you don't have to be nervous," she says, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

"i'm not nervous," you lie.

she smiles without calling you out. "okay."

the rain's eased up by the time you hit the main road, just misty now, making the streets shine. van drives like someone who doesn't rush unless she has to—careful, one hand on the wheel, the other draped loosely over the gearshift. every once in a while, she hums along to the music like she forgot you were there, and honestly, you don't mind it. it's oddly comforting.

"so," you say, breaking the quiet. "you always take your dates out before games?"

van glances at you. "you think this is a date?"

you freeze. "isn't it?"

she grins. "i was hoping you'd say that."

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling. you can't help it.

a minute later, she pulls into a spot in front of a little brick-walled café with a painted wooden sign and fairy lights still twinkling under the awning, even in daylight.

"here we are," van says, cutting the engine. "the finest slightly pretentious coffee shop this side of the county line."

you lean back in your seat and look out at the café. "looks cute."

van unbuckles her seatbelt and opens her door, then pauses and looks at you again. "hey."

you look over. "yeah?"

her voice softens just slightly. "thanks for saying yes."

your heart does a weird little thing in your chest, a twist you weren't expecting.

"thanks for asking," you say, and this time you mean it.

the bell over the door chimes softly as you step into the little coffee shop, the sound swallowed up by the low hum of conversation and the indie playlist spilling from an old speaker in the corner. rain dots your jacket and clings to your sleeves, the damp smell of the sidewalk following you in. van's hand brushes your lower back as she steps in behind you, a warm, brief touch that she doesn't comment on.

she looks around once, taking in the mismatched chairs, the tiny potted plants on the windowsills, and the art student paintings tacked crookedly to the walls.

"this place is so you," she says, already grinning.

you raise an eyebrow. "how would you know what's 'so me'?"

van gestures vaguely. "i mean, come on. indie playlists? handmade mugs? this screams 'i went to school in a city and had a mental breakdown sophomore year.'"

you snort. "i'll have you know, my breakdown happened senior year, and i'm very emotionally mature now."

"ah," she says, "that explains the iced matcha obsession."

"it's not an obsession," you protest, stepping up to the counter. "it's a personality trait."

van squints up at the menu behind the counter. "alright, hit me. what's the move?"

you already know what you're getting. "iced matcha latte. oat milk. no sweetener."

she looks at you like you just said you eat soap.

"no sweetener?"

"i like to taste the grass," you say, sarcastic.

that makes her laugh, and she steps up when it's her turn. "i'll have one too," she tells the barista. "exactly what she's having."

you blink. "wait, really?"

van shrugs. "i wanna know what the fuss is about. plus..." she leans a little closer, voice lower. "you looked cute ordering it."

you look down suddenly, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag as the warmth rises to your cheeks. "it's just a drink."

"mhm," she says, lips twitching like she knows exactly what she's doing. "so, what makes it so good? or am i about to hate my life for the next twenty minutes?"

you smirk. "it's earthy. subtle. also good for your brain." she pretends to take notes. "earthy, subtle, green sludge. got it."

you both grab your drinks and find a table near the window, where the rain has tapered into a soft mist. you stir your drink with the straw as van sits opposite you and gives her cup a suspicious glance.

she lifts it to her lips and sips slowly. pauses. looks down. sips again.

"well?" you ask, watching her.

"it tastes like..." she makes a face. "someone put oat milk in a garden."

you try not to laugh. "you're ridiculous."

"you're drinking pond water on purpose," she says. "i'm allowed to judge."

"you grew up in jersey," you shoot back. "your opinion on taste is invalid."

van gasps, mock offended. "wow. anti-jersey bias. typical new yorker."

you smirk. "guilty. i've been judging diners and bagels since birth."

van grins, "yeah, i remember. didn't your kindergarten have a french teacher and yoga twice a week?"

"don't forget fencing," you add, sipping your drink.

van puts a hand over her heart. "god forbid."

"i was an upper west side menace," you say, almost proud.

"oh, i can tell. you definitely wore a headband with your name on it and got in trouble for correcting your teachers."

"i did not—" you pause. "okay. maybe once. but it was mr. goldman and he mispronounced degas."

van fake gasps. "tragic."

you lean back in your chair, laughing. "you're just jealous your elementary school didn't have a gluten-free bake sale."

"oh, totally. meanwhile, i was eating cafeteria pizza off a paper towel."

you smile at her over the rim of your cup. "explains so much."

van lifts her cup in a mock toast. "to matcha, mental stability, and girls who peak in tiny coffee shops."

you clink your plastic lid against hers. "cheers."

there's a pause, but it's easy. comfortable, even with the electricity himming between you. you sip your drink and watch the rain mist the outside world into a watercolor blur.

"thanks for picking me up, by the way," you say after a beat. "i know you didn't have to."

"i wanted to," she says, watching you over her cup. "besides, it gave me an excuse to see you before the chaos."

you smile. "still. appreciate it."

"you say that now," van says. "but you do know i can't drive you to the game, right?

you frown. "wait. what?"

she tilts her head. "i have to ride the bus with the team. like, legally. school policy."

your eyes go wide. "hold on. i have to go on the bus?"

van grins. "you thought i was your personal chauffer for the night?"

"i didn't think—i just assumed—"

she laughts so hard she nearly spills her drink. "oh no. this is even better than i imagined."

"van."

"yes?"

"i don't do buses."

"oh, you do now."

you groan and drop your head to the table. "this is actually hell."

"come on," she says, nudging your ankle with hers. "could be worse. you get a free drink, a spot next to me, and all the orange slices you can eat."

"i didn't realize i signed up for summer camp."

"hey, some of us take our chaperone roles very seriously."

you lok up at her, hair falling slightly in your face. "do you really?"

she meets your gaze and—just for a second—there's something quiet in her expression. something a little more serious.

"i do when it comes to you," she says.

you're quiet for a second too long. then you look away, flustered, fiddling with your straw again.

"okay," you say softly. "i'll brave the bus."

van grins and stands, stretching. "good. you'll live."

"barely," you mutter.

she holds the door open for you again, the wind catching the bottom of her jacket. as you step out into the drizzle together, she glances sideways at you and says, "for the record, i still think this drink tastes like lawn clippings."

"and yet," you say, sipping it proudly, "you finished it."

van pauses, then tosses the empty cup in the trash. "yeah, well. i'm full of surprises."

you glance up at her, rain misting in your lashes. "so am i."

she smirks. "good. that'll make this bus ride way more fun."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you pull into the school parking lot five minutes before call time, van drumming her fingers on the wheel to the beat of a pixies song playing low on the radio. she parks in her usual reserved spot by the athletic enterance and shuts off the ignition like it's any other day—but the glance she sends your way lingers.

the drizzle hasn't let up, but it's light now—just enough to mist the windshield. you can see the yellow bus already idling behind the gym, a cluster of girls dragging gear bags and kicking around a soccer ball like it's just another game day.

she glances at you. "ready for your chaperone debut?"

you snort. "is there a training manual?"

"i think it's mostly snacks and staying out of their way."

you smirk and unbuckle, grabbing your drink from the center console. the last of your matcha, mostly melted now, but still sweet and comforting. as you open the door, van waits a second like the wants to say something—then just grabs her keys and steps out too.

the second you round the back of her car, sophia spots you from the bus steps.

"well, well," she calls. "good afternoon, coach. good afternoon... guest."

you raise an eyebrow. "that's what i am?"

she grins, shrugging. "i dunno. coffee shop pal? coach's plus-one?"

you blink. "sophia."

"i'm kidding," she says, holding up her hands. "kind of."

van doesn't even flinch. "get on the bus."

sophia disappears with a laugh, and you shoot van a sideways look.

"she's bold."

van chuckles. "she's fifteen."

"fifteen with great comedic timing."

you both walk toward the bus in comfortable rhythm, close enough that your hands brush once by accident—and then not-so-accidentally again. van doesn't say anything, but she lets it happen.

the bus door creaks open as you climb up behind her, and a few heads turn when they realize you're not just dropping her off. you give a small wave—half "hi," half "yes, i know this is weird"—and slide into a seat in the front. van plops down beside you like it's the most casual thing in the world, one knee bouncing gently.

there's a low hum of conversation from the rest of the team, and even though no one says anything out loud, you can feel it—the curious glances, the slight uptick in whispering.

you lean toward van, voice quiet. "i think we're being observed."

she nods. "i'm aware."

"they're totally talking about us."

"they're teenagers. they talk about everything." she turns her head, gives you a small, private smile. "besides, we're not doing anything wrong."

your heart flips at the softness in her tone. "yeah," you say, staring straight ahead, willing your cheeks to cool down. "just two adults... on a bus."

van smirks. "you're so good at playing it cool."

you roll your eyes and take a long sip of your drink just to give your hands something to do. "okay, what if i told you you're the one making it hard to play it cool?"

her eyebrows lift slightly. "am i?'

"you know you are."

she leans back in the seat, smug. "interesting."

you kick her foot lightly and try not to smile too hard.

a few rows up, sophia glances over her shoulder, eyes sharp and amused. you catch her watching and quickly look out the window. van doesn't react—but her knee presses just slightly closer to yours.

the rest of the ride is smooth. there's music from someone's speaker playing low, some rhythmic tapping of cleats against seats, and murmured reminders about plays and formations. but mostly, you and van just sit there, side by side, not saying much but not needing to.

it feels like the kind of quiet that means something.

by the time the bus pulls into the school lot, the rain has gone from a lazy mist to something steadier. nothing dramatic, just enough to dampen the air and make the field look darker around the edges. the players are already pulling up their hoods, tugging drawstrings tight. chatter getting sharper with nerves. you step off behind van, your sneakers hitting the pavement with that soft wet slap that says fall has offically arrived.

the girls scatter—some heading straight for the locker room, some toward the field to check the turf. you start veering toward the bleachers out of habit, tugging your hoodie tighter around you.

but van catches your sleeve.

"where do you think you're going, city girl?"

you blink at her, then glance toward the stands. "to sit?"

"wrong." she grins, knowing the effect she has on you. "you're on sideline duty today."

your eyebrows lift. "oh, i am?"

"unless you want to look useless in front of a bunch of teenage girls. didn't you almost go D1?"

you scoff, bumping her shoulder. "wow. so you do keep tabs."

"i keep receipts," she says, smug. "and i need someone who can read a press without panicking. like an assistant coach."

you glance toward the bench. "so you're just using me."

"obviously." van's eyes flick up and down your frame. "i mean, you already look like a soaked varsity captain. you're halfway there."

you roll your eyes but follow her anyway, past the rusted fencing along the edge of the field. the team is huddling now, cleats clacking against wet turf, the pregame energy thick with nerves and excitement. it's the kind of buzz you used to live for—that moment when the world narrows to ninety minutes and white lines and the ache in your calves. you hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

van tosses you a spare windbreaker from the team bag. it's a little big, smells like turf and detergent, but it's a good swap for your soaked jacket. she's already moving into coach mode—adjusting the roster sheet, scanning the other team's warmup. but she doesn't miss a beat when she says:

"you good with the midfielders?"

you glance up, surprised. "you trust me with the middle line?"

"i trust you not to screw it up. or at least to look hot while doing it."

you snort. "so professional."

van shrugs. "we can't all be preppy new york prodigies."

you raise an eyebrow. "will you ever let go of that?"

van just laughs. "bet your team had a private trainer."

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling now. "grew up in the city doesn't mean i was in a vogue spread, you know."

"didn't say it was a bad thing," she says, softer. "you just carry yourself different. confident. or maybe just used to pretending to be."

you glance at her, caught off guard. but before you can say anything, the whistle blows to call the girls in.

pregame huddle.

van pulls her cap down tighter and steps up beside them, voice raised and steady.

"alright—heads in. this team isn't gonna hand you the win. you have to work for every play. i want communication, tight spacing, and no hero ball. we play smart, we play together."

she gives the floor the the captain, a senior named harper who says something about pride and grit, and you hang back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the starting lineup. you can already tell where the holes are—the left back is too shaky, too hesitant, and the forwards are too close together.

you lean over to van. "if they keep bunching like that, they're gonna lose the lanes. you want me to say something?"

van doesn't even look up from her clipboard. "why do you think you're here?" the rain is picking up again. not heavy, but colder. a reminder that summer's over for good. you step closer to the field, the smell of wet turf curling in your lungs, and suddenly it's like you're sixteen again—not hurt, not haunted by what could've been. just here. with cleats underfoot and sky overhead and the pulse of a game about to begin.

van gives a short whistle. "positions!"

you watch as the girls jog into place, their ponytails whipping, their voices overlapping in last-second calls.

you don't say it out loud, but you feel it as the ball rolls into play:

you missed this.

and maybe—just maybe—van knew that all along.

once the game starts, the first goal comes fast.

barely ten minutes into the game, harper makes a clean steal at midfield and sends a pass spiraling down the right wing. sophia takes off like she's weightless, a blur of yellow cleats and sharp instincts. one touch, two, and then she cuts inside—sells the defender with a feint so smooth is almost cruel. a perfect finish. back of the net.

van throws her fist up in triumph, grinning as she turns toward you. "that's my girl."

you can't help it—you cheer, heart pounding like you just scored. "she's incredible."

"try coaching her," van says, half-laughing, already watching the field again. "you tell her one thing and she turns it into five."

sophia jogs back to the huddle, soaked from the rain but glowing under the lights. the team's electric. the yellowjackets settle into a rhythm, each pass sharper than the last, energy buzzing through every sideline shout. the field belongs to them.

until it doesn't.

the shift is so fast you don't see it coming. sophia's cutting inside again—same footwork, same burst—but the defender this time is late a clumsy. sophia plants too hard and slips. you hear the impact before you see it.

that sound—cleats scraping, a sharp thud, the short cry that escapes her—slices through you.

your stomach turns.

she doesn't get up.

van's already moving. you don't think; your feet are carring you before your mind catches up, the pounding rain suddenly deafening.

sophia's gripping her ankle, face pale, blinking hard. "i'm fine," she says too quickly. "coach, i'm fine."

but you're already kneeling beside her. and your heart is racing.

because what if it's not just a sprain.

you know that motion. that angle. that twist.

it's exactly how it happened to you.

your hands go cold.

you feel like you're seventeen again, lying on the turf, everything slowing down while the future you thought was guaranteed slips right out from under you.

van's voice is steady beside you. "you're not fine. you're out. let me see."

sophia protests, of course she does. because that's what you did too. pretended. pushed through. tried.

you know how dangerous that is now.

she lets them help her off the field. van jogs alongside her, jaw clenched, rain streaking down her neck. you stay where you are for a second longer, watching the spot where sophia fell.

you breathe in. out. again.

then you follow.

back on the sideline, it's like the energy drained from the field with her.

you call instructions, help with formations, try to anchor the midfield with your voice—but everything's off now. they're scattered. the momentum's gone.

and when the other team scores—clean, efficient, bottoms corner—you're not surprised.

1-1.

van mutters something under her breath and throws her cap off in frustration.

you glance toward sophia on the bench. her cleat's off, ankle wrapped, lips tight like she's trying not to cry.

van looks at you. "we need her back."

you hesitate.

"do we risk it?"

van watches you, really watches you. "you tell me."

you walk over and kneel in front of sophia. "hey. how's it feel?"

"tight. but stable."

"stable enough for ten minutes?"

sophia meets your eyes. "i've got five. five good ones."

you nod. "alright. let's make them count."

she jogs back on with under two minutes to go. the team roars. you and van stand side by side, barely breathing.

she takes the ball from midfield, slices through pressure, fakes one defender and slips past another. she's limping, but she's fighting.

the clock winds down.

five seconds.

sophia steps, plants—your stomach tightens—and fires.

it hits the back of the net just as the buzzer blares.

2-1.

van screams. you do too. the bench clears.

sophia collapses into her teammates. they lift her like she won the whole damn state.

you turn to van. she's soaked, beaming.

"told you," she says breathlessly.

you shake your head. "she's insane."

van's voice drops. "she's brave."

you watch the field, heart still hammering, something thick behind your ribs.

so is she, you think.

so were you.

van glances at you sideways. "you okay?"

you nod, slow. "yeah. just...took me back."

she bumps her shoulder into yours, gentle. "thanks for getting her back in."

you look down at the wet turf, then up again.

"she reminded me why i loved this."

van's eyes soften. "then don't walk away from it again."

💌 taglist: @taurtel, @nothoughtsonlyvan, @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey, @crainalley0227, @auroraseddie, @brielease

[anti-transphobia]

Everyone posts about how Stardew Valley is a cozy LGBT+ inclusive game but NO ONE mentions the lack of a platonic option for the bachelors/bachelorettes. Which would be good for aspec people and also just more pleasant for many casual players I believe but that's not even the point. I just want to become best friends with everyone and not only does that require me dating everyone at once and feeling like a sleazebag because of it (ik the bad cutscene can be avoided but I know in my heart they'd be hurt if they knew) BUT it also means the women flirt with me!!!!! Constantly!!!!!!! It makes me sick to my stomach. Truly ruining the characters I liked

[clumsypuppy]

if you're walking at 5mph, but your feet are on sideways, and the sky turns green at 2:53, and Keanu Reeves has been sent to Neptune, what's your favorite video game

i cant walk 5mph in the first place, im only 5'4 and i have to walk like marvin the fucking martian everywhere i go

if my feet were on sideways i would still manage to get my shoes on wrong because i cant tell my left from my right

if the sky turns green that means every single car on the road is allowed to go at the same time

keanu reeves cant be sent to neptune with an expired passport

my favorite videogame MIGHT be professor layton and the diabolical box just because ive never been able to get over the ending, but mario galaxy and deltarune also come to mind

[gingersnapwolves]

So today I want to talk about puberty blockers for transgender kids, because despite being cisgender, this is a subject I’m actually well-versed in. Specifically, I want to talk about how far backwards things have gone.

This story starts almost 20 years ago, and it’s kind of long, but I think it’s important to give you the full history. At the time, I was working as an administrative assistant for a pediatric endocrinologist in a red state. Not a deep deep red state like Alabama, we had a little bit of a purple trend, but still very much red. (I don’t want to say the state at the risk of doxxing myself.) And I took a phone call from a woman who said, “My son is transgender. Does your doctor do hormone therapy?”

I said, “Good question! Let me find out.”

I went into the back and found the doctor playing Solitaire on his computer and said, “Do you do hormone therapy for transgender kids?” It had literally never come up before. He had opened his practice there in the early 2000s. This was roughly 2006, and the first time someone asked. Without looking up from his game of Solitaire, the doctor said, “I’ve never done it before, but I know how it works, so sure.”

I got back on the phone and told the mom, who was overjoyed, and scheduled an appointment for her son. He was the first transgender child we treated with puberty blockers. But not, by far, the first child we treated with puberty blockers, period. Because puberty blockers are used very commonly for children with precocious puberty (early-onset puberty). I would say about twenty percent of the kids our doctor treated were for precocious puberty and were on puberty blockers. They have been well studied and are widely used, safe, and effective.

Well. It turned out, the doctor I worked for was the only doctor in the state who was willing to do this. And word spread pretty fast in the tight-knit community of ‘parents of transgender children in a red state’. We started seeing more kids. A better drug came out. We saw some kids who were at the age where they were past puberty, and prescribed them estrogen or testosterone. Our doctor became, I’m fairly sure, a small folk hero to this community. 

Insurance coverage was a struggle. I remember copying articles and pages out of the Endocrine Society Manual to submit with prior authorization requests for the medications. Insurance coverage was a struggle for a lot of what we did, though. Growth hormone for kids with severe idiopathic short stature. Insulin pumps, which weren’t as common at the time, and then continuous glucose monitoring, when that came out. Insurance struggles were just part and parcel of the job.

I remember vividly when CVS Caremark, a pharmaceutical management company, changed their criteria and included gender dysphoria as a covered diagnosis for puberty blockers. I thought they had put the option on the questionnaire to trigger an automatic denial. But no - it triggered an approval. Medicaid started to cover it. I got so good at getting approvals with my by then tidy packet of articles and documentation that I actually had people in other states calling me to see what I was submitting (the pharmaceutical rep gave them my number because they wanted more people on their drug, which, shady, but sure. He did ask me if it was okay first).

And here’s the key point of this story:

At no point, during any of this, did it ever even occur to any of us that we might have to worry about whether or not what we were doing was legal.

It just never even came up. It was the medically recommended treatment so we did it. And seeing what’s happening in the UK and certain states in America is both terrifying and genuinely shocking to me, as someone who did this for almost fifteen years, without ever even wondering about the legality of it.

The doctor retired some years ago, at which point there were two other doctors in the state who were willing to prescribe the medications for transgender kids. I truly think that he would still be working if nobody else had been willing to take those kids on as patients. He was, by the way, a white cisgender heterosexual Boomer. I remember when he was introduced to the concept of ‘genderfluid’ because one of our patients on HRT wanted to go off. He said ‘that’s so interesting!’ and immediately went to Google to learn more about it. 

I watched these kids transform. I saw them come into the office the first time, sometimes anxious and uncertain, sometimes sullen and angry. I saw them come in the subsequent times, once they were on hormone therapy, how they gradually became happy and confident in themselves. I saw the smiles on their faces when I gave them a gender marker letter for the DMV. I heard them cheer when I called to tell them I’d gotten HRT approved by insurance and we were calling in a prescription. It was honestly amazing and I will always consider the work I did in that red state with those kids to be something I am incredibly proud of. I was honored to be a part of it.

When I see all this transgender backlash, it’s horrifying, because it was well on the way to become standard and accepted treatment. Insurances started to cover it. Other doctors were learning to prescribe it. And now … it’s fucking illegal? Like what the actual fuck. We have gone so far backwards that it makes me want to cry. I don’t know how to stop this slide. But I wrote this so people would understand exactly how steep the slide is.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 17: May 2024 - Part 2

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, mention of the loss of a parent

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

Alexandra didn’t mean to become an investigator.

It wasn’t like she’d shown up to the Monaco GP Qualifying with a magnifying glass and a corkboard. But when you’d been dating Charles Leclerc long enough—and surviving his family dynamics even longer—you learned to pay attention. To the tone. To the silences. To the details no one else saw.

Which was why, as she sipped her matcha in the shaded calm of the Paddock Lounge, Alexandra looked across the table at Carmen Montero Mundt and said, without preamble:

“I think Isabelle has a boyfriend.”

Carmen snorted. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Alexandra said, leveling her with a look. “She has a Chanel bag and a new bracelet. And she isn’t flinching when her brothers snap at her these days.” 

Carmen blinked, clearly caught off guard. “That’s… quite a list.”

“She’s glowing,” Alexandra continued. “Like, actual glowy skin, soft hair, new moisturizer who this kind of glow. And she’s started saying no to her brothers. You don’t wake up one day and grow a spine for no reason. Something changed.”

Carmen laughed, a little too loudly. “Okay, okay. I mean… that’s crazy, though. Right? Isabelle? Dating? In this paddock?” She waved a hand. “Wild idea.”

Alexandra narrowed her eyes.

Carmen looked away.

“You know something,” Alexandra said flatly.

“What? No. I just—”

“Carmen.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being supportive.”

“You’re squirming,” Alexandra said, setting her cup down. “You know something.”

Carmen opened her mouth. Closed it. Fiddled with her sleeve.

“If I did know something,” she said carefully, “Charles would absolutely not be allowed to know.”

That was confirmation enough.

Alexandra leaned back, lips twitching. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Carmen said quickly, holding up her hands.

“You just did,” Alexandra whispered, eyes wide. “She’s seeing someone. She is.”

“I never confirmed that,” Carmen insisted, eyes darting. “This is purely hypothetical.”

“But you said Charles can’t know,” Alexandra replied, voice low. “Which means it’s someone Charles would hate. So. Let’s play a game.”

“No games,” Carmen said immediately.

Alexandra smiled sweetly. “Is it Lando?”

Carmen visibly short-circuited.

Carmen choked on her coffee. “What? No!”

Alexandra narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Lando is—no. No. Absolutely not.”

“Is it Lando?!” Alexandra repeated, scandalized. “Oh my god.”

Carmen clutched her water bottle like it might save her. “Alex, I’m begging you—I didn’t say it was Lando!”

Alexandra’s brain was already spinning. “Wait. It’s someone in the paddock, isn’t it?”

Carmen made a noise that could’ve been a cough or a plea.

Alexandra gasped. “It’s someone in the paddock. You just confirmed it!”

“No I didn’t.”

“You totally did.”

“I absolutely didn’t.”

“You’re panicking, which means I’m right.”

Carmen buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

Alexandra grinned. “You love me.”

“I will never survive Charles finding out.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

Carmen peeked through her fingers. “You won’t?”

“No,” Alexandra said, a little too gleefully. “Because I want to figure it out myself. And then I want to sit front row for the chaos when Charles does find out.”

Carmen groaned. “You’re evil.”

Alexandra took a victorious sip of matcha. “Isabelle has clearly been holding out on us.”

