Agnes~

1995.

you wake up to the maddening sound of the telephone. you roll over in bed like a dead body, a deep groan escaping your lips. you rub your eyes and flip off the covers from your body.

you pad across the wooden floors of your flat barefoot, only in your lacy panties and a white tank top. you run a steady hand through your messy hair, sweeping it out of your face so you can guide yourself towards the telephone.

"what?" you groan, slamming the telephone against your ear.

"have you seen the news?!" someone asks over the phone. you winced at the sound, practically yelling against your ear.

you squint your eyes. "sam? that you?" you ask with a yawn.

your manager never calls this early on a saturday. "yes, now turn on your fuckin' telly!" she yells again.

"mkay," you yawn, almost tripping over your lazy feet as you scurry to the sofa and grab the remote resting on the glass coffee table. the second you press the 'ON' button, your telly comes to life and your name is plastered on the screen in bolded black letters.

"what the fuck," you mutter under your breath, rubbing your un-adjusted eyes until they could see clearly. on the screen, a video of liam gallagher's face is playing, a reporter asking him questions about you.

again.

a few years ago, a video just like this haunted you. liam talking to reporters drunk out of his mind, rambling about God knows what, and your name seemed to spill from his lips. you remember all of it, all of the anger that boiled inside of you.

"do you really fancy her, then?" the reporter places the light to shine on liam's face.

"yeah." liam responds, taking a drag from his cig.

"are you gonna go for her?" the reporter asks.

"nah. she's gonna go for me." he blows the cigarette smoke out past his lips, a cocky expression on his face.

you wanted to smack him. you wanted to tear his life apart. who did he think he was, letting your name escape his lips? he was disgusting is what he was.

you even remember telling damon about it, and he just told you, "i know," whenever you would complain. you can recall the interview where damon had responded to it. and he said he "didn't really mind."

"you see it?" sam asks over the phone, snapping you out of your trance.

"i don't understand." you respond, puzzled.

"just watch it. they've been replaying it all morning." sam sighs, and you can hear her stress through the phone.

sam hangs up the phone, leaving you to yourself. you let the video replay on the large screen, listening to every word that is being spoken.

"there was a lot of talk recently- about you saying you fancy damon's girlfriend?" the interviewer asks, her legs crossed with a paper in her hands.

liam nods, taking a swig from a bottle of water like it's the most casual thing in the world. "is it true?" the interviewer asks him, tilting her head. he's quick to respond, with a "yeah".

your lips part. how could he say that like it was the most normal thing in the world? he had absolutely no class-

"do'ya think that'll wind damon up?" the interviewer asks.

he nods again, the tiniest smirk slipping past his lips. "yeah."

you scoff, shaking your head at the television. their "battle of britpop" rivalry has existed for a while now, but it was always unserious. to you, this was unacceptable. who was he to bring you into it?

you've never liked liam anyway. he was so full of himself, always thinking ahead of people and taking advantage of his irritating wit and charm. he was attractive on the outside, but on the inside he was rotten.

"do ya think she fancies you, then?" the interviewer asks with a smirk. liam nods, not hesitating one bit. "yeah." he answers with a chuckle.

"why?" the woman pushes. you start to shake your head, your face fuming as your jaw clenches. it was too early for this shit. "cause i just think she does."

what. a. dick.

───

"hey." you hear the door slam, damon kicking off his sneakers and jogging into the living room. his smile fades as soon as he sees you, looking forward at the telly, sat in the same clothes since last night, your hair a mess and a cig between your fingers.

"love." he moves slowly around the carpet until he sinks down next to you on the couch. "you okay?" damon's eyes search yours as his hand finds your shiny strands of hair, twirling them between his fingers.

"mhm." you mutter, taking another drag from your cig.

"be honest with me." he nudges your shoulder with a tiny smile, trying to cheer you up. you don't budge.

you look down for a few moments before shifting your body to face him, your back pressed against the arm of the couch. "did you watch the news?"

damon's brows furrow. "about?"

your expression drops as you put out your cig. "seriously?"

he looks utterly confused. "liam." you say as your head drops.

his eyebrows turn inward, scooting closer to you on the sofa. "what about liam?"

"he said it. again." your tone is sharper, your anger almost filled to the brim. damon's expression flickers with confusion before it drops, and he realizes. "oh." he mumbles.

you shake your head, trying not to seem bothered by it. this is what liam wants. a reaction from you and damon. "i don't fucking understand. i don't want my name included in all of this stupid 'britpop rivalry', damon. it's not fair." you rub your forehead.

"i'm sorry. he's a dick, i know. i cant do anything about it." damon rubs your back.

you scoff. "but you could've. you could've told him to back off."

he lifts his eyebrows at your tone. "how- when would-?" he stutters.

"that interview. you said you didn't care, so now he thinks he can step all over me. i'm sick of it." you storm out of the living room.

"come on, love. it's not that big of a deal." damon shakes his head, calling back at you from his spot on the couch.

───

"would you please just consider it?" damon sighs, swirling his glass of wine around across the seat from you.

"no." you don't let up, shaking your head.

"come on, love. it's just an award show. he'll stay far away from you, i promise." he takes a drink, and then licks his lips.

"no, damon. take your mam or something, im not going." you trace the rim of your wine glass.

"are you scared of him or somthing?" damon asks.

your whole body freezes, and your eyes slowly fall to the table. "wow." you breathe out.

"come on, you know i didn't mean it like that," damon runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"no, it's fine. you did."

"are you serious, love? you're letting this cunt ruin our relationship, now?" he sighs as he watches you get up from your seat at the table.

you choose not to respond, knowing it'll only make things worse.

"just come with me. he won't approach you." damon watches you rinse your dish and place it in the sink.

you scoff, turning around to face him and putting your hands on your hips. "how can you be so sure?"

he stills.

a beat.

then another.

"you'll be with me." he says.

you shake your head, returning to the sink.

a few minutes later, damon brings his plate to the sink and wraps his hands around your waist. "please come? i'll protect you if he tries to talk to you." his lips trace your ear.

you nearly cringe at his choice of words. "i don't need you to protect me." you tilt your head away from his lips.

he sighs, letting go of your waist. "i can face that cunt myself" you mumble over the loud pour of the sink water.

───

"the fans would love to know if there's any new tunes in the works?" the interviewer sat across from you asks with a wide grin.

you nod slowly, adjusting your bright purple dress to cover your knees as you respond politely. "yes, there is. i've been in the studio here and there, and i can confirm there's definitely new music coming soon." you can't help your smile, being so excited to release new music.

she nods. "can you disclose if it's an album?"

you giggle. "its gonna be a few singles, but i'm also working on an album."

the interviewer looks straight at the camera with wide eyes and a surprised expression. "well, that's exciting!"

you nod. "it is. i can't wait for people to be able to hear it."

"do you think it's your best yet?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

"yes! i believe it is my best."

the interviewer uncrosses her legs, flipping her paper to find more questions. "well, following that news, the fans also wonder about your life outside of music," she starts.

you expect her to ask about family, about your boyfriend, plans for summer or your own music award shows, but she doesn't.

"we're dying to know- how do you choose to respond to liam gallagher?"

your heart drops.

what. the. fuck???

you chuckle, a little "heh" escaping your lips as you adjust your skirt again. "how do you mean?"

her expression drops before recovering into her fake smile. "well- he's been saying he fancies ya!"

you're clearly pissed off, but you mask it with a tiny smile. "hm." you start, flicking a section of hair behind your shoulder.

"he's gonna talk. what can i do about that?" you say without a care in the world. but deep down, your teeth are gritting so hard they might crack, your palms are sweating, hoping she'll move on to the next topic.

this was your interview, damn it. about music. not liam.

you tried to respond as civil as you could, being the bigger person, the more mature one to show you didn't give a fuck. (even when you did).

"well, did you hear what he said this morning?" the interviewer tilted her head with a smile. your face looked more irritated even when it was being curled into a smile. "no," you sighed. "i didn't."

she flips her paper around, searching for the quoted sentence. "well, this morning he said he 'wouldn't kick you out of his bed'?- have you heard that?" the interviewer looks up from her paper, and now your eyes are burning holes into hers.

you're pushing your cuticles down further each second, trying to respond as calmly as you can. but you can't. all of the responses you ran through your head in that silent gap of thirty seconds was all too polite. you didn't want to be civil about this anymore. if he got to say disgusting things about you, you were going to lose it.

"he said that?" you ask slowly, your patience wearing thin.

the interviewer nods. "yes. how do you choose to respond to him?"

you blink your eyes, a disgusted expression on your face. it broke your heart how a woman can ask you about this with absolutely no flicker of doubt in her expression. did she think this was okay? or was this just how she had to act on camera?

"i-" you stutter out before a chuckle escapes your lips.

uh oh. here goes all your media training out that fucking window.

"what a sad cunt," you say louder then predicted.

the woman's head jerks back, looking at the camera crew behind you. the camera zooms in closer to your face, enjoying every drop of your anger.

"he won't have a chance to because you'll never fucking find me there." you start, sitting up in your seat.

you turn your chair with a loud screech as you face the largest camera, letting it zoom in on your face. "listen, liam. you want a response? here it is. i don't give a fuck what you say about me because everything you say doesn't go to me," you point at yourself and then shake your finger. "no, it goes straight to your dick." you spit.

the interviewer's eyes went wide as her jaw fell open, as well as the whole camera crew behind you. "you wanna talk about me? just say it to my fucking face, you prick. i can handle it. or- are you too scared to say it to my face?" you tilted your head with a fake pout.

"i guess we'll find out at the brits." you blew a kiss to the screen and shot the camera a fake smile before you got up from your seat and walked off the set.

"wait!" the woman called you back.

"they weren't done with the interview," sam stopped you, grabbing your forearm tightly.

"well, i was." you stormed down the hallway, slamming the door to your dressing room.

───

"are you gonna tell me what happened this afternoon?" damon asks as he watches you push your food around in your plate."

"hm?" you ask, placing a falling strand of hair behind your ear.

"you heard me." he grits out, his eyes not leaving yours.

"what do you want me to say, hm?" you snap, your fork clanging against your dish.

he squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to talk to you when you're like this.

“what, damon? i gave it to him ‘cause you couldn’t.” you scoot out of your chair, storming off to the bedroom. 

he buries his hands in his hair, banging his head onto the dining room table.

a few hours later, damon comes into the bedroom to find you laying on your side, your back faced to him. damon leans down and crawls into the sheets, carefully running his finger up your sleeve, testing the waters. when you don't flinch, he sets his whole hand on your arm and leans into your ear. “im sorry.” he says softly.

you sit up, tugging your knees to your chest. “dont you understand how this makes me feel? of course i had to say something.” 

he nods. “yeah. i-”

“don’t say you know.” you interrupt him with a sigh. he puts his hands up in defense and purses his lips. “cause you don’t.” you whisper.

he continues to nod, which makes you giggle now. you pull his face to yours so he’s hovering over you, and you press a gentle kiss to his lips. “ill come with you.”

his face lights up. “yeah?”

you nod. “but only ‘cause i accidentally said i would during that interview.” 

he chuckles once, and then kisses your cheek.

───

"helloooo!" a hand lands on your shoulder.

you shudder at the touch, your shiny hair flipping as you turn your head. when you realize who it is, your face curls into a fake smile. you've been doing it for the thirty minutes you've been present at this afterparty, and your mouth is already aching.

"hi," you give damon's manager a small wave. he's an old man with a massive mustache, his tie crooked and a beer hanging lazily from his fingers.

you weren't usually shy, but you felt a little out of place especially at one of the biggest award shows in england. of course, you made your own music, you just weren't as big as all of the people here. damon said he'd try to get you connections with producers, but you told him not to worry. you enjoyed being a smaller artist. there wasn't (usually) any drama around your name, besides the whole liam thing.

damon greeted him, grabbing a beer for himself and then one for you. "drink up, love. it's the expensive stuff" damon's manager nudges your shoulder, and you fake laugh...again.

you're sitting on a stool at the bar, your sparkly dress riding up your thighs. the cushion underneath you is broken, stabbing the inside of your leg as you shift in your seat.

damon's laughing with the rest of the band and his manager, and you're not quite sure what its about. you tried joining their conversation earlier but it was no use. you were just the "girlfriend who got in for free because her boyfriend is a britpop star"

"i'm gonna use the loo" you tap damon's shoulder and shout in his ear over the loud music. he nods, holding your waist to help you down from the stool. before you know it, his touch is gone and you're slipping past sticky bodies in the middle of the dance floor, trying to find the restroom.

and just as expected, there's a line. a long one, nearly stacked to the end of the hallway. you sigh with a roll of your eyes as your heels clack down the hallway. you lean back against the wall of the nightclub, realizing you'd rather be at home right now.

the only reason you came was because of that prick liam gallagher, and you hadn't even seen him tonight. he was at the award show, of course. he slid up to the stage with that pretentious walk you hated and said something smug. you could tell he was high off his tits with a cig hanging from his lips like he didn't care, his words slurring and the faint swipe of white powder under his nose.

if you saw him you were most likely going to pick a fight with him. not if he got there first. what the fuck is taking so long?-

just then, the bathroom door bursts open, a very unsorted sight of liam stumbling out of the loo, his sunglasses crooked and his shirt half unbuttoned. there's still powder under his nose. you hear laughs as a fair skinned hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him by his collar.

he chuckles back at her, shaking his head quickly from the daze as he runs a hand through his hair. you scoff, because how much cocaine can you possibly do in one night?

the hand behind him snakes around his neck and a red-haired woman appears next to him as they struggle to find their footsteps out of the restroom.

the strap of her dress is falling far down her shoulder, smeared lipstick on her chin and small red marks of makeup travelling down liam's neck.

his fingers slowly lift her strap over her shoulder again, and your stomach stirs with something you can't identify as you watch his eyes go to hers, his fingers so careful and delicate yet so possessive.

he adjusts his sunglasses and lets out a long sigh. the woman's obnoxious laugh makes your ears bleed as you watch her hands slither all over his body, trying to grab onto something, anything.

his big hands land on her waist as he steers her towards the nearest wall- hence, the wall you were against. your eyes widen in an 'are you fucking kidding me?' way as you watch them crash into the space next to you, skipping the woman behind you's place in line.

you scoff, not being able to believe the sight in front of you as his lips move greedily against hers and she makes the most annoying whimper it makes you sick.

