#friendship is sacred and i know ours is to her

[cherryswisherz]

PRIDE vs SELF

♱CONTAINS: longing, toxic ju, ju saves the day, oc standin on shit, long bc judea is the thinkers twigs was talkin bout ♱NIYAHSPEAKS: this is long as shit sorry for the wait guys. ju's pov dis time! part three with smut? ♱♱♱♱

it had been three months since jaliyah and i had spoken. the night she'd kicked me out of her apartment, she blocked me on everything. my number, socials, everything. not that she needed to.

i knew when i wasn't wanted, and i wasn't the type to sit and beg for a bitch to do anything. and i don't even like calling jaliyah a bitch, because she isn't one and she had every right to do what she did, but my pride would be the death of me.

that night sat on every part of my brain. the way she'd yelled at me. what she'd yelled at me.

"four months ago you would have taken me to that party. you wouldn't have ignored me, because four months ago, you gave a fuck."

she couldn't have been more wrong. liyah and i were friends before all of this, and i'd started fucking her with the intention of being more after it.

i'd had a thing for her since we met freshman year, but she'd had a girlfriend and she was crazy about her, so i played my role.

the 'misunderstood hooper who had lover girl potential but couldn't remove her head from her own ass' role. jaliyah swore that i was crazy for the way i'd moved back then, and i think that's why it took three years for us to do anything.

she was real protective of herself. jaliyah didn't play about jaliyah, and our entire friend group knew it. we'd all cracked jokes when people tried to push up on her, laughing because we knew she was not goin.

i'd admired her dedication to not give parts of herself away, and that night, Love & Other Drugs night- the first night- i'd promised myself to cherish every single one of them.

i was selfish in the way i wanted her. i wanted to take everything she held sacred and keep it for myself and bask in the fact that no one else could have it. that i had her in ways very few ever did.

the first month, i'd lost myself in her. we weren't together or anything. we were just fucking, but it all felt a little too real. always on her body, at her every beck and call, constantly looking for her in rooms she'd never even been in. it all felt too normal.

and i'm not a cornball. i wasn't scared of the way things were going. if anything, i leaned into it. i was perfectly fine with being jaliyah's lap dog.

but then i'd gotten cleared to play again, and i don't know what the fuck happened but i couldn't find it within myself to give a fuck about anything else. jaliyah became the last thing on my mind, and i didn't even care.

it wasn't that she became less important because i'd hit. sex could have never devalued her. it was that everything became less important.

missing classes, missing family functions, missing parties. i was no where but in the gym, grinding it out in preparation for my senior run.

it was gonna be the comeback of the century.

but she'd thought it was a her thing, and i didn't have the energy to explain that she'd never be the problem. if she wanted to make it about her, then she could.

i understood why she thought the way she did, but it wasn't my job to remind her that her spot was secured. three years of friendship should have solidified that.

so i went about my business. training, catching up in class, doing what i did. but she was always there. if she wasn't ignoring my presence in every room we'd shared, she was blinking at me in my mind.

i swore every time the back of my hand itched, it was her reminding me of her. that she'd helped design my tattoo. that that hand was the reason i'd never get to have her again, in any capacity.

it was bullshit, really. agonizingly painful bullshit. but again, my pride would be the death of me.

she probably wanted an apology. she wanted me to grovel on my hands and knees and beg her to open her legs for me again. like her pussy was a prize (it was), that i had to bleed to win.

i'd have done it too, except i had self respect. i couldn't go out like that. not about pussy.

however comma, (niyah here, pls tell me yall get the reference) i would have fed her grapes just to talk to her. to tell her that i was proud of her for aceing every final. to hear her tell me i was gonna be perfectly fine for my first game back.

i'd have chewed off my own arm to lay on opposite ends of her couch and watch south central baddies while killing an entire box of kool-aid jammers and destroying a family box of gushers.

of course i'd missed the sex, but i missed the domesticity of us almost more than i missed having an ACL.

♱

people on the internet claimed that kennedy and i looked alike, which was funny and all but this girl really acted like my little sister. she was hyper, and annoying as hell and especially so on this night.

she'd drug me to a club under the ruse of needing protection.

you always muggin so nobody bothers us

i went. i knew she wouldn't leave me the fuck alone until i said yes, so i fitted up and packed everyone into the benz truck.

the club was loud, the noise resembled monkeys in a zoo. the people were louder than the music, the giant fans on the ceilings were useless because the second we'd stepped in it was like we'd entered brazil. muggy, sweaty brazil.

i was just greatful that everyone seemed to remember their deodorant, because it didn't smell like ass.

we fought our way to our section and took our videos of the bottle girls with the signs and the champagne and we all stood up and sprayed it everywhere when the DJ announced that 'THE LADY TROJANS HAVE ARRIVED'.

moments like that always happened in slow motion. i wasn't thinking about the goofy look on my face when i stood on the couch and placed the bottle between my legs and waved it around like a fucking idiot. the way i looked wasn't on my mind until i saw her.

it was literally the shit of movies.

i'd tilted my head back and screamed and when my chin lowered, i'd seen knotless flying with the turn of her head. she was at the bar, and i guess she'd turned to see what all the commotion was about, and when she did- when she saw who everyone had erupted for- she froze. i don't know if we made eye contact, but i know she saw me.

i'd definitely seen her. caramel skin glistening with gold jewelry, a cuff around her bicep. she wore black and grey, baggy pants, and a tight tube top. that's all i caught before she turned her back to our celebration- to me- and continued hunting down the bartender.

i didn't let myself think about who the hell she'd came with, or what she'd planned to do when she left the club. i just auto-piloted my way through the night, allowing hands to pull me to the dance floor, back to couch, and to the floor again.

i couldn't, for the life of me, figure out how people did this for a job. promoting parties, djaying, serving. any job in the club industry seemed entirely too over-stimulating for me because an hour in, i needed a break.

i slipped away easily, the way i always did, and shrugged past a gulf of drunk people, until i finally got to the bathroom. i stayed in there for however long it took me to piss, wash my hands, zone out at my reflection, and snap my own self out of it.

when i left the bathroom, i still felt like i needed another second before going back to the section, so i stepped out the side door, texted kennedy where i was and snatched my forgotten pre-roll from behind my ear.

i didn't hear the satisfying sound of the lighter sparking, because it was drowned out by a voice i'd known all too well.

it was jaliyah. drunk jaliyah to be exact, and i'd known that by the way she was whining.

sober jaliyah didn't whine, though she'd told me she wished she was annoying enough to do it because then she'd get her way. drunk jaliyah did whatever she had to do to get the outcome she wanted. and in that moment, it sounded like she wanted to be left alone.

"nooooo," her voice was high as she dragged the word out, "i don't wanna g- let me go."

she was loud enough in the front of the club for me to hear her on the side, and i knew that someone could see her. i knew that whatever was happening- if it was bad- would have been handled appropriately.

my pride would be the death of me.

i just couldn't allow myself the peace of minding my business when it came to her, so against my better judgement i shoved the joint back behind my ear and rounded the corner.

it was dude. big, beefy nigga who was struggling to get jaliyah into his car. (his weak ass fishbowl that had expired tags.)

there was a line around the building and the bouncer was watching the whole thing go down with a slight grin, like seeing an intoxicated woman being shoved into a car was lowkey funny as hell.

it wasn't. and it wouldn't have been even if it wasn't jaliyah. but it was, so unfortunately i had to channel sierra canyon ju and push the line that much further.

"aye!" my heavy timbs felt weightless while i ran to them- to her. "the hell is you doin?"

i raised a hand and shoved one of the shoulders attached to the arm wrapped around this girl who'd haunted me for three months.

naturally, his body shifted in my direction, and he realized the voice didn't belong to a 5'4 girls girl with a moral compass. we were the same height, and he was bigger than me, but i was angrier.

still, he played it off. chuckled, like the shit was funny "it's not what you thinkin," he waved me off and turned back to jaliyah- who'd once again frozen when she'd seen me. "my girl is lit, she not trynna go home,"

this nigga-

jaliyah decided to find her voice again, and she didn't whine when she mumbled a quiet, "ju."

it was like she no longer cared about the situation she was in. she wasn't fighting him off anymore. just still, mouth closed, eyeing me like i don't even know what.

she looked confused, but comfortable. like she was glad to see me, but hurt by my presence all in the same breath.

"that's not your girl," i snarked and reached for her, "and you needa let her the fuck go."

he smacked his lips, "how you gon te-"

i wasn't even trynna hear all that, and i didn't have to explain shit to him. "let her go."

"who even are y-"

"juju?" someone was calling me from far away- kennedy.

she and londyn rounded the corner, whipping their heads in the other direction before turning and dropping their shoulders when they saw us.

"ju, what's g- liyah?" kennedy was shocked to see her, but she was even more shocked to see her being manhandled, and i knew that because she stepped up right next to me and squared her shoulders just like i had. "who the fuck is this?"

even londyn's little ass stepped to the plate and eyed the nigga before he'd decided that jaliyah was more trouble than she was worth and unwrapped himself from her.

he left her standing there- still staring at me- being checked out by ken and londyn.

her eyes never left mine, mine never left hers. i know i just did allat, but suddenly, i wanted to be anywhere but there.

there: standing on the sidewalk staring at each other like were in a netflix movie.

none of it felt real, and i had to get out of there before it did. before the truth of the situation snuck up on us and i crumbled in front of all these people.

"ken," i snapped, "go get my car." i fished my keys out of my jorts and tossed them. "lo, text the groupchat and tell em to come on."

the chaos of the front of a club continued until the girls all tumbled out of the club, and kennedy's aggy ass sped her way to the curb.