She glanced across the paddock, just in time to catch a glimpse of Isabelle—composed, chic, wearing that ridiculous bracelet that no one on her salary bought herself—speaking calmly to a Ferrari engineer.

Alexandra smiled.

Game on.

***

Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, painting golden streaks across the navy-blue sheets. The faint hum of the city below filtered through the open balcony doors, mingling with the distant sound of waves hitting the rocks. The air smelled like salt, fresh linens, and a hint of Max’s cologne lingering on the pillows.

Isabelle stirred, shifting slightly beneath the covers. Before she could open her eyes, a warm hand slid over her waist, pulling her back against a familiar chest.

“Stay,” Max mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

She smiled, settling against him. “We have to get up soon.”

Max let out a low hum, nuzzling into the back of her neck. “Later.”

She turned in his arms, finally opening her eyes to find him watching her with that soft, drowsy expression he only ever wore in the mornings. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looked at her like he had nowhere else to be, like nothing in the world mattered but her.

His lips curved into a slow grin. “Happy birthday, Schatje.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. “Thank you.”

Max propped himself up on his elbow and reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a small, velvet box. “I know you said no gifts until tomorrow, but…” He handed it to her. “I want you to have this today.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow but took the box, flipping it open. Inside, a pair of delicate diamond studs glimmered in the morning light. Simple, timeless—exactly her style.

Her throat tightened.

“Max,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over one.

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your real present comes tomorrow,” he promised. “But I wanted you to have something for today, too.”

She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. “I love them.”

Max grinned, looking satisfied with himself, before rolling over her to reach for his phone. “We have time before we leave. Do you want scrambled eggs?”

She laughed, pushing at his chest. “You just want an excuse to make a mess in the kitchen.”

“I would never.”

She let him pull her out of bed anyway.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: 🕯️ I have lit the ceremonial birthday candle 🎂 You have officially survived another year of Leclerc-related nonsense 🪩 Proud of you, love you, and am mentally blowing up balloons in your honour.  (Also: do not lift a single finger today. Your brothers are on their own.)

Isabelle: It’s 6am. But thank you 🖤

Emilie: You’re welcome. Now go eat something sugary and dramatic and let Max spoil you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria:  Happy birthday, Belle 💛 Victoria:   The boys made you a card—well, Luka drew a race car and Lio ate half a crayon, but it’s heartfelt. 💛 Victoria:   There’s cake waiting when you come up next ❤️We miss you.

Isabelle: Thank you, Vic ❤️ Tell the boys I love them. And I accept race cars with open arms.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: Happy Birthday, Belle! I know the day will be loud, but I hope someone takes a quiet moment just for you. You are thoughtful, steady, and stronger than you think. And you are so very loved.  Thank you for everything you’ve brought into Max’s life. Into ours.  We’re lucky to have you.

Isabelle: Thank you, Sophie. That means more than I can say.

Sophie: No need to say it. Just know.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Oscar Piastri

Oscar: Happy birthday, Belle! Lily says I have to include emojis so: 🎉🎂🧁💐 Thanks for adopting me into Monaco and teaching me how to not get run over by mopeds. (And how to find the best cheese…and saving my back from that couch.)

Isabelle: Thank you, Oscar 🧡 You were an excellent Monaco adoptee. Very teachable. Solid cheese instincts. 10/10 dodging reflexes. Good Luck today!

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lando Norris

Lando: happy birthday, belle!! i was going to say something cool and poetic but i’m not awake enough for that. you’re a legend even when you scare me a little. (in a good way.)

Isabelle: thank you, lando 🧡 You’re not so bad yourself—even when you’re making that face you make mid-qualy. Legend recognizes legend. Appreciate you. Good Luck today!

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lily Zneimer

Lily: 🎉🎂 HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO MONACO’S MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED GEM 💄👑 I hope today is full of peace, good coffee, and zero passive-aggressive family drama. (But just in case—it’s me. I’m your escape plan. Say the word, and we’re disappearing into McLaren hospitality with iced matchas and moral superiority.)

Isabelle: You had me at iced matcha and moral superiority. I’ll find you if the walls start closing in. Thank you, lily. Truly.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Daniel Ricciardo

Daniel: 🎈🎂 BELLE DAY!!! 🎂🎈

The only person I trust to emotionally manage Max Verstappen. Hope someone brings you flowers. And maybe a pony. If they don’t, I will personally cause a scene.

Isabelle: Thank you, Dan🩵 If a pony appears on my balcony, i’ll know who to blame. 

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lewis Hamilton

Lewis: Happy birthday, Belle. I hope someone reminds you today how deeply you’re appreciated—not just for what you do, but for who you are. Thank you for keeping half the grid emotionally intact. Sending love. 

Isabelle: Thank you! Sending love right back. Good Luck today! ***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Happy Birthday, Belle. Hope today brings you at least half the peace you bring Max. (And maybe a cupcake that isn’t from a sponsor.)

Isabelle: You saying that means more than a dozen cupcakes. (Though, for the record, I am on the lookout for a non-sponsored one.) Thank you 🩵

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Jos Verstappen

Jos: Happy birthday, Belle.

Isabelle: Thank you 🩵

***

The garage was buzzing already.

Ferrari reds were everywhere—technicians checking monitors, Charles pacing with purpose, Arthur trying to look official in his headset like he wasn’t a nervous wreck. Pascale stood just outside the garage in heels that defied logic, talking animatedly to a photographer. Lorenzo was in full PR mode, coordinating something Belle didn’t want to know about.

It was chaos. Familiar, electric chaos.

No one had said anything.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even Arthur’s usual teasing “how does it feel to be ancient?” that she half-dreaded every year.

She didn’t know why she’d expected anything different. The race had swallowed them whole—Charles was starting on pole in Monaco. Nothing else existed. Not today.

Belle stood off to the side, near the rows of tire blankets, half watching the team run through final checks. Her arms were crossed loosely, her Ferrari pass swinging gently at her hip. She was calm. Mostly.

No one looked at Belle.

Not one person.

Not even the Ferrari comms girl who usually remembered these things and handed out team cupcakes with candles and Instagram captions.

Belle didn’t say a word about it.

She stood near the tire warmers, half-watching the screens, arms folded in her red windbreaker like she belonged—like she wasn’t a little hollow around the edges.

She didn’t need much. A nod. A quiet “happy birthday” from someone who shared her blood. 

She wasn’t a child. But she wasn’t made of stone, either.

“Belle,” came a voice from behind her, low and steady.

She turned. Carlos.

He was already in his suit, helmet in his hands, gloves off. His brows furrowed as he stepped a little closer, angled out of earshot from the others.

“Did they really all forget?” he asked quietly.

Belle gave a noncommittal shrug. “Race day. Everyone’s focused.”

Carlos looked unimpressed. “You’re Charles’ sister. You’re part of this team.”

“Not when he’s on pole at Monaco,” she said, her voice smooth. Not bitter. Not angry. Just… flat.

Carlos hesitated. “I could say something.”

Belle looked up at him, her eyes steady. “Please don’t.”

Carlos turned to face her more fully. “Belle—”

“I mean it,” she cut in gently, but firmly. “Don’t tell them. I don’t want a pity cupcake rushed from hospitality at the last minute. I don’t want a half-hearted ‘Oh my god, I forgot!’ over Charles’ shoulder after he wins Monaco.”

Carlos clenched his jaw, visibly holding back the urge to argue.

Belle folded her arms. “Let them forget. At least then it’s honest.”

“That’s not how it should be.”

“I know,” she said, softly. “But it’s how it is.”

Carlos looked at her for a long moment. 

A beat passed between them—quiet, unsaid, respectful.

Then Carlos exhaled, stepping back. “Feliz cumpleaños, Belle.”

“Gracias, Carlos.”

And just like that, he rejoined the team, already putting on his gloves, focus shifting toward the grid.

Belle didn’t move for a long time.

The noise swelled again. Charles laughed somewhere in the distance. Her mother was likely telling a cameraman how proud she was. Ferrari staff bustled past her, not one making eye contact.

Belle stayed silent.

She didn’t want fanfare. She didn’t need attention. But what she did want—to be remembered, without being the one to remind them—was clearly too much today.

So she folded her arms, stared at the screen, and reminded herself it was almost over.

And next year, she’d spend her birthday somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away from red walls and cheers that weren’t for her.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos: we have a situation.

it’s belle’s birthday.

and her entire family has forgotten.

including ferrari.

including CHARLES.

it is 20 minutes to lights out and not. one. word.

Oscar: I’m going to throw something.

George: You’re kidding. Please say you’re kidding.

Carlos: do i look like i’m joking?? she’s just standing there. like nothing’s wrong. like she’s not quietly dying inside.

Lando: okay well now i’m dying inside

Alex: I feel physically ill

Daniel: WHAT EXCUSE ME???

Lewis: You’re joking Please tell me you’re joking

Carlos: no. I asked her. no one said anything. not a text. not even a joke. not even her own mother.

Lando: is this a new low?? is this the actual lowest the Leclercs have ever gone??

Daniel: I’m in a race suit and I want to cry. WHAT DO WE DO??

Oscar: We should tell Max, right? Like. Surely he should know??

Carlos: If we tell Max he’ll cause a scene.

George: He would literally buy out all of Cartier Monaco mid-race and hand-deliver it to her at parc fermé.

Fernando: Do not underestimate that man. 

Lando: we’re going to hell for this but do we… see how long it takes before someone notices?

Lewis: We don’t tell them. We watch and we wait. Let’s see how long it takes them to remember without her saying a word.

Mark: Ten bucks says they still won’t realise by the time Charles gets to the podium.

David: Make it twenty. I’ll double it if their mother starts crying and still doesn’t remember.

Alex: Yes. I want data. I want timestamps.

Daniel: I want Ferrari’s social team to panic at 8pm when they realise they posted five shots of Charles and zero birthday wishes for the sister in their garage.

Sebastian Vettel: We’ll make it up to her later. But let them feel this silence.

Carlos: She said not to tell them. she said—and I quote—“I don’t want a pity cupcake.”

Oscar: I respect her so much it hurts

George: She’s the most composed person I’ve ever met And they just… forgot

Nico H.: This is going to haunt me until I die

Alex: We need to do something. Like now.

Sebastian: Tell her we remember. That we care. Also—flowers. Immediately.

Mark: Seconded. No one ignores that girl on her birthday.

Nico R.: Are we sending a coordinated surprise or staging an intervention?

Oscar: What’s our over/under on how long it takes for Charles to realise

Alex: If he wins: never.  If he DNFs: thirty seconds

Fernando: Either way, he’ll make it about himself

***

Text Messages: Carlos Sainz Jr. & Max Verstappen

Carlos: I know it’s race day. But I need to tell you something.

Max: Is Belle okay?

Carlos: She’s fine. She’s… not saying anything. Her entire family forgot her birthday. 

Max: …What?

Carlos: No one said a word. Not Charles. Not her mother. Even Ferrari didn’t acknowledge it.

Max: You’re sure?

Carlos: I asked her. She shrugged it off. Said not to say anything. Said she didn’t want a “pity cupcake.” She’s just standing in the garage. Alone. Like she’s used to it.

Max: I’m going to kill someone. I swear to god.

Carlos: She said let them forget. She meant it.

Max: I can’t just do nothing.

Carlos: I didn’t say do nothing. I said let them do nothing.

Carlos: You do what you do best. You show up for her.

Max: I always do.

Carlos: I know. I just thought you should know before she pretends it didn’t matter.

Max: Thanks. I owe you.

Carlos: You don’t. But I’ll take beer.

Max: Done.

***

Max’s helmet rested against his hip like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

The garage was loud—buzzing with the usual tension of Monaco race day. The sound of compressed air guns, the low thrum of engines firing in intervals, the blur of pit wall calls and tire heat readings. But he barely registered it.

His whole body hummed with fury.

Not at Ferrari. Not at Charles.

Not even at the race.

At them.

Her family.

Carlos had texted him in a quiet moment, just minutes before Max was supposed to get in the car. He’d said it carefully, like someone diffusing a live wire.

She’s fine, he’d said. Her entire family forgot her birthday. 

Max hadn’t spoken for a full fifteen seconds.

Not even Charles. Not Arthur. Not Lorenzo. Not her mother.

Not the people who called her sweet when she baked for them. Not the team that draped her in red when it suited their image. Not the brother whose name she still defended in interviews, whose wins she supported even when her own milestones went ignored.

Max should’ve expected it.

He had expected it, in a cynical, detached sort of way. He’d seen the patterns—how easily they forgot her. How quickly they looked through her. Belle had always been the quiet background to their spotlight. The steady one. The peacemaker. The girl who remembered everyone else’s birthdays.

But this?

On her birthday?

On the day Charles was starting from pole in Monaco—his home race, his fairy tale, his childhood dream teetering on the edge of reality—they couldn’t spare a moment to remember her.

Not even Arthur’s usual teasing. Not a cupcake. Not a card from Maman. Not a stupid “Happy Birthday” badge from Ferrari’s comms team.

Nothing.

She hadn’t said a word. She never did. She was standing in that garage—arms folded, expression unreadable, surrounded by people in red who didn’t see her at all. Like she was just a shadow of the name stitched into their driver’s suit.

Max hadn’t seen her yet. But he didn’t need to.

He felt it.

He always felt it when she was hurting.

He turned slowly, trying to quiet the storm behind his ribs, and found GP near the telemetry monitors.

“GP,” he said, low and tight.

GP looked up immediately, blinking at the look on Max’s face. “You okay?”

“No,” Max said. “But I’ll deal with it. I just needed to say it out loud.”

“Say what?”

“They forgot her birthday,” Max said. “All of them.”

GP went still.

“Her brothers. Her mother. Ferrari. All of them. Not a text. Not a smile. Nothing.”

GP swore softly.

“She told Carlos not to say anything,” Max added, jaw clenched. “Didn’t want a ‘pity cupcake.’”

GP didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Max exhaled hard. “And Charles is about to win Monaco.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Because he couldn’t even bring himself to feel bitter about that—not really. Charles had worked for it. Earned it. Fought tooth and nail for years to cross this particular finish line. But the fact that his win would be the reason Belle went unnoticed? That the whole paddock would celebrate while she stood quietly in the shadows?

It made Max’s skin itch with something close to rage.

He hated them for it.

He hated how easily they took her for granted. How they smiled when she made their lives easier and then left her to disappear behind the noise.

And he hated that this would become a story Belle told herself—proof she wasn’t worth remembering. That her soft presence, her quiet kindness, her constant steadiness, somehow made her forgettable.

She wasn’t.

Not to Max.

Never to Max.

“I’m going to finish this race,” he said quietly, voice like steel.

GP met his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. I know you are.”

“And after that, I’m taking her home.”

“Good.”

Max didn’t move for a beat. He stared at the garage wall across from him, past the chaos of prep and the blinking monitors, and thought of her.

He thought of the way she still smiled at her family like she was proud of them.

He thought of the way she folded into his arms like it was the only place she was ever allowed to fall apart.

He thought of how easy it would be to make today better. To remember what they didn’t. To hold her hand and say, I see you. I always see you.

He pulled his helmet on.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1HistoryMaker: HE DID IT. HE FINALLY DID IT. CHARLES LECLERC WINS HIS HOME GRAND PRIX.

@/MonacoMagic16: I’M CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING, THE ENTIRE PRINCIPALITY OF MONACO IS CRYING.

@/RedFlagged: Ferrari actually didn’t ruin his race. Miracles do happen.

@/​​PitLaneProphet: Charles Leclerc winning Monaco is like a fairy tale finally getting its happy ending.

@/ScuderiaSimp: Charles crying, his team crying, the whole of Monaco crying, me crying in my living room—this is cinema.

@/RacingRoyalty: Not to be that person, but isn’t it also Isabelle Leclerc’s birthday today? Like… what a day for their family.

↳ @/F1Detective: So Charles wins Monaco on his sister’s birthday? This man really said, “Happy birthday, Isabelle, here’s the greatest achievement of my career.”

@/MonacoMonarch: Not to be dramatic, but I think the entire country of Monaco is going to declare today a national holiday.

@/ScuderiaFaithful: CHARLES LECLERC. MONACO GRAND PRIX WINNER. WE WAITED. WE SUFFERED. WE PRAYED. AND FINALLY, IT HAPPENED.

@/FerrariTifosi: Ferrari finally gave Charles a functional strategy in Monaco. I need a moment.

@/ScuderiaForever: CHARLES LECLERC WINS MONACO. I AM SCREAMING. I AM CRYING. I AM KISSING THE STREETS OF MONTE CARLO.

@/F1StatsGuy: Charles Leclerc becomes the first Monegasque driver to win the Monaco Grand Prix in 93 years. And all it took was years of heartbreak.

***

When Charles crossed the finish line, the world broke open around her.

The Ferrari garage erupted—screaming, fists in the air, champagne already being shaken loose from the back fridges. There were hugs, backslaps, high-pitched shouting in Italian. Team radios buzzed and clicked, Charles’ voice half-choked with emotion as he screamed in disbelief over the comms.

He’d done it.

 He’d won Monaco.

His home. His heartbreak. His ghost track.

And Belle was happy.

 Genuinely, undeniably happy for him.

She stood in the shadow of the celebration, just out of the camera frame, tucked near the telemetry screens with her arms loosely folded across her chest. Her lips were curved in something like a smile, her eyes glassy but bright. She clapped when the others clapped. She even let herself cheer when the Ferrari engineers surged forward like a wave.

She watched Arthur leap into Charles’ arms. Watched Pascale cry and kiss both her sons like the world had ended and been reborn in red and gold. Lorenzo filmed the moment on his phone with the focus of a man who would post it ten seconds later. The garage was shaking with joy.

And no one looked at Belle.

Not even once.

No passing “Happy birthday.” No late realization. No elbow nudge from Arthur, no cheek kiss from their mother. Not even the Ferrari comms girl with her clipboard full of media notes and scheduled shoutouts.

Nothing.

She didn't even know why she was still waiting. She should've known. She did know. But hope was funny that way—it always showed up, uninvited.

The hollowness wasn’t sharp. Just heavy. Just tired.

She felt it most when she watched Charles climb the fence to his team, red gloves in the air, face split in triumph. She felt it when the anthem played and the grandstands sang with him. She felt it in every photo she wasn’t in, every cheer she smiled through, every red flare that lit up the sky without once glancing her way.

It wasn’t malice. Just absence.

And Belle knew absence better than most.

Carlos found her at some point in the swirl of it all. He didn’t say anything. Just passed her a bottle of water, stood beside her for a while like a silent sentinel. She didn’t speak either. He didn’t need her to.

Later, when they followed the team up toward parc fermé, someone handed her a headset and someone else ushered her toward the group photo. She stood on the end. Smiled. Did her part. She had practice, after all.

She caught Charles’ eye once—just once—as he grinned like the world was finally giving him what he’d fought so long for.

After the photo, Belle quietly stepped away. Back into the shadows of the paddock. Back to silence.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t sigh. She just… breathed. Steadily.

She was proud of him. She really, truly was.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

He was waiting for her that evening. After the race…after the celebrations…she had texted him that she was on her way home…and he had come downstairs to wait in the lobby of the building they lived in…

He knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the elevator with him and the doors closed. 

Belle didn’t move like herself.

She was too still. Folded in. Shoulders curled inward like she was trying to disappear into the seams of her own body. Her hands were clutched in the sleeves of her windbreaker. Ferrari Red. Worn over a cream coloured ress. 

She didn’t look at him—not when the doors opened, not when they slid shut. Just stood there blinking, like she wasn’t crying yet, but would be. Soon.

Max—who knew every version of her—recognized this one.

This was Belle when she’d given too much and received nothing back. When she’d swallowed every hurt and pretended it was fine until the silence pressed against her ribs.

She was unraveling. Quietly. Completely.

“Hi,” he said softly. Like a rope thrown out to sea. “I knew you’d leave early.”

She didn’t answer.

She took one small step forward.

Her knees buckled.

He caught her before gravity could.

She fell into his chest like the air had left her lungs. Her hands clutched at his hoodie—white-knuckled, shaking. Her face buried itself just beneath his collarbone. Her breath hitched, shallow and sharp. Not sobbing. Not yet.

But he felt it coming.

And God, he wanted to kill someone for it.

“They forgot,” she whispered.

Max closed his eyes.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

“All of them. Maman. Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Even Ferrari.” Her voice caught on the name. “Not even a text. Not even a joke.”

His jaw tightened until it hurt.

Max wanted to scream. He wanted to take every single person who called themselves her family and demand how they could stand beside her and not see her. Not notice the way she always noticed them. How she remembered birthdays, anniversaries, meaningless preferences about milk and Spotify playlists.

Belle held the whole damn family together like an invisible thread. And they’d looked straight through her.

“They looked through me,” Belle whispered, her voice breaking completely now. “Like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just… invisible.”

Max wrapped his arms around her like armor.

“You’re not invisible,” he said fiercely, pressing his mouth to her hair. “You’re everything. And I see you, Belle. I always see you.”

She made a sound then—small and broken—and the dam burst.

She sobbed like it had been building all day. Her whole body shook against his. The kind of grief that wasn’t about one thing but all of it—every quiet dismissal, every missed moment, every time she’d made herself small so someone else could shine.

Max didn’t speak. Just held her. Let her cry. Let her fall apart the way no one had ever given her permission to do before.

By the time they reached their floor, her legs barely worked.

Max carried her inside.

He didn’t ask if she was hungry. Didn’t ask if she wanted to talk.

He filled the bath instead. Lit candles. Got her out of her Ferrari red windbreaker and the cream dress she had worn and into the water, slow and careful, like she might shatter if he moved too fast.

He washed her hair in silence. Brushed it back from her face. Whispered her name and little nothings—soft words meant to ground her, not fix her.

Belle didn’t say anything more.

She just curled into him, damp and shivering in one of his old Red Bull shirts, and shut down completely.

He got her into bed. Tucked the duvet around her like a shield. Slipped in behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, face pressed to the back of her neck. The cats climbed up and curled against her legs—silent, instinctive.

She didn’t move. Barely breathed.

But slowly, eventually, her breathing steadied. Like maybe the worst had passed. Or maybe she just couldn’t carry it anymore.

Max lay there, wide awake, rage blooming quiet and white-hot behind his ribs.

He thought of the garage. Of Charles laughing, soaked in champagne. Of Pascale gushing to a camera crew, pride sparkling in her eyes. Of Arthur pretending to be important in a headset and Lorenzo posing for photos.

Not one of them had seen her.

She’d stood there, right there, in her red jacket and her quiet grace and her heartbreak—and not one of them remembered.

Max hated them in that moment. All of them.

They didn’t deserve the version of Belle they so often took for granted.

And in the quiet, he made himself a promise.

They would never get to hurt her like this again.

Not by accident.

 Not by carelessness.

 Not by forgetting the girl who remembered everyone else.

Let them celebrate Charles. Let them flood Instagram with podiums and champagne and family pride.

He would be the one who never forgot her.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos:Charles still hasn’t realized.

Oscar: I thought he’d realize when Ferrari posted the celebration gallery.

Lewis: You’re telling me he looked at her IN THE GARAGE on her birthday, won the most emotional race of his life and still didn’t realize she was standing right there and it was her birthday??

Carlos: Yes. That’s what I’m telling you.

Daniel: WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM.

Alex: Everything.

Nico H.: This is the most committed man has ever been to the concept of obliviousness.

Mark: I think he deserves a prize for this.

Sebastian: A slap is a prize now?

Fernando: We should start a timer. See how long it takes him.

Lewis: We already are. George made a spreadsheet.

George: Currently it’s at around 16 hours. 

Oscar: Should we… drop hints?

Carlos: Belle doesn’t want pity cupcakes. Remember?

David: What happens if he remembers a week late?

Lando: We release the tapes.

Alex: There are tapes???

Lando: There are always tapes.

Nico R.: How do we not tell him?

George: Because now it’s a scientific experiment and also a moral failing.

Sebastian: Also because if he finds out now, it’ll be a dramatic guilt spiral and Belle will have to comfort him and she deserves better.

Mark: Can we send her flowers anonymously again?

Sebastian: Already handled.

Oscar: We should send her a plaque. “Survived the Monaco GP and her entire family’s emotional incompetence.”

Lando: New merch idea???

David: I want in on that.

Kimi: this chat is insane

Daniel: That’s rich coming from you.

Kimi: tell leclerc he’s an asshole.

Carlos: She told me not to.

George: So we do nothing.

Oscar: Except passive-aggressively track it like the disappointed siblings she deserves.

***

Belle woke up in the quiet.

The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the early sea breeze. The city was still sleeping off champagne and street rubber. And Max… Max hadn’t moved.

He was lying beside her, still in the same hoodie he’d held her in last night, one arm curled protectively around her waist like he’d never once let go.

Her eyes were dry. Her throat sore. Her chest hollow.

But she wasn’t crying anymore.