"are you fucking serious right now?" you mutter under your breath, crossing one arm over the other.

her needy whines seem to stop and so did liam's lips once his brow quirks up and he turns to face you. "what was that, bird?" he asks abruptly.

you nearly shiver at the sound of his voice, the same one that had embarassed you on the television multiple times, the same one that said he fancied you. and it was all in that cocky tone of his.

"i said are you fucking serious right now?" you repeat even louder, watching the way liam's lips quirk up just the slightest at your pissed tone.

you were goin' for it, alright.

the club's colored lights narrow on you for the quickest second before jumping to another sight in the room, and then he realizes. right under those lights, he realizes it's you.

"ah. you." he says casually as his hands move to rest on the woman's waist. she's looking you up and down like you're some mannequin in a shop with the ugliest dress known to human existence. (and for the record, your dress was cute as hell, so what the fuck was she looking at?)

"ah, me." you shoot back with a clenched jaw.

"sorry, are we causin' you trouble?" liam asks with a tiny pout as he pulls her closer. she giggles obnoxiously which makes you want to throw up at the way women just fall to their feet for him.

"yes, actually. you skipped that woman in line." you point behind liam at the woman with the shiny black hair and red dress that was standing behind you minutes ago.

where the fuck d'she go?

you squint, your finger faltering with every second.

"you were saying?" liam asked.

"she was-" you started before you were cut off by the one and only arsehole.

"right here?" liam looks behind him and points at the woman that was behind you. except now she was sniffing coke off the nearest glass table, curled up on some posh lad's lap.

"well now she's there." he explains, pointing behind him with one hand, the other hand staying on her waist. and you so badly want to tell him to fuck off and that he doesn't need to illustrate every single thing. you have eyes for fuck's sake.

"we still have an issue?" liam asks innocently, which is the most inconvenient time for that considering he's pushing that ginger bird up against the wall and pressing his lips to her neck.

"yes, actually-" you start to get to the point with it all. you're gonna give it to him straight.

she gasps and kisses him deeper, her mouth trailing to his neck. you're staring daggers at him, but he just smirks. "you've thought about my offer, then?"

can you let me speak?!

your expression is powered by disgust and you're now mere seconds away from asking where all the cameras are and if you're being pranked. there's no way he's asking a question like that with such a serious face. "your offer?" you ask with a raised brow.

and yes, to your surprise, she's still fucking kissing him.

"yep." he says shortly before his eyebrows crinkle and he winces with an, "ow, love," looking back at the red-head who bit the skin above his collarbone.

"and remind me what your offer is?" you clear your throat and tilt your head, the golden hoop earrings hanging from your ears swaying with your shiny hair.

"to give me a chance, birdie" he tells you like it's obvious and you should have known. but he never asked for a chance. he embarrassed you, your name, and your career on live television multiple times, telling reporters he has a thing for you.

he never properly asked for a chance, and if he ever did, you'd turn him down. one hundred percent.

"and why would i do that?" your gaze intensifies.

"because. you think im just a sad cunt, don't ya? i'll prove you wrong, treat ya nice. we all know i’ll be a better man for ya." he winks at you, taking a drag from his cigarette as he quotes your words.

in that moment, liam gallagher had done nothing but disgust you. how could he ask for a chance with you while that other woman had (most likely) fucked him in the bathroom and is now all over him?

right. in. front. of. you.

"No." you blurt, your jaw flexing as you say it.

his brows lift. "no?"

"no." you repeat, pouting playfully.

he squints at that, giving you the slightest tilt of his chin as if he was biting back.

"you've seen my response on the telly already. dunno why you're askin' again." you tell him.

he huffs a laugh. "yeah, i saw it. you're a force, aren't ya?" he looks you up and down, eyeing your tiny dress and how adorable you look in front of him.

you don't even notice the ginger bitch disappearing from his arms when his eyes travel from your little silver open-toed heels to your chest, and then to your lips. you feel small under his intense gaze, feeling like you've just been defeated and now he's in full control over you.

"im not afraid to give it to you, if that's what you mean." you take a large gulp.

he chuckles. "yeah," he tilts his head, getting one more look at you as if the description fit you.

"tits look nice in that, by the way" he mutters and tilts his chin up before he scurries down the hallway, back to the party.

your mouth falls agape, your cheeks are flustered and now you're next in line for the bathroom. you walk inside and slam the bathroom door, wanting to rip out every strand of your hair for letting him walk off like that.

───

"liam!" a reporter fists his shirt to get his attention. liam's head whips around, his sunglasses falling from his hair onto his eyes again at the rough contact.

"yeah?" he replies lazily, leaning in to hear him.

he gives him a large smile and says, "can we speak with you for a moment about tonight?"

liam's expression drops. "ehhhh, i don't want no trouble now, yeah? s'late n' all that-" he waves his hands out in front of his eyes to shield himself from all of the camera's bright lights pointing right in his face.

"don't be silly, we have a few questions for you about damon's girlfriend, the people want to know if you've seen her!" he offers him the microphone and liam's lips curl into an evil grin.

"yeah, i've seen her, alright" he nods and huffs a laugh, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

"did you talk to her, then?" the reporter asks with a tilt of his head.

"yeah, yeah." liam takes a drag from his cig and fists a hand in his hair.

the buttons of his shirt are still open, exposing the faint dips of his chest, and a silver chain hangs from his sweaty neck. "that's it? nothing about the bird was special?" the reporter asks over the loud music with a chuckle.

"oh, yeah. she's special. not afraid to do nowt, i'll tell ya that" he smiles, looking directly into the camera.

"what'd you mean by that?"

"listen, man." he roughly pats the reporter's beige trench coat a few times which makes his head jolt back, the microphone shaking.

"you'll hear it here only" he shifts his body towards the camera and points his finger as he speaks.

"she's a nut job, that one. you wind her up and she'll fucking kill ya" liam yells into the camera, drunk and barely paying attention to what's coming out of his mouth.

"crazy bitch." he mutters with a tiny laugh.

"have you heard her music by any chance, then?" the reporter asks.

"she makes music? that explains why she acts all tough" liam's lips are parted and his eyes are heavy, knowing he's too far gone to continue this interview.

"liam, where are you going?" the reporter shouts as liam struts away, his middle finger in the air as he travels down the hallway.

───

your jaw is on the floor.

the remote in your hand is being strangled by your sweaty fingers.

he was right only about one thing- you were sure to kill him.

you'd just woken up, a cereal bowl in your hands as you turned on the telly to watch the news. instead of a daily weather report, that dickhead's face was on your screen again.

you audibly sighed, making it known to yourself and your lonely flat that you hated his face. it gave you a headache. what was he saying now? you wondered as you crunched your cereal.

"don't be silly, we have a few questions for you about damon's girlfriend, the people want to know if you've seen her!"

no. no no no! not again.

you slowly approached the sofa and sank down onto the cushions as you listened to the whole interview.

and now, here you are, unable to speak, unable to move, and all you want to do is smash all of your expensive wine glasses inside the cabinet or smash his head into a wall.

why? why is he trying to ruin my life?

"crazy bitch." he mutters with a tiny laugh.

your face is on fire. you grab the pillow next to you and sink into the couch, screaming into the cotton. "YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLE!!!" you kick your legs behind you, your voice muffled into the pillow.

after a few minutes, you let the pillow go and scrape messy strands of your hair out of your eyes. you had to stay calm. he wanted this reaction from you, and it's only gonna give him pleasure if you react this way.

for the rest of the day, you decide to take an 'everything shower', listen to relaxing comfort music and tidy up the flat. once you finished, you wrapped yourself up in your favorite off-white silk robe and finish the lyrics for a few songs you were messing around with.

"love?" damon slams the door to the flat, dropping his coat and shoes by the front room. he looks around for a second, only to find you with your back turned to him and a glass full of red wine in your hand.

you're still only in your robe, your wet hair causing the material at your shoulders to stain damp. "hm?" you ask, taking a sip from your wine glass.

"what's going on?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"you're little rival can't keep his mouth shut about me. have you heard?" you slam the glass down on the marble counter, a small clinking sound jolting damon to life.

"i've heard." he takes a gulp.

"i want you to put an end to it now, damon." you say casually with a sigh.

his brows furrow. "how do you expect me to do that?"

"find a way. i've tried, and all he sees me as is just a pair of tits." you say, your nostrils starting to flare.

"he thinks i'm a joke."

damon chuckles. "and you think he'll listen to me? he thinks my music is shit."

you roll your eyes and scoff.

"don't do that, c'mon. don't be mad at me" damon runs a nervous hand through his hair.

"you see what he's doing to us, right?" you say quietly.

damon's whole body stills. "we never fight, damon." your voice is barely above a whisper.

when he doesn't respond, you choose to walk away. the bedroom door slams, and once again, damon feels that he failed you.

───

a few days later, you decide you have to stop relying on damon. he's not gonna do shit to help you because liam would get on both your cases. you can't stand his harassment through the telly nearly every morning, so you take matters into your own hands.

your black heels clack on the gray pavement as you move down the street and into an apartment complex that was sure to be his. your silver hoop earrings sway with your shiny hair as you walk, all fierce and fueled with anger.

you don't have a plan, really. kicking his arse out his eight story window was an option you had put thought into.

a knock.

nothing.

another knock, harsher this time.

you adjust your black purse on your shoulder and toy with the fringe on the bottom of your leather jacket. you're inches away from one more knock with an exasperated sigh, but the door swings open.

"what'd you want? it's fuckin half nine-" liam trails off as he rubs his eyes with both hands, not taking a look at the person on the other side of the doorframe. you squint for a second. how late did he sleep normally?

your lips part as your eyes shamelessly trail down his body, water droplets moving down his neck and his boxer shorts hanging low on his frame. his hair is a damp mess, like he's just left the shower. the same silver chain hangs from his neck and a cloud of cigarette smoke is burning in the ashtray behind him.

he finally opens his eyes to see you- more like your eyes, stuck to his chest and running down his body.

"you." his lips curl into a mischievous grin. then, he yawns.

his deep voice makes your neck snap up to his face, and his eyes widen with a puzzled look.

"how the fuck'd ya get my address, birdie?" he crosses his arms over his chest. your cheeks are pink, but you squeeze your eyes shut for a second to recollect yourself.

you just sigh, forgetting why the hell you even came or what you were doing here. good question, liam.

"uhm," you clear your throat and your eyes meet his again. "we need to talk, liam."

his tongue presses flat against the inside of his cheek to hold in a smile. "do we? come inside then, sweetie" he opens the door wider, standing beside it.

you slip inside and you hear the door click shut behind you.

"cute outfit." he says while taking a drag.

you're in a fringed light pink blouse, skinny jeans and your black heels. and of course, your signature leather jacket. you fake smile at him through a glare, and then you clear your throat.

"so, im here because-" you start, but he cuts you off.

"nah, don't do that just yet, yeah? take a seat, get comfy" he waves a hand around as he puts out his cigarette and grabs another one.

"i don't think that's necessary, i'll be out of your hair in no time." you clear your throat.

he walks closer to you, the lighter flicking between your fingers. "don't want ya 'out of my hair', though. you can sit down."

your head jumped back just slightly at his words. why was he kind of...nice about it? no. stop. you have a boyfriend. you love damon, you hate liam. end of story.

"tea?" he asks.

"no, thank you." you clasp your fingers together and stay standing, even though he offered you a seat.

"didn't know you had manners, love." he chuckles, the flame finally catching as he flicks the cap on the lighter closed.

your expression drops. nope, he was not nice about anything.

"as i was saying before i was interrupted," you start with a sigh and you swear you hear him chuckle under his breath. "is that whatever shit you're pulling in those interviews needs to stop."

he stills. then, a small smile settles on his lips. "yeah?"

your glare deepens. "yes."

he takes a drag, lets your question simmer as he leans against the wooden chair at his dining set. about fifteen seconds pass, and your knuckles are white as they grip your elbow.

"are you gonna answer me?" you ask short.

liam chuckles, blows the smoke to the side of his face and lets the cloud fall behind him. he moves closer to you leaning on the counter and you breathing stutters.

why? why am i nervous?!

"are you sure you want me to stop?" he asks, his lips inches away from your ear.

"yes." you reply, your voice faltering as he edges closer. he's towering over you, and he can hear your rushing heartbeat.

no. you aren't going to let him do that. he can't show you how weak you are because you aren't. you inhale through your nose and exhale out your mouth. "you might not notice it, but you're a huge fucking bother. you're ruining the perception people have of me." you spit.

his eyes widen at your tone, and his hand moves closer to your face to scoop a strand of hair out of your eyes. you catch his hand with a rough tug, pushing it away from you. "never meant to be a bother" he mumbles.

"well, you are. so stop." you're about to explode. you came here to show him that he couldn't mess with you and now you were falling apart like sand in his hands.

"listen, love. i can't control it if i think you're fit, you know." he says with wide eyes as he moves back, taking another drag of the cigarette between his fingers.

did he seriously just say that? you take another deep breath, this time trying so hard not to slam him into the nearest wall.

"liam," you gulp. "it needs to fucking stop. do you understand me? im sick of your shit and I'm not here to play games like you do with the women you lure into your bed, okay?" you're talking with your hands now, which makes him laugh as much as it makes him intimidated. you were really serious about this.

"whoa, who said i lure women-" he squints, but you cut in.

you aren't finished.

he steps back towards the wall separating the kitchen from the hallway, inches away from his head thudding against it. you follow him slowly as you speak to him, and he sort of finds your anger amusing.