"it's too many bodies," she announced, "somebody gotta lap up."

everyone was fucked up, besides me, but we made it work, and soon everyone had been dropped off besides jaliyah.

"where we takin you?" ken asked, turning to the back where liyah was sprawled out on my seats. "liyah, cmon sis, we gotta take you somewhere."

kennedy had never been to liyah's new place, and she didn't know i had either because she was yet to be brought in on the lore. it wasn't something i talked about. she just knew liyah and i used to be friends, and then we weren't.

i stayed quiet. i knew jaliyah was too drunk to tell ken where she lived, and i'd planned on bringing her to our place regardless.

liyah just moaned and turned in the seat, concrete evidence that she was done for the night. kennedy sighed and trailed her eyes to me. i was staring forward, forcing myself into indifference.

"you trynna take her to ours?" she inquired, like she was scared that i was really boutta just leave the girl stranded. "i mean- ion know what went down between ya'll but what else can we do?"

i remained neutral as i put the car in drive, and once again auto-piloted my way home. it was war getting her in the house, but once we were in, ken dealt with liyah.

i couldn't do the whole 'i know we not cool but imma take care of you' thing.

played out, corny, so true that i couldn't allow myself to do it.

i spent that night feeling my skin cool down after being burned raw under the hot shower. i threw on a black sports bra and some essentials shorts and threw myself in bed. my passion twists would hate me in the morning but clothes was all i could manage.

in bed, i asked myself what the fuck i was doing. why i was moving like the way i was. i knew what i felt for jaliyah and i knew the issue was that she didn't.

it could all be so simple.

explain and apologize.

my pride would be the death of me.

♱

when i woke up, i walked out to jaliyah laid out in kennedy's clothes. drooling on my couch, cuddled into the cushion- she was just as beautiful as she'd been last night, all dolled up.

the domesticity.

i went to the gym because i didn't wanna just sit there and watch her sleep, but hiding from her in my own house wasn't something i could justify.

so i left, destroyed my body in the weight room, got some shots up. brent sang to me about empathetic narcissism until i couldn't feel anything, and that's when i went back to my car.

i sat there for a second, finding my breathe and my mind. i didn't know how how i was gonna explain to her why she woke up on my couch, but i feel like we had bigger fish to fry. liyah wasn't the avoidance type of person, so i knew that a conversation was gonna be had.

i wanted to talk to her, and tell her everything. that i didn't even fuck the bitch at the party. taht i only went to fucking party because i'd assumed she was gonna be there. that i thought what was understood didn't need to be explained.

but it wouldn't have mattered. she had her mind made up, and that was just that. i wasn't finna do all the begging and pleading shit. if she wanted to talk, we would. but i wasn't going out of my way to explains myself to her.

i kept telling myself that on the drive home.

i don't owe her an explanation.

i didn't even believe myself, but that's just how it had to be.

the second i stepped in the apartment, i heard kennedy and jaliyah cackling. it was a beautiful sound that died when they saw me.

"hey ju," ken smiled but her voice was too soft. i knew that jaliyah had told her everything. "imma let ya'll talk."

and then she was in her room and jaliyah was examining the floor like it held the key to the mystery of life.

"you feel okay?" i asked from the kitchen.

denial was the best course of action. maybe if i lied to myself enough, it'd feel like everything was really okay. if ignored the hole she was staring into the side of my face, her gaze would soften and i'd see the fondness i'd grown so accustomed to.

"you for real?" she was quick with it, shooting her words out like she'd rehearsed them. "no, i don't feel okay."

what the fuck did she want me to say? of course she wasn't feeling okay. she was shitfaced eight hours ago.

she never heard of small talk?

"why am i here, judea?"

she thought i hated when she called me by my full name. like it meant i was in trouble or something. and she really only did call me that when she was pissed at me, but i loved it.

every syllable sounded so familiar, like it didn't matter that no one called me that,. when she said my name, i wasn't even thinking about the fact that she was mad because she was saying my name.

"you got fucked up last night. some d-"

"i know what happened." she cut in "my question is. why am i in your house?"

"you couldn't tell ken where you lived." i shrugged.

"you-" her spine straightened as she blinked at me. "you know where i live, judea."

"yeah," i nodded, turning away so i couldn't look at her. i had to distract myself. the pattern on our cabinets had always fascinated me. "i know."

"so..." she sounded like she was getting closer, her bare feet slapping against the tile. "why did you not take me home?"

what did home mean, really?

was it a physical location, or was it an emotional space? a place that felt warm but still gave you goosebumps.

the term was so broad... you know?

she was in front of me now. kennedy's short swallowed her, she swam in the basketball shorts. her edges had been slept off.

domesticity.

i stared at her tired face. the fire in her eyes. i wanted to throw gas at it and watch her burn.

"you are home." i smiled.

i knew it was corny. i knew it would irritate her.

that was the goal, guys !

"i'm not boutta do this witchu." she moved for the door, bare foot and all. i side stepped to block her, and she shuffled to move around me. i guess she forgot she was dealing with a defensive problem, but it wa sno way she was getting outta here if i ain't want her to. "move." she gritted out, not even looking at me.

"just wai-" she moved to leave again. i moved with her, trying to get her to look at me.

to see me.

she rolled her eyes, "get out my fucking way." i didn't move, "judea i wanna leave."

i wanted to ask what that had to do with me, but i didn't wanna poke the bear too much.

"yo car not even here, liyah." i crossed my arms and smiled when her face fell at the realization. "yeah. gon head and sit back down, ma."

she turned her back and plopped down like a two year old.

"you wanna smoothie?" i asked nodding to the ninja blender that i'd went back to.

she shook her head. "if you gon make me stay then we gotta talk."

"about?" like i didn't know what the fuck she meant.

"judea, don't piss me off."

"aight, aight," i put my hands up in a don't shoot kinda way and laughed, "go head."

"i said what i wanted to say." she shrugged, "i been said it. it's your turn now."

there was so much i wanted to say. so much i wanted to explain. to confess.

but how do you tell someone that you've fucked over that you crave her. that you wanna hide her away and marvel in everything that she is? how do you say that without seeming like a fien? seeming desperate.

"i miss you." was what i came up with. tip of the iceberg, but true enough.

she laughed at that. it sounded pained and weak and so not jaliyah. "you miss fuckin me."

she always thinks its about sex. like it was all we'd done. we'd always been bigger than that but she just minimizes it.

i did miss the sex, but the sex wasn't just sex. we weren't fucking.

ion even know how to explain it, but it was so much deeper than that.

"well, yeah." i nodded because i wasn't trynna lie to her. "but nah. like... "i miss you."

her head cocked to the side and she looked at me like a math problem. "watchu mean?"

she wasn't slow. i knew she knew what i meant. she wanted me to spell it out for her, but i was scared if i started, i'd never stop.

truly spelling out the way i'd missed jaliyah meant going from a to z about how empty everything felt. how mundan it had been.

"like you're presence." summarizing. generalizing. vagueness was good. "i just miss havin you here."

that shit seemed too weak. my eyes felt a little too watery. i felt too open. too exposed.

"and i know you miss me, too."

she scoffed and straightened her face. "ion need you, judea."

she sounded so matter-of-fact. like she'd already established that she was fine.

it pissed me off, because i knew she was lying. but she was the victim here so i let her have it.

"that's wild," i shook my head. "cuz i need you."

at that point, i was so outside of my body, i didn't care how lame i'd sounded.

it was true that i'd needed her. i'd never planned on saying that, but i would yell at myself later.

the embarrassment settled in quick, though, because she didn't question it. she just sat there. quiet. staring. trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.

i didn't know if i'd ever been so real with her before, so i let her get her bearings.

she understood though.

she had to.

"you can't say shit like that to me and just expect me to spread my legs again."

here she go with this shit again. i ain't even want to sleep with the girl.

i mean i did. but id i had to prove the point, then i would.

my pride would be the death of me.

"i'm not even trynna do allat, liyah." i shook my head.

she was still in the living room, and i was still in the kitchen. there was so much distance between us and yet she felt so close it put fear in my chest.

she tilted her head again, puursing her lips and cut her eyes, as if calling bullshit.

as if to say "yeah, fucking right."

"so you don't wanna fuck me?"

the fuck kinda question-

"why you always gotta go there?" i laughed, because it was funny.

it amused me, the way she always made herself seem like just a fuck buddy.

i'd literally told her that i needed her and she still thought i wanted sex.

i wanted to have sex with her, but i didn't wanna fuck her.

there was a difference.

she didn't answer my question, just put her hand up as a way to shut me up.

"do you wanna fuck me, judea?"

she put it plainly, but none of this was plain.

it was all so complex and i never wanted to simplify it. i liked out complexities and complication.

"i've never fucked you, jaliyah." i sounded smooth, but i felt rough and tight and full of ridges. i needed an oscar for this shit. "you know it's always been more than that."

i hope she knows that it always had, and always will be deeper than fucking with her.

"well watchu call it then?" she sounded quiet then. like she was scared of my answer.

shit- i was scared of my answer.

one wrong word and i'd make a fool of myself. more of a fool than i'd already been.

i need you.

who the fuck says that???

"ion know but,"

but it's real. it's everything to me. i missed it. i need it.

"we bigger than that."

she was quiet. i was quiet.

all i could hear was the air conditioning buzzing and the blood rushing in my ears.

she was expressionless, staring again. i swear she didn't blink for three whole minutes.

she finally broke the silence. "ion know what to say."

i didn't know what the hell she meant.

say you agree. say you've felt it too. say you forgive me. say "here's all i am. do what you want with it."

say something.