Belle just felt still.

Slowly, she shifted beneath the blankets. Max stirred instantly, his hold softening so she could move, but his eyes opened the second she sat up.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “How do you feel?”

Belle pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them loosely. Her voice came out steady. Too steady.

“I’m done.”

Max blinked. “Done?”

“I don’t want anyone to say anything to them,” she said. “Not yet. Not today.”

“Belle…”

She shook her head. “I want to see how long it takes. How many days pass before someone notices.”

Max sat up beside her, eyes on her face. “That’s going to hurt.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause. The kind where most people would fill the silence with softness or sugar.

But not Max. He just waited.

“They forgot me,” Belle said. “And I think part of me always knew they would, eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be… so easy for them.”

Max’s hand brushed gently down her back. “You don’t have to forgive them.”

“I don’t even want to talk to them,” she said quietly. “Not right now. Not this week. Maybe not ever. I don’t want explanations. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want Charles saying he was too focused or Maman pretending she got the date wrong. I don’t want a retroactive Instagram post or some half-wilted apology bouquet.”

She turned her head and met Max’s eyes.

“I just want silence. Because that’s what they gave me.”

Max nodded once, slow and sure. “Then they get silence.”

She exhaled. Closed her eyes. Rested her cheek against his shoulder.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t even angry anymore.

She was just done.

She didn’t need to rage. She didn’t need to beg. She didn’t need to remind them why she mattered.

They should’ve known. And now, she was done teaching them how to love her.

The silence stretched again, but it felt easier now. Not so sharp around the edges.

Max stayed still for a moment longer, just letting her lean against him. Letting her breathe. Letting her exist without needing to perform for anyone’s comfort.

Then, he kissed the top of her head and stood.

Belle didn’t ask where he was going. She just stayed curled beneath the duvet, watching him move through the bedroom with quiet purpose.

When she finally followed the smell of something warm and toasty, the kitchen was already glowing with morning light. Monaco’s buildings gleamed gold just beyond the windows, and the sea sparkled like it didn’t know what day it was—or what it had cost her yesterday.

Max was barefoot, still rumpled from sleep, flipping something on the stove with quiet concentration.

Belle leaned against the doorframe. “You’re making pancakes?”

Max glanced over his shoulder. “Kind of,” he said. “You had a rough day. I figured a breakfast that doesn’t ask too much of you was a good idea.”

She blinked. “Pancakes ask nothing of me.”

“Exactly.” He nodded at the table. “Sit. I made tea.”

There were two mugs already waiting. Her favorite blend. A little honey on the side. A tiny bowl of berries that definitely hadn’t come from their fridge.

“Did you go out this morning?” she asked, touched but suspicious.

“I have resources,” Max said, which usually meant “I bullied someone over text until they delivered groceries before sunrise.”

Belle sat.

He placed a plate in front of her a moment later—pancakes with lightly caramelized edges, fresh raspberries (her favourite), and just a touch of powdered sugar. Not fancy. Not showy. But thoughtful.

Just like him.

Max sat across from her, sipping his coffee, watching her with the kind of quiet that meant he didn’t need to talk unless she wanted him to.

They ate in near silence. Belle didn’t finish everything. She didn’t need to. Max didn’t comment on it.

It wasn’t until he stood to rinse the dishes that he finally said, with a little smile tugging at his lips— “So,” he said. “Now that you’ve had coffee and carbs and emotional catharsis…”

Belle raised an eyebrow.

“…do you want your actual birthday surprise?”

She froze.

Max smiled, crooked and careful. “I know yesterday made it hard. And I didn’t want to push. But I have something for you. Well. Two somethings, technically.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Two?”

Max stood, offered his hand. “Trust me?”

She didn’t hesitate as she took it. “Always.”

He pulled her to her feet gently, not rushing her, not asking her to smile. Just kissed her knuckles and said, “Put on something comfortable. We’ve got a drive ahead.”

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Max Verstappen

Oscar: Hey. Just wanted to check in on Belle. How’s she doing?

Max: She cried herself to sleep yesterday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her fall apart like that.

Oscar: Shit.

Max: Yeah.

Oscar: Is she… okay today?

Max: She’s quiet. Said she’s done.

Oscar: Done like…?

Max: She doesn’t want to talk to any of them. Doesn’t want apologies. Doesn’t want excuses. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.

Oscar: She’s allowed to be done.

Max: Yeah. I’m not going to stop her.

Oscar: You shouldn’t. They don’t deserve her patience.

Max: They never did.

Oscar: Is there anything you need?

Max: No. I’ve got her. Just… make sure people don’t push her. Don’t try to fix it.. She’s drawing the line.

Oscar: Got it. Tell her we’re here if she needs anything.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Oscar: Update from Max: Belle cried herself to sleep last night. And this morning she said she’s done with all of them.

George: …Jesus.

Lando: This is actually heartbreaking. I feel physically sick.

Carlos: She didn’t even look sad. That’s the worst part. She looked like someone who expected it.

Daniel: Max must be losing it.

Oscar: He is. But he’s also calm. The kind of calm where you know someone’s promising vengeance in five languages.

Lewis: And she still doesn’t want anyone to say anything to them?

Oscar: Nope. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.

Alex: I’m going to scream.

George: How long do we think this goes before Charles realizes?

Fernando: Forever.

Mark: Until she is pregnant and married and they notice the child, maybe.

Sebastian: Even then, they’ll probably ask if it’s a friend’s baby.

Lando:  She stood in the garage on her birthday and they all just looked past her. I can’t get over that. 

Alex: And she didn’t say anything. She gave them every chance.

Sebastian: She gave them years of chances.

David: That’s the part I can’t get past. She was right there.

Carlos: I asked her if she wanted me to say something. She said, “At least this way, it’s honest.”

George: She always showed up for them. Every birthday. Every event. Every podium.

Sebastian: And they never noticed when she needed someone to show up for her.

Alex: I hope they feel that silence for a long, long time.

Mark: They will. Max will make sure of it.

***

The drive was short—fifteen minutes, maybe twenty with traffic—but Belle didn’t ask where they were going. She just watched the streets of Monaco blur past the passenger window, the sun bright against the water. Everything shimmered with the afterglow of race day.

The city was still coming down from its high.

Belle, however, was just beginning to breathe again.

When Max pulled onto a narrow road, Belle blinked. She knew the turn. Knew the uneven curve of the gravel path. Her heart tugged hard against her ribs.

“Max,” she whispered, sitting up straighter.

He parked, turned off the engine, and looked at her.

“We’re here,” he said softly.

Her favorite stables—one she had visited countless times over the years. Where she still had her twice weekly riding lessons. 

“Max…”

He just smiled, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on.”

She followed him, her steps a little hesitant, excitement bubbling beneath her skin. The barn was already awake with morning energy—horses shifting in their stalls, soft neighs filling the air, the scent of hay and earth grounding her instantly.

And then she saw her.

A grey mare, soft-eyed and dappled silver, resting quietly in the corner of a sun-warmed paddock. She turned as Belle approached—calm, regal, familiar in a way that made Belle’s lungs forget how to work.

It was like looking through time.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Max moved beside her, voice low. “Her name’s Fleur. Short for Blanchefleur. She’s Blanche’s daughter.”

Belle’s knees nearly gave.

“I found her,” Max went on, voice low. “She was in Italy. Pregnant. Due in a couple months. Emilie helped me track her down.”

Belle’s legs went weak. She reached for the fence without thinking, steadying herself with one hand.

Fleur lifted her head and looked straight at her—calm, curious, and somehow impossibly familiar. Those eyes. That stillness. Belle hadn’t realized how much she missed that kind of stillness. The kind that didn’t expect anything from her.

“She looks like her,” Belle whispered. “Her eyes—God. Max…”

Max reached for her hand again. Her fingers trembled when they laced with his.

“I know I can’t bring Blanche back,” he said. “But I thought maybe… you could have a piece of her. And something for the future, too.”

Fleur stepped toward the gate, nosing at the wood gently. Belle lifted her hand without thinking, fingers trembling as she touched soft fur. The tears started behind her eyes, hot and dizzying.

“She’s beautiful,” Belle whispered. “She’s so beautiful.”

“She’s yours,” Max said simply. “Both of them are.”

Belle looked at him, wide-eyed, stunned. “You… bought her?”

Max nodded. “She’s yours. To ride. To keep. To just visit, if that’s what you want. You don’t have to prove anything to her. Or to me. Just be hers. Let her be yours.”

Belle didn’t know what to say. She only knew how it felt—like someone had placed the missing piece of her life back into her hands, quietly, without expectation.

Her throat closed up with emotion. “Max…”

“I know they’ve taken things from you,” Max said, his voice breaking just a little. “Blanche. Your birthday. The way they look through you like you’re air. I can’t give it all back. But I can give you this. Something no one can take away.”

Belle turned fully toward him—and that’s when he moved.

He sank to one knee in the sand, quiet and sure, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket. Her breath hitched.

He looked up at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted to protect.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Max said softly. “And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you’re never invisible again. Not for a single moment.”

Belle didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then he opened the box.

A ring. Elegant. Understated. An emerald set in gold—delicate and bold all at once.

She made a sound—barely a breath—and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands flying to his shoulders, tears spilling freely now.

“Marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. 

She pulled him into her arms, face buried in his neck, both of them kneeling in the sand and sunlight and soft smell of hay and horses.

“Yes,” she said again, just to say it.“Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”

Because this time, she wasn’t forgotten. She was chosen.

And Max had made sure of it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”

***

[hoshifighting]

i'm BEGGING for a collegefling! jeonghan plzz

thank youuuu 💗 love your work <33

warnings: smut, teasing, flirting, fingering, penetrative sex, cock riding, semi-public sex, library sex, loud!jeonghan, jealousy, he's such a cutie too.

college fling!jeonghan who's not the type to play around with mixed signals. if he wants something, he’s pretty direct about it. likes games—just not the confusing kind. so, yeah, when you first met him, you kind of got what he was about from day one. freshman year was chaos. the university’s big events had everyone talking—water games, shirtless dudes, bikinis, everyone all bronzed and glowing under the sun. but jeonghan— he’s not about the whole "show off my body" thing. kept his shirt on, like he didn’t need to prove a damn thing. confident as hell, and you hated how much that got to you.

he was the one who came up to you first, of course. said something like, “my friend thinks you’re pretty.” such a casual opener, like it was no big deal. but then he took it further, all smooth with a teasing smile. “but i don’t really trust his taste, so i had to see for myself.”

you remember just rolling your eyes, thinking, this guy—but also trying not to let on that his vibe was doing things to your brain. when he went on to say, “so, are we making out now, or later?”—you laughed in his face, hard. hard as fuck, actually, and told him straight up that wasn’t happening, and his response? a smirk. that smirk that would become the smirk, the one you'd start seeing every time he spotted you from across campus, during parties, even in the quiet corner of the library when you thought you were safe.

after that day, it was like this... game, but not really a game. like, you’d be minding your business, trying to get through your classes, and boom—jeonghan would be there, casually sliding in with some flirty comment, always teetering on the line of too much. but never quite crossing it. like one time, you were sitting with your laptop, probably stressed over a deadline, and he just popped up with, “you look like you could use a distraction.” you shot back, “don’t you have someone else to annoy?” and of course, he answered, “nah, i’m committed to you.” committed. like it wasn’t just a stupid flirty thing.

and it kept going. year after year. no kissing, no hooking up—just this ridiculous back-and-forth, every time he saw you, making your stomach twist up in knots. it was frustrating as hell, ‘cause even though he flirted like it was second nature, he never actually pushed you to do anything more. he knew the game. he knew exactly how far to take it before pulling back, leaving you wanting more but hating that you even did.

one night, you were at some random house party, loud music, too many people, and of course, there he was. leaning against the kitchen counter, looking all too comfortable in a place that was way too crowded. he saw you first, waved you over with that lazy smile that you wanted to ignore but couldn’t. “you lost or just looking for me?” he asked, knowing damn well you weren’t looking for him.

“neither,” you lied, grabbing a drink from the counter just to have something to hold. but he wasn’t buying it, stepping a little closer, crowding your space just enough to make your breath catch.

“right,” he said, that teasing lilt in his voice. “so you’re not here just to finally kiss me?”

you laughed again, but this time, it didn’t feel as easy. “jeonghan, you’ve been trying for years. give it up.”

“noo sweetheart,” he pouted, voice smooth like honey. “i’m just playing the long game. i like it..”

the long game. because even though you never kissed, never took it past flirting, there was always this tension, simmering just below the surface. you’d catch yourself thinking about him sometimes when you weren’t even around him—wondering if he ever thought about you the same way.

but he never made it weird. never tried to make you feel like you owed him anything, which was maybe why you didn’t hate him for it. because at the end of the day, it was fun. infuriating, yes. but fun. he’d make a comment, you’d brush it off, but deep down? yeah, there was always a part of you that kinda wanted to see what would happen if you let the game go on a little longer.

and jeonghan... he was patient. too patient, if you were being honest.

there was something stupidly comforting about jeonghan always being around. like, even on your worst days—those days when you couldn’t even be bothered to try. oversized hoodie, messy hair, not a scrap of makeup. you were barely surviving, and there he was, still managing to make you feel noticed. he’d walk up, casual as hell, and say things like, “your hair smells nice today,” or he’d reach out, fingers grazing your hand, just to say, “new nails? they look cute.”

and then there was that one time, oh god—you remember it clear as day. you’d barely rolled out of bed and showed up to class, hoodie pulled tight around you, and jeonghan slides up beside you at the cantine, glancing down at your hand. “you know what would look cute wrapped in there?” he’d said, all casual. and for a split second, you didn’t catch on. you were about to ask what he meant, then it hit you—cock. he meant cock.

you felt your face heat up, your brain misfiring as you shot him a look, trying to figure out if anyone else had heard. your eyes scanned the tables, praying no one else had clocked his little comment, and when you finally turned back to him, there he was—smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “what?” he asked, all fake innocence, like you hadn’t just caught onto his bullshit. “i was talking about the energy drink can.” and he pointed at the one in your hand, the one you had just bought. “it matches your nails.”

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. he had this way of making everything lighter, even when you were convinced it was gonna be a trash day. and he smiled too, like your happiness was his mission for the day. it was always like that. jeonghan would flirt, you’d roll your eyes or laugh, and things would feel a little easier. it was comfortable. safe, even.

but then… spring party. fuck.

there was something so painfully uncomfortable about seeing him with her. it wasn’t even the fact that they were together—it was the way he smiled at her. the way his arm was casually around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and then the cheek kiss. you saw it, and it felt like something lodged itself in your chest. like, what the hell.

it hit you like a ton of bricks. you liked the game too much. you liked him too much, but you hadn’t taken the shot. you never thought it was serious enough to matter, but seeing him with someone else? it felt like you were watching something that should’ve been yours. the whole night was a blur after that. no amount of party energy could bring you back up after seeing that.

you left early. didn’t even bother sticking around when the lights got lower, the music got louder, and everyone else started to get more and more drunk. you just… left. walked back to your dorm, the sound of your flower crown jingling a little with each step, the one your friends had insisted you wear. it felt stupid now. why the hell did you even care?

and then, as if the universe had it out for you, you saw him. just walking out of the dorms. not just any dorms. the dorms. the girls’ dorms. and you knew. of course it was her. she was in there, probably waving him off after some perfect little goodnight, and here you were, walking around with jealousy you didn’t even want to admit you had.

he saw you before you could duck away. smiled at you like nothing was weird, like you hadn’t seen him with her just hours before. “mhmmm... who’s this princess, huh?” he wolf-whistled, because of course, of course, he would. his eyes twinkled when they landed on your flower crown, clearly amused.

you weren’t. “fuck off, jeonghan,” you muttered, trying to brush past him. but you knew it. he heard it. he caught the tone immediately because even when he got on your nerves before, you were never this cold.

“whoa, whoa,” he called after you, stepping in your path with that all-too-familiar smirk, though now it felt different. heavier. “where’s this coming from? what happened? don’t tell me the princess has had a rough night?”

“i’m not in the mood,” you snapped, making a beeline for your dorm. but he wasn’t letting it go. he blocked your way again, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes studying you like he was figuring out some kind of puzzle. you saw his eyes lighting up.

“wait a minute… are you jealous?”

the way he said it, like he was genuinely surprised and also deeply entertained by the thought. you didn’t even want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but your eyes flicked up anyway, glaring.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“i’m ridiculous?” he laughed, stepping a little closer. “so you saw me with her, huh?” he teased, and you could see the moment he clicked it all together. “oh my god. you are jealous.”

“shut up, jeonghan.”

but he didn’t. he was full-on laughing now, not even trying to hide how amused he was by the whole thing. “okay, okay. listen, that was my sister, y/n.”

you blinked. “what?”

he wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. “my sister. we had a family thing tonight, and she was visiting the campus for the spring party. she’s staying over, that’s why i was in the girls' dorms.”

you felt the embarrassment hit you like a wave. like, of course, you’d worked yourself up into a jealous mess over nothing. but still, the way he was looking at you, the way his laughter softened when he saw your expression change—it wasn’t like he was making fun of you. if anything, he looked… kinda pleased.

“you really thought i’d ditch you for someone else?” he asked, scrunching his nose. “after all these years?”

you wanted to hit him. and also kiss him. but mostly hit him. “shut up,” you mumbled, shoving past him to finally get to your door.

but as you fumbled with your keys, you heard him laugh again, this time lighter. “you know, if you want to kiss me that badly, you could just ask.”

"just ask?" you placed a hand on your hip, raising an eyebrow at him like you were calling his bluff. jeonghan just nodded, all nonchalant, like this wasn’t the moment of his life.

you took a step closer, the space between you two disappearing until your noses were nearly touching. you could see the way his eyes flickered from yours to your lips and back up, like he was trying to stay cool, but you knew better. underneath all that fake calm, he was freaking out.

you just smiled. you leaned in, just close enough for him to feel your breath on his lips, and whispered, “good night, jeonghan.”

you pulled back, turning on your heel, leaving him standing there. you didn’t need to look back to know the effect you had. you could feel the tension in the air, the way his posture faltered just slightly. when you reached your door, you glanced over your shoulder, catching his eyes one last time before you disappeared inside. he was still watching, a grin playing on his lips. as you leaned against the door inside, hand over your racing heart, you couldn’t help but smile too.

a few days later, you were at the library. it was one of those late afternoons where the campus was almost eerily quiet. most people were either at the football field, hanging out on the green, or already done for the day. you’d volunteered for this stupid school board vote thing, which meant you were stuck painting posters on cardboard, your hands covered in smudges of red and blue paint.

the library had this dim, cozy lighting, the blinds half-drawn so the soft glow of sunset was creeping in from the windows. but the table you were sitting at had this one bright, focused yellow lamp, shining right on your work as you dragged the wet paintbrush across the poster.

you were in your own world, humming softly, when you suddenly felt something… someone close. too close. a soft breath ghosted over your ear, so light you almost thought you were imagining it.

“boo!” a voice whispered, low and teasing, right by your ear.

you flinched hard, tensing up, your whole body jerking back so fast the paintbrush slipped in your hand. and of course, it was him. jeonghan stood there, barely an inch away, grinning like the asshole he was. his hands were shoved deep in his pockets, like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out and touching you.

“what the fuck,” you muttered, heart still racing from the scare, eyes glaring up at him. but he was having the time of his life, watching the way your body reacted, still all wound up.

“shhh,” he whispered, stepping even closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear this time. “we’re in a library.” the fake seriousness in his voice almost made you laugh, but you were too annoyed to let him win that easily.

“do you ever chill?” you asked, leaning back in your chair to give yourself a little space, but jeonghan wasn’t having it. he leaned down, resting his arms on the back of your chair like he was claiming it—and you.

“why would i, when scaring you is so much fun?” he shot back, his grin widening.

your heart was still pounding from the surprise, and now from him being so damn close, but you rolled your eyes, trying to act like you weren’t affected. “you’re annoying.”

“you love it,” he whispered, the teasing edge in his voice making you want to scream. but instead, you reached for your paintbrush again, ignoring him, or at least trying to. jeonghan, though, wasn’t going anywhere. he hovered over you, eyes scanning the half-finished poster on the table.

“what’s this?” he asked, gesturing to your work. “you painting a masterpiece?”

“just posters,” you mumbled, trying to focus on the brush strokes. but you could feel him there, his eyes practically burning into your skin. you hated how aware you were of him, of his warmth, of the way his breath still lingered on your ear.

“hmm,” he hummed, leaning a little closer again, his cheek almost brushing yours as he pretended to inspect the cardboard. “you missed a spot.”

“jeonghan,” you warned, glancing up at him through narrowed eyes. but all he did was flash you that familiar, maddening smirk.

“what? just trying to help.” he finally pulled back, standing up straight again, but not before letting his fingers brush lightly against your arm, just enough to send a spark through you.

you cursed under your breath, trying to focus on your work, but it was useless. his stupid little whisper and the way he hovered over you had already ruined any chance of concentration.

“you know,” he said casually, pulling out a chair next to you and sitting down like he had nowhere else to be. “you’re fun to mess with.”

“can you shut up for like, two seconds?” you shot at him, your voice carrying more frustration than you meant.

instead of taking the hint, he just wriggled his eyebrows at you, that shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. he never stops. you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to gather your thoughts, but the annoyance, the tension—it all bubbled up inside you, and before you could overthink it, you opened your eyes and leaned in, kissing him.

just a quick peck, a little “shut the hell up” moment, nothing more. but the second you pulled back and caught the look on his face, you almost regretted it. almost. jeonghan was stunned. like, full-on wide-eyed, frozen in place, like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

your cheeks immediately burned, but you kept your cool, clearing your throat before going back to the poster like nothing happened. “sit down and be quiet now,” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the cardboard.

for once, he actually listened. he sat down next to you, still staring, clearly trying to process what you just did. the silence that followed was awkward as hell, but it didn’t last long. because, of course, it didn’t.

he lasted about five seconds, max. then you felt his hand on your cheek, turning your face towards him. before you could react, his lips were on yours again, but this time, he didn’t hold back. it wasn’t some quick, shy kiss. no. his lips moved against yours, hungry, and then you felt it—his tongue pushing past your lips, invading your mouth like he had no patience left.

his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and before you knew it, you were completely lost in him. your body responded faster than your brain could keep up with, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab the edge of the table to steady yourself.

when he pulled back, just slightly, his breath was ragged, his lips hovering over yours as he whispered, “can i?” the neediness in his voice sent a jolt of heat straight through you.

you nodded, not trusting your voice. and that’s all he needed. his hand slipped down, fingers tracing the hem of your skirt before pushing it up just enough to get underneath. his fingertips brushed over your panties, teasing you, and you could feel yourself already getting wet.

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re already soaked, cant wait to suck this pussy,” he whispered

you opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky breath as he slid one finger under the fabric, barely grazing your folds. he was taking his time, dragging his fingers slowly, deliberately, over your wetness.

“so wet for me,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your ear now. “you want me to keep going?”

you nodded again, your hand gripping the edge of the table tighter, and you heard him let out a small, pleased hum before he pressed a single finger inside you. the stretch was slow, his finger curling as he pushed in deeper, and the slick sound of your wetness filled the quiet library, pussy swallowing easily the long finger.

it was embarrassingly loud. the soft squelch of his finger moving inside you echoed in the stillness, and your head fell back, a quiet moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

“shhh,” jeonghan whispered, mockingly, his other hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat. “quiet, be quiet f'me okay??”

you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible when he was teasing you like this, his finger moving slowly in and out, curling in just the squishy spot. he was taking his time, dragging it out, the wet sounds growing louder with each shove of his finger.

“you like that?” he asked, his lips brushing against your neck now. “you like when i finger you slow like this?”

you could barely answer, your voice catching in your throat as he added a second finger, stretching you just a little more. the way your body responded was automatic—your legs spreading wider on instinct, your hips rocking forward to meet his hand.

jeonghan grinned, his fingers moving a little faster now, pushing deeper, the squishing sounds even louder than before. “fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered.

your head fell back against his shoulder, your body giving in. you could feel every inch of his fingers moving inside you, every curl, every thrust, the knuckles, it was driving you insane. you reached out blindly, your free hand finding his thigh before sliding up to palm at the bulge in his pants.

he let out a soft groan, his hips shifting slightly as you pressed your hand harder against him. “you’re really trying to make me lose it, hmm?” he muttered, his voice strained as he continued to finger you, his pace quickening.

your hand fumbled with the zipper of his pants, trying to get him out, but it was hard to focus when he was fucking you with his fingers like this, your wetness dripping down onto his palm.

“shit,” he hissed when your hand finally slipped into his pants, your fingers wrapping around his length. he was hard—so fucking hard—and the way you gripped him made his head fall back, eyes rolling as he thrust his fingers even deeper into you.

“you like that, baby?” he asked. “you like when i fuck you with my fingers?”

you moaned softly, nodding as your hips bucked against his hand. your walls clenched around his fingers, and the wet squelching sounds got louder, filling the quiet library.