"listen closely because this is the last time I'm saying it." you grit through your teeth.

you're inches from his face now, his head falling back against the wall as he looks down at your lips, and then back up to your furious eyes.

"stay away from me and damon, stop saying shit about me sleeping with you, and most importantly, sort yourself out. you're a fucking mess, getting on live television with your head so far up your arse you start telling lies about me. it's embarrassing." you spit, the tips of your noses touching, you were so close.

"wow, birdie. wasn't wrong when I said yer one crazy bitch-" he doesn't even get to finish his sentence before you purse your lips and raise your hand to smack a red line of anger across his pale face.

he doesn't speak for a second, so surprised you actually hit him.

"fuck." he stretches his jaw, tilting his head to get some feel back into his tingling red skin.

"say that one more time and i'll fucking hurt ya."

"you wouldn't" he whispers. "only got one in ya, I can tell" he nods his chin.

you tilt your head with a squint. "try me, liam. I fucking dare you."

he smiles lazily. "crazy bi-"

another smack, on the same side of his face. "ow, fuck!" he hisses, muttering more curses under his breath.

"maybe I am a crazy bitch, but I don't like to hear it coming from your mouth." you step back, a satisfied smile on your face. "i'll leave before I have the chance to kick you in the balls."

his hand is holding his face as the door to liam's flat slams shut.

"fuckin hell!" he whines and holds his red face.

───

damon watched you eat your dinner, a tiny smile on your face as you're all wrapped up in your silk robe, (this time it's your lucky pink one) and a white towel wrapped around your head. you're in your fuzzy pink slippers as you sip your wine and twirl your pasta with your silver fork.

"someone's happy tonight." damon says cautiously with a furrow of his brow.

"guess you could say that." you took a sip of wine and smiled.

"mmkay what's going on? you haven't been this happy in ages." damon asks, dropping his fork, the metal clanging on his ceramic dish.

you wipe the remaining vodka sauce off your lips with a napkin and drop your fork as well. damon takes a sip of wine as he waits for you to speak. "i spoke to liam."

his eyes nearly bug out of his head. honey, we aren't even half way through the story. "what?" he asks, nearly coughing up his sip of wine.

you chuckle. "mhm."

"why would you do that?"

"because. someone needed to tell him to stop." you said, your words trailing off as damon shook his head.

"well, did he stop?" he coughs again, the wine still burning his throat.

your lips curl into a smirk. "yep."

"really?" damon nearly shouts at you.

you nod your head as you stab a piece of steak inside a bowl with your fork and drop it into your own dish.

"how'd you do it?" damon's smiling now as he takes another sip of wine, happy that you found a way to shoo him off.

"i smacked him." you say innocently.

he coughs again, this time rougher. you shouldn't be sharing this story with wine on the table.

"what?" he says through harsh gasps and you pat his back to calm him down.

"yeah." you give him a glass of water and he nearly chugs it. once he's done, you steal his glass of wine and place it next to your own. "I'll have yours, honey." you say with a smile.

he squints. "you smacked liam?"

"I went to his flat, demanded him to stop, and when he tried to tease me i smacked him and then he got even more on my nerves so I smacked him again." you ramble, and when you're finished, you smile.

damon's breathless. "i love you."

you move out of your seat at the table and kiss his temple. "love you too."

───

you love going to parties. especially after a long day in the studio, when your best friends invite you to a neighborhood house that was a few blocks away from your old one.

here you are, without damon by your side, enjoying yourself with a cig placed between your fingers, your friend martha wrapped up on some lad's lap that you apparently went to uni with.

your hair is wild and messy, your black panties are peeking out of your low waisted blue jeans, and so is your matching bra, the strap falling off your shoulder as your tank tops strap stays secure on your shoulder.

this is your happy place. not award shows and their after parties with your boyfriend. not his recording studio or going shopping at posh stores in the city.

your at home, at a neighborhood block party with no boyfriend, no manager, no press, no liam.

your throat bobs up and down as your head is lolled back against the couch, the cigarette smoke curling in a halo above your head. you needed to loosen up.

"beer?" your friend jane asks, her eyebrows lifted as her fingers wrap around the cold beer, the dew dripping onto your thigh.

you nod your head lazily, taking the beer. the sensation of the cold bottle makes you sigh; the sweaty house party clouded with smoke being too humid. (your hair was frizzing out).

"so where's damon? too posh for this?" jane asks, sipping her own beer as she digs a hand of hair into her dark, puffy curls.

you nod as you press your lips to your beer, the cool liquid rushing down your throat. you swallow, making a satisfied sigh after drinking. "yeah...you know him. in the studio." you wave your hand around, looking up even though all you see is mainly stars.

"fuck that shit." jane shakes her head. "you make time for us even though you're in the studio," she says.

"yeah, but..." you sigh, trying to process your thoughts. "he's not into this anymore. his whole world is music."

"i'll never forgive you if you forget about us." she points a stern finger at you and her lips curl into a smile.

"like I could ever forget this crappy bottled beer and couch with undefinable stains on it," you pick at the velvety fabric of the couch, a big smile on your face.

"shots!" clark yells from the kitchen, and everyone scurries towards the counter.

"what's on the menu tonight?" you lean on the counter, running your soft fingertips through your messy hair.

"tequila, obviously." jane answers with a 'pfft' sound. you laugh and turn your head around to face her, her head leaning on your shoulder.

all of a sudden, a buzzing noise goes off in the pocket of your jeans. you pick up your phone and purse your lips. you squint hard, trying to see the blurry name in white letters on your screen.

"guys, i gotta take this." you raise your phone in the air, and everyone starts booing.

"don't be like that," clark drops his shoulders and rolls his eyes.

"sorry, it's damon." you say after reading the name, travelling down the hallway.

"tell that posh prick to get his arse over here now!" jane yells from the counter and watches you slip out the door.

you laugh and shut the front door, the cool london air causing a chill to run up your shoulders. you accept the call, placing your phone to your ear. "hey."

"where are you?" he asks, his response rushed with a hint of concern in his voice.

"im at the party, damon." you say it like its obvious. "i told you right before you left."

"i didn't think you were staying that late." his voice gets quieter, but he clears his throat regardless.

"did you want me home?" you ask with a raised brow.

he falls silent for a moment, sniffles, and then responds, "nah, we ordered takeaway at the studio and are about to go for a pint."

"oh." your lips part, feeling a little out of place.

"i thought it would be nice if you could join us." damon offers, his voice getting higher when he voices the risky suggestion.

"uhh," you look up at all the stars in the night sky, letting the breeze wash over your skin before you squeeze your eyes shut.

you didn't like being with damon's friends or his managers. being a woman, the creepy producers always had a look at your figure, and would stare far too long just enough to make you uncomfortable.

you take a large gulp, trying to find words that won't offend him in any way but also get your point across.

“damon, i…” you start, your throat drying up. you clear your throat again and proceed.

“i wasn't planning on leaving for a while.” is what you end up saying.

“oh.” he responds.

it was just that one syllable, and it seemed to hit harder than any of the other things he would say to you when you two would fight.

you didn't get your point across, but you most definitely hurt his feelings. “just-”

“its fine, i get it. i don't know anyone who'd actually want to hang out with a bunch of lads who talk out of their asses the whole night about the music industry,” he chuckles, but there wasn't much amusement there.

“heh, yeah.” you chuckle back.

did he forget you were also in the music industry?-

“so I'll see you at home?” damon clears his throat again. you nod enthusiastically, but then remember he can't see. “yeah.” you blurt out.

“do not get drunk, okay? and more importantly do not try any drugs you haven't already had.”

you smile and bite your lip. “mmkay, mom.”

“see ya, love.” he hangs up the phone.

"bye."

you place your cellphone into the denim back pocket of your jeans and cross your arms over your chest. you inhale the soft breeze your eyes flutter shut.

“boyfriend tryna tell you what to do again?” someone behind you says.

the voice jolts you to life and you open your eyes, immediately jumping to turn around.

and like he was summoned just by your thoughts earlier: no boyfriend, no manager, no press, no liam.

well, fuck.

a stubble decorates the bottom half of his face, his hair's a little messy, and a beer bottle hangs loosely from his fingers. he slowly approaches you, the famous golden cross chain hanging from his necklace. it dangles as he walks over to you, his shirt flying open just the tiniest bit with the soft breeze.

"how'd you know he did it before?" you ask and look back at him.

"what?" he squints at your question, placing the beer up to his soft lips.

"you said the word 'again'."

"i did." he swallows his sip of beer, now standing next to you.

"so?" you ask.

its such a stupid question, but you excuse your foolishness because you're drunk.

"so...he seems like that type'a lad. bossy and that." he waves his hand around, trying to paint a picture of damon.

"well he isn't." you snap.

he takes another swig and makes a "hmm" noise as he sips, in response to your question.

"that so?" he asks and sighs in satisfaction from his cooling drink.

you nod. "he's not what you think he is." your chin is held high as you defend your boyfriend.

liam's fully grinning now. "what's he like, then?"

"he's kind. and caring." you say, looking into the distance, tilting your head and watching a football match on the television in the house across the street through the window.

"that it?" liam squints and nods at your words.

"he makes sure i don't get too drunk." you mutter.

"ooh." liam hisses. "that one isn't great, is it?"

"eh. he likes to protect me." you shrug, only accepting it cause why not blame it on the alcohol?

he huffs a laugh.

you immediately furrow your brows. "what?"

"nowt" liam shakes his head.

"you're lying. why'd you laugh?" you ask.

"cause" he takes another sip of his beer. "you don't look like the type of bird who wants to be protected."

you don't answer even though its true.

"he's really thoughtful." you start listing damon's traits again.

liam wants so badly to roll his eyes because why would he stand here with you, talking about damon? "is he, now?"

you hum in response, then fall silent.

"that it?" liam asks after a few moments of silence. you gotta think on that.

yeah, i think so. you respond in your head.

"uh, yes?" you answer.

"interesting," liam mumbles.

"why'd ya say that, then?" you lift a brow, turning your head to face him beside you.

"s'just...you talk about how nice he is, but nice isn't enough...is it?" liam asks.

you haven't thought about that. is he messing with my head cause im drunk?

"bit boring, innit?" he adds.

"no." you scoff, taking offense to his statement.

liam chuckles. "alright, then."

"no. he's sweet, and he trusts me...and is there for me when im totally pissed about something that makes no fucking sense," you slur your words, spilling things that have no correlation about your boyfriend.

"kay. and??" liam widens his eyes.

"why are you looking at me like you want me to say something specific?" you squint.

"cause you're talkin about him like he's a slice of vanilla cake. nobody gives a fuck bout nice, yeah?"

you were speechless. "i don't know what you want me t'say," you throw your arms out in defense.

"damon's been there for me. he's...sweet."

fuck. he was right. was damon just nice? it was enough for you, wasn't it?

"bet he can't pleasure you though," liam mutters as he takes another swig of beer.

your eyes widen as you realize what he just said. he hadn't even had enough confidence to say it with his chest. he mumbled it under his breath. did he even want you to hear that?

"excuse me?" your eyes are nearly bugging out of their sockets as your face flames from mixed offense and embarrassment at that accusation.

"hm?" he asks, swallowing his sip of his drink.

"don't bullshit me." you spit out.

"fine." he gets closer to you, your noses inches away from eachother. your breathing stutters as you walk backwards slowly in the direction towards the front door, planning an escape from liam.

you don't even notice how he's following you, walking you backwards until your head thuds on the side of the house and your hips land on the wooden planks lining the wall.

"i said i bet he can't give you what you want" liam's voice is gruff. you want to roll your eyes at the way he makes it sound more innocent than the first time.

“thats not what you said,” you take a big gulp, looking down at his lips as the tips of your noses meet.

he's grinning like a smug idiot now. he moves closer to you, slowly, waiting for your reaction to his advancement.

“does it matter, though?” he whispers into your neck, which sends shivers down your spine. liam watches you squirm, the way the goosebumps grow on your skin and how your chest heaves with every word he speaks.

“it makes a huge difference.” you settle back against the wall, trying to separate your two bodies as much as you could.

he doesn't know that you're fighting the urge to kiss him right there, your toes curling underneath the dark fabric of your combat boots.

“how?” he asks simply, his free hand dancing across the exposed skin of your collarbone and making your cheeks flush red.

“how do you know what i want?” you shoot back, dodging his question.

you try to remind yourself that if you weren't drunk right now, you would have bolted out of there. but he has you right there in his trap, like putty in his hands.

“i just do.” he pouts and continues eyeing the skin that his finger touches.

“what is it, then?” you inquire.

he smiles, flashing his teeth at you. “you want a good shag.”

you have to laugh at his choice of words. “do i?”

he nods and licks his lips.

that one, small gesture does something to your heart and weakens the strength in your knees that are holding you up against the wall.

“yeah. he's not treating you right, i can tell.”

you shake your head. “no. you're wrong.”

he shakes his head and pouts, mocking your denial. “you want someone who can actually make you feel good.” he continues.

you shake your head again. “no.” you whispered against his lips.

“you're lettin that posh prick brag about how he has the hottest woman in england and he isn't even treating her right” he clicks his tongue.

“shame” he mutters and runs his nose along your collarbone, then up the length of your neck.

you make the softest sound, a strained whimper that makes him smile.

“walkin around award shows holdin yer hand like he's the luckiest man in the world but he doesn't even know what you want” his breath fans down your cheek and you close your eyes. “no.” you say one more time which sets him off.

“no?” he asks in a mocking tone, matching your face.

you take a big gulp and his hand comes to angle your head up to the roof. he dives in and licks a long stripe up your neck, which makes your shiver.

“liam.” you squirm, breathing his name out like its the only thing you're allowed to memorize.

“shh, i'll give you what you want” he kisses up your neck and follows a path up to your lips.

he pauses before he kisses you, making sure you want this with a silent confirmation.

“you're annoying.” you breathe against his lips, a little whine in your voice.