"say what you feel."

cornball ass shit.

but she had to be honest with me or i would die. i didn't want the fake version or the watered down version. i wanted her the way i'd always had her.

raw. real.

she was silent again. i thought she was about to bare her heart and soul to me and run in my arms and never leave.

i'd given her all i could in that moment so she had to reciprocate.

right?

wrong.

"i wanna go home, ju."

i blinked at her. just looked at her for a second. that wasn't the reaction i'd wanted, but it's what i got.

i couldn't even really be mad at her. i wouldn't wanna be here either. i damn sure wouldn't know what to say. that's why i didn't press her.

i swallowed it all. the "don't leave me"s and the "hear me out"s,

i shoved it back down and grabbed my keys.

"come on."

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[a-dash-in-the-middle]

what if i-

best friend clears her whole schedule before she even reads where

-Love is your second nature, love is your language. Love! or whatever that one uquiz said about me

[5sospenguinqueen]

Bedtime Stories | Daniel Ricciardo x Author! Reader

Summary: For the past six years, you've been dreaming of a future with Daniel. Until one silly little interview shatters every illusion.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever. End of a relationship. Daniel bashing.

Female reader with various faceclaims. Takes place in the 2022 season.

Main Masterlist

next.

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user2 no, it's not an announcement. her best friend is currently pregnant and she was gushing about looking forward to aunty duties

user3 omg her and daniel would make the cutest babies though

→ user4 i bet she can't wait until they have their own mini-me

user5 imagine our rom-com queen going from writing the cutest but filthiest fiction imaginable to writing about why you should eat your carrots

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22•05•22

user6 i can't believe this man was talking about being in the height of his career when he's been nothing but a flop since leaving red bull

user7 the way he's been stringing this poor woman along for 6 years, knowing how badly she wants children, to then decide in a random interview that he's never going to have kids because they would be a 'distraction'

user8 fans spotted y/n running from the pits once she saw that daniel was safely done with racing

user9 i fear we may be witnessing the downfall of something we once held sacred

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16•06•22

fallontonight just posted

liked by YourUserName, kellypiquet and others

fallontonight did you know @/YourUser Name was once chased by a kangaroo? find out how in tonight's episode of the tonight show 📚🦘

4,477 comments

YourUserName thanks for having me! ✨

user11 excuse me, ma’am, reassess what

user12 daniel has been absent from her last 3 posts

→ user1 not even in the likes or comments

→ user2 and he didn't even congratulate her on the recent book launch

→ user3 ya’ll are reaching. he's busy racing. she's busy doing book promo. they still follow each other

user4 anyone notice she didn't look as happy as she usually does

→ user5 yes! and i swear she got teary when talking about her life plans 🥺

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, mclaren and others

YourUserName my happy place 🌊🐚🦀 aug '22

4,990 comments

user6 does this mean a new book is coming soon

→ user7 girl, we’ve just had one. let the woman rest

→ YourUserName sorry, my lovelies but i don’t think i'm in the right headspace to be writing a romance novel at this time

→ user6 confirmation??!?!

→ user7 we’re children of divorce

→ user8 honestly fuck those two because i couldn’t have cared less about vroom vroom boys until mother started dating one and now i'm crying in class ‘cause they’re over

landonorris get that bread, queen 🍞

→ YourUserName who let you out of daycare

→ user9 not y/n and lando interacting like she didn’t break his teammates heart

→ user10 more like his teammate broke y/n’s heart. let's not make daniel out to be the victim here

kellypiquet p said get writing those children’s books so she can brag about aunty y/n to her friends

→ YourUserName my sweet girl. i saw the cutest dress the other day for her so I’ll pop round soon x

→ user11 i love their friendship

→ user12 get this woman a child. She’s too sweet to be stuck in cool aunt mode forever

user13 anyone notice she didn't do her annual birthday post for daniel?

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04•09•22

user14 no because the interviewer was so real for that. checo has a few children and he’s currently 2nd best. max is nowhere to be seen on the grid he's that far ahead and he makes sure p is his priority when she’s there so???

→ user15 and the way he stormed out. i bet PR are sooo happy with him

user16 nah because mclaren recently announced that they’re not extending his contract so he currently doesn't have his seat and doesn't have his y/n, all because he thought he was better than that

YourUserName posted a new story danielricciardo posted a new story

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danielricciardo just posted

liked by landonorris, estebanocon and others

danielricciardo yesterday was something. p17 wasn't the result we were expecting, and the media were a challenge but it's always a delight to be in suzuka. moving on to the americas

5,509 comments

user1maybe if y/n was there, you wouldn't have done so badly

user2 maybe if he had a baby waiting in the paddock he would’ve had more incentive to do better

mclaren we’ll get them next time 💪

user3 letting mclaren and lando down

→ user4 the real reason he and y/n broke up is because he has no wins. she should move onto lando or something

→ user5 he’s way too young for her

→ user4 they'd make a good looking couple tho

(comments have been disabled for this post)

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

19•10•22

YourUserName just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, bloomsburypublishing and others

YourUserName thirty, flirty and thriving. please enjoy a small snippet of my 30th birthday, organised by my favourite girl. these are the nice moments before she plies me full of cocktails and i become the sloppiest person in monaco tagged: kellypiquet

kellypiquet any chance to celebrate you 🤍🤍

→ kellypiquet and an even better chance to drink the entire bar and force max to carry us home

→ maxverstappen1 i'm just glad i was able to pull you both out of the sea before you drowned

landonorris can't believe you tried (and failed) to stop us from gatecrashing

→ YourUserName it was an exclusive event, we don't let randos in

→ landonorris i know you're joking but it still hurts my feelings

maxverstappen1 happy birthday, sloppy. you don't look a day over 40

→ YourUserName i'm gonna let that slide but only because i love the bag that kelly told you to buy

user7 happy birthday to the best author

user8 happy birthday queen

carlossainz55 happy birthday, y/n 💐

liked by YourUserName

danielricciardo happy birthday x

user5 kelly and y/n look like the funnest people to hang out with

→ user6 literally need to know how to become part of their duo

lewishamilton happy birthday, y/n. have a lovely night 💕

liked by YourUserName

mclaren happy birthday to papaya's favourite author (we're still waiting for a racing rom-com that is quite clearly about your favourite f1 team and their super sexy admin) 🥳🥳

liked by YourUserName

Request are open!

Baby Fever Angst Series

[hrrtshape]

　what's in my marauders dr bag . . packed & ready

hiii hiiii hiiiii this is just a little peek inside my bag from my marauders dr. she's heavy, slightly cursed, probably illegal in at least three wizarding jurisdictions. i've had her since fourth year, she was a gift from my aunt effie. technically it's a charmed handbag (ignore the dior labels, this is the closest one i could find), but she's been through so much she's basically sentient now. anyway. here's what’s inside. she's messy. she's loved. she's full of secrets and seashells and other girly things. ( p.s., the prettiest top collage ever inspired from this prettiest post ever )

﹐ a lip gloss called "veritaserum." and another lip gloss named "blood witch" from that one weird potions girl who makes bootleg beauty products behind the greenhouse.

﹐ a blood quill, obviously. for correspondence and kink.

﹐ a note from sirius black that just says "?"

﹐ my head girl badge.

﹐ mints i stole from slughorn's office in 4th year.

﹐ banned potions disguised in vitamin bottles

﹐ the tears of a veela. mine.

﹐ a howler i refuse to open because i know it's from my mother.

﹐ a hexed compact mirror that only shows enemies.

﹐ the frog from divination class. he is named jean-paul croak-tre.

﹐ five galleons. one is cursed. i forget which.

﹐ an unopened chocolate frog card. i know it's rowena ravenclaw. i'm saving it for when i need her advice

﹐ dried rose petals and cigarette ash from last tuesday's séance.

﹐ bubblegum that explodes. literally.

﹐ a cursed friendship bracelet from a girl i hexed in first year. still cute though.

﹐ three different copies of witch weekly for literary reasons.

﹐ scraps of parchment with half-written poems and full mental breakdowns.

﹐ a pin that says "kiss me i'm fluent in latin."

﹐ a pressed four-leaf clover from the forbidden forest (don't ask).

﹐ a note from from my boyfriend.

﹐ a tiny bronze bell from a slavic shrine, wrapped in satin. never rings unless danger is near.

﹐ one (1) extremely illegal time-turner hidden inside an empty chocolate box.

﹐ my wand (9¾, cedar, unicorn hair, emotionally unstable).

﹐ parchment. quill. inkpot. all monogrammed. all haunted.

﹐ torn page from witch weekly titled "do pureblood girls get to have fun?" (answer: yes, but only if they're armed.)

　˖ ˚ ⋅　charmed cigarette case with . . . two cloves. one sweetroll (half-squashed). a list of the cutest boys in our year, produced by ten girls in the 4th year, later re-produced a couple years after. cigarettes....obviously. a silver heart keychain. a tiny scroll scroll of things i have to not do as head girl.

﹐ ancient-looking ring i stole from my great-aunt.

﹐ homework with sirius black's teeth marks in the corner. yeah, don't ask.

﹐ honeydukes receipt for . . . 1 exploding bonbon, 4 sugar quills, and 13 salted licorice wands (stress eating is a sport).

﹐ half-written essay on the goblin rebellions of 1612 that just says "goblins were right actually."

﹐ lip liners in every shade.