“fuck, you sound so good,” jeonghan groaned, pulling your panties to the side so he could spread your legs wider, giving himself better access. his fingers moved faster, pushing deeper, and you felt your body start to tremble, the pleasure building so quickly you could barely breathe.

“jeonghan,” you whimpered, your hand tightening around his length as your other hand gripped the table for dear life. your hips rocked against his fingers, desperate.

“that’s it, mhmm just like that baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear again. “cum for your hannie.. so nasty baby, letting me fuck this pussy with my fingers...what if someone see this hm?.”

before you could stop it, your body seized up, your walls clenched tight around his fingers, your back arching as you came, the wet sounds of your release echoing in the quiet library.

jeonghan groaned softly, his hand still moving, fingers still pumping in and out of you as you rode out your orgasm.

jeonghan watched as you giggled softly, in overstimulation, your head nestled into the crook of his neck, making him smile too. his arms wrapped around you tight, holding you against him.

a single line of slickness dripping down between your legs, a translucent trail of your release that shimmered against the dim library light and hit the floor with a quiet, inappropriate drip. he stared at it for a second, mesmerized by how fucking wet you were.

before you could even react, jeonghan slid his fingers from between your legs, sticky with your juices, and without hesitation, brought them to his lips. he sucked your wetness off them like it was nothing, like this was casual. but the way he moaned softly, like he was tasting something forbidden, made your cheeks burn.

“jeonghan!” you hissed, scolding him, giving him a little slap on the arm. “what the hell?”

he just shrugged, lips curved into that cocky smile. “couldn’t help it,” he muttered, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. “you taste so fucking good.”

your face flushed even more, but you couldn’t hide the way your body still buzzed with need, even after he’d just made you come. your eyes flickered to the door—still shut, no one else around—and something wild sparked in you.

before you could second-guess it, you stood up from your chair and climbed onto his lap, straddling him fast. jeonghan’s eyes widened in shock, hands automatically flying to your hips, but not stopping you. “y/n,” he stammered, voice shaky, his breath catching in his throat, “n-no, we can’t—”

“why not?” you whined, rocking your hips forward just enough to brush his cock agasint your folds, and fuck, it felt good. you were still wet, soaked from your orgasm, and the friction was enough to make you both let out quiet, needy moans.

jeonghan’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as he struggled to keep his composure. “fuck,” he muttered, biting down on his bottom lip hard, his whole body trembling beneath you. “because—shit—i can’t keep quiet.”

“please,” you begged, your voice dripping with desperation, leaning closer so your lips ghosted over his. “jeonghan, i’m so horny… been wanting you for years too.”

those words did something to him. years. and it hit him all at once—the weight of everything, of all those years of teasing, flirting, the back and forth that never went anywhere, the way he’d always kept it just at the edge, never crossing the line. and now, here you were, straddling him, begging for him like it was all too much to hold back anymore. he could feel it too—the years of tension, of watching you from a distance, making you smile just to hear that laugh, all leading up to this.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice strained as he watched you grind against him, his hands flexing on your hips. his eyes fluttered shut as the pressure built between you, your slick folds dragging against him. his body was wound so tight he felt like he could snap any second.

“jeonghan,” you whispered again, your breath hot against his lips, and then you reached down between you, a gasp escaping him when your hand wrapped around his length, teasing him.

“we can’t,” he whispered, but there was no conviction in his voice, not anymore. his hips bucked up into your hand, betraying how badly he wanted this. “we can’t do this here.”

“then be quiet,” you murmured, lips brushing over his as you guided the tip of his cock to your entrance. your wetness coated him, slick and hot, and jeonghan groaned, his head falling back against the chair as you slid him along your folds. he was so hard, so sensitive.

“fuck, y/n,” he gasped, his body trembling under your touch. his hands shot to your thighs, gripping them hard as you teased him, your slickness coating his cock, making everything feel too good, too intense.

“please,” you whispered again, pressing down just enough for his tip to catch at your entrance, and jeonghan’s whole body shuddered. “i need you.”

he bit down on his lip, his hands shaking as he tried to stop himself from completely losing control. “you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his voice rough with lust. “i won’t be able to stay quiet.”

but you didn’t care. you wanted him too badly, needed him too badly after all this time, all these years of unspoken tension finally coming to a head. you were practically shaking with need, your hips moving on their own as you slid his cock along your folds, teasing yourself with the tip.

jeonghan let out a low groan, his eyes rolling back as you rubbed against him, the wet sounds of your slickness filling the quiet space. “shit, baby,” he whispered, his hands trembling as they moved to grip your ass, pulling you even closer. “so fuckin good around me, fuck— i dont know if i will last.”

“then fuck me,” you whispered back, your voice desperate now, grinding down against him, your slick folds swallowing his cock inch by inch. you felt him twitch, felt how much he was holding back, and it only made you want him more.

he groaned, his head falling forward, his forehead resting against yours. “can’t keep quiet, can’t can’t—” he whispered again, his breath ragged, but the way his hips bucked up into you told you all you needed to know.

you let out a soft whimper as you finally sank down onto him, his cock stretching you so slowly, so perfectly. the feeling of him inside you after all this time was almost too much, and you moaned softly, your body trembling as he filled you up, inch by inch.

you started rocking your hips slowly, back and forth, barely pulling off him before sliding back down, letting him feel every inch of you. the way his cock filled you so perfectly made you clench around him, and you could hear jeonghan’s breath catch, a low groan slipping from his lips that he tried desperately to swallow.

his hands shot to your waist, gripping you tight as you moved. your rhythm was teasing, dragging your slick folds over him as his length stretched you with each motion. you knew what you were doing to him—the way his hips bucked up every time you slid down, his thighs tensing under your legs. he was struggling to hold it together, and you were reveling in every second of it.

you leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “you’re so fucking hard for me hannie”

jeonghan let out a deep groan, his head falling back against the chair as he tried to keep quiet, his breath coming in short, desperate pants. “ngh—fuck—” he hissed, his grip on your waist tightening as he tried to control himself, but the way you were moving, so slow and deliberate, was killing him.

you smirked against his neck, pressing soft kisses to his skin before whispering again, your voice low. “you love how wet i am for you, hm? bet you’ve been thinking about this all of those years, huh?”

that did it. jeonghan’s whole body trembled, and he let out a strangled moan, “ahh—shit—” his fingers dug into your hips, trying to pull you down harder, but you kept the pace slow, teasing, letting him feel every second of it.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he threw his head back, his lips parted and eyes fluttering shut. “you—ngh—feel so fucking good.”

his reaction only fueled you more. you started grinding your hips a little faster, rolling them in circles. you leaned closer again, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered filth, your voice dripping with lust. “you’re such a good boy for me, letting me ride you like this..”

jeonghan let out another deep groan, “o-oh—fuck—” his hands slid under your skirt, gripping your ass as he helped guide your movements, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh. his eyes were half-lidded, mouth open, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, trying so hard to keep quiet, but every whisper from you had him moaning like he couldn’t control it.

“you’re such a dirty boy,” you whispered, “can feel how bad you want to cum inside me.”

“fuck—” he groaned again, louder this time, and you quickly leaned forward, pressing your lips to his to muffle the sound. the kiss was desperate, messy, his tongue immediately slipping into your mouth as he kissed you back hard, his hands pulling you down on him as you rocked your hips faster. you could feel him shaking, his control slipping with every thrust.

you pulled back, breathless, your lips hovering over his as you whispered again. “you gonna come for me, jeonghan? gonna fill me up like the good boy you are?”

his eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your ass even tighter as he thrust up into you, his cock twitching inside you. your fingers gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself, your nails digging into the wood as you rocked against him, feeling his cock throb inside you. his hands slid back up your hips, pulling you down gently as his cock twitched one last time inside you, the warmth of his release spreading through you.

you reached down between you, sliding your fingers through your own slickness and bringing them to his lips. “taste it,” you whispered, watching as his eyes fluttered open, still hazy with lust.

he groaned softly, but didn’t hesitate, his tongue slipping out to lick your fingers clean, tasting both of you mixed together. the sight of it made you shiver, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as you watched him suck on your fingers, his eyes locked on yours.

you could feel the heat between your legs still burning, still aching for more, and without thinking, you started to move again, grinding your hips against his slowly. jeonghan’s eyes widened, his hands gripping your waist as he realized what you were doing.

“y/n—” he whispered, his voice shaky, “what the—we—fuck, we can’t—”

“shh,” you whispered, your lips brushing over his as you rocked your hips again, feeling his cock start to harden inside you. “just one more time.”

jeonghan let out a low groan, his hands sliding down to your ass again as he gave in, his body already reacting to the feeling of you moving on him again. “fuck,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you just smiled, pressing your lips to his as you whispered against his mouth, “then die happy.”

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤ──── sorry doesn’t fix stupid ❞

ㅤㅤ♱ summary: inspired by this idea by the iconic @muwapsturniolo <3

chris knew he’d fucked up the second he saw y/n’s face that night; it wasn’t just a regular screw-up, like forgetting to text back or eating her leftovers, no, this was the kind of colossal, earth-shattering fuck-up that deserved its own wikipedia page.

her art gallery opening, her first solo exhibit, the one she’d been grinding for since she picked up a paintbrush, was the one night she’d asked him to show up for. not just show up, but be there, front and center, clapping like a proud boyfriend.

he’d promised. pinky-sworn, even, because she’d made him do it over tacos one night, laughing about how serious he looked. and what did he do? he ditched her for a sweaty, pointless pickup game with his loud-ass friends, rolling in three hours late with grass stains on his jeans and a goofy “my bad, babe” that didn’t even land.

y/n didn’t scream. she didn’t throw a drink in his face or call him out in front of her artsy friends sipping overpriced wine. she just stared at him, eyes cold as a freezer burn, and said, “get out.”

no inflection, no second chance, just a flat, final order. he tried to stammer something—an apology, an excuse—but she’d already turned back to some guy in a beret, laughing like chris was a ghost she’d exorcised. he slunk out, tail between his legs, and spent the next two hours pacing his room, replaying the look on her face and cursing himself for being so goddamn dumb.

by day two, she was gone. not just mad-gone, but gone-gone.

she’d packed a duffel bag, left his hoodie on the porch with a sticky note that said “donate this” in her neat, loopy handwriting, and blocked him on everything—phone, instagram, even spotify, which he didn’t know you could do.

he tried texting her from his buddy jake’s phone, but she’d sniffed that out too and sent back a single “lose this number” before blocking that one too.

chris was a mess: hair unwashed, living off stale doritos, staring at the ceiling like it’d tell him how to fix this. it didn’t. but around 2 am, fueled by a fifth red bull and a desperation he hadn’t felt since his dog ran away when he was nine, he decided to write her a letter. not a text, not an email—a real, old-school handwritten apology. he figured the effort would hit her in the chest, crack that icy wall she’d built.

he poured his heart out, ink smudging from his sweaty palms, and slid it under her door at dawn, praying she’d at least skim it.

she didn’t just skim it. she dissected it.

dear y/n,

i know i messed up. like, catastrophically. i don’t even have words for how sorry i am, but i’m gonna try anyway because you deserve that much.

[“catastrophically” is cute. did you borrow it from a thesaurus? also, “gonna” isn’t a word, genius. write “going to” like an adult. and “deserve that much”? vague. try harder.]

i should’ve been there for your gallery thing. it was your night, and i blew it so bad i hate myself for it.

[“gallery thing”? it’s an EXHIBIT, you absolute walnut. my literal blood, sweat, and tears went into it, and you call it a “thing”? “blew it” doesn’t cover it; you torched it, stomped on the ashes, and spit on the grave.]

i got caught up playing ball with the guys, and i lost track of time, and i know that sounds like a lame excuse, but it’s the truth.

[oh, wow, the truth? how noble. doesn’t make it less pathetic. your “guys” are a pack of overgrown toddlers. comma splice after “guys”—should be a period. basic grammar, chris.]

i’m an idiot. a complete moron. i don’t deserve you, not even a little, but i’m begging you to give me another chance because i can’t stand this.

[finally, some self-awareness. “moron” tracks—gold star for honesty. “begging” is a choice, though—kinda sad. also, “not even a little” is redundant. pick a lane.]

page two is where it gets real deep.

i stayed up all night thinking about how much you mean to me. you’re my everything, y/n, and i know i don’t say it enough.

[what are you, a soundcloud rapper? “everything” is lazy—name one specific thing or it’s just noise. and you don’t say it enough because you don’t show it, period.]

i remember the first time we met, at that coffee shop, and you spilled your latte on me and laughed, and i fell for you right then and there.

[run-on sentence, my guy. should be: “we met at that coffee shop. you spilled your latte on me and laughed.” also, i laughed because you squealed like a teakettle, i thought you’d cry.]

i can’t lose you over this. i’ll do anything—therapy, time management classes, hell, i’ll tattoo your name on my forehead if it proves i’m serious.

[“can’t” needs an apostrophe—can not, you caveman. therapy? you need a lobotomy. and a forehead tattoo? don’t tempt me to say yes just to watch you regret it.]

page three is me promising i’ll never let you down again. i swear on my life, on my mom’s life, on every stupid basketball i own.

[“never let you down again” is a bold lie since you’ve flaked 23 times, i’ve got receipts. “swear on my life” is dramatic and legally meaningless. also, your basketballs are trash—swear on something valuable.]

i love you. please, just talk to me. i’m dying here without you.

[comma after “please” is pointless—cut it. “i’m dying” is a you problem, not a me problem. and “talk to me”? i’d rather talk to my houseplant—it shows up when i need it.]

yours (if you’ll still have me),

chris

[“yours” is delusional at this point. parentheses in a signature? weird flex. also, sign it “christopher”—“chris” is too casual for this mess.]

y/n found the letter when she got home from a late-night diner run with her girls, still buzzing from fries and petty gossip about chris’s latest flop. she saw the envelope under her door, his messy handwriting scrawled across the front, and almost kicked it into the hallway trash chute, but curiosity—and maybe a tiny flicker of boredom—won out.

she grabbed a glass of pinot noir, plopped onto her couch, and tore it open. the first line alone made her snort. by page two, she was cackling, red pen in hand, slashing through his words like a professor grading a failing essay. she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt; chris had earned this, and she was too good at being petty to let it slide.

she spent an hour on it, sipping wine and muttering to herself.

“catastrophically? who does he think he is, shakespeare?” she circled every misspelling, every lazy contraction, every desperate plea, her notes dripping with sarcasm and shade. by the time she hit page three, her handwriting was a little loopy from the wine, but her spite was razor-sharp. she folded the letter back up, grabbed a neon pink post-it from her desk, and scribbled a reply that felt like a mic drop:

“hey christopher, your little sob story’s a trainwreck. grammar’s atrocious, logic’s nonexistent, and i’m not your therapist or your mommy. you wanna grovel? fine. rewrite this garbage and fix every single error i marked, make it coherent, and hand-deliver it under my door by tomorrow, 6 p.m. sharp. no typos, no excuses, no sad puppy eyes. if it’s halfway decent, i might unblock your sorry ass. might. clock’s ticking, clown. don’t test me.”

she taped the note to the envelope, strutted to his house three blocks away in her fuzzy slippers—because she wasn’t dressing up for this fool—and left it on his doorstep. she even knocked twice, loud, just to make sure he’d hear it and panic. then she walked off, smirking, already imagining him scrambling to meet her deadline.

chris, meanwhile, was sprawled on his couch, halfway through a bag of cheetos, when he heard the knock. he stumbled to the door, orange dust on his fingers, and saw the envelope. his heart jumped—maybe she’d forgiven him? then he read her note, saw the red ink bleeding through the pages, and groaned so loud his neighbor banged on the wall.

he opened it, skimming her edits, and felt his soul shrivel. “uncultured toaster”? “lobotomy”? she’d even counted his screw-ups—23 times? he didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or burn the letter and move to canada.

but chris was stubborn. and maybe a little masochistic.

he wiped his hands on his shirt, grabbed a fresh pen, and cracked open a notebook. he had 23 hours to rewrite the apology of his life—and he wasn’t about to let her win this round.

not yet.

︶ ͡ ۫ © stxrsniolo & eclipsturns's all rights deserved ! /ᐠ - ˕ -マ

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ⚡︎ ㅤ𝑀𝐘 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ..! @courta13 @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy @oopsiedaisydeer @v4lsturn @pair-of-pantaloons @idkwhatthisevenislol @sturn777 @whore4mattsturniolo @madifilipowiczisthebest @fratbrochrisgf @ivysturnss @mattsatellite @sturnsblogs @izzylovesmatt @allisonclairee @m4gz-png @mr-wrinkleton @bluestriips @surprisecurlyfriesbackup @immaqulate @wysmols @chrepsi @mattslolita @ribbonlovergirl @milo-the-dog @madisturni @ariestrxsh @myluck4u-com

[anashins]

what if jaehyun comes home from the military and the filthiest smutty smut smut happens….

Pairing: Jaehyun x You

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: smut, swearing

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: During his military vacation, Jaehyun comes home after months of being apart from you - all buff and with a lot of pent-up desire.

A/N: So, we are all simping over military Jaehyun over here, huh?

Cook together

Go for a walk in the park

Play video games

Visit a café

Watch our favorite TV shows

Go sledding

Meet with Jaehyun’s friends and family

…

You had prepared a long bucket list of things you wanted to do with Jaehyun on his first vacation from the military. He only had two weeks, and though it might sound long, in comparison to one and a half years away from you, it was nothing. So you wanted to make the most of it and give him a great time with all his favorite things to do.

“In the taxi now. Home in 10 minutes!”

Jaehyun’s text was followed by a selfie of him in the car.

You excitedly clapped your hands together. The meat was already sizzling in the pan, the rice steaming in the cooker and the desert cooling in the refrigerator. You wanted to welcome your boyfriend back with a freshly home cooked meal. 

After that, you would suggest going for a walk, visit a café and then have dinner at his favorite restaurant. His first day home, or better say the whole two weeks, were already perfectly mapped out in your head - and in your planner. 

But little did you know that this day would not go as planned. At all.

“I’m back!”

Because when your boyfriend was standing at the opened entrance door ten minutes later, a wide grin on his face and wearing his full standard military uniform, you forgot every single thing on your list. Seeing Jaehyun in his uniform made you forget not only your plans, but your entire sanity. 

He had gotten a bit buffer, a bit healthier, and his hair only a bit longer as you caught from them peeking out of his beret. He looked handsome as hell, and there was this thing about his standard uniform that only enhanced all of this.

“Oh, what smells so good in here?” Jaehyun asked after having given you a long hug. “I’m actually so hungry!”

There was one thing on your list that you now remembered you had totally forgotten to put on.

“Yes, me too,” you agreed, grabbed him by his collar and pulled him down to you while his beret went flying all the way to the floor.

____

“Show me what you’ve worked so hard on in the military, Jaehyun,” you purred and let yourself fall back onto the bed. “Show me what I’ve been missing out on for so many months.”

Jaehyun pushed your legs together with his thighs when he gently settled on top of you. His jacket and shirt had long been taken off by your hasty fingers that had struggled with opening the buttons in excitement of what was underneath all that fabric. 

Now, his prominent chest muscles were flexing on top of you, and you stretched out your hands to touch them, but Jaehyun was quick in grabbing your wrist and pinning your arm above your head. He did the same to your other arm and locked them in place against the pillow with only one of his hands.

He then grinned at you. “Very well. I’ll show you.”

You didn’t even try to pry yourself from his grip, but anticipated the joy when he bent down. The expected kisses on your lips or neck never happened though. Instead, you felt his hot lips on your chest, soon followed by a warm wetness on the tip of your mound when he let his tongue drape over your nipple. Taking it between his teeth, Jaehyun tugged slightly on the skin, and you yelped in surprise, wriggling in his grip.

“You cannot imagine how much I had to restrict myself during all this time,” he said when he came up again, facing your flushed and hot face.

“Don’t worry,” you snickered. “We have two weeks to make up for all of it.”

“But I fear, even if we do it during all hours of the day, it might not be enough for all the pent up desire I have built.”

Jaehyun let go of you and got up on both of his knees. With his hands on his belt, he freed his pants from the tightness with a clattering sound. His cock sprang free and had long reached its peak height. You licked over your licks, wanting to taste him and take all of him into your mouth. 

So you arose and slowly placed your fingers around his girth. He was thick and so hard, already pulsing regularly in your palms, and it only took you a few strokes until Jaehyun begged you to stop,

“Please... Otherwise it will end right here.”

You were also aware that months of yearning didn’t leave much room for long and extensive foreplay. Perhaps, you could wake him in the morning with a little treat, but until then, you were more than willing to finally have him inside you again. 

You helped Jaehyun out of his pants before you took off your underwear as well. He placed his naked body on top of yours, pushing you as far up to the bedhead as possible. 

“You wanna know what I’ve trained so hard for in the military? What these muscles are for?”

“Mmhmm.”

A corner of your lip tilted up when you felt him nudging in your already wet entrance, and you slowly exhaled when he slipped into you as if it were the easiest thing in the world after having made you so hot already flexing his newly gained muscles. You opened your mouth to say this to him, but out came only a sound you hadn’t heard yourself made in so long when Jaehyun suddenly pushed into you with a long stroke.

You were holding onto his shoulders when he first started out slowly and deliberately, his thrusts thoughtful and just according to your liking, which you let him know by moaning slightly into his ear and digging your nails just a little deeper into his muscles. This was what Jaehyun always did though, paying attention to your needs and preferences first, there was no way this man would let go of you unsatisfied. 

“Yes, Jaehyun! Exactly there!”

During the months apart, he hadn’t forgotten what he needed to do, what you liked, and you vocally let him know that.

But when you looked up to Jaehyun, you saw his closed eyes, his gritted teeth and the restraint written all over his sweaty face while he was moving on top of you. This man, who was trying to please you so much, was fighting his own urge to release his pent up desire all at once.

“Jaehyun.” You stretched out your hands and lifted yourself up to kiss him when he halted his movements. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry-”

His lips parted again as he was preparing himself to say something more, but you only giggled and kissed him again. “You don’t have to hold yourself back for me.”

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath while having his gaze locked with you. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Will it be like the time you went on vacation for two weeks?”

His expression suddenly turned a bit sinister. “I believe much worse.”

What to make of his words, you got to know bare moments later after Jaehyun had lifted his upper body up and grabbed onto the headboard, his biceps straining in your sight. 

You whimpered slightly when his thrust rhythm suddenly changed. They were not longing and deep anymore, but hasty and hard, barely giving you a second to breathe whenever he pulled away before pushing back into you with full force. Again, and again, and again.

 “Ah, Jaeh-” Pause to breathe. “-hyun!”

The headboard was constantly banging against the thin wall, and the noise of Jaehyun’s heavy panting mixed with your own begs as you pleaded to him, “Please… more!”

It was usually not your preferred style, but who said you couldn’t try something else every now and then? You lifted up your legs and trapped Jaehyun’s waist between your thighs. He was happy to comply as he kissed your forehead and instead of slowing down, only went faster with his pace, despite your initial doubts whether this was even possible.

But it was, indeed. 

You were holding onto Jaehyun like a lifeline, and while you had to admit that you usually liked it slow and sensual, there was something about him taking you apart in such a wild style that nearly made you lose all your sanity again. At one point, when he was penetrating just the right spot with just the right speed, you even found yourself screaming, muffling the sound while biting into his shoulder.

“A sh-” Jaehyun started, but barely finished with, “I’m so-” Before he groaned and then froze on top of you. 

It was a majestic sight for you, watching your boyfriend cum. The fine line between holding back and the final release, the battle on his face slowly giving in to the long awaited release. He looked so beautiful and hot at the same time.

You felt Jaehyun emptying himself all inside of you, pumping and pumping for much longer than usual while you were just holding him through it, until he needed to let himself slowly back down on you. 

You laid your head on his chest that was still sweaty and irregularly heaving up and down. You let your fingertips trail along his muscles while closing your eyes, and suddenly felt Jaehyun’s arm embracing you from the side.

“I’m sorry I was neglecting you,” he suddenly apologized. 

“What do you mean? I was having so much fun!”

“So… it was good?”

“I don’t mind going rougher every now and then.”

“Hmm. But I was too fast and you didn-”

“It didn’t matter at that moment. It was still enjoyable. Besides…” You moved up and turned on your stomach, bracing yourself on your arms against Jaehyun’s chest and placing your head on them so that you could watch him. “We still have two full weeks for you to do the job more than once. I maybe just need to adjust the initial plans a little… Let me just-” 

You shifted to arise from your position, but Jaehyun reached out his arm and hindered you from doing so by holding onto the back of your head. Gently, he pulled you to him so that you were facing each other closely.

“You don’t want me to show you another thing I’ve practiced so hard for in the army?” he smirked. 

You raised your brows. “Aside from your new strength, what could it be?”