“and you're wet” he whispers against your lips.

his words jolt through you; you don't know if you wanna kiss him or smack him. probably both. you bite your lip to stifle a moan and your eyes fall shut as his hand lands on your hip.

his soft digit follows your teeth, parting your lips so he can kiss you.

he dives in, his tongue tasting you like you were his last meal. he swallows your moan into the kiss and your hands fly to his hair like he's your lifeline.

his lips against yours is what you didn't know you needed. like a drug you can easily yet addicted to.

“fucking finally” he mumbles and kisses you deeper, his hands roaming all over your body: from your waist to your hips, then slipping under your top.

you whine again as his tongue traces over your lips, smiling down at your weak expression.

“fuckin need you, love” he pulls you closer with his hands on your hips. you tug at his hair and he makes a soft noise. you pause to laugh at him, but he just tells you to shut up and kisses you again.

your hands in his hair drive him wild, but when they slide down to his face, he smiles and stops kissing you. you decide to stop, confused, giving enough space between you two so you can see his face. "what?"

"i had to ice me face after, you know" he whispers against your lips.

it takes you a second to understand what he's talking about, but you shake your head once you realize. "you're such a prick" you say.

"and you're a hard hitter" he shoots back.

his hips buck into yours and you bite his lip in response, hooking your leg around his.

“here?” he asks with wide eyes.

“you have a better idea?” you roll your hips again and he gasps.

“fuck-” he tries to slow his breathing when you do it again, being an annoying tease.

“stop that.” he scolds you, and you just bite your lip. “fuckin menace, you.”

“sorry.” you tilt your head, your drunk eyes fluttering shut.

“you sure you okay with this?” he breathes against your lips.

“yes, liam just- fuck, kiss me” you pull his hair again.

he kisses you deep as your hands move towards the button on his jeans, the first metal button giving way.

you were reaching for the second button when he pulled his lips away, stepping back.

you whine at the disappearance of his lips, and your hands fly to his jacket.

“can't, love” he scratches his stubble and pushes your hand away.

“why not?” your brows furrow.

“cause you're drunk. you won't remember this, and if you do, then you won't like it.”

“what?” you squint. “i want this.”

“what about damon?” he asks with a tilt of his head. “you seemed in love with him a few minutes ago.”

you fell silent. every time your lips parted to speak, nothing came out.

“i should have never kissed ya” he swears under his breath and shakes his head.

“liam.” you mutter, reaching your hand out to tug his jacket again.

“what?”

in one motion, you latch your hands onto his jacket and pull him closer. he gasps, now face to face with you once again.

“you said it yourself.” you whisper.

“said what?”

“im so wet” you say, each syllable sounding out on your tongue.

his cheeks go pink and he forces himself to look away. “fuckin- stop it.”

“need you” your lips are at his throat, pressing soft kisses on his adam's apple.

“now” you whispered, your voice sappy and sweet.

“God forgive me,” he mumbles before his lips find yours again. The taste of him sends an electric shock through your body, and you instantly light up again.

“so we're doing this here, then?” you breathe against his lips.

“could do this anywhere, love” he chuckles and moves his hand under your tank top at a teasing pace, feeling every shiver and sound you make vibrating against his lips.

his fingers find the edge of your lacy bra, his breath catching.

“you tryna kill me?” he asks, his voice cracking with each word.

his hand withdrawals from under your shirt and moves to your shoulder. he searches for the strap of your purple bra, flicking the soft fabric so it falls onto your arm.

“not doing this here.” he shakes his head.

“why not?”

“wanna remember this.” he clears his throat.

you smile as he takes your hand and guides you to his car.

“liam,” you ask, trekking through the grass to get to the concrete parking spot.

“yeah, honey?” he reaches into his back pocket for his car key, the lights turning on.

“how'd you even know about this party?” you squint and reach for the handle on the car.

“we're from the same neighborhood, love.”

you blink once. “that's freaky”

“innit?” he smiles.

you pull the car door open, but it doesn't budge. “uh, liam.”

“hm?” he asks.

“can you unlock the car?”

he stays silent. “nah, we should walk, yeah?”

“im too tired to walk.” you pout.

“ill carry ya, alright?” he scratches his neck and moves to the other side of the car door where you stood.

you cross your arms over your chest and squint in suspicion. “why can't we take your car?”

“cause the tires are broken.” he responds quickly.

you look down at the completely fine, blown up tire. “it looks okay to me.”

he sighs and rubs his forehead.

then you start to catch on. “can you even drive, liam?”

“pffft, what?” he scoffs. “course i can drive, love.”

his cheeks go red and he avoids eye contact. he definitely cannot drive.

“who's car is this, then?” you tilt your head and snatch the car keys from his hand.

“hey! gimme the keys.” he extends his palm but you don't let up, flipping them over to read the keychain.

you inspect the keys and turn your back to him as he tries to snatch them again. “clark.” you read the engraving on the side of the car keys.

“gimme the keys,” he whines.

“clark drove you here?” you lift your brow.

he stays silent for a bit.

a beat.

then another.

“yeah….?” he answers.

you stop to chuckle. “why'd you have his keys if you can't drive?” you twirl them around your fingers, but he snatches it from you and gains access once again.

“none of yer business, yeah?” he shuts off the car and stuffs them into his pocket.

“i think it is my business considering you're taking me home,” you say as you watch him walk down the sidewalk.

“those things have nothing to do with eachother.” he shakes his head and waits for you past the gate.

“yes they do. I went to uni with clark so its weird he drove you here” you shake your head.

“c'mon” he nods his chin in the direction of his own house, walking backwards with his hands in his pockets.

you don't know if it's the daze, but you never noticed how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. maybe because you were always too busy hating him and his stupidly gorgeous face.

“you coming?” he asks.

“uh, yeah.” you catch up to him on the sidewalk, nearly stumbling over your feet, barely able to see.

“do you need me to carry you?” he leans his head closer to you.

“nah, ill just hold the gate.” you shrug and grip the white gate that lines the house like it was your first time standing up.

“the gate isn't gonna be there when we cross the street,” he sings and bumps your shoulder.

“shut up” you bite back but can't stop yourself from letting out a soft chuckle.

when the light turns red, you let go of the white gate and are on your own.

liam sighs. “let me carry you.”

“no. i got it.” you say while stumbling over your feet.

he sighs even louder, walking closer to you in the middle of the street and stopping just to pick you up.

the cars beep their horns in your face once the traffic light turns green, the bright car lights giving you a headache.

“fuck off!” liam flashes his middle finger at the cars and wraps his free hand around your thighs.

“liam! put me down!!!!” you ball up your fists and punch his back.

you're slung over his shoulder as cars continue to honk and he takes his time crossing the street which pissed them off even more.

“fuck was that for?” one man rolls down the window and yells at you two.

“pedestrians first, you fucker,” liam shouts back as the man turns down the street.

“s'what i thought.” liam mutters under his breath.

“i could've walked myself, y'know.” you pout. he smiles even though he can't see your facial expression.

“they'd honk either way, slowpoke” he places a smack to your ass which makes you gasp and pull his hair roughly.

“don't touch my ass, you dirty bastard.” you pull his hair and he shrieks.

you're slung over his shoulder as he travels down the street towards the house.

───

“maybe it's this one.” liam giggles nervously and tries another key.

you roll your eyes and gaze up at the night sky, trying not to get irritated. this is the fifth key he's tried.

“how do you not know which key belongs to your own house?” you sigh and run a hand through your frizzy hair.

“fuck off, it's me mam's house.” he jams another key in the door. just like the others, he sighs, mutters a curse and tries another one.

you squint. “that makes the situation worse. you lived here you're whole life, you should know which key-”

“didn't i tell you to fuck off?” he scoffs.

you shake your head and want to rip your hair out when he tries another key.

“liam i cant wait any longer,” you whine and bounce on your toes.

“need me that bad, don't ya?” he looks back at you with a smug grin.

“don't get cocky, but yes.” you answer with an exasperated sigh.

“finally!” he nearly shouts, the right key opening the white front door.

“welcome home” he grabs your hand and pulls you to his chest. you gasp at the contact and press a kiss to his lips. it's a messy kiss, your teeth clashing with his and his hands not knowing where to settle on your body.

you tug his hair as he grabs your thighs and positions your legs around his waist. he kicks the front door shut and basically runs up the stairs, filled with excitement.

“your mam home?” you breathe through kisses.

“nah, she's staying over at her sisters" he kisses down your neck and kicks open the door to his old bedroom.

he lets go of you and drops you onto his bed. as he works on the zipper of his jeans, you take a look around his room.

“you always shag girls in your childhood bedroom?”

he chuckles and drops his jeans on the floor. “nah, love. dreamed of having ‘em in my bed, though.” he hovers over you and kisses you softly, his tongue flicking over your teeth. you part your lips wider, letting his tongue deeper.

you sit up on your elbows, scooting closer to him above you. “have you ever dreamt about me?” you ask sweetly, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your hands move under his shirt and find his cross chain, twirling the cold metal between your fingers.

“all the fucking time.” he nearly groans, pushing you down onto the bed again as his lips travel in a path down your body.

his hands find the hem of your tank top, pushing it up over your head. your purple bra has his head spinning, and his lips part.

“whats wrong, liam? never had a girl in your bed before?” you bury your hands in his hair as he just stares down at you, his mouth dry.

“fuck off.” he scoffs. “never had one like you before if that's what you mean.” a bite to your collarbone which makes you gasp.

you giggle, and the sound of your laugh makes him smile. he kisses you deep, claiming you with his lips.

“small bed” he says with a chuckle as he adjusts on top of you.

you smile in response and let him kiss down your belly, removing each piece of clothing with a small, teasing peck.

───

you and liam spend the rest of the night getting lost in each other, giggling and whispering each other's names like it's the only thing you know. his sweaty forehead stays placed in the crook of your neck the whole time, listening to your soft pleads and letting you fist his hair whenever you felt it was too much. your limbs are tangled and spent when he places a kiss upon your sticky shoulder and asks, “tea?”

this time you say yes, having nothing against him when he just promised to give you what you wanted, and succeeded. he slips on his boxers and runs a lazy hand through his hair with a soft yawn.

when he slips into the hallway and closes the door behind him, you slump down in his old bed, looking at the one beside it. must be noel's, you thought. you hear the wood floors of the hallway creak under his feet, and you giggle to yourself. instead of waiting for him to bring it to you upstairs, you wrap the silky blue sheets from his bed around your bare body, inhaling the smell of laundry detergent and the smell of liam's lingering cologne.

you pad across the bedroom floor barefoot, snuggling the sheet tighter around your figure.

you quietly step into the hallway, the cold floor sending a shock through your body. you walk down the stairs, the tiniest wooden creak sounding under your own feet.

when you turn into the kitchen, you see liam, his messy hair and loose shoulders, pouring your tea and blowing on it for you.

“hi.” you say abruptly, your voice raspy but still sounding soft to him.

he turns his head and smiles, handing you a cup of tea. you take it, gently sipping.

all of a sudden, the mug slips and hot liquid lands all over your hand.

“ow.” you hiss and drop the mug on the counter, shaking your hand as you bite your lip, trying not to cry.

“shit,” he hurries around the counter and gently lifts your hand, sucking in a sharp breath. “are you okay, love?” he drops your hand and grabs an ice cube from the freezer, drops it in a napkin, and walks back over to you.

the hot spill sends small tears to your eyes, but you hold them back. “yeah, it just burns really bad.” you mutter.

“sit down” he guides you to the living room, sitting you down on the sofa. the sheet slips from your body and you pull it over you to cover your chest. “here.” liam mumbles, placing the cold ice cube to your hand.

the sensation is cold, but it helps the visible redness on the skin of your hand.

“still hurt?” he asks, wiping a single falling tear off your eye.

“no.” you mumble, looking from his eyes to his lips.

“good.” he removes the ice cube and folds the napkin, placing it on the glass coffee table. he returns to your side and lifts your hand, pressing the softest kiss to your skin.

you silently sip your tea beside him on the couch. no television, no music, nothing. you just sit there. he clears his throat but doesn't speak, and you slurp quietly. it's not even uncomfortable. the silence between you two is understood. you don't speak when he reaches for your hand and guides you back up the stairs. you return to the bedroom and snuggle into his chest.

“stealing all the blanket, i see?” he asks, brushing your hair out of your face.

“mmhm.” you nod, not really paying attention to what he's saying, softly falling asleep on his chest, drunk on his scent and his love.

───

the next morning, you're greeted to a warm body pressed to your back, a hand sneaking under the blanket to brush the curve of your hip, and the dip of your waist.

you shift your head, moving to face the body next to you, expecting your boyfriend damon. instead, it's…liam?!

you gasp loudly, crawling backwards on the bed and away from his hand. instead of falling back onto soft covers, your ass meets the floor of his bedroom with a hard thud.

“fuck!” you hit the floor, your hair falling in your face.

what the hell was going on?

you realize you're naked, on the floor, next to liam gallagher. your sworn enemy. the one you said would never catch you in his bed.

“love?” his hand falls off the bed, reaching for you. you crawl on your hands and knees towards the bedroom door, hugging the sheet tighter around your body.

“where are you going?” liam groans as he sits up in bed.

you slam the bedroom door, running down the hallway into the bathroom. once it closes your back hits the door and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“no. no no no no no.” you grip your frizzy hair in between your fingers, trying to wake yourself up.

“its all just a fucking dream” you mutter as you shake your head, unable to believe it.

a knock at the door.

your breathing stops, and you smack a palm over your mouth with wide eyes.

“you in there? i gotta piss” liam knocks again.

“uh, yeah. one sec.” you crawl to your feet and re-wrap the sheet tighter, securing it on your body.

the door swings open, and liam greets you with a smile. “you fall off the bed or somethin?” he asks with a raised brow and a chuckle.

“small bed,” you purse your lips and nod, repeating his exact words from last night. that was the only thing you seem to remember so far, but it’s all coming back in bits and pieces.

he nods slowly, his eyebrow still quirked up. “can i?” liam nods towards the bathroom.