﹐ cracked seashell from a childhood holiday in marseille. sharp. sacred. kissed by selkies, probably.

﹐ antique silver compact mirror from my great-grandmother, hexed to say affirmations and family gossip.

﹐ tiny pair of embroidery scissors shaped like a stork. somehow menacing.

﹐ loose pearls, but not from a necklace, i just collect them.

﹐ stray earring with a snake motif. not mine. no intention of returning it.

﹐ combs. so many combs. why so many combs? you'll never know.

﹐ the marauders map i took from cousin james as he is not to be trusted with it.

﹐ a flask (yes it is alcohol, yes it is needed, yes it is not allowed).

﹐ a bloodstained tarot card. not mine. not recent.

﹐ red ribbon from the last slytherin vs gryffindor match i won. magically preserved in the shape of a middle finger.

　˖ ˚ ⋅　undetectable extension charm containing . . . silk gloves from paris. stolen love potion. backup wand. emergency frogspawn soap. flask of undiluted veritaserum. first edition copy of the inferi's wife annotated in glitter pen. pressed wildflowers from the forbidden forest. allegedly non-toxic. allegedly.

﹐ quill that autocorrects any essay to sound at least three iq points smarter.

﹐ small photograph of me & james at age 7. he's holding a frog. i'm holding a knife. balance.

﹐ scented stationary from an obscure russian stationery house run by veela descendants.

﹐ sugar mouse i never ate. i think it might be sentient now.

﹐ slip of parchment that says "do you believe in fate? circle one: yes / no / maybe" in black ink.

﹐ password list for all the house common rooms. not for sneaking. for diplomacy. obviously.

﹐ folded note from mary that says "if i die during potions, avenge me."

﹐ library ban list (handwritten by madam pince) that i'm definitely not respecting.

﹐ my secret head girl journal. every page booby-trapped with a mild jinx so boys can't read it.

﹐ a secret staircase chart annotated with little hearts where coryo has kissed me / pissed me off.

﹐ list of hexes i know in alphabetical order. "accidental castration" is under "a."

﹐ tiny crystal i stole off dumbledore's desk. no reason. it's just pretty. i think he's onto me.

[sknyuz]

garden fairy | y.j.h.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

synopsis ─ a variety show trip to a tiny village school turns unexpectedly sweet when the kids start calling jeonghan a butterfly prince—and you his fairy.

pairing ─ yoon jeonghan x gn!idol!reader

genre ─ fluff. slice of life. secret relationship. idolverse

wc ─ ~700

note: you and jeonghan have been secretly dating for 6 months. also, i tried a cute new format !! lmk what u guys think <3 this is a request from anon. taglist at end.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

you hadn’t been expecting to see him on today’s call sheet.

especially not next to your name in bold letters under the words:

“episode 5 - healing days: idol village edition

garden team – school visit – jeonghan + y/n”

“you two have good chemistry,” the pd had said brightly, way too brightly.

jeonghan had only tilted his head at you, all wide-eyed innocence. “what a coincidence,” he said, already smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing.

now, two hours later, you’re knee-deep in a school garden that’s somehow both adorable and wildly chaotic, trying to actually do your assigned task—while jeonghan has become the unofficial lettuce whisperer to a group of second graders.

he’s supposed to be weeding. instead, he’s squatting in front of a lettuce patch, holding up leaves like sacred scrolls. “this one looks like a dragon’s wing,” he tells a wide-eyed kid. “see that curve? totally a dragon.”

“what about this one?” another child asks, holding up a rounder one.

jeonghan squints. “hmm… that one’s a turtle shell. or maybe a sleeping cap.” you glance over from the carrot beds, deadpan. “jeonghan.”

“yes, farmer y/n?” he grins, batting his lashes.

“the lettuce won’t harvest itself.”

“neither will my fanbase,” he says, gesturing to the kids now giggling around him. “i’m sowing the seeds of friendship.”

you chuckle despite yourself. it’s impossible not to, even you weren’t safe from his charm. one of the kids suddenly turns to him and blurts, “jeonghan-oppa, you’re so pretty!”

jeonghan gasps like he’s just won an award. “really? thank you!” another girl pipes up. “you look like a butterfly prince!” at this, his hand flies to his chest, gently bowing his head. “i’ll accept this royal title.”

but then the princely man turns to you, mock-offended. “wait—what about our y/n-ssi? don’t you think they’re pretty too?”

the kids peer at you seriously, as if debating a very very serious topic within their little minds.

you smile, brushing dirt off your cheek, but before you can say anything, one girl clasps her hands like she’s made a discovery. “they’re not just pretty—they look like a garden fairy!” the other kids cheer and agree, echoing her words.

jeonghan blinks. “...a fairy?! that’s even better than prince!”

you snort, cheeks warming. “you’re the one comparing lettuce to dragons.”

“fairy magic,” he says solemnly, “is clearly more powerful.”

off to the side, one of the staff members walks by and mutters—just loud enough—“butterfly prince and garden fairy… sounds like a solid we got married pitch.” you and jeonghan both freeze.

then, almost in sync, you slowly turn to look at each other.

he raises a brow, dangerously amused. “should we start calling each other yeobo for authenticity?”

“don’t even joke.”

“too late. it’s canon now.”

you groan, turning back to the carrots, only for a little boy to tug at your sleeve.

“excuse me,” he asks seriously, “are you really married to jeonghan-hyung?”

jeonghan doesn’t even hesitate, eyes lighting up as he humored the little. “what do you think?”

the boy tilts his head. “...yes.”

jeonghan beams, absolutely delighted. “see? even the kids know we’re meant to be.”

you bury your face in your gloves.

and yet…

you glance up a few moments later, just in time to catch jeonghan gently squishing a little girl’s cheeks with both hands, his expression soft and playful as he tells her she’d make a perfect space princess one day.

and something about the image sticks—him crouching in the dirt, the light catching in his hair, kids gathered around him like flower petals. your chest aches a little in that quiet, dangerous way.

you imagine a little girl, smaller than these ones, her hands curled around the fabric of his hoodie, her laugh echoing in a cozy kitchen. jeonghan crouched in front of her to tie her shoes, telling her to protect you while he’s out for schedules. brushing her hair behind her ears and calling her his princess even if she’s got jam on her face.

your future.

your family.

your jeonghan.

you blink the thought away, heart skipping like a pebble across water.

jeonghan glances over. “you good?”

“fine,” you mumble. “just wondering how much lettuce we’d get if you actually worked.”

he snickers, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you—longer than before.

like maybe he’s wondering about the same what if.

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu

join here!

[lovelytsunoda]

club tropicana | lando norris

summary: on an all inclusive holiday in ibiza, y/n finds herself falling head over feet for the charming british barman

pairing: bartender!lando norris x female! reader

warnings: reader has some crappy former friends, please do not get into a car with a barman at a shitty three star spanish resort (lowkey inspired by my 'benidorm' rewatch), cameos from carlos and fernando, im so sorry that this took me literally a month and a half to write.

club tropicana drinks are free / fun and sunshine, its enough for everyone all that's missing is the sea / but don't you worry, you can suntan

the sun beat down on the resort-goers, reflecting off the chlorinated water in the swimming pool. sunbeds were arranged around the large body of water. swimmers in the pool sat on mosaic stools underwater to order drinks at the swim up bar.

she was supposed to be on this trip with her friends. well, some friends they were. ending a friendship over text with about six weeks left in her second-to-last university semester before graduation.

and so she had gone alone, to the most affordable three-and-a-half star resort in ibiza. truth be told, she hadn't wanted to go to the party island in the first place. if she didn't leave the resort, it wouldn't even matter.

bookmarking her page, she sat her copy of dark sacred night down on the sunbed and strode towards the pool. the pool was crowded, but the swim-up seats at the bar were, unfortunately, the easiest way to get a drink at the resort.

she took a deep breath and ducked below the water, swimming over to where the bar was. she liked being underwater. all her senses were dulled, and the noise of the real world seemed to fade away.

"one vodka orange, please." her voice was quieter than intended when she sat down at the bar, and for a moment she worried that the barman couldn't hear her.

"coming right up, love." the barman was british, with a mop of curly hair and a pale yellow resort shirt that had the name 'lando' embroidered over the heart. he winked at her as he got the vodka down from a shelf behind the bar and began to mix her drink.

lando wasn't oblivious to the understated beauty of the girl in front of him, water running down her soft skin and dipping into the curve between her breasts. her wide, gentle eyes. the way the orange fabric of her swimsuit hugged her curves.

she was wearing a one-piece, a rarity in ibiza.

"so," he asks, setting the drink down in front of her. "what brings you to spain"?

he always asks, even if he doesn't care. but one thing he's noticed since he started working behind the bar is that everybody has something to say, and sometimes they just need a stranger to say it too.

kind of like the characters in that old billy joel song, the one about the piano and the man at the bar making love to his tonic and gin.

and she doesn't know what it is about lando that put her so at ease, but suddenly shes talking and talking and can't make it stop and now he knows all about the three years of friendships she forged at university and how all she had to show for it were two refunded ryanair flights and a text message saying that they 'needed space' and 'our friendship will not be continuing at this time' with no explanation of what she had done to push them away in the first place.

funny that.

"does that sound ridiculous?" she cringed. "it sounds really silly now that i've said it out loud."

"people come to ibiza for dumber reasons. i worked in benidorm for two years, and you should see the train wrecks that come through there." lando laughed, leaning against the tiled bar. "you're better off without them, if you ask me. they sound very catty."