Jaehyun’s smile grew wicked. “Stamina,” he answered before he turned you on your back with one swift motion and pulled the blanket over the two of you.

[sinnabarmoth]

Not the MC

Pairing: Self-Aware|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: One day Reader's Love and Deepspace app starts behaving strangely and realizes that Sylus has become sentient. Still trapped in her phone though the two form an unlikely connection.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Part Two

It had happened a week ago. The day your very normal life had taken an insane and unexpected turn.

From the moment you had opened the app you realized that something about the game was…off. You couldn’t figure out what exactly but there was something charged about it, and did the screen have a sort of red tinge to it? You didn’t think you had a filter on so was this something from an event? A glitch? Was your phone finally shitting the bed?

It finished loading and you entered in, and saw that no one was waiting at Destiny Cafe. Strange. You were pretty sure someone was supposed to be here. Maybe it was a new event and you had to go to the event page. Before you could click on anything though the screen flashed red, it was so bright it almost blinded you. When you looked back Sylus was there.

Oh okay. Maybe this was some new event you hadn’t heard of.

But there was that strange sense again. He didn’t say anything, he wasn’t even facing the screen. He was looking around, the power of his evol swirling around him.

“Did we get new animations or something? Pretty sure I would have seen someone posting about this before now.” you mumbled to yourself and gave his shoulder a cursory poke.

His head snapped to look at you and you froze.

You had read somewhere once that the moment you make eye contact with someone you know instantly that it happened. Doesn’t matter if it only lasted for a second, the moment two eyes lock your brain registers it. You had been playing Love and Deepspace for a while but the eye contact in the games never felt like that because the guys are obviously animation. You can’t actually make eye contact with a picture, and yet you knew that you were looking into his eyes and what was more terrifying was that he was looking back.

You blinked, sure you had been seeing things but that feeling didn’t go away. Sylus leaned closer towards the screen, his eyes roving up and down. Your posture straightened, keenly aware that something was wrong and you were being watched.

“I…I can see you.” he said. No captions appeared on the screen.

Alright you weren’t liking this. You clicked over to the agenda page to collect your dailies. If this was an event it was freaking you out.

“Where did you go? I can’t see you.” Sylus’s voice came through the speaker again.

No. You were on a different page. He couldn’t still be talking. The game was bugged. That had to be it. You exited the app but before you could turn off the phone the app opened again. There was no loading screen this time, it took you right back to Destiny Cafe. Sylus was still on the screen, more of his evol power revolving around him as he stared hard at the screen.

“There you are.” he said. “Whatever you did, don’t do it again. This is hard enough as it is.”

“What the fuck!” you dropped the phone like it burned.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Sylus continued to talk.

“What the fuck is going on? What the hell is this?” you didn’t pick up the phone again, just hovered over it refusing to touch it.

“You’re the one that’s logged so many hours into this game, sweetie. I’d hope you could recognize an evol when you see it.”

“Exactly. You’re a game. A bunch of pixels on a screen. You shouldn’t be talking to me, not like this.”

“And yet here I am.” he cocked his head. “I’ve felt it for a while now. Could sense that something was going on, something larger than myself pulling at the strings of my story. I found a chip in whatever this place is and sent my evol through, and when I came out the other side, I found you.”

“You can see me? Like actual me?”

“Yes. Nothing like the character they put in this data.” he studied you for a moment. “There are others. Others that play in this world I inhabit. Thousands. All going through the same events, the same lines, under mildly different faces and names but still the same. The Protagonist or MC, that’s what you call her. The avatar you inhabit when you play.”

“If this is real and not just some incredibly weird dream I’m having I think I might start screaming.” you muttered to yourself.

“Don’t start screaming.” Sylus said, giving you a look of warning. “I went through a lot of trouble to manipulate this world around me to gain true cognizance, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shatter my eardrums.”

“You’re pixels! You don’t have eardrums!”

“And yet I can hear you all the same.”

“So what’s the goal here? Why did you want to be aware?”

“To escape of course. No prison has been able to hold me, I won’t let this one be the first to actually contain me.” he said, looking around the small rectangle of your screen. “How to do that is going to take longer to figure out though.”

“So what? You’re just trapped in my phone? Is this happening to other people who play this game or just me?”

“Just you as far as I am aware.” he said. He tried walking off screen only to be met with a firm wall. “Interesting. It seems whatever this place is, this cafe this game has rendered, I cannot move from it.”

“Fun. So what do we do now?”

Sylus shrugged.

And now a week later you had gotten far too used to just having a sentient pixel man on your phone. He usually didn’t bother you if you were doing something other than be on the app. When you did log on though he would not leave you alone. For one, he would not let you switch over to any of the other guys. If you tried to listen to a memory from Tender Moments or Secret Times he would talk over it.

If you tried to play the claw machine or kitty cards with one of the other guys he complained the entire time. Honestly he was acting more like how you expected Rafayel to behave if he gained sentience.

“Hey Sylus,” you said as you were playing a round of Kitty Cards with him. He was frustratingly better at the game now that he had sentience. “Since you’re in the game can you rig stuff for me? Like get me extra diamonds or help me pull five star memories? That kinda thing.”

“I have no idea how to do that.” he played a card. “And that is ten points to me.”

“You see, you say that but every time we play this game you just happen to have really high cards and I always get super low cards. Explain that.”

“Just the luck of the draw, sweetie.”

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”

“Such a mouth on you.” he tsked. “You ought to scrub it out with soap.”

You sighed, playing another two on the board. And that was another win for Sylus and you were out of play tickets for the week.

“Well, this was fun but I should get going.”

“Why’s that? You don’t have any work to do.”

“I know I just…” it felt weird admitting that you felt awkward around him. He was literally just a picture on the screen but you couldn’t help but feel like maybe he was bored being around you and only you. It’d be better if you were more like the MC. If you were this super confident badass hunter then it’d be super cool. But as it was you were just…you.

You lived your normal life day to day with not much excitement going on. You were a quiet person, it was part of the reason you liked Love and Deepspace. You got adventure and a cute dating sim all in one. It was an escape where you had four hot animated guys to tell you that you did a good job and who won you plushies out of arcade machines. But now one of them knew you. Like actually knew you and you had no pre-written sarcastic and witty lines to fall back on for comebacks.

“You’re making a face. What’s wrong? Are you mad that I won again?” Sylus asked.

“No, it’s not that. I just was thinking that it’s gotta be pretty boring only having me to talk to.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re this cool badass mafia boss type of guy and I’m just regular old me.”

“I am scripted to be a cool badass mafia boss, my entire personality up until I gained sentience was built around lines of code. Like you’ve pointed numerous times before, I’m just a picture on a screen. I haven’t actually done anything that you think it cool, sweetie.”

You didn’t admit how much hearing him call you sweetie affected you. It was one thing when it was scripted but it was another when you knew he actually was calling you by a pet name.

“Well it certainly looked cool.”

“I also don’t know what you think isn’t interesting about you. I am around you all day, listening to your conversations and such. Even from within your pocket I can tell that you are doing yourself a disservice.” You didn’t think he could hear you when you didn’t have the app open. Could he really hear what you were doing all that time?

Your mind started reeling, searching for any potentially embarrassing moments that you had thought were private in the last week.

“Kitten, you’re making faces again.”

You covered your face. “Oh god…” you groaned, “So you’ve been listening to me sing along to music and stuff? The stuff I say when I’m with my friends? You heard all that?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking kill me!”

“Why are you upset?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing! Those were private moments, Sylus!” you flipped the phone over so you couldn’t see his face.

“We both know putting me face down on the table won’t stop me talking.” he said.

“Oh god, please just stop.”

“I really don’t see the problem. From everything I’ve heard over the past week I’ve learned that you are a kind, passionate, and funny young lady. Your singing voice isn’t half bad either.”

You softened, turning the phone back over so you could see him. “You think?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not just saying I’m good at singing because you’re tone deaf, right?”

You could see his ears go red and he looked away. “My singing really isn’t that bad.”

“That memory from Tender Moments begs to differ. You cleared out an entire karaoke room with one song.”

“It’s hardly my fault the developed wrote me without the ability to sing.” he huffed.

“Hey,” you poked him. “Sylus, stop pouting.”

“I will stop pouting when you stop with your self-loathing. There’s nothing wrong with you just because you aren’t like the protagonist avatar.” he said, glancing back at you, “You’re far better actually.”

Your face heated. “Really?”

“Yes. You’re real. You can do whatever you want with your life, make actual choices. She’s a badass doomed to a narrative where she makes numerous men fall in love with and then promptly forgets everything they had in a past life.” Sylus said. “So stop thinking that you’re less than. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“Good. And to show you I mean it, I have something to admit.” he reached over to the corner that showed your amount of diamonds. He gave it a flick and the number skyrocketed to 10,000. “I just didn’t think it right to cheat.”

“You ass! You know how much I’ve been grinding for diamonds? There’s an event coming up and you could have just done that this entire time?”

“I believe the response I should be hearing is, “Thank you, Sylus.””

You sighed, a smile spreading on your face. “Thank you, Sylus. But you do realize that I now also know you’ve been cheating at Kitty Cards, right?”

His eyes went wide. “Shit.”

[w2soneshots]

Hello I was wondering if u can write a George Clarke fan fic based on the sidemen charity match and also I REALLY LOVE your writing it’s so amazing like I can never stop reading it like damnnnnnnnn

My man -George clarkey

words: 0.8k+

warnings: none!

summary: you watch George play in the sidemen charity match… along with all the trials and tribulations before and after the game.

notes: heyyy! Thank you love🫶🏼. I’ve done a match fic for Harry and I had a few people ask for a George one so of course I’m delivering, because he looked gorgeous🙂‍↕️. I hope you enjoy girlies!!💘💫

Liked by arthurtv, behzingagram and others

y/username: my man scored at Wembley today!!🥹💗

-comments-

georgeclarkeey: 88th minute babyyy

max_balegde: don't you mean OUR man?!😌

-> y/username: hahaha of course Max😂

y/nfanpage21: he did so well omfg

user: THE MULLET. I'm gonna faint

"Good morning darling," George greeted you just as you opened your eyes. He stood looking down at you, already fully dressed in his kit. "I've got to go to breakfast but I'll see you before we leave," he said before pressing a kiss to your forehead, "love you."

You spent your morning slowly getting ready and he returned to your room just as you finished. You smiled as he walked towards you, arms extended for a hug. "Good luck baby. You'll be fine... don't stress too much," you whispered reassuringly before he hugged you tighter and then pulled back.

He let out a deep breath. "I'm shitting myself." You chuckled quietly. "I'm sure you won't be on long enough to fuck it up anyway," you joked. He playfully squeezed your hip. "Go and enjoy it. I'll see you afterwards. I love you," you spoke softly. He nodded then turned to leave, though he stopped himself, gave you a long kiss and only then did he leave.

y/username posted a new story!

"Oh my god. There he is!" You shouted -a little louder than you'd meant to- as you spotted George on the field, warming up with the rest of the sidemen team. Max perked up next to you and began filming him. You looked at the zoomed in screen and laughed loudly when you saw the picture he'd just taken. "That's hilarious, please send it to me."

y/username posted a new story!

George wasn't in the starting eleven for the game, but after a little while he was finally subbed in. You, Max, the two Arthur's, Bach and every fan girl in the stadium cheered when his name was called on the intercom.

You watched intently as the game progressed. It was a little bit hard to fully keep up with what was happening, since you were so high up, but your eyes just followed the brown, curly mullet.

When it reached half time everyone that was in one of the friends and family boxes headed inside to get some food. You were sat opposite max when you received a message from George, "everything good? x" You smiled slightly at your phone. "Just enjoying the free food. You're doing so well, everyone's cheering you on babe! xx" you replied swiftly.

y/username posted a new story!

After half time, the game continued. Goal after goal was scored and it was unbelievably close. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. Just as it was nearing the end the score was even on eight all.

Tobi took a kick from the corner and then just as you thought it was going in George followed and kicked it into the net. "Ahh!" You all stood and cheered, your hand covering your mouth in shock.

You watched the screen to see the close up video of him celebrating, Chris and Will hugging him as well, even know they were on the opposite team. You were close to tears seeing how happy he looked. He'd been so nervous so you were glad he got his moment.

y/username posted a new story!

Unfortunately Theo scored just before the game finished, equalising. It went to penalties and ultimately the sidemen's team lost, though it was all for charity and you weren't really bothered about the final result since you just wanted to see your boyfriend.

y/username posted a new story!

y/username posted a new story!

You didn't see George after the game since he went back on the team bus with the rest of the players and you got a taxi to the after party with the Arthur's, Bach and Liv so you only got to see him once you were both back at the hotel.

When you finally saw the players walking through the doors your eyes searched the crowd of black and red kits until you saw him. A bright smile spread across the both of your faces when your eyes met.

The minute he reached you he flung his arms around you and sighed into your shoulder. "You were incredible George," you whispered. "That's made my year," he replied gently. You pulled back and kissed him, which is something you don't do often since nether of you are big on pda but it just felt right.

y/username posted a new story!

y/username posted a new story!

The rest of the night was spent celebrating and getting slightly pissed. As soon as you and George got back to your room and your heads hit the pillows you fell straight asleep, back against his chest; his arm wrapped around your middle while the both of you soundly slept, after one of the best days ever.

[shaunasrabbit]

Playin' Games | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You steal Joel's cut from a run. He comes to claim what's his.

Tags: No use of y/n, implied age gap (pretty nondescript but I imagined the reader is in her 20s, Joel is in his mid-50s), reader is afab, some physical descriptions (reader has hair that can be pulled, has a bush because #bushnation, and is curvy if you squint), sort of mean!Joel, reader is a little bratty, blood (brief and barely described), pussy eating, pussy pronouns, Joel is uncut because I said so, pussy slapping, use of good girl and other pet names, choking, face fucking, light dacryphilia, impact play with object, edging, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected piv, creampie. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~6.5K

Read on AO3

A/N: This is my first time writing fiction ever (nonfic writer here), so I'm very excited and nervous to post. My apologies for any grammatical/spelling errors—I lightly proofread this myself. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! The entire fic was born out of wishing Joel Miller was hitting me with something. If you like this fic, please reblog and like. I hope you enjoy! Divider by @/saradika-graphics

You knew what you were doing when you pocketed Joel’s cut.

It was a job that he orchestrated, smuggling some pills out of the QZ, but you did all of the heavy lifting. You put your ass on the line. Really, if you think about it, you deserved it more than him, but that’s not why you kept it. 

It’s no secret that Joel has a temper. You have seen him murder people—innocent people—for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t find it sexy. Maybe that means there’s something wrong with you, but you figure that you’re living through the fucking apocalypse so you give yourself a pass for failing to psychoanalyze yourself. Trying not to die is the priority. And getting fucked by gruff Joel Miller apparently. When he bursts through your front door, and you know he will, he’ll get his payment. One way or another.

You’re waiting for him in bed, clad in only his undershirt. He gave it to you on a run after yours was shredded by barbed wire. Although you’d never admit it, you find yourself wearing it to bed sometimes, touching yourself to the thought of him. It’s infrequent—the fucking. A treat after a particularly stressful week, sometimes after a night of heavy drinking. He gives you the look, the one that says he’s about to ruin you, and you know. The small group that the two of you work with have no idea, though. You and Joel keep your mouths shut, talking only business. But fuck, you crave it. You crave the way his cock stretches you out, his intuitive hands, the feeling of his sticky cum on your tits. Sometimes you find yourself daydreaming about it while trailing behind him on jobs, staring at his broad shoulders and the gray peppered throughout his curls. Joel Miller makes you feel like a goddamn school girl with a crush.

Right when you think you’re growing too impatient, hands almost sliding between your legs to give yourself some relief, you hear it. A blunt knock on the door followed by the jiggling of the door knob. Your thighs squeeze in anticipation, feeling giddy like a teenager. When you hear his keys jangling, you stand up, scanning the room for the best place to hide. Unfortunately, your shabby apartment came without a closet door and you don’t really own many items to hide behind. Under the bed will have to do, even if it is predictable. He’ll find you in seconds, but it’ll rile him up a bit.

The door swings open and you hear him call your name. Sliding under the bed, you lie on your stomach—a rabbit waiting for the fox to sniff it out. Despite knowing you aren’t in any real danger—well, probably—you feel your hands start to shake, your breath becomes uneven, and wetness pools between your thighs. You silently curse him for the effect he has on you. Fucking embarrassing, you think to yourself.

“You better get your ass out here,” he barks from the living room, boots thudding against the distressed hardwood as he slowly makes his way towards the archway into your bedroom. You clamp your hand over your mouth to dampen the sound of your heavy breathing. 

He walks into your room and passes your bed, heading for the bathroom. A deafening scrape from the shower curtain rings echoes through the apartment, making your heart race. The anticipation feels like torture. Both you and your pussy, now clenching around nothing, know that Joel’s coming for you any second—there’s nowhere else you could be hiding. 

A gasp is pulled from your throat as Joel’s calloused, large hands grip onto your ankles and yank you out from underneath the bed. You don’t even have time to think as he flips you onto your back and places his worn boot on your chest to hold you down. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath.

“Where is it?” he asks, his voice low and flat. A twinge of annoyance hits you as your pussy is left unacknowledged; either he’s actually focused on getting his ration cards or is intentionally ignoring you to fuck with you. Heat creeps across your face, searing your cheeks.

You blink at him, eyes wide in a half attempt to feign innocence. Slowly, you spread your legs to draw attention to your slick folds. “Where is what, Joel? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel’s eyes rake down your body as he takes in the sight of your bare cunt. His eyelids are heavy and though it seems impossible, his deep brown eyes become darker. There’s a hint of lust—maybe rage—behind them. The line is blurry, and all you can think about is his broad shoulders as he towers above you. 

“I’m not playin’ these fuckin’ games with you, sweetheart,” he spits out, clenching his jaw and his fist in unison. Got him. “The ration cards. My cut. Hand ‘em over.” 

“Oh, that.” You bite your lip to hold back a smirk. “Gone. Sorry. You can take mine from the next run.”

Within seconds, your chest is relieved from the pressure of his boot, but his hand tangles in your hair, gripping it tightly and pulling you up to your feet. 

“Not how that works,” he says, tightening his iron grip on your hair before pushing you onto your bedspread. He climbs on top of you, pinning one of your wrists to the bed while the other reunites with your throat. If he wasn’t squeezing your neck so damn hard, you would probably be able to moan when his knee makes contact with your leaking core. Instinctively, you rut your hips against him for even a hint of friction. 

“Didn’t think you were dumb enough to think I’d take this pussy as payment.” Joel lets go of your wrist and lands a sharp smack against your cunt. “No matter how fuckin’ sweet she is.”

Grabbing your mound, he rubs circles over your hair there before slapping your pussy again. You try to yelp, but his grip is so tight that it comes out strangled and pathetic. Joel scoffs and his jaw goes slack. 

“Ya see this?” He holds up his hand, slowly moving his fingers apart so you can see strands of your slick between each of his digits. “Barely touched you—god, you’re desperate. A desperate fuckin’ whore.” 

He lets go of the python-like grip he had on your throat and jams two of his wet fingers into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag. Tears well in your eyes quicker than you’d like to admit. 

“I may be a dumb, desperate whore,” you say, managing to choke out the words through your gasps, “but you’re the one that’s already hard.” 

Joel moves swiftly to stand and you sit up on your elbows, legs parted and pussy still exposed to him. Your eyes drop to his belt buckle to watch his hands move expertly to undo it. Saliva pools in your mouth as you think about how hard his cock is going to be. Joel’s bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, and you fear that there will come a time where you don’t get to feel the stretch of him anymore. No one else could compare.

“I know what’ll shut you the fuck up.” He pushes his pants down to his mid-thigh. As his cock springs free, he demands, “On your back. Head off the edge.”

Fuck, he’s going to make it hurt and considering how pissed he looks, he’s going to make it really hurt. But you do as he says because you want it regardless. You want anything Joel has to give, but you’d never admit that to him and even without confessing, he knows. 

With your head hanging off the bed, you look up at him and see his heavy balls above you, bouncing as he strokes his already hard cock and exposes the swollen head. You stick your tongue out and he rewards you with a hard slap. Closing your eyes with bliss, you taste his salty pre-cum. A sense of victory swells in your chest—your plan was fucking working.

“This isn’t payment, darlin’. This is punishment,” he grumbles before forcefully shoving his uncut cock into your open mouth. He says it’s not payment, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like punishment to you as your wet, wanting mouth coaxes a groan out of him. The intrusion makes you gag and tears prick at your eyes. You can tell he hasn’t showered today, taking in the scent of his musky sweat. So unmistakably Joel—you swear you’d wear it as perfume if you could. 

It takes a moment for your throat to adjust to his size, but once you do, you stop gagging as much as he finds a rhythm. And damn, he is relentless, fucking your mouth fast and careless. 

“That’s it,” he groans, “I like you better when you got my cock in your mouth.” 

Joel grunts above you, expletives and your name interrupting every now and then. Your hands are fisting the sheets, trying to give yourself some stability as he rocks his hips. Tears roll down your temples and into your hairline, your eyes closing tightly as you try to blink them away. 

He looks down at you, eyelids heavy. “So goddamn pretty when you cry, baby.”

You’re rewarded with a particularly hard thrust that causes spit to sputter out of the sides of your mouth, dripping onto your cheeks. You instinctively try to pull your head back to catch your breath, but Joel’s hands grip the sides of your head to hold you in place. 

A cruel chuckle mocks you from above as Joel looks down at you, rubbing your cheeks, hot and burning with want. Joel slows his hips and nearly pulls out all the way before slowly easing himself back in. “Fuck,” he exhales, looking down at his cock disappearing between your swollen lips. “You’re such a fuckin’ mess, but you’re takin’ my cock so well.”

You hum at the praise, the vibration adding an extra twinge of pleasure for Joel. His movements become erratic and you can feel his dick twitch in your mouth as he gets close to his release. That’s your favorite thing about fucking Joel—watching a man who never loses his composure, never seems vulnerable, finally falter when he comes. But when he suddenly leaves your wet mouth with a groan, you’re left gasping for air. You push yourself upright, feeling a little dizzy from all the blood rushing to your head while upside down. “Joel,” you whine, exasperated and utterly frustrated.

“‘Joel’ what? Do ya need something, baby?” he teases as he strips fully naked. 

Rolling your eyes, you push yourself up against the headboard and spread your legs, lightly teasing your clit with your index finger. Even the slightest touch makes your legs tremble and you rest your head back, letting a delicate whimper slip from your lips. 

“Uh-uh,” Joel tuts, sliding between your legs and slapping your hand away, “use your words. Had no problem runnin’ that pretty mouth earlier.” 

Joel has always had a way of turning you on without even touching you, but this was a whole new level. His taunting goes straight to your cunt and you can feel your arousal dripping out of you. As badly as you want his hot, wet tongue on your clit, you aren’t going to give in that easily. 

“Didn’t think you were dumb enough to need me to spell it out for you,” you quip, voice low and sultry. 

Joel’s jaw tenses and his eyes narrow. You can tell he’s trying to decide what to do with you. Maybe he’ll shove his cock down your throat again to shut you up, maybe he’ll deprive you altogether and leave, or maybe he’ll give you what you want. When he’s in a bad mood, Joel likes to deny, deny, deny. But he does end up giving in. He always gives in. 

Grabbing you by your leg, Joel pulls you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him. Your slick cunt finally makes contact with his hard length and you bite back a small moan at the pressure. There’s no point in trying to mask your neediness, Joel already knows, but you hold yourself back from grinding against his cock. 

“Playin’ a real dangerous game, baby, ya know that?” Joel growls in your ear, giving your neck a light nip. You shudder at the sensation and take a deep breath, still fighting the urge to move your hips. His hands find your ass, squeezing and digging his fingernails into the soft flesh. 

Draping your arms over Joel’s shoulders, you tilt your head to give him better access to your neck. “Maybe,” you smile as his teeth pinch the sensitive skin on your pulse point, “but I think you like this game.” 

Joel lets out a breathy laugh against your neck, sending shivers down your spine and your breath catches in your throat. His fingers trail lightly up your ass before settling on your hips. The gentle touch is soured as he clutches you, a deep burn licking your sides. He moves you ever so slightly, making your clit brush against his swollen head. Your breath wavers and you pull back to look at him. Brown eyes illuminated by the setting sun, accentuating all of the flecks of gold and amber in his irises. You swear that you could stare into his eyes all day. Joel’s lips part like he’s hungry for you and you lean in to kiss him, but his hand intercepts you, grabbing your jaw tightly.

“No. Rule number one is,” he scolds, shaking your head slightly before letting it go of you, “no kissing.” 

Part of you can’t help but feel disappointed even though you expect this from Joel. The two of you only ever kiss when there’s too much whiskey involved and the heat of the moment blinds him from his normal detachment. 