“oh! yeah, of course.” you laugh and make a ‘pfft’ sound, moving out of the doorway and letting him slip inside.

“thanks…” he closes the door.

the second it clicks shut, you bolt down the hallway, back into the bedroom and scurry around the room for your clothes.

you needed to get out of there. now.

once your bra is clipped and your panties are secure on your body, you slip your jeans on and scavenge for your tank top.

where the fuck is it?

you drop to the floor and look under the bed, your fingers inches away from your shirt. almost there….

you groan at how far away it is, letting your fingers latch onto the fabric. “yes!” you whisper victoriously.

“what are you doing?” a voice asks from the doorway.

your head whips around at the sound of liam, a suspicious tone coating his voice.

“uhh, just…looking for my shirt!” you put on a fake smile and crawl to your feet again. you slip on your tank top and adjust the fabric, swiping the dust on your hands onto the shirt.

“it was under the bed.” you clarify, pointing to the floor.

“i can see that,” he nods with a chuckle, his eyes not leaving your face.

liam grabs his own shirt and starts to button it, his eyes not leaving yours.

“are you alright?” he asks with a squint.

you nod enthusiastically. “me? i’m fine.” you push a falling strand of hair behind your ear.

liam moves closer to you, and you refuse to look him in the eye. he searches your face, but you don’t let up. “look at me.” he demands softly.

you obey, your big eyes meeting his. “are you leaving?”

your stomach drops. you’re at a loss for words, so you just shake your head. his fingers find your bottom lip, pulling it down gently. he pouts, shaking his head slowly and matching your expression. “why’re you dressed like yer leavin?”

“i-” you start and shake your head, but he just cuts you off with a kiss.

you mumble against his lips, trying to pull away, but he just holds your face tighter.

“mm-liam,” you finally pull away, your lips still kiss-bruised from last night.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, knowing all too well what's going on with you.

“i…i think i have to go.” you drop your head and bite your lip.

“back to him.” he mutters and steps back, giving you space.

your head lifts and your eyes widen. this time, they’re full with tears. “what did you just say?”

he nods slowly, runs a hand through his hair, and laughs even though nothing is amusing. “you heard me. you’re going back to that fucker.” he points towards the door.

“liam, i didn’t come home last night, he’s probably worried-”

“right. go.” he nods towards the door.

“i- what?” you stammer.

he stares at you for a quick second, trying to hide his heartbreak.

“you heard me. go.”

“you sure?” you ask, moving closer to him.

“yeah. i get it. it was just one night.” he scratches his stubble.

your stomach twists with a thousand knots at the worlds he just spoke. “just one night” killed you. because it wasn’t just one night to you.

even though you hated him, he made you feel something damon never made you feel. in a way, you were sort of awakened; liam showing you a whole new kind of love. he talked with you and laughed with you, he even told you to fuck off but you loved it.

and before last night, you swore you could never love him and would never be caught in his bed. but now, you didn’t care if you were. “liam-” you start.

“you should probably go, mam’ll be back soon so i gotta lock up.”

“okay.” you nod, and for the first time since midnight, it’s awkward between you two again. like a barrier was there to separate you and everything that happened last night was like water under the bridge.

“ill, uhm. see you, then.” you even wave at him, which you personally regret.

you wince at the gesture and hurry down the stairs with your combat boots in your hands, tears streaming down your face.

because you didn’t only lose damon, you lost liam too.

───

the door to your flat clicks shut and you unzip your boots, walking into the living room.

“where were you?” damon asks, a coffee cup in his hands. he jumps to his feet, his hands coming up to your face as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“im sorry,” you say as he peppers kisses all over your face.

this time, you don’t melt into it. you don’t feel the need for his affection because you don’t love damon anymore.

and you call yourself sick for it.

“why didn’t you come home last night? i was so fucking worried-“ damon shakes his head and nuzzles his nose into your cheek.

the tears immediately start to stream down your face again, and this time his brows furrow in confusion.

“why are you crying?” he asks, concern washing over his face, now for a new reason.

“damon, i don’t deserve you.” you say abruptly as tears fall onto your cheeks.

he squints at you. “what?-”

“i really don’t deserve you,” you continue to sob, so heavily that your words aren’t even coherent anymore, you’re just mumbling and sniffling that he squints harder, trying to understand you and wanting you to just stop crying.

“what do you mean, you don't deserve me? you love me,” he tries to comfort you, his hands firm on your shoulders, squeezing just slightly to get your attention each time you drop your head.

when you look back up at him, your eyes are red and your eyeliner from last night is smudged. he gently licks the pad of his thumb and swipes it under your eye, clearing the black eye makeup and your tears in one motion.

“i love you, but not enough to deserve you,” you sniffle, a tiny whimper escaping your lips at the pounding headache from your hangover and all the stress with your horrible mistake last night.

damon shakes his head, utterly confused and not liking one bit of you like this; so broken and weak.

“you deserve a nice girl who can be there for you and who’s honest and caring,” you say through hiccups and tears.

“what happened last night?” damon asks and cradles your head in his hands.

your expression drops. “what?” you sniffle again.

“you never fall apart like this. something had to have happened last night.” damon explains and brushes falling strands away from your sticky face.

“go on, tell me.”

you bite your lip and want to get it over with, but all the knots in your stomach just twist tighter, squeezing your insides so hard you want to explode.

“i had sex with him, damon.” you blurt out. you lift your hand to wipe your tears, your soft pale skin still burning, your eyes bloodshot red.

“wha- with who?” he lifts a brow and is at a loss for words.

that question hit you hard and made your stomach drop. “liam.” you mumbled.

“i had sex with liam.” you can’t stop yourself from telling the truth, wanting it all to be out so you can feel better.

but it just makes you feel worse.

damon let’s go of your shoulders, taken aback, heartbroken, angry- the room is too small. too hot. too crowded.

“i knew it.” he mutters.

“what?”

“i could sense it. when you said you didn’t want to come to the pub, you hesitated-“

“no, no. that was before-” you tried to explain.

“before what?” he yells in your face. “before he fucked you?”

you take a step back. damon has never yelled at you before. he wasn’t like that. you’ve never seen anger consume him.

“before i knew he was even at the party.” you mumble under your breath.

damon shakes his head. “i don’t fucking understand.” he runs a shaky hand through his hair. “you fucking hated him, like- two days ago,”

“i know,” you mutter.

“what the fuck?” he starts to freak out, roughly tugging his hair as he paces around the living room.

“you- how could you just-“ damon’s eyes start to well with tears, but he holds it back.

“im sorry, damon.” you reach your fingers out to hold his hand, but he pulls away.

“i thought he was a 'sad cunt'? i thought you wanted him to leave you alone- leave us alone. and you fucked him? how does that even happen?-”

“i know.”

“stop saying you know!” he snaps.

the tears start to fall again. “i never meant to hurt you, i was so drunk and not in my head,” you plead.

“i told you not to get drunk, didn’t i?” damon looks disappointed in you.

“im sorry.” another tear rolls down your cheek. “i don’t deserve you. and im sorry.”

his breathing slows, and he walks closer to you. damon pulls you into a tight hug, one where you can’t breathe, but that didn’t matter at the moment, “i love you.”

“i love you too-“

“don’t say it back.” he whispers and shakes his head. “please.”

you stay silent and he starts again. “i love you and i know you like the back of my hand. I could sense you weren’t fully here with me these past few months. it’s fine, love. shit happens.” damon says.

“you aren’t mad?” you lift a brow.

he chuckles but not with amusement. “oh, im mad alright. i wanna fuckin punch him until he’s gone, but i can’t, can i?”

your lips curl into a sad pout. “why not?” you’re curious to know.

“cause you don’t belong to me, do you? i have no control over you.” he lets go of you and backs out of the hug.

“im sorry, damon.” you say again.

he just nods and traces your cheek with his thumb one last time. “i know.”

───

"so you fucked the stalker?" jane asks with a squint.

you roll your eyes. "he wasn't stalking me, he was just-"

"he was literally stalking you through the telly." she cuts in.

you curl tighter into the blanket and slam another bite of chocolate ice cream in your mouth. "well...yeah." you give up with a sigh.

"was he pissed?" jane asks about damon after a long moment of silence with only clinks of your metal spoons and sounds of scavenging to the bottom of an ice cream tub.

"more than pissed, are you kidding?" you scoff.

"he's gone?" she asks with a mouth full of ice cream.

you nod. "damon's moved the rest of his stuff out last night, so..." you drop your head and swirl your ice cream around.

"shit." she nods slowly. "that's rough."

you winced at her words. "i feel like shit. i've never felt more like a pile of fat, nasty shit in my life." you drop the tub of ice cream on the table.

"wow. that's deep."

"i broke damon's heart and i fucked my stalker." you look up at the ceiling and shake your head.

"I hate myself." you mutter and bury your head in your pillow.

"don't say that, yeah? you don't hate yourself-"

"i'm a fucking piece of shit!!!" you scream into your pillow.

"come on, babe-" jane shakes her head and moves to your side of the couch, trying to pull your head out of the pillow fort you made.

"im a sick loser who interfered with both sides of the great britpop rivalry."

jane tilts her head. "rephrased as fucked both guys from each-"

you cut her off with your palm. "fuck, jane! are you here to make me feel worse about myself?" you throw a large fluffy pillow at her face.

"come on. you gotta get off this couch. you've been living here for like, five days. you smell like shit." jane drags your feet, and you groan in protest.

"ew, you make me sound disgusting. i left the couch to take a shower, you know." you point out.

"oh, and that makes it any better? you're a slave to this wonderful piece of fluffy fabric and it needs to end now!" she yells and yanks your body off the couch.

"ugh, i knowwww. i picked it out with damon." you run your hands over the fluffy couch.

"get. up." she crosses her arms over her chest. "now."

you pout and crawl to your feet, flashing your middle finger in her face as you walk in the direction of your bedroom.

"i've got a hot date in an hour, so i've gotta run," she sings from the living room.

"oh, fuck youuuuu" you yell from the bedroom and slam the door.

"you're just jealous!" jane heads for the front door of your flat.

"fuck you and your perfect, amazing love life," you continue to yell.

"take a shower!" she slams the door to your flat.

───

1996.

you nearly dropped dead when you found out you were nominated for a brit award this year. it was always damon who could get you into these award shows, and now you could say you were doing it yourself.

"you're taking the piss." you nearly spit up your coffee when sam told you that you were nominated for song of the year.

you had been staying away from romance, and focusing on you. you hated yourself for so long especially for breaking damon's heart and not being able to get in contact with liam for the rest of the year.

"song of the year." sam puts her hand on your shoulder and gives you an excited squeal.

you burst into tears at those words. you did it. all by yourself.

───

you win song of the year. you cry when you accept it and you cry when you say your speech. after the tears come the drinks. and after the drinks come the afterparty. and then it all blurs.

the tequila arrives at your side of the sofa, and you never refuse once. this is how you love to celebrate, and boy, did you get wasted.

a cigarette hangs from your red nails and your frizzy hair sits on your shoulders. your skin is glistening with sweat from all the congestion.

white powder sits on the glass table in front of you and lingers on the tips of your fingers. 

“congratulatons!” someone taps your shoulder roughly, shaking your eyes open. you smile at them even though their whole body is blurred and you have no idea who is speaking to you. once you blink a few times, you realize its a random blonde bird who has beautiful green eyes and perfect legs like a model.

“thanks.” you mutter before taking another drag.

a few hours in, sam is yelling over the music in your ear, telling you she promises she is needed elsewhere “for business” and you nod like you’re oblivious to the fact that some pretty lad brushed her thigh earlier and made her blush. who does business at an afterparty?

“use protection!” you shout at her with an extended finger.

she looks back at you with wide eyes like she’s been caught stealing candy. you chuckle to yourself and take a swig of your beer bottle (or maybe it’s someone else’s, you’re too drunk to care).

your dress is a metallic, deep pink, hanging low on your chest but hugging your hips perfectly. you refuse to wear jewelry, pulling everyone’s attention to the dress only. your hair is falling down your smooth shoulders, and the smallest amount of makeup is being sweat off on that very couch.

“look who it is,” a drunken voice chuckles behind you.

you turn your head at the deep accent, your hair whipping to the side of your face. 

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” you blurt out. 

he grins. the same cocky smile that stretches past his lips like he’s just purchased the entirety of england. 

“hey, baby. been a while, no?” liam slurs and throws his arms out like he’s missed you. 

his suit jacket is hanging open and his tie is wrinkled, the smallest amount of chest hair peeking out of his shirt. your eyes dart down to his chest for the tiniest second, remembering not to fall in his trap again.

“been a minute.” you blow the cigarette smoke directly in his face.

his eyes don’t leave yours as he circles the sofa, moving inside the booth to sit next to you. 

“you shouldn’t do that,” you shake your head.

“do what?” he asks with a smile.

“sit next to me.” you answer and drop your cig into the ashtray on the table.

his brows furrow in confusion. you were different now, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. is this how you acted when you weren’t tied down? 

“why not?” he asks, his eyes darting down to your lips and lingering there shamelessly.

your cheeks get pink at the way he just stares at your soft lips before licking his. 

“because, liam. i'm drunk.” his eyes light up at the way you say his name, and his attention is now back to your eyes.

you lean in closer so your lips brush his ear and the soft skin of your thigh is brushing the leg of his suit. “and you know better than anyone that nothing good happens when i’m drunk.”

he huffs a laugh. “aye. you’re quite the animal when you’ve had too many.” his eyes dart down to your lips again which is now infuriating you. why was he staring if he wasn’t gonna kiss you?

“are you tempting me?” you ask, your nose brushing his cheek.

your eyes flutter shut and your heart stutters the second his scent fills your nostrils, his musky original scent mixing with his overly expensive cologne. you want to crawl into his lap right then and there, but you stop yourself.

you can’t help the way your lips part and your eyes flutter shut, wanting all of him right there.