"catty is saying it nicely." she laughed along, sipping her vodka orange.

talking with lando was easy. more so, it seemed like he genuinely cared, and that he wanted to listen. it had been a long time since she had felt like anyone wanted to listen to her. even still, the voices in her head were getting harsher and harsher.

"what are your plans for later?" lando asked, head cocked to the side. "i've got this friend, he owns a party boat company."

"lando, i'm not getting on a spanish party boat with a man i hardly know." she cringed, stomach flip-flopping. had she gotten the total wrong idea about him? he seemed like the kind of guy who would know just about everybody in ibiza, and probably half of benidorm as well. "does anything that i've just told you make you think that i would literally at all be interested?

lando raised his eyebrows. "you didn't let me finish, love. he also does nighttime stargazing tours. that far out on the water, there's nothing in the way of you, the sky and the stars. i thought that was much more up your alley. i could take you tonight if you wanted to."

she felt a pit in her stomach and cursed herself for jumping to conclusions. for a moment, the barman had looked genuinely hurt, right now, though, he looked at her with puppy-dog eyes, and expression that inevitably made her cave.

after all, she was on vacation.

and here she was, waiting in the lobby of the hotel in a low cut black halter dress. she'd done her makeup, which was a rarity. she was tempted to turn her location tracker on, but wondered who she would share it with. she could always tell the woman working reception to call her at a set time, and then the police if she didn't answer, she supposed.

lando pulled up outside in a little fiat 500, looking dapper in a collared shirt. his hair was visibly caked in gel, and he smelled like expensive cologne.

far more expensive than a barman should have been able to afford.

"are you ready for the night of your life, milady?"

she fought the blush, looking at his extended arm. no doubt he wanted her to link her arm through his. and they said that romance was dead.

"take it away, bartender."

the fiat should have felt cramped, but instead felt cozy. spanish synthpop music played on the radio, something uplifting and calming as lando drove through the cobbled ibiza streets. she looked out the window in wonder, eyes wide as the city nightlife passed them by.

all too soon, they had arrived at the dock, and lando was speaking rapid-fire spanish to another man who was leaning through the window. they laughed, and the spaniard clapped lando on the shoulder before taking a small handful of bills from him.

the barman stepped out of the fiat, crossing around the car to open her door and help her out of the little hatchback car.

"your carriage awaits." he grinned, cocking his head in the direction of the boat. "come on, i got us the best seats."

on the boat, an older dj was playing a wham! record, 'club tropicana' blaring out over the sound system.

"when does the bar open?" she asked quietly. "i'm craving something."

"in about twenty minutes, as soon as we leave port." lando replied, resting his hands on her waist. "in the meantime, can i tempt you to a dance?"

ah, why the hell not?

"hey, fernando," lando started before rattling off something in spanish. the dj nodded once before changing the record on his turntable.

spanish synthpop.

lando took her hands in his, pulling her closer for a spirited dance, his hips swinging back and forth with abandon. she fought the urge to burst out laughing as she let him pull her close. the sun was dipping low over the horizon, and down at the dock the deckhands were getting ready to leave port.

but with lando's hands burning into her skin as he lead her in something that might have vaguely resembled the tango, she had forgotten all about the fact that she was on a stargazing cruise, not a latin dance boat.

she only realized the song was over when the audience that had gathered around her and lando had started to clap. red faced and blushing, she dropped lando's hands and shyly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"i think im ready for that drink now."

lando beamed, resting his hand in the small of her back. "of course, sweetheart. vodka orange?"

"you know me so well."

lando effortlessly slid behind the bar, hands flying as he grabbed glasses and bottles and shakers. she leaned against the bar, chin in her hand as she watched him work, muscles rippling in his forearms underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt.

he winked at her as he passed her the glass. by now, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, and if one craned their neck up, they would be able to see a glimmering landscape of stars, uninterrupted by the muted lights on the boat.

lando came to stand behind her, his hands resting on her waist, protectively holding her body to his.

"so, be honest, this just made your trip a whole lot better, didn't it?"

despite herself, she laughed, relaxing into his touch. "yeah, it really did. thank you, lando."

"wait," he started, hand moving to her chin. "my job isn't quite done yet."

"what are you-"

she didn't get a chance to finish as the barman touched his lips to hers. they were soft. way softer than any barman's lips should be, well taken care of like the rest of the brit in front of her. she fell, no, tumbled into the kiss, feeling herself falling faster with every second that they spent lip-locked.

and she knew that there was no way that barman wasn't coming home with her. who needs return flights anyways? maybe she could just stay in ibiza and snog him for the rest of her her working life.

for now, though, she'd just settle with getting him into her hotel room.

[thementalshawty]

PAC WHAT TYPE OF LOVE IS ENTERING YOUR LIFE?

Hey my baby babes! Here is the reading I promised you guys!!! This reading been on my mind since I did the last one honestly and I’m guessing some of you are curious but instead of asking spirit of love is coming into your life I’m going to ask what kind of love because love comes in our life everyday in big and small ways so I decided to ask in what way love is entering your lives soon.

🧟🧟‍♂️🧟🧟‍♂️🧟🧟‍♂️🧟🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️

Pile 1

Now I know a lot of you are thinking the worse when you see this card but I’m not getting anything negative or low energetic about this love coming in. Actually quite the opposite, I heard liberating. There’s something here that you and this person share in common that’s coming in, honestly the kind of love I’m hearing is through a trauma bond maybe? I’m seeing two people praising one god or goddess. I’m seeing that it may be a friendship here. It can be a same sex love too if that’s what you’re into, I see carnal pleasure being fulfilled here, friends with benefits for sure!!! I’m not getting romantic vibes honestly from this, I’m seeing this love is a love that helps you break the chain that you are currently in, you can be in a cycle that you’re completely unaware of. This person can be a Capricorn, be Capricornic, they are not a satanist or satanic and even if they’re into that they’re not into bringing you into it I’m hearing sacred so what they believe in is very sacred they very RARELY SHARE THAT! This is why again I don’t feel it’s a romantic love it can even be a new belief that’s coming and not a person if you get my drift or some kind of inspiration, love comes in very many a way so we need to look for something deeper sometimes and this isn’t a romantic love, I’m seeing it can be sexual or passionate though here, exploring each others carnal fantasies! so fuccin funny the bottom of the decc is the 8oS! so even more confirmation! You’re gaining freedom from whatever chain you’ve got going on in your head! Youre binded to a thought about yourself some kind of belief and I see it coming undone and since there’s two people I do believe someone else is involved but again idk if it’s romantic im still not seeing it go anywhere more than some wild nights together frfr but i see you’ll be so beyond happy you met this person it’s like a pent up farmer girl who becomes friends with the free spirited city girl roommate showing her how to let loose vibes. That’s very much the energy im getting from this pile, you may be meeting your bestie here guys!!!

Thanks for Reading.

🍎🍏🍎🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏

Pile 2

So the kind of love I see coming into your life isn’t romantically at all, welp, you or this person may see it that way, I’m seeing some kind of delusionary connection that’s coming into your life, it’s almost like it’s too good to be true, this person and it’s not that they’re not good it’s just like, they aren’t really into love or I’m seeing they’re not into you like that but you want them too be or you feel they might be or it can be that they feel this way about you and you don’t about them. There’s some kind of imbalance here between you and this person it can also be a disconnect from your heart and this love that’s coming in will help you reconnect with the badass mf that is you. I’m seeing that one of you could be hurt by love and emotions, hiding your cup and forcing it away, but this love will help you want to offer your cup but I don’t see it happening early on, I see this is a slow to romance connection if there’s any chance or possibility! If not then it’s a crush frfr that’s going to go south and you’ll realize this person HAS NOOOOOOOO feelings for you at all and that shit may destroy you, I’m sorry but it’s reality I feel like this connection is so delusionary that you can get lost in the wishful thinking, maybe they drop hints of affection or your misreading them. At the bottom of the deck you have the 2oP! so I’m seeing that there may be TWO types of love coming in, or a decision has to be made, maybe you wanted to date two people at the same time and it’s just not happening right for you, also I’m hearing your crush could be denying you but then someone else likes you, that you’re not even noticing it’s giving 5oC energy you’re only looking at what spilled and not even paying attention to what’s new and being offered. You will need to decide who you’re going to give your cup too because one of the choices are definite more romantic, balanced and will work out for you more than the other one. The choice is yours. Also I’m seeing some money coming in so you can chill, I feel like you are someone who never stops to take a break or breathe or nothing and this connection or this love that’s coming in whether it be a person promotion or both is some kind of disappointment, it’s going to help bring balance and control back into your life and it feels like you’ve been falling of your rotational strength as of late don’t worry baby you’ll get it bacc I promise. Don’t lose hope I’m hearing. I’m hearing that if it is a person that’s not for you don’t think less of you someone else is coming or is already there and you’re jus not giving them the time of day or you don’t think they want you either! I want more information about this one I will upload a deeper meaning to the reading on my Patreon.

Thanks for reading.

⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥

Pile 3

Now this kind of love is straight up TOXIC! I see that this is not romantic it all it just involves a woman or someone who identifies themselves with more feminine energies. This person is an energy vampire but I see you taking bacc what was stolen. I see that this can be a friend or family member but I’m seeing that this person is a emotional manipulator that love to play cat and mouse game to end up on top this person can be a water sign frfr cancer vibes mostly, this person is very low vibes and and energy they don’t want to do anything but cause chaos and destruction! You don’t need that in your life, like all the readings I’m seeing that this love coming in is bringing in major clarity it can be someone or something that helps you see the toxic person for what they are and take back your energy it’s giving that song by botdf bewitched. (I don’t stand with Dahvie but Jay Vanity (DAHLI) is my heart). I see that this person is used to being put on a pedestal by someone whether it be you or the ones around them, either way they’re very spoiled and they’re no good for you! I’m seeing that you’re going to finally see the truth for what it is. This person brings drama and dark clouds you’re going to want nothing to do with this person and you’re going to reclaim all of your power! its almost like whatever draining you will be poured back into you. You’re rubber, they’re glue what they do bounces off you and sticks back to them! You will also feel so liberated hmm this may be connected to pile 1 so if you felt pulled there then this may be the answer cos I think this is the part 2 or the more information it’s giving freedom too, but this is from an actual person it can be a negative ex you may be going too or friend someone that you let slide always on their shit I’m seeing that it’s going to end and that you’ll realize this person again it can even be you just being in low vibrational space and you’re finally becoming self conscious and doing something about it whether then just waiting for someone to come help. Self care is needed!! So self love is coming into your life fashoooooo SELF SELF SELF! Go and treat yourself to some grade A fun you deserve it.

Thank you for reading.

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

And just like that folks we are done I hope that this reading brought clarity and you guys enjoy it!

[padawan-snack-packer]

[Giving friendship bracelets, Clones Edition]

As promised and since you loved the Jedi version of this, here are headcanons, Clones reacting to you giving them friendship bracelets!!! I'll have the mando reacs soon-ish (also a Bad Batch batch (badum tssss))!!

✨Note: This is just for fun, pure chaos, and maximum love for all our Clones faves! These headcanons are soft, silly, and based on vibes, not strict canon—consider this an intergalactic arts-and-crafts hour where feelings are allowed and glitter is the sixth form of lightsaber combat. 💫 Please imagine these with love and an alarming number of beads!

🌈REX He looks at you like you just handed him a thermal detonator. “...For me?” You nod. It’s blue, white and gold, and it has tiny beads spelling “CAP” with a little heart. He’s silent for a long time. Then he takes it, puts it on with deliberate care, and says gruffly, “I’ll wear it under the gauntlet. No one needs to know.” Everyone immediately finds out because he rolls up his sleeve constantly now like “oh, this? Battle damage. Weird.” Secretly touches it for luck before every mission.

🌈FIVES Loses his mind. Makes it his entire personality. Immediately yells, “ARE WE BEST FRIENDS NOW? IS THIS LEGALLY BINDING??” Insists on making you a matching one, except his is completely chaotic with mismatched beads and one that just says “SEXY.” Wears it proudly. Flashes it at everyone. Takes it off once—to punch a guy—and then apologizes to the bracelet.

🌈ECHO Tries to play it cool but his ears go pink. You give him one that says “ECHO” in simple white and black, with a tiny red bead in the middle. He says, “Thanks… it’s symmetrical.” He stares at it in his bunk for like an hour before finally putting it on and quietly adjusting it 34 times so it sits perfectly centered. Pretends to hate how Fives keeps cooing about it. Secretly loves it.

🌈JESSE “Oh HELL yeah.” You give him one with Republic colors and a bead shaped like a star. Immediately stacks it with the rest of his accessories. Starts calling it “my combat drip.” Takes it off once, sets it on the table, and FIVES STEALS IT. Jesse starts a manhunt. There is war.

🌈KIX “You MADE this? For ME??” Tears up. Literally. “I’ll treasure this until the end of my days. If I ever flatline, this is what you bury me in.” Somehow starts using it as a triage ID system: “Red bead means critical. Green bead means just dramatic.” Definitely adds a little vial of glitter to his medkit labeled “Friendship Power.”

🌈HARDCASE “You—YOU MADE THIS????? YOU ARE THE MOST TALENTED BEING IN THE GALAXY.” Hugs you so hard you hear your spine realign. Immediately loses it. Finds it two days later in the barrel of a Z-6 rotary blaster. Claims the gun “wanted to feel included.” Begins making you bracelets in return, except they’re made of spent casings and wires. You wear them all.

🌈TUP Soft boy. Cries immediately. You give him one with calming colors and a little moon charm. He wears it like it’s the most sacred object in the universe. Sits beside you silently later and makes one for Dogma. Doesn’t say anything. Just gives it to him and walks away.

🌈DOGMA You give him a black-and-red one that says “LAWFUL GRUMP.” He tries to refuse. “That’s not regulation.” You just say “I know,” and pat his arm. He sulks for three days—then shows up wearing it like nothing happened. Never takes it off again. If anyone comments on it, he just mutters “shut up” and turns red.

🌈WAXER & BOIL You give Waxer one that says “Nerra’s Dad 💖” with little pink and orange beads. He MELTS. Makes one for Numa the next day and sends it to her. Boil acts like he doesn’t care. “Ugh, bracelets? Seriously?” ...But he’s wearing his (“Grumpy 4 Life”) on his ankle, under his armor. You catch him adjusting it and he growls “It’s for circulation.”

🌈CODY Takes it like you handed him a mission report. “Thank you, soldier.” It’s warm golden tones and says “CODY BEAR.” You think he’s going to bin it. Next week, you notice it peeking out from under his glove. It’s neatly tucked, positioned perfectly. You say nothing. Neither does he. But one day, he saves your life, looks at you, and just quietly says, “Still wearing it.”

🌈WOLFFE “Absolutely not.” You hand it to him anyway. It’s gray, black, with a little angry wolf bead. He scoffs. “I don’t do jewelry.” Next day? He’s wearing it on his boot. Week later? It’s on his wrist. Month later? He’s made a second one for his armor and acts like it appeared from divine intervention.

🌈 BLY You give him one in yellow and deep gray, with a sun bead and the word “STEADFAST.” He just says, “...That’s me.” Real quiet. Wears it on his dominant wrist like it’s part of his armor now. One time a Separatist shot at you and he nearly vaporized the whole platform. Later says, “They looked at the bracelet. That was their first mistake.”

🌈 FOX You give him one with muted reds, armor-gray, and a tiny blaster charm. It says “TOO TIRED 4 THIS.” He just stares. Then sighs so deeply it echoes down a corridor. “…Fine.” Wears it like a badge of sarcasm. Won’t admit it makes him feel safe. Still growls at anyone who gets too close to you. You catch him staring at it once during a quiet moment. He notices, rolls his eyes, and says, “What? It’s regulation now.”

🌈 THORN “Ohhh, sweetheart, this is art.” It’s bright red and shiny gold with a heart bead. It says “BLASTER BABE.” You expect him to laugh. He poses. Wears it over the glove with full confidence. Points at it before every fight like it’s a battle chant. Adds a second one you didn’t make that says “BLASTER BAE.” He says it’s your matching pair. You are not safe from his wink arsenal.

🌈 BACARA You give him one that says “TANKMODE” in chunky dark beads and reinforced cord. He stares. Deadpan: “I will break it.” You just say, “You won’t.” He tries to prove you wrong. He does not. Wears it like a protective talisman now, like it’s the only thing between him and full obliteration mode. No one is allowed to touch it. Ever.

🌈 GREGOR You give him one made of like 4 materials because it felt right. It’s lopsided and wild and says “SPICY GREMLIN.” He laughs so hard he hiccups. “Aw, you do get me!” Kisses your forehead. Immediately makes 12 more, all progressively worse in design. Wears them stacked up to his elbow. Refers to them as his “war trophies of affection.”

🌈 THIRE You give him a clean, elegant black-red-gold one with “LOYAL AF” in tiny letter beads. He doesn’t smile—but his posture shifts. Just a little. He salutes with his wrist turned outward, so people see it. Keeps it pristine. Cleans it with his armor polish. One day whispers, “You ever need anything, just say it.” Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t need to.

🌈 JET You make him one in deep crimson, with one dramatic black bead. It says “COMMANDER DRAMA.” He is so offended. “How dare. I am not dramatic.” Two hours later he kicks down a medbay door screaming “WHERE IS THE ONE WHO INSULTED ME WITH FRIENDSHIP.” Still wears it. Poses in it. Refers to it as “my symbol of betrayal and love.”

🌈 NEYO You give him a clean gray and maroon bracelet that just says “NEYO.” He nods once. Says “Acceptable.” You think that’s the end of it. Three days later, he casually says, “The symmetry’s off. I remade it.” It’s now perfectly coded in morse to say “I trust you.” He will not elaborate.

🌈 COMET (Wolfpack) Bracelet is all navy and white with a bead shaped like a star. Says “COMET CRASH.” He screams. “OH THIS IS SICK—wait—is this foreshadowing??” Wears it anyway. Makes jokes like “This is my armor. This is my blaster. And this is my bracelet of fate.” 100% uses it as an icebreaker with every new recruit.

🌈 SINKER You give him one that says “SINK & SLAY” with fish beads. He sobs. “You remembered I like fish.” He names each bead. One is “Little Swimmy.” He won’t fight without it. He says it “balances his ocean soul.” Absolutely starts a trend in the Wolfpack where everyone gets marine-themed accessories.

🌈 BOOST You give him one that says “ZOOM ZOOM BABY” with yellow lightning beads. He says, “That’s a weird way to say ‘I love you,’ but okay.” Never takes it off. It’s fully faded by month two. Tries to make you one in return. It says “HOT STUFF” and somehow has a built-in whistle. He insists it’s “for emergencies.” (He is the emergency.)