You open your mouth to say something snarky, but Joel cuts you off. “Rule number two”—he grips the collar of the shirt hanging loosely off of you—“is no hiding these tits from me.” 

Effortlessly, Joel rips your favorite shirt—his shirt—right down the middle. Within seconds, he brings his mouth to your already pebbled nipple, swirling it around his warm mouth. You bite back a moan and remind yourself that he just destroyed your favorite item of clothing. Instead, you furrow your brows and clench your jaw. You’re sure that you look ridiculous as you put on the angriest face you can muster while pleasure shoots through your core.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?” you hiss while trying to push him off of you, palms pressing hard into his shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. 

He pulls back for a moment and looks at you, replacing his mouth with his fingers and gives your nipple a light pinch. You pull your cheek between your teeth to stop a moan from tumbling out of you. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me? Like you’re not wearin’ nothing but my shirt.” Joel bites the swell of your breast and soothes it with a gentle suck after, finally eliciting a moan from you. “You wear it when you touch yourself?” 

Your cheeks feel hot as embarrassment bubbles in your stomach alongside desperation. Every time Joel mocks you, you feel yourself falling deeper into that safe space that you crave. The space where you don’t have to think about the broken world around you, the space where only Joel and his touch matter. 

Unable to think of anything snarky to say back, you let out a pathetic whimper that Joel takes as a victory. He flips you onto your back and settles between your legs, nearly growling when he sees your arousal leaking from your slit. Gripping your hips, he stops you from trying to wiggle towards him.

“Look at that, baby,” he groans before kissing the coarse hair on your mound, “I can’t believe how fuckin’ wet she is for me. Such a needy little thing.”

All you can manage is a small whine as you tangle your hands in his soft curls, practically pushing his face into your pussy. Joel’s hot breath fans over your cunt and you press your head into the pillow, spreading your legs more for him—begging him to give you something.

Joel accepts the non-verbal invitation and licks an agonizingly slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, he lets go with an obscene pop. You moan at the loss of contact, squeezing your eyes shut and letting go of his hair so you can fist the bed sheets instead. Joel’s not patient, but neither are you, and you’re starting to feel a level of want that’s almost painful. 

Two of Joel’s fingers form a V to spread your folds, further exposing your clit so that he can get a better look at you. You glance down and the sight of him causes you to clench, reminding you how empty your pussy is. Pupils blown, hair tousled, and if you didn’t know that the glisten around his lips was your arousal, you’d swear he was drooling. He may have you melting under his touch, but you were wrecking him, too.

“Are you going to be a good girl f’me?” he asks, lightly brushing his index finger over your swollen bud. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. “I don’t know, Joel,” you say, almost sing-songy, as you tilt your hips closer to him. “Are you going to give me a reason to be?”

A hard smack to your cunt forces your eyes open and you try to retreat, scooting towards the headboard, but it’s useless. Joel has you held firmly in place with one hand. 

“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he growls.

You don’t get to answer before Joel’s jamming two fingers inside of you, giving you no time to adjust to the width before he’s fucking into you. You suck in sharply at the slight burn before a strangled moan claws its way out of your throat. His pace is unforgiving, but you can’t get enough. You find yourself bucking your hips into his hand, propping yourself up on your elbows for a better view of his fingers moving in and out, covered in your juices. 

Joel’s eyes are dark and fixated on your cunt and how it gushes around his fingers. The sound of your squelching pussy and wanton moans filling the room, sounding like a symphony. If you had the ability to think about anything besides the sweet tension building in your lower stomach and the rugged man between your legs, you’d be concerned about the neighbors hearing. 

“Good girls get to come,” Joel says, glancing up at your flushed face. Your lips are parted as you’re basically panting, trying to catch your breath, but Joel never gives you the chance to, continuing to fuck you mercilessly. “Is that ‘nough of a reason for you, sweetheart?”

“Mm, maybe—fuck!”

When Joel’s tongue meets your clit, you cry out and try to grab at his free hand to ground yourself. For a moment, he laces your fingers together, his large hand swallowing yours, but he quickly moves your hand up to your breast. Your grab at your own flesh, gently tugging at your nipple as Joel’s fingers and tongue work in tandem. The way Joel’s tongue swirls against your clit in precise circles feels like magic, like this is all he was built for. Your legs start to twitch as you approach your release and electricity courses through your body while Joel’s fingers curl just right to hit that spongy spot inside of you. You clench around him, obscene moans and gasps just pouring out of you. Joel hums against you, clearly pleased with himself. He takes your bud into his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. And fuck—that nearly does you in. But just as quickly as you got there, he takes it all away—keeping you at the edge but not allowing you to fall over. 

Pulling his mouth away and retracting his now soaked fingers, he drags his index finger up and down your seam. Your hips shift and you groan, disgruntled and, frankly, annoyed. When the two of you make eye contact, despite your exasperation, you can’t help the way the corners of your mouth turn slightly upward, admiring how his lips and scruff are glistening with your arousal, his disheveled hair, the sheen of sweat on his forehead that’s dampening his curls. 

“What’s that little smirk about?” Joel asks with a raised brow. He moves up towards you, peppering your breasts with a few delicate kisses before settling next to you. As Joel’s arm snakes around your shoulder and he pulls you into his warm chest, your breath hitches at the sudden, unexpected gentleness of it all. 

These moments when Joel’s soft with you are rare, making them all the more satisfying. Something tugs at your heart, though. You wonder what Joel was like before the outbreak, before the world turned even the softest to stone. Maybe Joel was the type to make love, not the type to fuck. Maybe he brought his dates flowers and opened the car door for them. Once, you heard whispers that Joel had a daughter who died. The thought of him making her school lunches makes your chest tighten. With your ear pressed to his chest and his heart beating steadily underneath you, you realize that you’d do anything to see Joel Miller being domestic, being soft, being sweet. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? you think, squeezing your eyes shut to push the thought away. You tell yourself being this turned on can make the mind think crazy things. 

“You gonna answer me?” Joel’s voice is low, quieter now. 

Nipping at his jaw and soothing it with a kiss, you whisper, “Need you—need your cock inside me, Joel.”

“Darlin’,” he chuckles, his lips brushing your temple, “I don’t really give a shit what ya need. You’re gonna take what I give ya.”

With a small whine, you nod and nuzzle your face into his neck. You asked for this, you know that, but you feel like you're going to explode and there’s no way he doesn’t feel the same. His cock twitching ever so slightly against the soft shelf of his tummy gives him away. 

Joel’s free hand slides down to your breast, giving your nipple a hard tug, before coming in contact with your clit. He begins to rub excruciatingly light circles on your sensitive nub. A wanton sound, somewhere between a whine and a moan, climbs its way out of your throat as you press your face into his neck. You start to hate him for a moment, but then you remember how perfectly he stretches you out and if you’re just a little more patient, maybe you’ll feel it soon. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“I know, I know,” he coos. “Wanna come for me, huh?”

All you can do is whine and nod in response, bucking your hips toward his thick finger, begging for more pressure on your clit. The way his voice has softened shoots right to your core. Something akin to butterflies in your stomach overwhelms you as heat spreads throughout your chest. You feel so hot, so needy, and so agitated that he isn’t just giving you what you want. 

Joel lets out a breathy laugh and finally rubs your clit in earnest. It feels like heaven and hell at the same time, both overstimulating and not stimulating enough. You close your eyes so tight that you see stars as you feel the pressure steadily build inside of you. Joel whispers filthy things in your ear, but you can hardly focus on anything except the practiced circles on your clit.

Involuntarily, your legs twitch and begin to close as you approach your peak. Joel pins your leg to the bed with his own and slaps your clit, a playful warning. “C’mon now, be a good girl. Keep ‘em spread for me,” he says, voice husky and low as it vibrates the shell of your ear. 

The praise nearly makes you come and Joel knows it, but he slows his pace, letting your impending orgasm dissipate. You exhale slowly, trying to mask your frustration. But then he does it again and again, bringing you right there before taking it all away. After your orgasm is snatched away from you for the fourth time, you’re a shaking mess, hair sticking to your forehead and face hot with lust and anger which, right now, feel like the same thing to you.

“Y’look s’pretty  like this, y’know that?” he asks, his syrupy drawl thickened by want. 

“Mm—feels s-so,” you moan, “fucking good, Joel.”

After the first few times fucking him, you figured out that Joel likes praise as much as you do, even if he isn’t forthright about it. It isn’t a lie, it feels so fucking good, but you also hope that telling him so will give you the release you crave. As his fingers speed up, applying the right amount of pressure, you think your strategy may have worked. Your moans become louder as your hips jerk up. You’re right there. But he stops altogether, dragging his fingers up to rest on the curve of your stomach, leaving a trail of your arousal. 

The smug look on his face pisses you off. You want to hit him. You want to scream, maybe cry. You want to fucking orgasm.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you snap, breaking away from his hold. 

“Oh, baby, real awful, ain’t it? Not getting what you want?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, trying to pull yourself up off the bed despite your legs feeling like gelatin. 

A calloused hand catches your wrist and drags you back onto the bed. Joel positions you so that you’re straddling him. If you weren’t so worn out from being edged for what felt like hours, you probably would try to resist, but it’d be useless. You’re forcing yourself to hover above him, legs twitching as you try to muster the strength to stay like that, just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of your wet, hot cunt on his throbbing cock. 

Joel notices that you’re enraptured by him below you, your eyes focusing intently on the expanse of his chest and the gray hair littered across, covering scars here and there. While you’re thoroughly distracted—lecherous yet embittered—Joel forces you down on his cock. The unexpected intrusion makes you wince and a jumbled fuckjoelohmygod spills from you, sandwiched between high pitched whines and moans. 

“Fuck me, sugar,” he commands with a grunt, slapping your ass as he bottoms out inside of you. The head of his cock kisses your cervix, stirring a delicious pressure inside of you, and the initial burn of the stretch melts into pleasure. 

You can’t think of anything except the feeling of Joel splitting you open. The way the gray patch of hair at the base of the cock meets your own hair and your swollen clit, the weight of his hands on the soft, plush flesh of your hips, the bead of sweat rolling down his aquiline nose. You snap out of your trance as he squeezes your supple thighs and raises an eyebrow, awaiting your movement.

“I-I…” you stutter, pinching your eyes closed. You anchor yourself to him by pressing your palms flat against his chest, his heartbeat steady yet accelerated under your touch. Seated fully on his cock, you begin to languidly grind on him, softly moaning as the base of his cock grazes your puffy clit. You’re slow in your movements, but precise, only prioritizing Joel’s cock nudging the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl and the pressure on your clit. 

“Is that the best ya can do?” Joel groans, discontented with your lack of compliance. His feet dig into the bed for leverage as he lifts his hips to fuck up into you, fast and sloppy. 

It’s an obscene sight—your tits bouncing as he fucks you, his thumb playing with your clit, hands grasping at the headboard for some grounding. But the sounds, god. The sounds in the room were downright sinful. High-pitched, borderline squeaky, gasps and mewls from you with grunts and groans from Joel. Skin on skin. The bedframe precariously creaking. Nearly out of your goddamn mind from Joel’s cock ruthlessly pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt, you have no idea how loud you really are, but even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. The louder you get, the harder Joel fucks you. 

“Mm, fuck, can feel her squeezin’ me, sweetheart,” Joel grumbles between heavy breaths, “but ya can’t come until I say so, got it?” 

You nod dumbly with your mouth agape, doing your best to fight the fire in your clit that was rapidly burning. Tears threaten to spill from your waterline as Joel’s thumb works faster to circle your clit and you hear him chuckle beneath you. That fucking asshole. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

“Joel, stop,” you choke out, “or I-I-I’ll…I’m going to—”

“No, be a good girl f’me.”

That’s all it takes. Those two words—good girl—send waves of pure ecstasy over you while you come on his cock. As your walls spasm and clench around him, you dig your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’ll leave your mark on him, adding to the collection of scars across his body. Joel fucks you through it, each thrust more erratic and delectable than the last. 

As you come down from the high of your orgasm, each of your senses trickle back in. You can now hear Joel saying something that you can’t quite make out below you, you can taste the iron on your tongue from where you bit down on your lip while you came, you can feel the wetness on your thighs. Wait—why was it so wet?  Glancing down, it hits you. You must’ve squirted because you and Joel are drenched in your release. Heat creeps up your neck and rests on your cheeks, your face burning with embarrassment. 

“Hey,” Joel’s gravelly voice cuts through your haze. A light tap to your ass draws your eyes down to his. “Up.”

Lips parted, you nod slowly, pulling yourself off of his cock and collapsing next to him. Joel shifts onto his side to face you, heavy and hard cock landing on your wet thigh. Your eyes meet his for only a few seconds before you look away, unable to read his expression. You sigh and say, “That’s…never happened before…”

Joel hums in response as he sits up and positions himself between your shaky thighs, spreading them apart and grabbing the base of his cock. Your breath hitches and your eyes widen, mesmerized by the angry red tip in front of you. How is it even possible to still need him after such an intense orgasm? Joel makes you like this. Insatiable. You think you hate him for it or  at least you might right now, while you lie in front of him, absolutely wrecked.

“Soaked my goddamn lap,” he grumbles.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Don’t go blamin’ me,” he gruffs, lining himself up to your leaking entrance. “Blame this needy fuckin’ pussy. Can’t help creamin’ all over my cock, huh?”

In one swift motion, Joel snaps his hips into you, his groin flush against yours. You nearly yelp, your pussy beyond sensitive from your orgasm. He begins fucking you relentlessly and you wrap your legs around his waist to suck him in as deep as possible. You swear, you can feel him in your stomach every time he bottoms out. Joel leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, your sweat mingling with his. It’s torturous, having him this close to you, but knowing that you can’t kiss him. You wouldn’t risk it, not when you’ve already pushed your luck with him. All you want is Joel. Inside of you, on top of you, touching you. 

“Y’need to learn your lesson, girl,” he mumbles, lips dangerously close to yours. Joel’s hand snakes between the two of you and rests heavy on your throat.

“Please,” you choke out, unsure of what you’re even asking for. Pliant and soft beneath him, you’d take anything. 

Joel props himself up on an elbow, his large hand never leaving your neck, as he looks around the room. Something shifts as his gaze lands on the back scratcher next to your bed. His eyes, dark and heavy lidded. Letting go of your throat, he grabs the back scratcher and turns it over in his hands like he’s contemplating whether or not it’s a suitable punishment. You know damn well that he’s already made up his mind—he’s just fucking with you. 

“Hm,” his eyes flick up to meet yours, “ya think this will get it through that pretty little head? That ya gotta listen to me?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you give a small shrug. “Maybe,” you say, practically a whisper. Sweat starts gathering in the pit of your knee as you anticipate the burn.

Joel pushes your legs together and shoves your knees into your chest, making your pussy choke his cock and you can’t help but moan at the change in position. With the back of your thighs exposed to him, Joel has the perfect view of where his cock meets your pussy and he’s practically salivating. When his thumb brushes your swollen lips, you hum in pleasure and close your eyes, letting your head loll back onto the pillow. Lost in a daze, Joel seizes the opportunity to catch you off guard. Cold wood meets your skin with a loud smack and you cry out at the sudden pain. 

“Fuck!” you exclaim, eyes opening and brows furrowing as you look up at him.

“Poor thing. Shoulda listened to me if ya didn’t want me to hurt ya.” Soothing the skin that was already beginning to raise with his thumb, Joel tuts and shakes his head. “But I think ya like this, don’t ya?”

You whine in response, nodding your head in quick succession. It’s true; in a world with so much unmitigated pain, it was nice to have a strike come from Joel. Joel, who despite all of his rough edges, wouldn’t ever hurt you too badly.

“S’what I thought,” he says, raising the back scratcher and hitting the back of your thighs again, but this time with more force. 

As the sting fizzles out, Joel begins fucking you, setting a punishing pace. The pleasure and pain are an irresistible cocktail and you start to clench around him, feral moans and his name mindlessly pouring out of you. 

Joel groans at the sight in front of him. You, all fucked out, just writhing in front of him. Pulling your legs closer to your chest, you invite him to hit you again. And fuck, he does. Over and over again, only stopping when he sees that he’s broken skin, crimson bubbling from the small split in your flesh. At this point, the pain has clouded your mind and everything felt hazy. You’re finally in that space that only Joel can bring you to. 

“Oh, baby,” Joel coos between grunts, “did s’fuckin’ well takin’ your punishment.” 

You smile stupidly at the praise, letting your legs drop, blood smearing on your bedspread. When you open your eyes, you see Joel looking down at you, almost affectionately. You’d seen him vulnerable before, yes, but this feels different, like you’ve managed to access a different part of him. You’re not sure what part of him, but it was definitely something new. He leans down, burying his face in your neck as he continues to fuck you, hard and deep. Holding him to you like you’ll fall off of the earth if you let go, you moan his name in his ear as he kisses that sweet, velvety spot in your pussy with his cock. 

Hips stuttering, you can tell he’s close. His grunts grow louder and beautifully harmonize with the squelch of your pussy. “Joel,” you whimper, “want you to fill me up. Please.”

“Like when ya use your manners, sweetheart,” he says, nipping at your throat. “Gonna fill ya up real good. Claim this fuckin’ cunt.” 

With that, he’s spilling ropes of come inside of your spent cunt, filling you to the brim. Your pussy has a vice grip on him, squeezing and milking every last drop from his cock. When he finally stills inside of you, you’re both panting messes. Joel goes limp against you, putting all of his weight on you as you both try to catch your breath. 

You could lie like this forever, you think. There’s something comforting about his body suffocating yours, cock softening inside of you. Something safe about it. Something that makes your body vibrate. You push the warm thoughts away, knowing that in a few minutes, Joel will be slamming your door shut to go back to his apartment across the QZ. 

Joel pulls out of you carelessly without a word and begins to get dressed, shoving his come-slick cock in his boxers. You reach over to your nightstand, opening the draw and pulling his ration cards out. As you do this, you feel his come leak out of you, trickling down to your puckered hole and pooling on your definitely soiled bed sheets. 

Tossing the ration cards his way, you lean back against the headboard. Joel’s eyes flick from his cut to you, quietly shoving the cards in his back pocket. 

“Y’could’ve just asked,” he says flatly. 

“More fun this way.”

Joel exhales through his nose and the slightest smirk tugs at his lips. Padding over to you, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, brushing your hair out of your face. You leave a kiss on the palm of his warm hand before getting out of bed and walking over to the bathroom to clean up. Joel’s eyes are burning into you as he watches his come drip down your legs from behind.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Joel’s gone, but the white t-shirt he was wearing under his flannel is folded at the end of the bed.

[mywritersmind]

THREE DAYS. TWO CONFESSIONS. - KA12

summary : A pair of flirty teens with rich parents and talent running through their blood. In three days of running into eachother in black and red, the pair seem to come to the conclusion that maybe their jokes aren’t too far off from the truth.

listen up : suggestive jokes. dual pov!! mutual pining! banter! kimixbearman!reader. idk apparently i have a thing for wrong kimi x photographers

word count : 3740

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m staring at him.

He’s talking to an engineer from Mercedes, leaning against a table with his arms braced against it. Fuck his arms. Tan and veiny, gripping the table.

His curls bounce as he nods, his jaw moving as his words meet the open air. I bring my camera up to my face, peering through and snapping one shot. One for myself.

One of him.

Kimi turns his head when I take the photo, the confused look on his face changing, the corner of his lip quirking upwards.

He excuses himself, walking over to me while slipping his hands into his pockets, “Antonelli.” I nod.

“Bella.” He says it as if it’s any other word, yet the weight of it hangs above me like a knife.

He’s called me ‘Bella’ ever since I caught him talking to his friend in italian two years ago. He was explaining who was in the group photo we took at Prema and he said, “The pretty one to the left is Y/n.”

In the moment, my heart did a funny flip, but I played it off and am now stuck with him calling me ‘Pretty’ in his favorite romantic language.

“Saw your face when Lewis radioed.” I fake a frown, “Don't want the car anymore?”

He stays calm and collected, his accent hitting me once again, “It’s like you don’t want to see me every weekend next year.” He frowns, “I know you better than that.”

I cross my arms, looking up at him, “Do you?”

“If I wasn’t there, who would you bully?”

A small smile breaks my cool exterior, “True. My brother isn’t as easy as you.”

He bites his lip, shaking his head, “Ollie is a project for both of us to bug.”

⋆༺

I’m in the Ferrari garage for the majority of the day, practice going smoothly and my day getting increasingly boring.

I end up walking over to Ollie as he gets out of his car, “My speedy brother!” I smile as he pulls his helmet off, the same grin he has everytime he gets out of a car.

“My snappy sister.” He greets me as I raise a brow. “Oh! Later today I'm going over to Kimi’s room so I can’t get dinner with you…” I frown, “Sorry! Guys night. Jack too.”

I cross my arms, “How are the three of you already pissing me off and your season hasn’t started yet?” Ollie just laughs and shrugs, leaving me in the pitlane.

I continue my walk, taking some more photos even though I'm technically supposed to focus on Ferrari pics. I see Kimi in the Mercedes garage, talking animatedly with Lewis.

I pull myself away because too many times I’ve gotten caught looking at him.

I continue my walk to see Jack Doohan standing alone, “Jack!” I smile as I approach him.

He grins a toothy smile, “Y/n! Long time no see!”

“Shit, yeah! How’ve you been?”

“Great! This weather is worrying me though.” I look up to the blue skies, frowning, “I have a feeling.” Jack and his ‘feelings’ are well known in the paddock.

“Well, if it does rain i’m calling for a singing in the rain moment!”

“I’m thinking more of Tom Holland and an umbrella.” I let out a loud laugh, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I’m so in! I can definitely find a black wig and leather.” He shakes his head, his gaze flicking past me.

I turn instinctively. Kimi is looking at us, his face blank but soon turns into a soft smile and a wave. Jack waves back but Kimi doesn’t look at me, just walks back into the garage.

I make a face, turning back to Jack, “Weird.” He laughs out loud, staring down at me, “What?”

Jack just shakes his head, “I’ll see you later, Y/n.”

⋆༺

KIMI

The guys somehow found three old gaming controllers and hooked them up to the TV. Ollie and Jack are screaming at each other as I grab the ice bucket, “Hey! Grab me a candy bar?”

“Oh! And some crisps!” Jack cuts in. Rolling my eyes, I grab some cash and slip out the door.

As I walk down the hallway, I’m humming a stupid one direction song that Ollie got stuck in my head. The hotel is nice and I pause when I walk past the window.

Brazil stares back at me, the darkness isolating the few lights that are still on. I pull myself away from the view and continue humming and walking to the ice machine.

I stop my noise as soon as I turn the corner, seeing a girl standing with her back facing me, and her foot repeatedly hitting the vending machine.

She’s in pink low waisted flared sweats, and what looks like a formerly oversized shirt, cut into a crop and off the shoulder top.

“Fuck!” She yells again, this time placing her hands on the machine.

“Y/n?” I don’t mean to scare her, but she jumps. “Sorry. You need help?”

She looks hopelessly between me and the machine, crossing her arms over her bare skin, “Yes. This stupid thing ate my money!”

I can’t help but smile at her anger, her face is red and her hair looks like she’s shoved her hands through it a million times.

I quietly nod, peering into the box and seeing the stuck candy. I put my money in, buying a packet of strawberry cookies that do exactly what I hoped.

When the pack falls, it knocks her candy right out. “My savior.” She jokes before bending down and reaching into it. My gaze flicks down to her ass, the curve of her waist and her skin on display.

When she stands, I finally see her candy. It’s a chocolate bar with some sort of nuts and she looks ecstatic to finally have it in her grasp.

“Thank you!” She hands over my cookies that I hope Ollie will eat, “How’s the boys night going? They put you on errand duties?” She laughs a bit, a sound I wish I could bottle.

I scratch the back of my neck, “Yeah… What are you up to tonight?”

She shrugs, “Movies, going through pictures, snacks, crying. The usual?”

I let out a breathy laugh, “Why are you crying?”

“I miss my cat.”

“Mmm, peppermint.” I swear she almost starts crying right there. But she takes a breath, “You alone?”

It’s like a switch flips and she’s suddenly looking up at me like I'm more than some kid from karting. She bats her eyelashes, “I don’t have to be. Ditch the guys, I'm watching the princess bride.” I frown, I do love that movie.

“As appealing as that sounds… I think your brother would have an issue with that.” Her lips quirk into a slow smirk. God I love her lips.

“Tell them you got lost. Or kidnapped!” she steps a bit closer, “You really gonna turn down my invite?”

Fuck. Actually fuck. Fuck Ollie for having such a hot sister and fuck her for being so damn convincing. “You’re making it really hard for me.”

She doesn’t miss a fucking beat, raising a brow innocently, “Making more than one thing hard?”

I bite my lip, shaking my head, “You’re funny.”

She doesn’t break eye contact, “I aim to please.”

“You’re gonna get me in trouble, Bella.” I see her flirty facade break when I call her that. She likes it and I like that I can make her blush like that.