“maybe.” he tilts his head and faces you, and he chuckles darkly at your weak expression. 

“come on babe, i haven't even touched you yet,” he shakes his head. “already completely ruined” he clicks his tongue.

the tiniest strangled sound escapes your mouth which makes his heart stutter. even after a year of processing and trying to write songs that showed how you forgot about damon and stopped hanging onto liam, he still has control over you. 

you and liam are face to face, knee to knee, your hands crawling closer to him each second that passes. 

“well, what are you waiting for?” you press your thighs together tightly as you shift closer to him.

he smiles at you, searches your eyes, and lifts off the sofa. your brows furrow in confusion and you slump back against the couch. 

“i’ll see you around.” he tips his chin at you before travelling deeper into the party, swaying his shoulders to squeeze past people. 

that fucking prick.

there is no way you’re letting this slide. 

for the rest of the party, you don’t let your eyes slip from him. you catch him at the bar, you watch beautiful models approach him and place their manicured hands on his chest, but he’ll just step back and take another sip of beer. he’s teasing you, slowly ruining you, but also not making himself available for other women. you admired it even though he was annoying the fuck out of you. 

when you finished your last shot, you decided you’ve had enough.

you charge over to the bar and find liam, digging your hands into his suit jacket and flipping his attention towards you. he’s taken by surprise, looks you up and down, and his eyebrows dart up when you tug the cuff of his jacket towards the hallway of the party.

“whoa, what are you doing?-” he tries to stop you by grabbing your arm, but you pull him through the back door of the party, a cool gust of wind hitting you both in the face.

in one quick motion, you press his back up against the wall which makes him gasp, his suit jacket flying open. “really that eager, hu-” your mouth cuts him off with a sloppy kiss. for a second, he doesn’t kiss you back which makes your stomach churn with rejection. but the second he grabs your face and pinches your cheek hard, your eyebrows turn inward and you kiss him deeper. 

“fuckin hell,” he says as one of his hands moves down to your thigh, twirling the pink fabric of your dress and looking down at his hand. you try to angle his head up to kiss him harder, but the way he’s looking down is getting on your nerves.

“why the fuck would you leave me like that?” you smack his chest.

he shrugs and bursts into laughter, trying to keep up with your lips.

“don’t fucking play with me, liam.”

“oh, yeah. i forgot. you’ll smack me if i don’t give you what you want. greedy bi-”

“do not call me a bitch, i will fucking smack you right now, hear me?” 

he smiles shortly before pursing his fingers and dragging it across his lips, sealing his mouth.

you dive in again, your tongue moving against him like you were starving. 

“what the hell’re you wearing this for? tryna get that blonde cunt back?” he breathes against your lips. 

“liam, shut the fuck upp,” you whine against his lips and clash your teeth against his. 

he chuckles and trails his hands along your waist, gently teasing you by squeezing your hip. 

“you shut up,” he bites back. 

“i wasn’t talking, asshole” you stop kissing him, which gives him the opportunity to flip you so now you’re pressed against the brick wall. the cold wall stings just a bit, but it adds to the sensation. 

“can i pleaseeee take this off?” he asks, already dragging your dress up your thighs, just enough to see your black panties.

“are you fucking crazy?” you catch his hand before he can bunch it up at your waist fully.

“is that a yes?” he asks.

you burst into laughter as he wraps his hands around your thighs and throws you over his shoulder.

the whole cab ride to liam's flat is quiet. the two of you look out the window, completely drunk and mesmerized by the bright street lights. his hand sneaks over to your leg, gently crawling past the hem of your dress as he clears his throat. you shift in your seat as he bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile at the way he makes you squirm.

just as his fingers brush the lace at the top of your thigh, the car hits a speed bump. he withdrawals his hand in shock and you place a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“shut up.” he growls in your ear. 

you keep laughing until he adds, “while you can.”

your eyes widen and dart to his, your cheeks reddened and hot as you smack him in the head. “perv.” you whisper under your breath.

───

your heels are forced off at the entrance of his flat, your ankles red from how rough you pulled them off. his lips don’t leave yours as he slams the door with his shoe and carries you into his bedroom. 

you grab him by his tie, dragging his body on top of you. “slow down, will you?” he chuckles and shakes his head.

“can’t, you make me crazy,” you slur as you rake your nails down his chest, your lips parting like you can't wait anymore.

“jesus, you can’t say things like that.” he tries to steady his breathing, lifting your hips so he can drag the zipper of your dress down.

“this dress,” he says, running his hands over the loose material.

"you like it?" you're voice is breathy.

"love it so much i'm gonna rip it off you," he growls and nuzzles his nose into your neck, once more before slowly dragging it down your thighs.

"liam!" you smack his shoulder. "please don't, it's a rental."

───

a coffee cup lies in your hands, your frizzy hair covering half of your vision. liam’s button up is the only thing hanging from your body. he sleeps so peacefully, his hair covering his eyes, his lips slightly parted, his muscle draped over his pillow, the sheets low on his hips. 

like he was summoned, liam jolts awake, his eyes cracking open. he yawns loudly, shifting onto his back and holding his head in his elbow. “are you stalking me?” he asks with the tiniest smirk.

“so what if i am?” you bite your lip.

he smiles and his finger lifts to his shirt on your body, flicking a few buttons open. 

you place your coffee on his bedside table and shift your body so you’re straddling his lap.

“good morning.” you dip your head so your lips are at his ear. your voice is sappy as you nibble his ear, a small giggle escaping your lips.

“ive dreamed of this,” he says abruptly.

you sit up and tilt your head, running your nails down his bare chest. “dreamed of what?”

he gently lifts your hand and presses his lips to your palm. then he threads his fingers between yours. “waking up next to you.” 

your lips curl into a soft smile. “me too.” you nuzzle your nose into his neck, letting his big hands cradle you as his fingers slip under your his shirt and touch your spine. 

"i love you." he blurts out.

your whole body freezes. and not because you're in shock of his words, but because you feel the same exact way.

you bite your lip to stop smiling, but it slips through either way. your cute laugh makes his smile spread wider, and this time, it's not a cocky grin. it's genuine. it's liam.

you lean closer, brushing your nose against his. your hands are on his each side of his face when you whisper, "i love you too." against his lips.

"fuck, it's like six in the morning," he groans.

"so?" you tease.

"so you're making me crazy and i just woke up" he buries his face into the pillow.

when he turns his face, you catch dark brusies on his neck. you chuckle to yourself. "what're you gigglin' bout now?"

"nothin." you smile.

he cracks an eye open. "its not nowt if you're smilin' like that"

"you have bruises like, everywhere."

his eyes widen as he flips the sheet off and walks over to the mirror in the corner of his bedroom, taking a look at his neck, collarbone, and chest.

"i told you you're an animal." he points a stern finger at you.

you giggle to yourself and bite your lip as he crawls over to the bed, picking you up, letting your arms wrap around his neck. you squeal once your in his arms, letting him carry you into the kitchen.

"its better than a smack in the face, ill tell ya that much." he kisses your cheek and sets you down on the counter.

"don't push it."

───

it’s late. you’ve kicked jimmy and sassy out of the bedroom, and locked it shut. you’re standing with your back pressed against the door, staring with unfocused eyes. you moved your stuffed animals inside the closet and had them facing the wall even though you closed the closet door. the window curtains are drawn shut, and the only light in the room is the warmth of one nightstand lamp. one of the plushest towels max owns is spread across the bed. in the center lays a single pillow.

this is the last chance you have to get off before max and charles get home in a few hours. they’ve been gone for a triple-header, and you haven’t been able to orgasm once in the near month they’ve been gone. you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one).

the obvious thing to do would be to talk to your boyfriends, and tell them that you’re ready to start exploring the sexual side of your relationship. you’ve been dating them for two years now, and you’re afraid that they’re getting tired of waiting for you to be comfortable enough to have sex with them. but, you’re also afraid that once they learn how inexperienced you really are—they’ll make fun of you, leave you, and find some other woman who knows how to please them. you know that’s outrageous and never going to happen. they’re the sweetest boys you’ve ever dated (way better than that one dude you dated who tried to get you wasted enough to persuade you into having sex with him), and they’ve been very respectful concerning your boundaries. always pulling away when they feel themselves getting hard, and constantly reminding you to tell them to stop if you feel uncomfortable and that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that they’re willing to wait as long as you need, and will continue loving you regardless even if you decide to never have sex with them. so—of course you know that they won’t be assholes about your innocence—it’s just your own self-esteem, insecurity, and overthinking that prevents you from saying you’re ready.

you make a deal with yourself. if you can’t manage to get off grinding against your pillow one last time, you’ll force yourself to sit down with your boyfriends, stare them in the eyes and state that your ready to have sex. who are you kidding—you’re going to get off right now one way or another even if it kills you, because you definitely will wither away and die if you have to have that conversation with your boyfriends.

you walk over to the bed, heart beginning to race as you start playing one of those curated “songs i’d like to be railed to” playlists, before throwing your phone somewhere up the bed. you move to straddle the pillow, and begin to calm your heartbeat. you take a few deep breaths and let your mind wander. the first thought that comes to your head is the goodbye kiss you got from your boyfriends before they left. 

they had gotten all their luggage together and were pulling on their shoes at the entryway. charles was pouting at you, wide green eyes and all, “you are sure that you don’t want to come with us? for at least one of the races? we’ll be gone for almost a—“ 

“yes, cha. i’m sure,” you cut him off with a firm nod, “lemme give you a kiss before you leave, okay?”

charles frowned at max who laughed—like he wasn’t the one begging you to come with them last night before you all went to bed. with a little upset ‘hmph’ charles leaned down and kissed you softly. you had pulled away, only trying to give him a peck, and charles grunted disapprovingly. one of his veiny hands rose and gripped at your waist over your t-shirt, strongly pulling you forward, causing you to tumble into his chest. “oh, i am going to need more than that, mon ange,” charles smirked down at you, “i am leaving for so long, and that’s the goodbye kiss you’re leaving me with? no, i do not think so.” 

you glanced away from him, cheeks beginning to become warm as you make to hide your face is his broad chest. charles tutted at you, tightening his grip on your waist, and his other hand gently pushed your head up to look at him, “c’mere and give me a real kiss, pretty girl.”

you made a suppressed little squeal in the back of your throat, a noise max and charles became very familiar with, often present when they start teasing you. you surprisingly leaned up and initiated the kiss, causing charles to let out a shocked gasp into your mouth. his hand on your waist moved lower, falling to the small of your back and pushed your body completely against his. his other hand caressed your jaw, soothing you enough to allow him to control the kiss, as he flicked his tongue at the seam of your lips. you shakily sighed, allowing him entrance and the kiss deepened, a pleased humming noise in the back of your throat escaping.

you impatiently shift side to side on top of the pillow, not yet allowing yourself to get any friction. sliding both of your hands underneath your sweater—well, max’s sweater, and you start playing with your chest. flicking gently at your nipples, just the way you like. 

you could feel charles chuckle into the kiss, but you dismiss it, and keep kissing at him eagerly. however, you failed to recognize that he wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at max. cockily making eye-contact with him, before he let his eyes flutter shut and devoted his attention to you.

max stared on, his mouth slightly open as he watched his two loves give him a show for free. charles’ hand slipped lower, gliding over your ass, across your criminally well-fitted jeans, and found its home on the back of your thigh. max is well acquainted with how skilled charles’ mouth is, so he knows he must have done something spectacular to cause a choked-off moan to escape you, your hand raised to grab at charles’ polo in a fist, wrinkling the pressed shirt. max huffed, deciding to no longer spectate, and took the few steps to reach you across the foyer.

you let out a shocked gasp, eyes fluttering open in surprise at the feeling of your other boyfriend pressed up against your back. you attempt to break the kiss, but charles doesn’t let you. hand slipping from your cheeks to the nape of your neck, tangling in the hairs there and keeping you exactly where he wants. one of max’s hands came to rest at your hip, while the other rested on your navel. your eyes fell shut again in pleasure at how charles gently nipped at your bottom lip, and max’s presence is pushed to the back of your mind.

you didn’t register max’s hand disappearing from your abdomen, but suddenly, the air was cut with a pained moan from charles and his lips were ripped away from yours.

your eyes flew open, and max’s hand was buried in charles’ hair, tugging his head backward and maneuvering it into what must be an almost uncomfortable angle, but with how pleased charles looked—you wanted to feel it too. his eyes rolled backwards, before he pressed them shut and re-opened them to reveal dilated pupils and half-lidded lashes; panting hard, lips covered with your shared spit, and a fucked-out look in his eyes.

you struggle to pull off your sleeping shorts, eventually managing to tug them off to reveal your white cotton panties. your hand leaves your breast to touch at your heat, and you’re shocked at how wet you’ve gotten already. you use that same hand to adjust your pillow, before you let your hips fall all the way and make contact with the pillow. you sigh in relief.

now, max is the one to laugh with his hand firmly keeping charles in place. “oh, you know better than to tease me charlie…” he started, and you barely heard him. fixated on the way charles’ tongue frequently slips out to lick at his lips, but you could hear the smirk max was wearing. 