🌈 WOLFPACK BONUS: Wolffe sees all these bracelets appearing and grumbles, “We’re not starting a trend.” Next week, he’s wearing three. “They were gifts,” he growls. No one questions it. They value their lives.

Anyway. The GAR is now the Friendship Bracelet Battalion and you are their beloved chaos commander. Congratulations. You have adopted +34324365464 emotionally stunted, genetically engineered war orphans!!!💕

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index Cont: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 21 - 'Cracked Open' | 'Aperture'

word count - 15.8k (sorry I know 🫣)

The kiss lingered in the air even after your mouths parted, like heat off pavement, like steam on glass. It felt like velvet, too soft to hold, too dangerous to let go. The kind of kiss that sings in your blood, that finds all your wounds and pours honey in them. Trent’s breath caught on yours. Still so close, you shared air. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just looked at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he was scared blinking might end it. His hand rose slowly, reverently, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like he’d waited lifetimes for the permission. And maybe he had. Maybe in some cruel, slow-burning universe you’d both been waiting.

“You undo me,” he whispered, almost embarrassed by the admission, the words thick in his throat. “Every time. You just… fuck.” You softly smiled, barely there, the kind that trembled at the corners. Eyes half-lidded, heavy with him. Bashful, apologetic and yet entirely not. 

“I know.” You leaned your forehead against his and it was quiet again, so quiet you could hear the static between your skin. “I’m sorry.” You whispered more earnestly this time. He shook his head, dismissing your apology because you could do destroy him and he’d thank you for it, never expecting that apology. The room was blue, cool from the low light coming from the screen, shadows stretching long across the walls but he was warm. So warm. Outside, the party was humming and alive, but in here it was just you and him, like the world had cracked open and offered you a secret place to hide. He pulled you closer, one arm around your waist, the other splayed warm across your back. His thumb traced absentminded patterns over your skin beneath the cardigan, and the touch was featherlight but it grounded you. You nestled into him, your thigh slipping between his, a tangle of limbs, slow breaths syncing like a lullaby only the two of you could hear. And there was something almost sacred about it, about the way your bodies fit, about how you found your way into each other like muscle memory. Not lustful, not rushed. Just wanting. “I think about you all the time,” you murmured, drunk not from the tequila but from him, from the way he smelled like cedarwood and worn cotton and safety. “Even when I don’t want to. Especially then.” Trent’s eyes fluttered closed, peace crashing over him as he let his lips ghost over your forehead, his mouth brushing your skin like prayer. 

“You’re all I ever think about,” he admitted into your hair. “Even when I pretend not to.” And there it was, the truth, sweet and slow and unflinching. Your hand rose to cradle his jaw, thumb resting beneath his eye, swiping over a cluster of freckles, as you looked at him. 

“Why are we like this?” You asked. He smiled, sad and fond. 

“Because it’s always you. Even when it shouldn’t be.” He said it and prayed you’d remember that in the morning. The weight of it settled between you. Not heavy, just real. Just right. And instead of running from it like you always did, you let it hold you down. Let it press into your chest and fill you up. He kissed you again, softer this time. Like a secret. Like forgiveness. You wanted to ask him to stay, but he already had. Your foreheads pressed together. The world narrowed to that: breath shared, lips tingling, his thumb still stroking the skin beneath your jaw like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. Like letting go would undo him completely.

“You feel warm,” you murmured, eyelids fluttering. Your voice was thick now, honey-slow and sleepy. “Like summer.” You elaborate, tequila dripping off the words. He let out a soft sound, a laugh maybe, or something heavier, stuck in his chest. He tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. His nose brushed yours and it felt like worship.

“You’re drunk, baby,” he whispered, completely infatuated, no matter your state.

“Not from tequila.” You murmured a half truth. You felt him smile. Felt his hand slip lower, fingers tracing the curve of your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish. Like he’d dreamed you up and wasn’t quite convinced you were real. “I missed you so much, made me scared,” you admitted, the truth slipping out like a secret. Your fingertips found the hem of his jumper, curling there, anchoring. He pulled back just enough to look at you again. Eyes glossy, lashes low, lips swollen from the softness between you. 

“C’mere.” He said, voice hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours, shifting beneath you, hips raised into you, arms tightening around you, pulling you into him. “Shhh.” He politely hushed you, kissing your hair. And you stilled but your mind raced. Did he not feel the same? Minute after minute your heart began to hurt more and more until… “Missed you so much.” Quiet. Barely a sound whispered against you and that’s when your whole body melted into his. Relief. Both of you. You felt it. The way his breath caught when your body curled closer. The way his fingertips dragged slow, careful paths across your skin like he was scared you might break. Or disappear. Or that he might. He wanted you. You could feel it in every inch of him. But more than that, you could feel the tremble beneath the wanting, hesitation, hesitation, hesitation. You didn’t want to ruin it. Not when everything still felt too holy. So you stayed wrapped around him, tangled up close to on top of him in that dim corner of the house, your thigh pulled over his waist. Warm. And yet, you didn’t push. You just held on. Then— Boom. A cheer erupted from the kitchen. Glass clinked, someone shouted something unintelligible. Drunk friends threatening to burst the bubble. You stirred slightly, your voice soft and unsure. 

“Can I stay right here with you?” And there it was: your truth, plain and fragile. A question cloaked in casualness but soaked in panic. Wondering if this meant nothing. If he’d wanted you to keep things as they were before you entered this room; distant. Or worse, that he was letting you cling to him out of guilt, obligation, nostalgia. Politeness to the drunk girl. That maybe you were just someone to touch, not someone to love anymore. Trent smiled. Just barely. But it reached his eyes, and it curled through his voice.

“Not allowed to go back there,” he said, low and warm, his lips brushing your hair like a kiss if only the words hadn’t gotten in the way. “Need you to watch the game with me.” He pulled you into him a little more. You tilted your head to peer up at him. 

“Are you even watching the game?” Your giggle was sleepy, teasing. And it did something to him. He looked down at you like you were made of the sky. His hand tightened around your hip, and then he just held you there, like he was afraid to blink.

“I am now,” he whispered because now he could watch. Because he didn’t have to dream anymore, distracted by the thought of you. You were finally in the room with him. The room swam in blue lights and muffled noise, and the hum of the world blurred until all you could hear was the soft thud of his heart under your cheek. His hand slid further up your back, palm against bare skin. Not to start anything. Just to feel. Just to anchor. His thumb drew slow circles on your spine, soothing and steady, as if memorizing you all over again. Like every inch of you mattered. And you melted. Eyes fluttered closed. Breath deepened. And you slipped in and out of sleep like a tide, always coming back to him. Once, you stirred and pressed a kiss to his collarbone before nuzzling back into his chest. Another time, you let your foot drag lazily up his calf, pulling up the fabric of his trousers, delicate and drunk and instinctive. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Every time your lips brushed his skin in that dream-heavy way, like a sleepwalker needing proof he was real, Trent’s resolve frayed a little more. But still, he just held you. Didn’t take more than this. Because he couldn’t. Not like this. Not when you were soft and bleary and far too drunk for anything but honesty. But fuck, you felt like sin in his hands. Warm and real and his. So he stayed right there. Let you use him like a pillow. Let your breath tickle his chest and your leg hook over his like you always used to do. Let you fall asleep on him like you belonged there. He pressed quiet kisses into your hair, your temple, the bridge of your nose when you sighed and shifted. No words now. Just him, silently telling you he was still here. That you were safe. The world could’ve been burning down in the next room. Another game had started, he barely registered it. All he knew was this: you, curled in his arms, skin pressed to his, scent weighing him down, heartbeat calm now, finally. Trent didn’t know what tomorrow looked like. But right now, he didn’t care. Because for the first time in what felt like forever… His girl was back. Right where he liked her. And he was in your world now

—

The house had thinned to a hush. Laughter floated like ghost smoke from the kitchen, but the night was already tucking itself in. The party had unraveled to its last few threads, bottles tipped, lihts low, music barely more than a hum now. And there you were, half-draped in sleep and in him, all limbs and sighs, as if your body knew something your mind refused to say. Trent hadn’t moved in hours. Your cheek was pillowed on his chest, one hand curled loosely into the fabric of his hoodie, the other slipped beneath it, splayed across his abdomen. One leg hooked over his lap like you’d never left. He stroked your back absently, thumb trailing the hem of your shorts, his head tilted back on the couch and eyes half-closed. Not asleep. Just... full. Overwhelmed in the softest way. And then—

“Hey…” Campbell’s voice came like a quiet knock against the stillness, her silhouette pausing in the doorway. Trent’s head turned, slow and careful, not wanting to jostle you. You just whined, like a child dreaming something sweet, fisting the material of his hoodie tighter, pressing your nose into the warm skin of his neck. Campbell’s heart sank a little. ‘Here we go’ was all she could think. You looked so safe. So his. And still, she knew what had gone unsaid. The words you couldn’t give him. The ones you’d desperately whined on the night of your birthday, the ones that’d vanished the next morning only to bubble over as you cried on her sofa days after that, voice thick with guilt and grief. She knew it hadn’t been fixed. Not really. It had just… spilled out and flooded everything. “I was gonna head out,” she said gently, careful not to break whatever spell had lulled you into his lap like this. “Babe, do you wanna come with me? Can crash at mine.” She stepped closer, tugging her jacket tighter around herself with one arm, the other gently coming to rest against the couch cushion closest to you but still a distance away giving both you and Trent the option to decide. Her tone was soft, like she was asking a sleeping bird if it wanted to fly. You didn’t answer, not with words. Just burrowed deeper into Trent, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat as you sighed, limp and wanting.