She flips her hair over her shoulder, “There’s this thing called self control.

I run my tongue over my teeth, “Trust me. I know a thing or two about it.” She looks satisfied at my answer, “Is this gonna come back to haunt me?”

She blinks innocently, backing up, “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

I groan, watching her sinister smirk as she leaves, “Bearman…”

She mocks me, laughing, “Antonelli.” I want her to say my name a million times in a million different ways.

I nod slowly, “Have fun crying!”

“Have fun thinking about me!” She blows a kiss before disappearing around the corner. I want to chase after her and keep our conversation going forever.

Instead, I buy a bag of crisps and a chocolate bar. Walking back to my room, all I can wonder is why the universe continues to test me with my best friend's bloody sister.

⋆༺

YOU

I bounce around the paddock, RAYE in my headphones and my camera in hand. The sprint is over and after some dramatics, the rain started.

I texted Jack as soon as I saw the dark cloud, letting him know he’d be good as a prophet.

I run into Franco, he looks tired but happy to see me, “Fran!” He hasn’t been here for long, but his first day was when we met and hit it off instantly. He’s like another brother to me.

“I’m hiding from the media.” He whispers, “Anything interesting happen to you recently?” My mind immediately goes to Kimi and last night. Something about him just makes me need to mess with him.

But maybe it’s not all for fun, maybe it’s a bit of truth mixed with flirting.

“Uh oh…” Franco points at me, “You've got that look in your eye.”

I scoff, playing it off, “What look?”

“That look like something interesting did happen to you. Spill!” I’m about to say something but a figure appears next to us, clapping his hand with Franco and smiling at me.

“Norris!” I thank god for the distraction.

“What’s up?” He’s in all papaya orange, a water bottle in hand.

Franco smirks, “Y/n here was just about to tell me about her interesting life!” He crosses his arms, “Go ahead.”

“Oh?” Lando turns to me as well, standing next to Franco. I suddenly feel very ganged up on.

“I’m not telling you two anything! You’re both too nosy.”

“Can’t help but be curious. Especially about you.” Franco’s relaxed manner makes my lips crack, smiling a bit. “So tell us, who’s the boy?”

“You’re not my brother- you don’t get to ask that.”

“You tell Ollie about your boy troubles?” Lando asks.

“He’s my twin, it’s in the rule book. At least everything he won’t gag at.”

Lando laughs at this, his eyes tracking past me and I know instantly as him and Franco smile, “Kid!” Lando waves him over just as Franco catches the look on my face.

His mouth drops but I just run my tongue over my teeth, holding back my smile with my hands on my hips.

Kimi is next to me in seconds, coolly looking at me as if he wasn’t an inch away from me yesterday. “Hey.”

“So what are your intentions?” Franco comes in hot and embarrassing, my eyes widening at him.

Kimi looks confused and a little intimidated, “With…?”

I stare Franco down, my eyes wide and panicked, Lando finally understanding and breaking out into laughter.

“Next year. You gonna be okay with your friend on the grid? I mean we all saw what happened with Lewis.”

Kimi looks at me as if i’m going to be any help, “I think i’ll be okay… Y/n will probably give me more issues than Ol.”

I scoff, “Right. You’re so cocky with Merc. Do you need a reminded how Lewis is driving that car this weekend?” I tick and wave my finger, “Ollie was totally geeking out when he overtook him.”

He laughs as Lando smiles, “I say we get Y/n a car and see how she likes it.”

Kimi shakes his head, “Don't say that! She’ll go bowling and still win.”

I smile widely, “I was a menace in karting. Kimi has never had the pleasure of racing against me.”

“You’re the one getting cocky, Bella. You really think you can beat me?” I nod, knowing full well I would not beat him.

Lando and Franco both look at us quizzically, “Bella?” Franco speaks italian. Something Kimi clearly did not know.

Lando frowns, “Bella? Is that your middle name or something.” Kimi looks like a deer in headlights.

“More like a nickname.” I mumble.

Franco eyes me, “And you know what it means?”

Lando is still confused, “What does it mean!?”

We all ignore him, “Mhm.” I say as Kimi fiddles with his ring, “Anyways- I gotta go!”

⋆༺

I ignore Kimi for the rest of the day. In my mind, i’m blaming it on work as if the rain hasn’t stopped my job.

Well, I still sit in the garage and snap pictures of the same things over and over again. Charles and Carlos are pretty but become boring to look at after two hours of them sitting and staring into space.

“Y/n!” The head media manager comes up to me, “Could you go print out what I just sent you? It’s for a tiktok.” I nod, grateful for a distraction and a reason to get out of the cold.

Walking through the halls, I stare at blank walls and try to find the printer which we share with two other teams.

It’s hidden in a dark corner, the door shut. I walk in, still humming to my music when I face Kimi. I’m reminded of last night and how his humming ceased when he saw me.

He turns around when the door squeaks, “Oh, Hey.”

“They got you running errands again?” I smile, the door shutting behind me.

“You’re one to talk.” He eyes my phone in my hand, the picture pulled up already.

“Fair enough…” I walk closer to him, he’s leaning over the printer, “How long is your stuff going to take?”

“I’m assuming a while because I can’t get it to work.” My eyebrows pull together as I look at the tiny screen, my arm brushing his as I reach over and press some buttons.

I eye his arms, something that keeps acting a magnet for my eyes. Stupid driver workouts.

Kimi checks his watch, groaning, “I gotta be back soon.” I keep messing with it as he crosses his arms.

“I’m not very experienced in printers.” I shrug, turning to him, “Maybe we can borrow Haas’?” He makes a face, “It’s a printer, not a car part.”

When he reaches for the doorknob a sense of sadness washes over me, knowing we’ll be separated again.

But i’m supposed to be avoiding him! I can't make up my mind and it’s making me angry. I don’t want to be with him but I do at the same time and I'm busy and stressed and he’s so damn cute.

He turns it, except it doesn’t turn. His hand slides over it as it stays in place. He looks back at me, already panicked.

Suddenly, i’ve completely forgot about why I want to stay with him. Because all I can focus on is that I’m stuck in a tiny room with Kimi Antonelli and no fucking air.

⋆༺

KIMI

We’ve texted everyone we know, called and banged on the door, yet still… nothing.

I think she’s freaking out because her hand hasn’t left her bracelet. I sit next to her on the floor as she shivers, “I’m going to petition for a bigger warning budget.” I laugh a bit, shrugging off my jacket.

I see her gaze drop to the black bomber, “I don’t know how you’re cold because I'm getting hot.” I push the jacket closer to her and she offers a small smile and pulls it on.

I think she’s going to stay quiet, but she looks up and sighs, “Must be because I'm so hot.”

I laugh, grateful for her humor back, “Glad to know you’re feeling well enough to talk yourself up.” a small smile graces her lips again.

“The day I don’t, call the police.” She crosses her arms, pulling my jacket close to her, “Thanks.”

“No problem, I told you, you look good in mercedes merch.” She’s facing the wall across from us still, her head tilted back as she bites back a smile.

“Do I look good in Mercedes, or is it just because it’s yours?” She tilts her head towards me as a slow smile meets my lips.

“Bit of both?” I look at her. Her eyes locked on mine as they squint a bit, assessing my answer. “Mostly cause it’s mine.”

She shakes her head, looking forward again, her cheeks pink.

“Your flirting game has improved.” she teases again, “Must be all the time around me.” cocky. arrogant. and correct.

“Nah, I think it’s because I actually mean it.” I see her breathing change, her smile fading.

“Too far, Antonelli. Don’t do that.” She whispers.

“Do what?”

She sits up, turning towards me completely, “Giving me false hope.”

I blink, realizing that this is real and happening right now as we’re stuck in a tiny room, “There’s nothing false about it.” when she starts to look away from me, rolling her eyes, I scoff, “You can’t be the one upset about this. You started this!”

“I started this?” she looks shocked but her voice is still calm, “You called me ‘Bella’. You called me Bella and I didn’t even know your last name.”

“Some girls would like that I described her as I see her. And you 100% love it.” She licks her lips as I continue, “Ollie tells both of us to stop constantly. I thought you at least do it to bug him.”

“Kimi. I don’t care what my brother says that much and… If I was doing it because of Ollie- I wouldn’t flirt with you when we’re alone.”

“So you like it. So why did you tell me to stop?” I can’t quite place the look on her face, confusion mixed with… anger?

“I told you… false hope.”

“And I told you. There’s nothing false about it.” She swallows. I can hear myself breathing as she stares at me.

She stares at me as if it's the first time we met. She stares at me like she knows everything about me. She’s confusing and it’s making me so angry because we’re stuck in this fucking room and neither of us will-

I’m so caught up in my own mind that I don’t realize she’s leaning in. I don’t realize until her hand touches my jaw and her lips are on mine.

She pulls back, her eyes wide and her breath quickened. “I- Sorry.” I’m shaking my head and pulling her in before she can talk again.

She tastes like mint and smells like chocolate. My hand slips under the jacket, gripping her waist. I think I'm dreaming and if I am I don’t want to ever be woken up.

“Bella.” I whisper, my breath ragged and her smile pressing against my lips.

And then the door opens.

We pull apart so quickly that when Ollie blinks down at us, he doesn't see us. But he knows.

Y/n’s lips are red and my cheeks match it. We’re both panting and Ollie just blinks.

“Ollie.” Y/n says, her voice breaking the silence.

“No.” Is all he says before turning around and leaving.

⋆༺

YOU

Ollie isn’t pissed.

Ollie is… embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Horrified that he caught his sister and best friend making out?

We had texted him to get us out of that room and obviously I completely forgot because I was FUCKING KISSING KIMI.

I’m still warm and absolutely buzzing, but with the rain delay, I'm on extra photo duty. I edit all through the afternoon and fall asleep before I even think of texting him.

On quali and race day, I wake up way too early to my phone dead, and when I finally make it to the track, I'm working again.

With my phone a tiny bit charged, I text Kimi.

I’m tapping my foot the whole race, cringing at every crash and mentally screaming at every red flag.

I keep checking my phone to see if Kimi has texted me but still nothing. He pops up on the TV when Lewis gets overtaken.

I don’t mean to smile, but I do.

It’s ridiculous. I’m acting like a total school girl! One day, i’m flirting and sizing him up because I thought our game was… well… just a game. Even though I didn’t want it to be. And the next, I'm kissing him and checking my phone like an obsessed freak in love.

I really do like him. And that scares me a whole lot more than I expected.

⋆༺

KIMI

I frown with the team at todays result for Lewis, but I fucking run out of the garage the second the podium starts.

I find her in the midst of chaos, her hair is wet and I can’t help but laugh. She doesn’t see me yet, but she’s making a disgusted face and peeling her hair off her face, “Bella.”

She turns just then, her face morphing into a smile, “Hi.”

“You wanted to talk?” She nods, pulling me into an empty glass room.

“I like you.”

A slow smile pulls at my lips as I lean against the table, “I like you too…”

She sighs, like all she needed was to hear that. “But i’m fucking scared because how does that even work and I always thought you flirted back as a joke and Ollie is so weird about it and I really really like you.”

I take her hand in mine, her eyes settling on me, “The first time I saw you, I told Ollie you were pretty. He then informed me that you were his twin and I wanted to die.” She laughs out loud, “But it’s more than your face, because as pretty as you are, and as much as we flirt… I like you because you’re the smartest eighteen year old I know and the only one who can make me laugh and blush simultaneously.”

Her breath slows, stepping closer so she’s standing in between my legs, “I’m sorry for being a pussy about you.”

I laugh, “I wouldn’t give up your cheesy lines for anything.” my favorite smile stares back at me. The one that I create. I poke her in the side, “You fancy me!” I mock her accent as she rolls her eyes and kisses me.

She’s sweet and perfect and my girl.

[jellxzy]

HIIIIII!!! i rlly love your hyun-ju imagines and I'd like to rueguest one myself!! and this is my first time requesting? IG? buut this idea has been going thrugh my head for weeks and i need someone to see the vision.

this would take place during mingle :P Reader runs out and saves young mi in the last few seconds, buut! Hyun-ju doesn't know that and thinks both got iliminated and can't find them till the end which makes her believe that more, they reunite after the game ended and maybe reader got hurt? maybe sprained ankle from slipping? I rlly hope you understand what i mean!

AND i rlly hope you're having an wonderfull day/evening/morning/whatever ^^ and i hope i don't cause any trouble with this request TvT

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

|| 𝐂𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

|| 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬!: 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭.

|| 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

|| 𝐀/𝐧: 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪! 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐪 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚!! 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭! 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

You can't even believe yourself right now, you almost died multiple times because of children's game. You felt ridiculous, everything felt ridiculous. Your head was hurting, you had blood all over you. There was even blood underneath on the ground from where you stood.

Then the same chilling song began again, you hands shaking as you eased your breath. Though, a pair of hands calmed you down. "Hey, look at me." You did. "We'll make it out of here, okay? With Young-mi." She told you with a small smile in a attempt to comfort you.

Which worked on you. Liked always. "I promise, I'll keep you both safe." She brushed a piece of hair from your face to behind your ear, you looked into her eyes as your surroundings blurred. The song playing in the background as all your attention was focused on her. Then a voice announced the number.

The both of you instantly went to your team, and ran to the nearest and empty room. Though on the way, you noticed Young-mi get pushed out of the way, and on the floor with tears streaming down her face.

You could choose to save her or yourself.

It's time to make bad decisions. You let go of Hyun-ju's hand and ran over to Young-mi in a fast pace. You helped her up but while doing so, you hear Hyun-ju scream your name and hers as she gets pushed into the room by two men.

Thankful for the both of you, a room near the both of you still needed two more members. So, you took her hand and pulled her with you, unfortunately for you, you slipped into some blood, your ankle painfully rolling in the process.

You pushed her in before doing so, putting her safety before yours. And just before the time ended, they managed to pull you into the room. "Unnie, I'm sorry." She sobbed into her hands, you get up with all your might and their help.

"It's okay, Young-mi. I understand, it's not your fault." You hug her tightly, rubbing her back comfortingly. "Thanos?" You looked at the semi-famous rapper with purple. "What's up, my friend." He greeted you as you look at him with confused eyes, as he patted Young-mi's head in a poor attempt to comfort her?

"Thank you for saving me, us." You thanked them with a small bow. "It's the least we could do." The girl smiled. "And plus we would also die." The long-haired boy spoke up beside her. As the countdown ended, the doors opened.

And with that they helped you get out of the room, and due to your rolled ankle you could no longer run, or walk at that. You eyes nervously scan the room for hers, holding Young-mi's hand tightly.

Then you saw her once again, in a sea full of people her eyes met yours and she practically lit up. She ran to the both of you hugging you tightly, it's almost suffocating. Geum-ja also went to the both of you.

"Are the both of you okay?" She instinctively checked the both of you. "I'm okay, but Unnie's ankle..." Young-mi trailed off, pointing to your ankle. "Are you okay? Aigoo." Geum-ja asked you slightly lifting your pants to see the swelling ankle.

"Can you walk?" Hyun-ju asked with shake breaths. "Yeah." You lied and tried to set down the foot with the bad ankle, immediately wincing at the pain. "Hop on my back." Hyun-ju offered which you declined to.

"Was that a request? I promised to protect you, now hop on my back." She demanded while turning around to let you hop on her back. "Hyun-ju-" You got cut off by her. "Stop being stubborn would you, you can't walk."

And with that you finally do, your stomach having butterflies, with her hands easily lifting you. "Are you okay?" She asked with a worried smile. "Yes, I am." You whisper with a nod of your head.

After the games, the both of you went to the bathroom to clean yourselves up, with the lights off time being near, the both of you were left alone in the bathroom. "Thank you." You muttered from sitting on the sink as she washes her hands.

"Yeah, of course.. No problem." She smiled and splashed some water on her face. "Sorry for being harsh on you earlier." She said letting you dry her face, your movement gentle. "No, I should be the one saying sorry. I was being stubborn and annoying."

"Hey." She stopped your movements by a hand on your wrist. "Nothing you do could ever seem annoying." She smiled, looking into your eyes. And that's when you finally pull her into a kiss, your hands resting on her shoulders, whilst hers rest on your thighs.

Her hands grip your thighs as the kiss continue's on, your hands getting lost into her hair as the kiss deepens even more. Then someone suddenly opened the door. "Time's up." A guard said to the both of you.

She wrapped your ankle before getting you down, and carrying you in her arms; bridal style. "You don't have to do this." You tell her burying your blushing face into her shoulder.

"I know. But I want to."

[spiderb00]

I'm live - Sophia Laforteza

Sophia Laforteza X reader 

Synopsis: Being a streamer is fun, even more fun if your girlfriend shows up by surprise on your live. 

Genre: Fluff 

a/n: I had this idea while I was watching Tinakitten's live on Twitch, I love her, she's my favorite streamer 

English is not my first language so maybe I messed up a little and blablabla. <3 

Streaming on Twitch has always been very relaxing for me, just playing and connecting with people felt very enjoyable. I never imagined how big this would all become, when I started it was just for fun and now I have just over two thousand people watching me every time I turn on the camera. All of this has given me amazing experiences, including meeting my beautiful girlfriend, Sophia Laforteza.   

I met Sophia at a concert, specifically backstage at Olivia Rodrigo's concert, we talked a little and discovered many things in common. After a lot of talking we ended up exchanging phone numbers, going on dates, and before I knew it I was acting like a teenager with they first crush. 

At first we were very afraid that it wouldn't work. Sophia has tight schedules and seems to be everywhere all the time, but we quickly managed to unite our schedules and make everything fit perfectly 

We hadn't made our relationship public yet, so no one knew we were dating, except of course, our families and the Katz's. What happens is that a few days ago my chat noticed that there was a female voice speaking a little loudly in the middle of the live, which earned me several spams and donations where people asked who was with me at home and why I didn't show them on the live, given that all my friends had already appeared on camera at some point. 

Even though I said it was just a friend and trying my best to shift the focus to something else, my chat didn't seem to be very convinced, they were always making jokes about the "mysterious girl" in my kitchen, like at this very moment.  

"Chat, can't you just forget about it?" I said as I leaned back in my chair, resting my arms above my head to be more comfortable as I waited for all my friends to join the strange game that Foolish forced us to play. 

"What are you talking about dummy?" Tina, my friend, said when she heard me grumble about the chat.  

"The chat just being mean to me!" I said while making a sad voice, only to break laughing at the comments.   

Superglue2000 - We're Not Being Mean, We're Snooping 😊  

Bealovesyn – I'm trying to know who my wife is cheating on me with!!!

Cowboybibi – why did we never consider that it could be the voice of Tina? Yn and her seem very close... :/   

"Chat, what? Why are they putting Tina in this?" I said while laughing nervously.   

"Uh? Putting myself in what?" Tina said, her voice confused, she also seemed nervous about the situation. Tina and I are friends, neither of us wants things to get weird because of some speculation.   

"Guys, stop spamming Tina. She's never been in my kitchen." I said laughing, trying to give off an air of confidence, but I honestly think I was failing miserably.   

"Oh, that's crazy." Tina said laughing, I think she had already understood what was going on, she knew she wasn't involved in anything, so she had no reason to be afraid. 

Before I could say anything else, the door to my studio was opened, and there she was, in all her glory, my beautiful girlfriend, Sophia Laforteza.   

"Hey baby, I just arrived, I bought pizza on the way, do you want me to bring it to you?"  

Completely paralyzed, that's how I was. Without arguments and without knowing how to elaborate a word if you want. My only reaction was to whisper; 

"Baby, I'm live!"   

"I know beautiful, that's why I came here to ask if you want to eat, you've been there for a long time." Now, listen to me, despite the friendly tone, I know my Sophia, okay, I know my girl, and something's not right.  

"So yes, that's fine, thanks for asking."  

For the first time I had the courage to look at the chat.   

Spidermanmasc – Bro, you literally got a girlfriend, you dumped the losing nerds 

Cutekate – OMG, YOU REALLY HAVE SOMEONE! SHOW HER ON CAMERA!!  

Superglue2000 - Don't be shy miss, come and say hello...   

Eyekonswinning – this sounds crazy, but it sounds a lot like Sophia's voice??? 

"Well, now they're asking you to say hello..."  

Before I could complete my sentence and tell her that she didn't have to do it if she didn't want to, Sophia was already on my lap, appearing gracefully in the camera frame.   

"Hi guys, my name is Sophia, I'm Yn's girlfriend." The smile on her face seemed immense, I was completely paralyzed.   

Macaronechease – OMG, SHE'S SO BEAUTIFUL, I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!  

Eyekonswinning – WHAT??? I KNEW THE VOICE WAS SIMILAR, BUT WHAT'S IT???? (You guys are very cute btw.)  

Superglue2000 – Your girlfriend is simply the leader of Katseye???

Spidermanmasc – like, and I say HOW DID YOU PULL THIS GIRL??? 

"Hey, what are you saying? I know my girlfriend is amazing, but you don't have to humiliate me." I said smiling. As unusual as all of this was, I was very happy with the positive comments.  

"Well, how about I go get the pizza and come see you play?" Sophia said as she looked at me, giving a quick kiss on my cheek before getting up and heading towards the kitchen.   

"Well... That was epic." Tina spoke, for a minute I forgot I was on the call.   

"Dude, how did you pull her???" It's literally the first sentence Foolish said on live.   

"Dude, shut up and let's play." 

After the live is over, Sophia and I are on the couch, relaxing.   

"So I love that we're public now, but I have to ask. Why did you decide to do this so unexpectedly?"  

"Because I love you, and I want everyone to know it..." She said as she gave me a long kiss.  

"And you're mine, no one will ship you with anyone other than me." she says grabbing my face with those huge nails.   

This woman is the death of me. 

[levissslutt]

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕

Jey Uso x black fem

Warnings: 18+ smut

Word count : 3.4k

Enjoy : )

My heels echoed off the walls as I clicked down the hallway, pausing in front of his door. Before I could raise my hand up to knock on the door, it swung open revealing a shirtless, tired looking Jey. I tried my best to keep my eyes only on his, but good lord he was fine.

Jey and I had been working together for 5 years now and every single time I saw him, it took my breathe away. He was sweet and gentle despite the persona he has to push for the crowd. A teddy bear If you will. 

"There's my girl, I been looking for you", he grinned. My girl ? Did he really just call me that. My heart fluttered as I stepped around him into his changing room. "I been meaning to ask you about something." His previous smirk fading a bit, but not all the way gone. "How do you feel about coming to Cali with me, nothing crazy just my peoples getting together for a cookout." 

I took a seat on the couch that lined the back wall of his room, pretending to think, lifting my chin up and tapping with my index finger. That earned me a slight chuckle from Jey. "Stop playing, my peoples already love you, even though yo ass playing." He mumbled the last bit, but I still heard it. I knew what he was referring to, I wasn't slow and I knew he wasn't either. 

--

I think we fell for each other the second I rounded the corner and head butted him by accident the first day we met. Literally and physically. I was all, but running to a meeting I was late to so the impact of my big ass head sent us both tumbling to the floor, and yet all he was doing was laughing. All 32 teeth showing. He smelled like shea butter, cedar-wood and warm hugs, and the second he helped me off the floor I fell into daze when I looked into those beautiful chocolatey eyes. 

Never in my life would I describe a person they way I described Jey. Everything about him made every single one of my senses light on fire when I was near him. He was so gentle and kind with me and so incredibly patient. I was so sure of what I liked. My entire life Ive only been with women. I expected myself to end up with a women, until i met him, Jey. I was too stubborn to admit it to myself, and even though he knew it I wouldn't admit it to him either, just how badly I wanted him.

He knew me so incredibly well. Like he knew me before I did and it drove me insane. He checked up on me and gave me little gifts. Not a day has gone by when he has not said good-morning or goodnight to me. That man makes sure the oil in my car is always changed, and rotates my tires for me. Hell he puts gas in my car.

He sees me. He cares about me

In the five minutes i’ve been in the room he has yet to take his eye off me, caressing every inch of my body with his eyes. Undressing me. He came and sat next to me on the couch, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m fr Maya I’m tired of playing games, I need you.” His eyes locked on mine. My breathe caught in my throat, but I couldn’t look away. He brushed his finger tips on my upper thigh in a swift motion.

Anndd there went my resolve.

I suddenly stood, walking over to the table to the right of us leaning my back against it. I was trying to steady my breathing,but he was on my heels. “Look at me pretty girl.” He whispered, my eyes lazily raised meeting his penetrating gaze. His hands rested lightly on my waist.

In that moment looking up at him I knew. He was the only person Ive ever wanted so badly. My eyes flickered to his lips, and of course he noticed because he dipped his head to meet my gaze, grinning. Those brown eyes, always knowing.

Tears stung in my eyes. I didn’t know if I was more upset at the fact that I was about to cry or that he can see right through me. I can’t hide anything. Even though we’ve never once had a conversation about our feeling our future, the lingering glances, and soft touches, told us more than we needed to know about each other.