“and you’re also not the only one leaving our sweet girl for a month. you should be nice and let me have a taste too, hm? isn’t that right, schatje?” he directs at charles. max’s other hand made its way up your abdomen, copping a feel at your chest, before it rested across your throat. he wasn’t squeezing at all, but the weight of his hand, how it spans across your neck, and how you can feel the strength lying underneath his skin, caused you to lose your breath. he guided your head back and dropped his to get his own goodbye kiss.

the kiss felt like it lasted for a lifetime, but realistically it had to be less than a minute of max forcing charles to watch how he ravaged your mouth, before charles started whining loudly. max patted your neck gingerly before pulling away and laughing at charles’ teary eyes. your legs were trembling and you were pretty sure if max wasn’t behind you, you would’ve fallen long ago. in one smooth motion, his hand fell to the monegasque’s throat from his hair and pulled him closer, completely sandwiching you between them, as their lips met in a wild kiss. 

your hips start to rock against the pillow, keeping it slow in the beginning, learning your lesson about friction burn the last time you got too erratic with your moves too quickly.

charles—completely desperate—whined deep in his throat and max kept pulling consistently depraved moans and grunts out of your boyfriend. max’s other hand moved off of your hip to smack at charles’, a nonverbal command for him to calm down and let max take care of him. you felt charles practically vibrating against you in need, but he slowly started to calm; his posture slackening and lips slowing, allowing the dutch full control. 

the two of them were completely ignoring you. caught in their own world, putting all of their energy into their kisses, and in turn gave you a front row seat to something you're never going to forget about. you felt so small in between the two of them, like the only thing that kept you from floating away is the fact that you were stuck in between their bodies.

eventually, max released his grip on charles and separated from the kiss, giving charles air to breathe. the blonde stepped backwards away from your body, and you stumbled embarrassingly. max’s hands went up to hover around your waist (suddenly so shy to touch you) to make sure you actually didn't fall. charles shook his head, physically trying to clear the haze in his mind before he stumbled away from you as well, pressing his back against the wall. 

his chest was heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed a pretty red color, while his hands went to tug at his uncomfortably tight pants, failing to adjust himself to make his erection less obvious. he suddenly turns shy as well—it probably doesn’t help that max was laughing at how easy he is to turn on—, and charles tries to try and tug his shirt down to cover up his problem as best as he can. 

your hips start to pick up in speed, movements more sure and less shaky. the friction between the cotton pillowcase and panties is multiplied on your cunt, and when you rock down deep enough, the catch of the panties on your clit is nearly immobilizing. 

thinking about the moment before your boys left leads you into fantasizing about their dynamic, and how they are in the bedroom. that morning alone proved who was actually in charge; charles will tease and take whatever he can, as long as max allows him to. you can recall many instances of max guiding a well-fucked charles out of the bedroom and depositing him on your lap, before he went on to clean up and run the monegasque a bath. 

the multiple post-sex facetimes you’ve gotten from the two when they’re across the world always starts with max softly speaking, “i’ve worn him out pretty good, but he refuses to fall asleep unless he gets to call you.” and the phone is passed to charles, who’s voice and lips are ruined to hell and you have to decipher what he’s attempting to say.

you’re starting to acclimate to the current tempo, so you pick it up another notch. you lean forward, bracing your hands on the bed for support as you focus on doing deeper and slower grinds against the pillow, allowing your clit to get constant attention.

you find comfort in the fact that charles allows max to take him to such a vulnerable state, and sometimes—you even find yourself getting jealous. you started joining them to see their aftercare for yourself, and found out that you're aching to be taken apart and put back together like max and charles do to each other. 

the sound of max’s constant praises of charles being “so good for him,” and charles’s constant stream of “thank you, thank you, maxy” has you losing all train of thought.

you abandon the slow-and-steady technique, you’ve tried it several times this month and it’s failed to get you to come. you bite your lip, letting out a frustrated groan. your hips slow, and you grab the front of the pillow with one hand and pull it upwards, hoping that a tighter space allows better friction. you start moving quicker, doing smaller more shallow motions and it’s tons better. you can’t stop thinking that it would be even better to ride charles’ face. 

even though your eyelids are scrunched shut, the thousands of tiktok edits you’ve seen of your boyfriends post-race; balaclava lines, sweaty, messy hair, and all—are playing behind them. you moan out desperately, toes curling in your socks. you hear the phantom noises of monegasque moans along with the imagined whispers of dutch-accented praises. 

the knot in your navel tightens, your thighs begin to tremble, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing. this is it, the feeling that’s escaped you for a month, it’s returning, you can finally come. 

you start to rut against the pillow, uncaring of how your wetness has seeped into the pillow cover and sticks against your thighs—if anything, it’s just another pleasant sensation. unfiltered squeals and gasps start slipping out, you’re too blissed out to regulate your volume at this point.

but then, a minute passes and you still haven’t fallen over the precipice. it’s right there; you can see it, you can even hear it, but you can’t fucking feel it. 

your moans of pleasure turn into cries of frustration. your legs start to quiver with exhaustion, and the orgasm you almost had fades. tears spill from your eyes, as you frantically rut against the soaked pillow, not caring about rhythm or technique anymore. and your chance is gone, your sobs echoing around the room at another failed attempt.

you climb off the pillow and fall on your side, crying into the towel trying to muffle your anguished noises. you have the fleeting thought to think that you're overreacting, but fuck that. you’ve literally been unwillingly denying yourself for a month.

after you’ve cried yourself out, you get up and start to clean up the mess you made. when you lean down to pick up the shorts you flung across the room, you hear jimmy and sassy start yowling outside of the room. and faintly, you hear the front door open.

fuck.

a giggle slips out of charles as the cries of the cats are heard outside of the apartment door. max shoots a glare at charles for laughing at his children, before he loses the fight and a smile slips out in response to the monegasque’s. finally managing to slip the key into the lock, max speaks, “we’re supposed to surprise her by being early, cha—maybe we should’ve let the cat’s know when we called earlier today?” they step through the threshold, quickly shutting the door behind them so the cats won’t run out. charles makes a questioning hum as they both start slipping out their jackets, “they are cats, mon minou. i do not think they care about anything other than when you come back to feed them.”

max side eyes him heavily as he squats down to untie his sneakers, and looks around slightly confused, “i think we are missing a greeting from one more kitten, wouldn't you say, charles?” the man in question nods in agreement, while finally petting jimmy and sassy to calm them down a little bit. whenever the two of them return home, you usually race to the door along with the cats. you give them warm hugs and sweet kisses, help them take their jackets off, and let them know if you cooked a meal for them, or prepared a bath. 

but tonight, they don’t hear the sound of your footsteps coming towards them. it’s rare for them not to be greeted at the door, most of the time you beat them to unlocking it, with the alarm system the cats provide. 

charles questions, “maybe she fell asleep? we did not tell her that we moved our flight earlier. and we did tell her to go to bed because we would be arriving late.”

max snorts disbelievingly, “when has she ever gone to bed when we’ve told her to,” he starts, “she’s probably just in the bathroom or something.”

the two spend a few minutes paying some attention to the cats, before they begin to get suspicious at the fact that you still haven’t come to welcome them back. they straighten up and start heading towards the bedroom. 

max pushes the door open, and everything looks normal except for the fact that you’re nowhere to be seen. the bed is put together, one nightstand lamp is on, and the bathroom is empty. max and charles stare at each other with matching baffled expressions, before you clear your throat in the doorway.

max jumps, “shit!” and charles flinches, “oh, what the fuck!”

your giggles reverberate through the air, and the two men can only laugh along with you. “oh? so you find scaring us funny, schat?” max teases gently. you pad over to him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a tight hug, nodding softly into his neck as you breathe him in. charles huffs after he’s deemed that you spent too much time loving on max before he pulls you into his own grasp, one arm braced tightly around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head resting in his chest. “she’s absolutely frightening, max, can’t you tell?” he teases back, defending you jokingly. 

max hums, “definitely. where were you hiding, baby?”

you freeze for second as you pull away from charles’ grasp, before stuttering your way through an explanation, “u-uh oh, i was-um, i was just in the laundry room! i was just putting a few things i had accidentally spilled uh- spilled juice on-yes juice of course, in the uh-washing machine, yes,” you nod firmly, to fully convince them.

the monegasques raises an eyebrow at you and dragged out an, “…….okay, i guess?” max follows up with a sarcastic, “yeah….we definitely believe you!”

you narrow your eyes at him, “are you calling me a liar, max? because, why would i lie about—“

charles cuts you off, turning your head back towards him as he squints at your face. he runs his thumb underneath one of your eyes, and speaks softly, “were you crying, mon ange? your eyes are red and swollen.”

you shake your head rapidly to attempt to dismiss his worry but it’s already too late. max practically teleports to your side and scans your face and with a gasp he reveals, “yes, you did cry. i can still see the tears stained on your cheeks.”

you shift uncomfortably, “yes, okay! i did cry! but it was nothing serious,” you pause and mumble the last part of your sentence, “i was just overreacting anyways, it doesn’t matter.”

max smacks his teeth at you disapprovingly, “hey, don’t be mean to yourself, schatje. anything that causes you to cry does matter. tell us, and we can try and make it better for you.” the two boys wear you down with earnest eyes; the monegasque brushes his lips against your hand comfortingly and the dutchman tucks your hair behind your ears soothingly. they wait patiently and don’t attempt to push you any further, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of them; they won’t let this go until you explicitly ask them two. and suddenly, your resistance falls and words start rushing out of your mouth.

“im so tired, okay? i’ve been trying for ages, ages, and i can’t get there! everytime i try, i-i-it’s like i’m right there–right there! and then it never comes! it’s torture. the harder i try to reach for it, the more it slips away, and then it doesn’t even feel good anymore! i thought this was supposed to feel good–and now what’s the point?! i don’t even wanna try again if i’m just going to be–”

“woah, woah, woah.” max cuts you off, “what are we talking about exactly, schatje? have you not been getting enough sleep or something? because we can try and–" you interrupt, “NO! i haven’t came in a MONTH! are you even listening to me?!”

charles chokes on his own breath and max damn near faints. most importantly, they’re shaken at your bluntness around the topic; every time they try to ask if you’ve been finding…relief–for lack of a better word, you tend to snap shut if they use any ‘explicit’ words with you– you tell them not to worry about it. so, to hear you say it plainly reveals how much distress this has been causing you. secondly, the thought that you’ve been desperately trying to get off for a month on your own, is a paralyzing thought. they nearly convinced themselves that you had no idea about anything sexual due to your refusal to answer any of their questions—which there would be nothing wrong with, they’d be happy to teach you how to please them and them alone. it’s a seductive thought, the fact that you’re untouched, that no man has had the opportunity to taint you and ruin your perspective on how you should receive and give pleasure. they’ve been praying for the day you’d be ready to let them teach you how to be good for them. maybe that makes them monsters, for taking advantage of your naivety and innocence, and molding you into their perfect girl, but they stopped feeling guilty for desiring this long ago. 

you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating, to not cum,” you gasp softly, “especially when you’ve been edging yourself accidentally for so long, hm?”

a questioning sound slips from your lips, “hm? what’s edging? i just haven’t,” your voice drops to a whisper, “cum.” max thinks that he’s seriously fucked-up in the head, because he watches how you bury your face into charles’s chest after your whispered word, refusing to make eye contact with them out of embarrassment; and relishes at the fact that you absolutely have no idea about what exactly you’ve been doing to yourself. he’s going to enjoy ruining teaching you everything he knows.

“edging is repeated instances of sexual stimulation and stopping before your orgasm. it’s called that because you are kept ‘on the edge.’ you can do it to yourself or with others,” max states in an unfazed manner. he sees you start to relax, knowing that you find comfort in his matter-of-fact tone. 

a pout lowers your lips, “who would enjoy that? it feels terrible.”

max breaks out in a grin, slipping an arm around charles and squeezing at his tapered waist, “you know somebody who enjoys it very much, liefje,” charles blushes at the sudden call out, and watches the way your eyes widen in shock. max continues, “anyways, you may find that you enjoy it when it’s done properly—with people who are experienced enough to make sure you’re feeling good and keep you feeling good… and show you how to have a proper orgasm, hm?” max segways into the important topic, not allowing you to deflect any longer.

charles stops your attempt at hiding in his broad shoulder this time around, and firmly holds your face to keep you facing max. the dutch give charles a nod of appreciation and watches how he shifts on his feet at the acknowledgement; he might have to take care of him after he’s done with you, too. max allows your eyes to avoid meeting his, letting them roam his face as you battle your own insecurity.

“liefje,” max deepens his tone, knowing how you melt at any pitch similar to his morning voice, “there is no need to be embarrassed about your virginity and innocence. you had your boundaries set, and never bent or broke them to make someone happy at the cost of your comfort. no matter how much pressure someone applied to you, you refused to let them have you in one of the most vulnerable positions you could ever be in because you felt unsure or plainly uncomfortable with them. that is something you should take pride in and no one should make a joke out of your virginity for that instance. tonight, you can still make that decision if you are not completely sure on allowing charles and i the privilege of teaching you how to feel satisfied. we will continue to wait for you; you have the power here, not charles or i. do what is best for you at this moment, and if that changes, tell us so, and we will continue or stop at your will.”

the room is silent as the three of you digest max’s spiel. charles and max seem to be completely nonchalant about the matter, but they are trying to hide how anxious they are about your possible refusal, for your sake. of course they are hoping that you’ll accept their helping hands, or lips, or tongues, or coc—but, that’s not their main intention tonight. the goal is for them to start building a deeper level of understanding and trust with you, to where you allow yourself to be in your most vulnerable state with them. and that will take time; they’re not expecting you to completely reveal your innermost workings to them instantaneously. however, they most definitely want to show you how good they can make you feel and how good you can make them feel. and once you internalize that, then they can start working on showing you the wonders of sex—or plainly put, they can start tainting you.

you nod. charles eyes brighten and his cheeks dimple with the appearance of a wild smile. he leans in to kiss you in thanks, but max halts him with one finger to the forehead and a quick ‘aht aht,’ “that won’t do, liefje, i need verbal confirmation—words, please.”

“y-you can…you can help s-show and teach me how to…how to feel good. i am ready to have…,” your voice thins out, and suddenly you shake your head, eyes meeting max’s straight on in an unusual act of confidence, clearing your throat, “i am ready for us to have—i’m ready for you to fuck me.”

max wasn’t exactly ready for that wording and faltered, a little shook. charles on the other hand has to struggle to refrain from laughter. at the mixed reaction, your bravado slips away, and you add, “please?” charles loses the laugh automatically; your timid but desperate widened brown doe eyes stare up at the two of them, flickering between them anxiously, plump lips parted with your tongue flicking out—he has a few ideas of something he can offer to keep that mouth of yours busy.

max rumbles in satisfaction, “see, that wasn’t so hard, was it pretty girl? we’ll work on that confidence of yours for sure—but, i have a few rules for you first before we get started. charles, why don’t you tell our girl the first two?”