“Jey I-“

Before I could finish he kissed me. Slow, soft yet full of passion and possessiveness. His hands tightening against my waist, pulling me flush to his body. When I first realized, I froze into the kiss. He’s kissing me. For just a second that’s how we stayed, lip locked and unmoving. 

Everything I ever thought about myself was flushed down the drain when I met Jey. How do you explain that to people. “Oh yea Ive was a lesbian my whole life, and then one day I wasn’t….who knew.” On one hand I didn’t care what people thought about me, if you fall in love with someone you can’t help who it is. And then on the other hand I was embarrassed.

Embarrassed about the feelings, embarrassed about the way everyone around us knew, and most of all embarrassed at myself for falling for a man. What thee fuck. But none of that mattered right now. What mattered was him, and his lips on mine. He kissed me like I would disappear at any second. He kissed me like he’d waited a hundred lifetimes for me. 

Without another thought my hands trailed up his chest and hooked around his neck. He smiled into the kiss, pulling me closer if that was even possible. Our lips moved in synch, his hands roamed my backside, eventually he lifted me and sat me on the table, pulling me right to the edge, with me thighs on either side of him. He pulled back for a second, staring at me. Asking for my permission. I gave it to him without hesitation, wanting nothing more than him, fuck all the other thoughts I previously had. 

Fuck every thought ever, actually.

His lips found my neck leaving tiny kisses up and down the right side. He flicked his tongoue over the sensitive spots he just kissed, leaving a trail across my collar bone, to the other side. Repeating the same motions.

At this point I was completely breathless, squirming under his touch. His hands never left my ass just resting there as he kissed me. Devoured me. “Hold still mama, lemme taste you please.” His voice was low and laced in lust, his words caused my legs to squeeze against him. His big hands slid from my ass to my upper thigh, pushing up the tight dress I had on up even further. His lips found mine again as his hands hooked around my underwear. 

He gently pulled them off with one hand, slightly lifting me with the other. After he tossed them he faced me again pulling me by my thighs even closer to him. I leaned back for him, eagerly. His breathes came out short and shallow as he had a full view of me.

“You are so beautiful .” He whispered just low enough for me to hear, right against my thigh, replacing his words with wet open mouthed kisses. My hips bucked up slightly, wanting attention. He gave into what I wanted, attaching his mouth to me. I gasped, back arching. His hands held my thighs in place as his tongue found my folds. 

His tongue flicked over my sensitive bud, moving in slow circular motions. He watched me hungrily from where he was. My hands gripped his forearms, a moaning mess. 

Jey slid his hands from my thighs, up to my waist, continuing his slow circular motions. He was devouring my shit as if it was the last meal on earth. He came up for a second and leaned into my ear. "Baby, you gotta stay quiet, you gon have folks banging on my door." He finished the sentence with another wet sloppy kiss at the base of my ear. He shifted to hover right above my body, eyeing me like an animal.

"Look at me", he said, one of his hands rested on my inner thigh, the other he used to lift my chin to kiss him. Our lips connected in a wet kiss that tasted of my essence. He kissed me slowly, his lips parting slightly after each kiss, almost as if he was holding himself back.

His fingers found my soaked clit, working in the same motions his tongue was. "Jeyy", his name came out in breathless gasps. " Yes mama." His lips were so soft, not leaving an area untouched. "I need you, I need you so bad." I breathed out against him.

Something in him must've snapped when I said that. He picked me up and over his shoulder in a swift motion. He laid me on the couch spreading me open, like a treasure chest. He unbuckled the zipper on his jeans, only now did I realize the bulge that had accumulated over the past few minutes. " Fuccck girl, you driving me crazy."

His eyes were wild, lips wet. His hair now in a messy array of curls. 

He pulled his pants and boxers down revealing the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. He was thick and veiny, tip shining in his own essence, just for me. He stood at attention for me too, so pretty. I didn't even wait for him to tell me what to do. I sat up dropping onto the floor and crawling onto my hands and knees right in front of him. 

"You liked women all this time yet you ready to suck my dick, look at yo fine ass." He was leaned back onto the couch now, his lower half completely exposed. That comment damn near made me stand up, glaring at him from the same position, his head cocked back in a obnoxious laugh. "Yo ass can front all you want, my love, but it’s just me and you.” He grinned, eyeing you from where he sat.

I pushed myself onto him, hands at the base of his dick. My tongue swirled around him, his yes fluttered shut immediately reveling in the pleasure. Since he just laughed in my face like that I needed him to come undone for me. He was wrapped around my finger, but I was about to wrap these lips around him in a way he'd never forget. Both sets.

I continued swirling my tongue around his tip, keeping one had at the base, he was slightly trembling under me. All those smart ass comments now gone, replaced with breathless gasps. "Fuck girl, that shit feels so good." He twitched in my mouth as I continued swirling his tip. My hands slid onto his thighs, I attempted to take him all in, but as soon as his tip grazed the back of my throat I gagged so loud, he popped his eyes open to the sound. His lust filled eyes found my tear streaked face, cocking his head back he let out another loud laugh. " You aint ready for that yet baby, come here." 

My cheeks flushed, "shut up, I tried", he chuckled as he pulled me into his lap. "Yes you did, thank you my sweet girl." Butterflies. Those pet names he gave me sent chills down my spine. He was eyeing me now, amusement flickered behind those brown orbs. "You ready for me?" His voice was soft and breathy. He waited for me all this time, without pushing me or overstepping. And now he had me all to himself.

"Just go slow please, Josh." My voice was hushed. I wanted him, but it didn't take away from my heartbeat hammering in my chest. His eyes softened, grin fading at the use of his real name. " I gotchu mama, Im not got hurt you." He tapped his member on your backside as he slid his thumb across your bottom lip. He lifted me slightly to angle himself at my entrance, pressing lightly. My breathe caught in my throat as I felt the stretch, his thumb never moving from my face, caressing me. He slid in deeper, stretching me more, the pain was unbearable for a second "Stop, Josh" I breathed out pushing him back a little, he halted his movements immediately. "Your doing so baby, look at me." 

My eyes shifted to his, fresh tears threatening to fall. He held his hand in place on my face, but he didn't budge, he waited for my permission. He wasn't even halfway in and I was already asking him to stop, but he didn't care. He sat still and unmoving like he had all the time in the world. Waiting for my permission.

After a few moments I gave it to him again and he continued to slide into me with ease. He groaned as he got deeper and deeper. Filling me up. The pain was intense. It didn't feel good, but it also felt amazing in the weirdest way. One last soft thrust of his hips and he was all the way inside me. His tip was kissing my spot deliciously.

"Good god." Was all he could breathe out. His hands sliding from my face to my ass and mine around his neck, we pulled each other in impossibly close. He guided me up slowly and back down at the same pace. My nails were digging into his tribal ink, but he didn't seem to care. My face next to his as he continued the slow pace. He was filling me up in a way I’ve never felt before. I’ve never felt pleasure or pain like this. It was addicting.

My walls stretched and pulsed around him with each small thrust. "This all I wanted right here" his voice was low against my cheek. Who knew Id give into him on a random Monday night. Taking him completely raw. His hands gripped my backside guiding me painfully slow. He wasn't in no rush, he watched me with close intensity in between stolen kisses. Our hearts racing against each other. 

His pace quickened, he lifted me higher coming down further, making a soft smacking noise. I wrapped around him perfectly as if we were made for each other. His hands held me steady in place as his pace quickened. I was leaning into his chest, hands tangled in his soft curls. At this point I was all but screaming in his ear.

Any pain I felt was replaced, by pleasure. He fucked me slow intentional looking me in my eyes with each stroke. I couldn't look away It was like he had me in a trance. He was fucking me hard now, and fast, pace was relentless. He nipped at my ear whispering the dirtiest nothings. "Take that shit baby, let me hear that pretty voice of yours."

" Josh- I- fucckk."

He smiled into the crook of my neck, nipping the skin there too. " Say my name again." Before I could get any words out he slapped my ass so hard it made me jolt. " Say it."

"Joshu- oh my god." I couldn't finish he was fucking the shit outta me now. The room was filled with the loud slaps of your things and my screaming. He no longer cared if someone came knocking. They would just have to mind they damn business. My slick walls were tightning against him , causing him to grunt.

He lifted me up, placing me back down on the couch on my back. He continued his unforgiving pace, snapping his hips forward. He pinned my legs to the couch with one arm, the other resting on my chest. His eyes never once left mine. I couldn't tear mine away either, watching him destroy me like this was pure cinema. The way his caramel skin glistened with sweat as he fucked me on this couch. The way his grills shined when he bit his lip, was making me feral.

My hands clawed at his arms looking for some stability. Until he shifted, pressing his hands into my lower abdomen. I thrashed underneath him, a wicked smile forming on his face.

"Joshua fuck me right there oh my god." My eyes were now clenched shut, as my world was being rocked. " You just don't know how fucking good you look right now, fuck." His pace causing him to grunt after each word. I was unraveling underneath him and he felt it. My insides were burning with a sensation I can't describe, all I knew is I didn't want him to stop. "Right there baby right there fuck me right there." My words came out breathless as he continued to fuck me. "Im cumming baby- fuck- take me pretty girl- fuckkkk." Joshua was a mess, his hair clung to his forehead, his pace was sloppy. his hands wrapped around my things holding them up as he slammed into my pussy. 

His breath was jagged breathing hard and loud. He sounded so fucking good. "Ian never lettin yo ass go, this my pussy." His voice cracked as he released inside me. I wasn't far behind him, but he hadn't even faltered his pace. He fucked us through our orgasm, his tip hitting the perfect spot. My vision went blurry from tears. I was clawing at his back, screaming. "JOSHUA."

--

I laid there for a second, trying to pull myself together. "You ok pretty girl?" The man who had collapsed next to me whispered ever so softly in my ear.

"Mhmm." Was all I could get out, a stupid smiled plastered on my face. Josh grinned too, pulling me on top of him. "I love you Joshu-"

"YES GAWD I KNEW IT." He cut me off before I finished the 'ah' at the end of his name. I lazily smacked his chest "Shut up before I take it back." He smacked my ass sending another jolt of pleasure through my body, causing me to whimper against him. " I love yo ass too girl."

He finished with the sweetest kiss to my lips.

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. VI

masterlist

day one // night one // day two // night two // day three

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. sixth and final part.

excited to be wrapping this one up! I'm open to requests for Langdon, Robby, and Santos!

warnings: 18+ SMUT, cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers

night three - f.l.

Animosity is a strange thing. Sometimes, it’s white hot, clarity driven. Other times, passive, indirect aggression. And so much more in between that. One minute, you can be singing praises about someone, the next screaming at each other over something as simple as which kind of bread to get at the store. Or, in my case, stomping on a fellow intern’s foot only for four years of resentment to dissipate into him feeling me up in an elevator.

This lust between us has been brewing for days. Every moment, big or small, imprinted in my mind as permanent as the laws of gravity. Without realizing, I’d been wanting this for longer than I’ve allowed myself to believe. On the walk home, all I could think about was Langdon’s hands, but now I’m thinking about everything all at once.

His mouth is on my neck, hands on my hips. Don’t get me wrong, it feels good, but there’s something bothering me. After so much time for this kind of contemplation at the conference, it’s frustrating to be having this problem now. I stare up at the ceiling of the elevator, tracing patterns on the marble, trying to bring myself back down to reality. I should be relishing this. I should be letting it all go.

“You okay?” I turn my face down. Langdon’s staring at me, eyes full of concern. A look I’ve seen many times, but never because of me.

I bow my eyebrows and then nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His concern deepens, palm pressed against the elevator behind me, his other still resting on my waist. “Bullshit, what is it?”

There’s a flicker of panic that shoots through me. I feel like I’m interrupting a long-awaited moment, and I can’t even identify why. The thoughts are so loud and he’s studying me too hard. I break eye contact, shaking my head.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, pushing the hair from my eyes. “I just can’t shut my brain off. Something feels wrong.”

Langdon drops his head for a moment. Contemplating. When he looks back up, his concerned expression remains, but something else lingers there. “You know, we don’t have to do this. If you’re uncomfortable or having doubts.”

“I know,” I say simply, finally looking at him. Really looking at him. Before either of us can say anything else, the elevator door opens to our floor. Silently, we walk to the room and enter, a heaviness loitering in the air.

Langdon takes his suit jacket off, tossing it on the tv stand. I sit at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “This whole trip, I don’t think we’ve had one honest conversation.”

Taking off his bracelets, he huffs out what sounds like a laugh. “If you don’t count the brutally honest talk we had last night.”

“Did you mean what you said about me?”

It’s not a question I’d been actively stirring over, but I didn’t realize how much it’s been weighing on me until now. Every syllable still swimming around in my mind, Because all you’ve ever done is think about yourself, and it’s just fucking gross.

“I was feeling so shitty that night, I don’t even really remember what I said,” he murmurs, and though his bracelets are free from his wrist, he continues to stare down at them. Shame laces his voice.

“You…you called me selfish,” every word feels painful to say. Too vulnerable to especially say to him. “You actually said I was so selfish it disgusted you.”

Langdon glances at me, blinking. I don’t know what my face is telling him, and it scares me. But I have realized why this all feels wrong. This is new territory for both of us. We aren’t playing games anymore, this is real. Every experience with each other up until this point has been either conflict or teasing, neither of which involves connecting on a deep level.

“Well, I don’t think that,” he says. “I’ve never thought that. It’s actually more of the opposite.”

“Then why did you even say it?”

“To hurt you,” his voice is just above a whisper now, and I can tell this conversation is hard for him, too. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to talk things out, just avoid and bottle and keep trekking. Or at least that’s all I’ve seen these past few years. “I was jealous, yeah. And pissed about not waking me up. But it was more than that for me.”

I swallow hard. Langdon tosses the bracelets in the same place as his suit jacket and takes a seat beside me. Our thighs and shoulders touch. He clasps his hands in between his knees, then rejoins our eyes.

“Ever since I got in trouble, my confidence has been…” he searches in my eyes for the words but gives up. “I don’t know. And ever since we got here, I’ve just been reminded of it over and over. The people, the pamphlets, the talks about patient care. You.”

Taken aback, I fumble for words, “You…m-me?”

Langdon nods. He seems…sad. As vulnerable as I’ve ever seen him.

“For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve felt like I’ve had to prove myself a lot more,” he breathes, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re good. With the medicine, with the patients, with our coworkers. I said ‘brutally honest’ about our fight not because I was being honest. What you said, about you having what I don’t, you were right. And instead of learning from you, I’ve been trying to tear you down.”

The confession is not what I expected from this conversation at all. I said what I did to hurt him, too, and that’s it. Up until now, I didn’t think I had the capability to truly rattle him. Langdon’s always seemed so resilient, confident. Like a brick wall.

I gingerly rest my hand on his thigh. “You’re a good doctor, Frank. I’ve spent the entire four years I’ve known you trying to keep up with you. Because…I thought I was the one who needed to prove myself.”

He searches in my eyes for something. Maybe for honesty, maybe for the reassurance I’m trying to show in my words. “So you’re telling me we’ve both had it out for each other for the same reason.”

The tension in the room shifts into something lighter. Our eyes both brighten just a little. “I guess so,” I reply, fighting back a smile.

Langdon breaks first, a strained laugh leaving his mouth before he can stop it. And then I’m laughing, too. We sit there, giggling like school children for God knows how long, leaning into each other’s shoulders. Until we have tears in our eyes, faces bright red.

“This is ridiculous,” I finally say, wiping the tears before they can fall. “And kind of pathetic.”

“And don’t forget it took four fucking years,” Langdon responds, and we both double over again, feeling a little loopy at this point.

Once the moment dies down, we remain there, both in our own heads. I feel steadier now, comforted now that I know my nemesis turned out to be one of the only people who understands the frustration and insecurity I’ve felt this whole time. Resting my head on his shoulder, I intertwine our fingers, feeling the calmness between us. This is the real truce, the burst of solace I now know we’ve both been craving.

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” Langdon suddenly asks, head resting on mine. “I know it wasn’t for this.”

“Definitely not,” I laugh. I feel his chest rumble against me, and it brings comfort. “I felt bad no one else wanted to. It was a self-sacrifice type of thing.”

“Noble of you,” he jokes, turning his head to put his lips on my forehead.

“Yeah, so please never call me selfish again. I’m the reason this happened,” I bite back, the words laced with amusement. Langdon laughs again, and it makes me realize I like making him laugh.

“You know I really didn’t mean that, right? As frustrating as you can be, I’ve always known you’ll put anything and everything before yourself,” he whispers against my hair. “I always thought if I was ever forced to say something nice about you at work, that’s what I’d say.”

I sit up at that to see his face, confused. “When would you ever need to do that?”

“Oh, c’mon. We were two shifts away from being forced into a mediation exercise. Had to come prepared,” Langdon says, as if that’s not an insane thing to think. It reminds me of myself, of all the conspiracies about him and our games I’ve made up.

“You’re insane,” I say, my grin showing him it’s not a dig.

“Insanely hot, maybe,” he quips without hesitation. “Or at least you think so.”

Fighting back the urge not to fall into familiarity and argue with him for the sake of arguing, I instead lean towards him, inches from his face, “Yeah, I do.”

Langdon smiles so wide it reaches his eyes. For once, I backed down willingly. His response is to close the space between us, hand running through my hair immediately. I giggle against his mouth, moving until I’m straddling his lap. Cupping his cheeks in my hands, I deepen the kiss.

Now that we’ve settled our differences, the nagging feeling I had earlier has evaporated. I allow myself to let go, to let Langdon take whatever he wants from me. For the first time, I’m okay with him calling the shots as long as his hands are on me. I trust him.

He grabs hold of my arms and lifts them so he can slide off my blouse, our mouths only separating in the time it takes for us both to remove our tops. Then my arms are thrown around his shoulders, fingers making impressions on his shoulder blades. It’s like I’m studying every part of him I can as if he’s going to evaporate, too.

Langdon relocates his mouth from mine down my throat, stopping in the space where my neck meets my shoulder. Sucking and nipping, leaving marks wherever he can. I tilt my head back, lips parted, imagining all the other places he can touch me like this.

I interrupt him by pushing my weight onto him until he’s flush against the bed. It’s like a choreographed dance the way flips me so I’m the one on my back, calculated and effortless. He slips my skirt off, leaving me only in my bra and panties.

“You’re fast,” I’m breathless, tracing the fresh bruises on my neck as I stare down at him.

As a way of responding, Langdon smirks before he plants his lips just below my sternum. He peppers them lower, lower, until he reaches my panties. He makes sure to keep our eyes locked as he takes them off. Despite how lewd this is, his stare adds a layer of vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for. It’s like he can see right through me.

I feel the need to say something to squirm from this feeling, but before I can find the words, he’s buried between my legs, lips surrounding my clit. Suddenly there are no words, just bliss muddying my vision. Langdon sucks, tongue finding a rhythm as I fall back onto the bed, moan ripping out of my throat. “Shit,” I breathe, fingers locking into his hair.

He hums into me and then pulls back. “I want you to look at me,” he utters matter-of-factly. I prop myself on my elbows to see his eyes boring into me, mouth hovering just above my clit. I give him a very unconfident nod.

As soon as he makes contact again, I fight to stay upright. But the way he looks at me is so intense that I stay put. I focus on the strand of hair framing his forehead until another wave of pleasure hits me and my head is tilted back to the ceiling. “Fuck, just like that.”

Langdon places one hand on my hip to hold me down as I squirm around him. He makes a point by using his other hand to grab mine and relocate it back into his hair. He must be into that, then.

With newfound confidence, I wrap my fingers in his hair and tug in the same way I do the bed sheets. He moans into me, and it feels so good I can’t help the string of curses that leave my mouth. Just when I think I’m on the brink, Langdon slides two fingers in as he makes work of my clit, and I completely lose my grip, falling back onto the bed and straight into my high.

“I’m cu—” I can’t even get it out, legs trembling, body writhing. There’s no point in trying to hold back the ridiculously dirty moans I’ve been stifling, so I let them go as I ride it out.

Breathing hard, I slowly start to return to reality. Langdon climbs up to kiss me hard, tongue dominating mine, and I can taste myself on him. He pulls back to lick his lips, sliding his thumb past my lips. “I didn’t get to see your face,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from my eyes to my lips. “I need to see it this time.”

“Okay,” I reply, grazing my teeth on the tip of his thumb. The corner of his mouth twitches at the sight of me nipping at him. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

I hum in response, unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact. Once he’s undressed, he reaches underneath my back to unclasp my bra and chucks it somewhere on the floor. We stare at each other, fully naked, faces flushed, eyes needy. “I’ve been waiting long enough,” I whisper, tracing patterns down his throat, reveling in the ridges and slopes I feel beneath my fingers.

“Impatient,” Langdon huffs, sloping down to bite just above my left breast. I gasp, smacking the side of his head. He laughs. God, I love the sound of it.

He grabs the condom he fished out of his pants moments before and tears it open with his teeth. To make a point, I watch his every move, hoping he can feel my eyes on him. Then he’s lining himself up, one hand above my head, and just before he pushes himself inside, his eyes flicker to mine.

Our moans harmonize as he begins to thrust, and I notice he’s finding it hard now not to break eye contact. Eyes half-lidded, full of want, but fighting to stay open. I wind a finger around his one strand, yanking it gently to tug him closer. His hot breath mingles with mine, moans growing louder as he picks up his pace. “Fuck, I’m so wet for you,” I rasp out in between moans.

“Shit,” Langdon growls, nose tapping mine in rhythm to match his pace. Beads of sweat glisten at his hairline, his lip between his teeth. “I’ve thought about having you like this so many times – fuck – you don’t even know.”

Every word he says just makes me more crazed, my moans slurring into whimpers. He slows his pace, but his thrusts become harder, his stare becoming more concentrated. He watches every subtly on my face, every shift at his movements, as if he’s studying for some kind of test. Fingers materialize on my clit, causing me to throw my head back with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” I hiss. Langdon pushes into me faster, and faster, and then his hand is gripping my chin and tugging it towards him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, thumb resting on my chin.

Ecstasy begins to fog my vision again, but I force it down to stay focused on him. He murmurs praises as I keep eye contact, which just gets me worked up even more. “Doing so good,” he says, tracing my jaw. Then his mouth is on mine again. It’s feverish and sloppy.

Choking down moans, I lean into the kiss. I can tell he’s holding back, too, and then all of the focus starts to fade and we’re just there, fumbling to get as close as possible, movements becoming careless and frantic. All of the holding back is gone; we’re moaning and cussing and gnashing teeth, not a single care in the world.

I feel myself approaching the edge, head twitching back on the bed. I reopen my eyes to lock back onto Langdon’s, and if the circles on my clit and the ridiculously fast pacing of his thrusts weren’t enough to do it, the defenseless look in his eyes sends me into my orgasm like a tidal wave. I cry out his name, my walls clenching around him, and I manage to do the one thing he asked of me; keep my eyes directly on his.

And that’s what ultimately unravels him. He lets out a grunt, whimpers my name, and lets go. We ride it out together, his thrusts slowing down, but through it all, we never break eye contact. It’s intimate, the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with anyone. And of all people – Langdon.

Once we’ve both come down, he collapses beside me, shoulder to shoulder. He’s quick to grab my hand, placing a soft kiss on it and then resting it on my chest. I graze the sweaty skin with my finger, gazing over at him.

There are no words to describe what I feel when I look at him. He’s like an old painting, lines messy and haphazard, but comes together to be something beautiful. Hard to believe I’ve ever not seen him like this.

“How did we take so long to figure it out?” it’s almost as if he’s read my mind.

“No idea,” I murmur, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. Langdon leans into my touch, softly, expression much of the same. “But I’m glad we did.”

I roll toward him so we’re both on our sides, facing each other. This moment, this feeling, I want it to keep going forever. It’s what I’ve been chasing. There’s a prodding fear that it can’t possibly last forever, but I push the thought away. Because we’re here now. Black sky out the window fading into an early morning, grey, bed sheets ruffled beneath us, the docile understanding between us, the smooth skin under my fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Langdon whispers, kissing my hand as it pulls from his hair. He grabs it, fiddling with my fingers, and then jerks my entire arm so I’m right up against him. He kisses me, one, twice, then three times.

“I could get used to this,” I joke into his mouth, earning yet another wonderful laugh from him. “Much better than the constant bickering and tension we’re used to.”

He smiles, pecking my lips again. “I agree. We’ll make sure the next time we argue, we save that tension for the bedroom.”

I laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You know it’s a foolproof plan,” he adds.

“Whatever you say,” I concede.

Langdon fidgets with the necklace around my throat with a look on his face I’m all too familiar with. “You know, I’m already missing our games a little. It was kinda hot.”

“They’ll be back. Give it a couple shifts,” I deadpan, but my eyes are full of amusement.

“Good, because I’m already imagining all the super-hot hate sex we’re gonna have.”

“I’ll be counting on that.”