“number one, always answer our questions with words; if you don’t, we’ll stop and wait for you to respond. two, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell us, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and make it better for you or stop completely if necessary,” charles answers assuredly.

you nod, and max raises an eyebrow at you, “i mean, yes!”

max praises you, “you’re already doing so good for us,” he watches your breath catch at the sentence and figures he may have another praise kink on his hands, “you wanna be a good girl and tell me what you were really doing before we came home?” your cheeks burn and your previous embarrassment returns full force, but you fight through it, not wanting to break the rules right off the bat.

“well, you remember how i said my usual method wasn’t working anymore? i wasn’t lying about that. i only g-get off when you guys leave, andidoitbygrindingonapillow—and i have to put down a towel before becauseimakeamess. so! i really was doing laundry, i just didn’t spill juice on it…i kinda, spilled on it.”

charles’ hands fall away from you in shock, and max really doesn’t know if he can handle another revelation like this from you without actually passing out. you continue to over-explain, “and i i-i didn’t even get to, y’ know (oh my god, she soaked the pillow without even cumming, max!), and i got that wet anyway…and i can’t really control it, but if you guys don’t like it i can try and—“

“NO!” “PLEASE DON’T!”

you flinch away, and they apologize heavily for their overreaction.

“please, don’t, mon ange. i can tell you that max and i aren’t ever going to hate what’s between your legs, or what comes from there,” charles suggests with a smirk, before his face shifts to a more blank state “wait. did…did you have a chance to change?” you hum a little “mm-mm” glancing down at yourself still clad in max’s sweater and cotton panties, “uhm. no, i was a little more concerned with cleaning up the bed before you guys saw it so—sorry, i’m not a little more presentable—“

“are you wearing the same panties, mon ange?”

you freeze, brain lagging at what the monegasque had noticed. “mhm, yeah,” you whisper softly, playing with the hem of the sweater self-soothingly.

“can i,” charles takes a deep breath, “can i touch you, mon coeur?”

you squeak, “yes please, charlie.”

max watches as charles places his massive hand on one of your thighs, spanning the front with no struggle, and gently caresses his hand up, slowly making his way up your thigh. charles taps two fingers gently against you, and you spread your legs a smidge wider, and the sound of your thighs peeling off one another from the stickiness you leaked, reverberates around the room. max can’t help but let a moan slip out. charles slides his hand in between your legs, both of your own hands fisting at the hem of your borrowed sweatshirt, and you gasp at the lightest touch of charles pointer and middle finger against your soaked panties. max sees charles pupils blow wide and mouth drop open in awe—and he can’t wait anymore.

max presses his front to your back, sandwiching you in between them once again, and impatiently asks, “schatje, can i?” you let out a breathy ‘yeah,’ and max doesn’t hesitate to bully his hand in between your legs as well. he cops a more generous feel of your cunt, and groans at the state of ruin your panties are in.

“liefje,” max starts, “walk with me to the bed, please.” max pulls away, and unfastens one of your hands from the sweater to guide you. you turn around stumbling through your first few steps—charles sets you upright more prepared for your legs becoming jello than you are, and helps you over to the bed, one hand firmly set on the small of your back. max sits on the edge of the bed, man spreading comfortably, and watches how your eyes automatically fall to stare at his thighs with a smirk. he glances at charles behind you, who mouths ‘can’t blame her’ with a smirk of his own. the dutch pats his lap, “c’mere and give me a kiss, pretty girl.”

you rush to sit in his lap, slowing at the last minute, not wanting to sit your full weight on him. he huffs, and grabs at your hips situating you firmly on his lap, before leaning in and kissing you stupid. your gasp of shock transforms into a hum of pleasure, letting max have complete control of the kiss. his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head and moves you exactly where he wants, sucking on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue against yours. max kisses like he’s going to run out of time, he ravishes you completely. you squirm against him, pulling away to pant against his cheek needing air. max chuckles, and you only get to whine at his teasing for half a second before charles, who’s now sitting next to max, pulls you into another kiss. charles, on the other hand, kisses like he has all the time in the world, he draws it out. he keeps the kisses slow and closed in the beginning, pausing to pull away and thumb at your lips, relishing at how they’ve already swelled from max’s abuse, the surrounding skin already beginning to turn raw and sensitive from their friction of their facial hair. he continues kissing you, all tongue and sloppy not caring about about the way your hands come up to grasp at his chest in desperation, before switching to absolutely bruise your lips by nipping and tugging at them. 

your hips jump forward against max’s, and he can’t stop the groan that tumbles out. you jolt away from charles’ assault and stare at max with an embarrassed expression, “s-sorry—“ max narrows his eyes and dismisses your apology, “don’t apologize for that. you feel good, you’re allowed to show that unless i tell you differently.” 

“yes, max,” you answer, even though he didn’t ask a question.

“oh, you’re such a good girl for us, liefje,” he tests. and his instincts didn’t fail him. your hips twitch against his again, and a near inaudible moan slips from your lips.

he turns towards charles, “yeah, that works doesn’t it, cha?” charles nods, eyes still stuck on your lips. max smirks at charles being completely entranced, before turning back to you and clocks the glaze beginning to form over your eyes, “alright now, liefje, i need you to pay attention to me really quickly, hm?”

you hum, bobbing your head a few times, before you manage to get out a “yes, max.”

he holds your head steady with his thumb and pointer finger gripping your chin, “i’m not going anywhere, baby, take your time and focus.” it only takes you half a minute to truly focus in after your heart stops racing to give him another verbal confirmation before he continues. “tonight, neither one of us is going to make love to you—“ your shoulders drop and a frown is quick to spread across your mouth. you really only prepared for the situation that you’d tell them you were ready, and then you’d get railed into next sunday. you start to panic; maybe you came off too depraved, and he’s letting you down slowly—

“hey, hey, hey. no overthinking yet, let him finish, mon ange,” charles calls out to you worriedly, he’s experienced the same thought process you're going through before and would rather try and prevent the self-doubt from overtaking you.

max pets at your waist over the sweater and continues, “not tonight. we’ve just gotten off a flight, and had three back to back races. it’s late, and i’m sure all three of us are tired. we should initiate something like that with a clearer mind,” you feel a little selfish now, his points very valid, “but, i still want to give you an orgasm, okay? sure, you may not be able to get off by grinding on a pillow anymore. you’ve probably just acclimated to it and need to give it a break. so, to compromise: you’ll get off by riding my thigh.”

charles and max wait for your reaction. your frown lightens into a pout, but you’re disappointment doesn’t completely fade away. “how is that any different from riding the pillow? it’s the same thing.” charles laughs shakily, “oh, mon ange. you have no idea. listen to max and give it a try before you take it off the table completely.”

you shrug, and agree, “fine. how do i….uh how do i do the thigh riding, i guess?”

charles turns to look at max, wordlessly asking for permission, and max grants it with a wave of his hand. charles scoots up closer, and shifts your straddle from max’s whole lap to his right thigh. as soon as your pantie-covered cunt firmly presses on the muscle of max’s jean-clad thigh, a soft ‘oh’ croaks out of you. max flexes and relaxes his thigh once and your hips jump up and away from him. max and charles glance at each other; you’re ridiculously sensitive, they’ll have to see if that’s your natural state or if it’s just the result of your prolonged edging and the fact that you were grinding against a pillow not too long ago. charles squeezes your hips, bringing your attention to him, “i’m going to start guiding you now, you ready, mon coeur?”

“mmm, yeah—that felt really good, i want more,” you speak timidly.

“good,” charles states, and then he pulls your hips forward dragging you against max’s thigh, and a flash of heat zings up your spine. you moan, a small, breathy exhale, and charles keeps it slow at first, not pushing you down to roughly or making the motions too quick—he wants you to learn to love the friction again. barely a minute passes before your hips start fighting charles’ guided rhythm, and a frustrated groan slips out of you, not able to fight your boyfriends grip. max clocks back in from where he was watching the pleasure start to flicker on your face and asks, “what are you supposed to do, baby?”

“more-ah, please, charlie,” you moan shakily. charles smirks, “look at you, still using your manners like a good girl—“ a louder moan echoes, “okay, okay, mon coeur. i’ll get you there, i’ll get you to cum like you need, okay? i’ll make you forget all about your manners too, hmm?”

you stopped listening to anything after charles reassured you that he’s going to get you to cum, you believe him. he adjusts his grip on your hips and starts incrementally increasing the pace and pressure for you. your moans start to become more frequent, and increasing in pitch rapidly, the drivers can tell you’re hurtling towards your long-awaited orgasm, sooner than they thought. charles slowly releases his grip on your waist letting your hips take over once he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it. you throw your head back in pleasure, your hips have a steady grind and…and you’re feeling good. a suprised laugh slips out of your lips at that and shifts into a sharp moan when max starts flexing his thigh rhythmically giving you a little more texture to work with. max lets his heavy hands fill in for where charles’ and presses you down into deeper slower strokes. 

you cry out, it’s a little too much for you, but it feels so good, that you bear with it, they know what’s best for you, anyways. max grins down at you smugly, and you start to tear up a little; he can still feel your hips twitching away from the pressure sometimes. not wanting to push you too far with that motion alone, he lightens up on the pressure but starts bouncing his thigh. the shriek you release surprises all three of you, but you don’t run from it, if anything you lean into it more. one of your hands fists into charles’ shirt for support, and the other falls to max’s, tugging it off your left hip so you can hold it tight. max’s grin softens into a small smile and he kisses your joined hands, and charles leans into press kisses on your neck, praise slipping out of their lips freely.

“doing so good for us, pretty girl.”

“yeah, baby, that’s it. take what you need.”

“don’t be shy, let those sweet moans out for us.”

“just like that, oh! look at that, you’ve leaked all over his thigh,” charles points out. max looks down and registers that his pant leg is sticking down to his thigh and the denim has darkened with the amount of wetness. “oh, yeah. look at that, baby,” max pats on the side of your face, and you can’t even recall when you screwed your eyes shut, but you look down, and a mortified squeal leaves you. not much longer and you’ll have drowned his thigh. the dutchman sucks his teeth at you, “don’t be embarrassed, liefje. i can’t wait until i can taste it straight from the source,” he moves his other hand underneath the sweatshirt, and slips two fingers between your inner thigh while gathering your wetness. he sucks on one finger moaning explicitly at your taste, before offering both fingers to charles to clean off. the monegasque flicks his tongue out teasingly tasting them first, before he makes a quick motion of sucking them in and fully running his tongue in every crevice to get every last drop of your taste. 

you moans start to become pitchy little ah-ah-ah’s, and you frantically start rabbiting your hips. you’re so close. max squeezes you hand, and starts up the praise again.

“i wasn’t joking, schatje. when i finally get my mouth on your pretty little cunt, you won’t be able to pull me off of you until i force at least three orgasms out of you.”

charles pulls off of max’s fingers and adds, “i need to give her three or four from my mouth too. i don’t think she’ll be able to handle that many.”

“yes, she can. she’s such a good girl for us, she’d let us keep going until we tell her when she’s done.”

“mmm, yeah—she’s right there, look at that cute little face she’s making.”

“her pretty little o-mouth, we should fill that up for her too.”

“thinkin i’ll fill that sweet little cunt of hers first with my dick—“

what escapes your mouth is definitely a scream, and max can’t bring himself to muffle it even though it’s the middle of the night. he pays a hefty sum of money for this penthouse, they can deal with hearing how charles and him make you scream with pleasure. your orgasm completely whites-out all of your senses; ears ringing, eyes rolled back, skin feeling raw and thighs shaking. max and charles work your hips back and forth a few more times, helping you with the aftershocks until you squirm out of their hands. you fall forward into max’s chest, body trembling, and tears streaming down your face.

max cradles you close and scratches at your head, calling your name a few times to get a gauge of how out of it you are. with no verbal response, he sends charles to get water and a towel to clean you up. max softly murmurs praises at you constantly, and charles joins in with the affirmations when he returns. the both clean you up when you’re still floating; they put you in an oversized tee, not bothering with undergarments, wiping all wetness and cream away from between your legs trying to avoid looking at your cunt directly, they even manage to get your bonnet on for you, and even have time to change the duvet before you start becoming aware again.

you turn and automatically move to snuggle into the crook of max’s neck, but he gently presses a straw to your mouth so you can hydrate after the amount of fluids you seem to have lost. your eyes open, and you croak out a disapproving hum at not being able to go to sleep, and max shakes his head at you, “drink, schat. non-negotiable, pretty girl.” after slowly draining ¾ of the bottle, you pull away and with a shattered voice, start mumbling, “thank you, thank you, thank you—“

and charles leans over to cut you off with a soft press of lips, “no, thank you for letting us give you that, mon coeur.” you hum, whispering out, “i love you, charlie. i love you, maxy.” 

they both respond with resounding ‘i-love-you’s back, and start soft conversation just checking up on you before they let you fall asleep. 

“i’ve never felt this good before from an orgasm,” you start, “i wanna—i wanna keep being good for you guys. i wanna learn how to feel good like this again, and i want you both to show me how because i trust you. please?”. charles and max both murmur affirmatives to you, and you continue speaking softly, “you guys can take showers now, i’ll probably be asleep before you come back.” after making sure you’re truly comfortable, max and charles head to the en-suite to take the world’s speediest shower so they can cuddle up with you sooner. 

shutting the door, max and charles stare at each other in completely silence. charles starts, “are we sure that we’re the ones corrupting her and she’s not corrupting us? because, i’ve almost came in my pants three times tonight.”

max stares at charles with unseeing eyes, “i will never forgot the way she soaked my fucking leg, charles…i’m pretty sure i did come in my pants.”

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