“Wanna stay with you, baby,” you murmured, and the sound, his name dressed in that tone, nearly knocked the wind out of him. His eyes fluttered shut. It wasn’t clarity. It wasn’t a confession. But it was something. And it was all his, this moment. This messy, tangled, precious moment. But it was in front of someone else and he knew what it looked like from the outside. 

“T…” Campbell started again, hesitant. She was offering a lifeline. She was the better choice. The rational one. The ride home, the hangover cure, the avoidance of old wounds. She was the girl friend who wanted to save you both before this went too far again. But you were already gone, fused to him like a second skin. And Trent… Trent was sober enough to know exactly what this was. What he was allowing. What he’d die to keep.

“Is alright.” His voice was low. A hush of wind through curtains. A warm current in cold water. “You wanna stay with me, beautiful?” He asked running his hand over your hair, the other firm against the small of your back as if silently begging you to. You nodded against his chest, drunk and drowsy and so entirely vulnerable it made Campbell ache. Your fingers tightened in his hoodie again, like a reflex. Like something ancient in you remembered how he felt in sleep. How he used to keep the nightmares away. “Alright,” he whispered, smiling. “You stay with me tonight.” And he pulled you closer, impossibly closer, as if his arms were a shelter and you were the only thing that ever needed saving. Campbell exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she watched him kiss your hairline. Tender in a way that only arrived after tension. 

“My T…” you slurred, barely audible. A kiss of a sound. A name only lovers say like that. She stepped back, her eyes soft with knowing. She knew you loved him. Knew he loved you. But this not-saying, not-breaking, not-choosing, it would destroy you both if you kept swallowing it down. Still… how do you interrupt something that feels like fate? Even like this, half conscious, skin warm with tequila and sleep, you clung to him like you were tethered. And even in his clearest moment, he held you like you were a promise. A bad idea had never looked so much like home.

—

The house was asleep by the time Trent carried you upstairs. You weren’t heavy, not to him, you never could be. Not when you melted into his chest like you belonged there, arms draped around his neck and breath warm against his collarbone. You murmured something incoherent as he pushed his bedroom door open with his foot, careful not to wake the wood floors with a creak. The light from the hallway cast soft shadows across his room: his jumper slung over the chair, the bed left slightly disheveled from when he left it last, the neighborhood breathing quietly outside the window. You didn’t need his help but he offered it anyway. You were drunk, sure, but your feet still found the floor like you’d memorized it long ago when he set you down. You leaned against the dresser, unable to will yourself to stand up unassisted, eyes scanning the familiar space through the haze in your head. That scent, him, always him, woodsy, warm, clean cotton and something sweeter beneath it, curled in your chest like a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. He watched you from behind. Silhouetted in the low light, his girl again. Loose-limbed in your cardigan [ref index] and nothing underneath but the memory of his hands and your choices. Hand struggling with the ties. You could feel his eyes on you as you struggled to get yourself ready for bed on your own. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered as he came closer. “Can do it myself.” Your fingers moved sluggishly pulling at the wrong end of the silky strings holding your sweater closed. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured gently and knowingly, smiling. But still, he reached forward, his fingers brushing the tie at the front of your cardigan. “Let me, yeah?” You nodded once, lips parted. And so he did. He untied each knot slowly, like it mattered. Like he wasn’t just undressing you, but unwrapping something delicate, sacred. The string gave way, one soft pull after another, the edges of your cardigan parting until you were almost completely bare before him again. Your sweater undone like curtains framing your body. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. You just looked up at him, drunk, sleepy, and let him see you. Not as a game. Not to tease him. But because you trusted him to look. Because some part of you still hoped he’d only ever want to. And god, did he want to. His heart was racing so hard it felt like it lived in his throat now, fluttering wild because you let him have this, let him see the soft curves he’d memorized, the gentle slope of your shoulders, the skin he’d only ever loved in private, like a secret he was lucky enough to keep. And as he undid the last bow, his hand dropped to your hip. He exhaled letting his eyes closed, willing himself to control primal urges.  His eyes opened slowly, locking on yours, stars dancing in them, and he squeezed your hip just to make sure you were actually in the room with him, real. It wasn’t fair. Your skin was too soft, you smelled too good, your tits sat too well, all of it taunting him and yet none of it, he couldn’t blame you because it was just you simply existing. And your existence was something he just felt lucky enough to be in the presence of and he didn’t want to lose it again. So he leaned around you. Through gritted teeth, you’d never see, he pulled one of his T-shirts from the dresser. That grey one you always took, the one that stretched long on you and still smelled like him even after washes.

“Here,” he said. You stood in front of him, caged in by his presence, lips parted, eyes innocent and naive to what you were doing to him. And like slow painful torture, you clumsily pulled your arms completely out of your sweater letting it fall off of you. Trent couldn’t fight the smile. It was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And like the adorable temptress you were, your lips began to curl into a smile of your own seeing his. “There we go. Thank you.” He sang facetiously, rolling his eyes as he took the cardigan from you before helping you tug his shirt over your head gently, careful not to mess your hair. “Get cold not wearing anything.” He smiled. 

“Thought you like when I don’t wear anything?” You asked, voice muffled as your arms slipped through the sleeves automatically, head ducking into cotton and familiarity. It was a clunky question that made him laugh. 

“Baby…” He chuckled. “I love when you’re in nothing, trust me.  But for me… and for you right now.” He ran a hand over his face searching for composure. “Imma need you to put something on, yeah?” He looked at you pleadingly with knowing eyes and stupid smile. You nodded bashfully. 

“This one’s my favorite,” you mumbled, running your hands over the fabric of the shirt, blinking slow.

“I know, baby, I know.”  He smiled, quiet, fond, devastating. “I don’t even wear it anymore. It’s yours. Reminds me too much of you now.” He sighed, putting his hands on your shoulders and walking you to his bed. Another aftereffect of you existing in his world. You were ruining things you never knew about and staining them permanently in your wake unknowingly. 

And then he was tucking you in. He laid you down like you were made of glass. The duvet was cool when it first met your back, but he was quick to tug it over your body, folding the covers over your body like you were precious. Smoothing the duvet along your sides with the care of someone who truly loved you. But when he turned to undress himself, to move away from the bed, you whined. Soft. Needy. Honest.

“No, baby. Baby stay—just stay…” He paused, hand at the button of his trousers..

“Baby, I’m just…” He smiled fairly amused by the complaint.

“Don’t wanna be without you,” you mumbled into the pillow, drunkenly and childishly pouting, arms already reaching. “Come be with me.” So instead of stepping away, he sat down on the edge of the mattress, back to you, exhaling like it almost hurt to be loved this way again. You curled around him instinctively, your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, your arms wrapping around his waist. He let his head tip forward, hands moving to undo his trousers, fingers working the button, sliding the zip down. Then he pulled off his shirt, slow, deliberate, your breath warm against his skin the whole time. And once he was left in just his boxers, he didn’t wait. He climbed over you, slipping in beside you with care, like he was afraid he’d scare the moment away if he moved too quickly

“Alright, alright. C’mere.” He smiled greedily. And he loved that you didn’t hesitate, your body moved with his, finding him in the dark. Your leg slipped between his, your palm flat to his chest, your nose tucked beneath his jaw like this was muscle memory. Like your body had never forgotten the map of him. And he held you. As close as he could without shattering. Nothing rushed, nothing cruel. Just quiet warmth and deep exhale comfort. Your breath slowed against his neck. 

“Don’t wanna dream without you tonight.” You whispered in the hush of the night. He didn’t answer at first, he couldn’t. Not with the lump in his throat, not with the way you still reached for him like he was home. So he pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled you tighter into his chest, lips grazing your hairline.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.” You turned into him further, automatically, instinctually, pressing your cheek to his bare chest, sighing out like his body was a lullaby. Trent exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes, trying not to lose his grip on the ache blooming in his chest. He shouldn’t want this. But he did. He did so much. You felt like sin in his hands. Soft, fragile sin he could never quite stay away from. And yet you were also the gentlest thing he’d ever known.

“Are you awake?” you whispered against his skin, your voice gauzy with sleep and liquor.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, lips brushing the crown of your head. “You alright, baby?”

“Mmhmm.” You dragged the word out like a kitten stretching. “Your bed’s too comfortable. Not fair.” He smiled against your hair. 

“Nah, no such thing as too comfortable.” You smiled curling against him, holding him a bit tighter. Trent’s heart faltered feeling your lips against his bare skin. “Besides, couldn’t have you waking up sore after falling asleep on me downstairs. Took the risk bringing you up here.” He kissed your head another time. 

“I liked it.” Your lips brushed over his chest again when you said it, so light it barely counted. “You’re warm. You smell good.” You slurred but that made something in him stutter. 

“You smell like tequila and vanilla,” he murmured with a smile. “Can’t lie, it’s a bit dangerous, baby.” You giggled softly, your hand trailing up his ribcage, resting just below his heart. Your nails against his skin had goosebumps raising. He held your waist, palm splayed across the small of your back, thumb tracing your spine beneath his shirt. The room was quiet. The duvet heavy and soft. His heartbeat under your cheek steady enough to rock you to sleep. But neither of you wanted to let go of the night just yet. “You looked really beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice low and reverent. Like he was confessing to the moon. 

“You always say that.” You smiled, not opening your eyes. 

“Still true.” He mused. You shifted, moving towards the nape of his neck, angling your mouth to the skin just beneath his jaw, leaving a sleepy kiss there. 

“Missed you,” you whispered. His arm pulled you closer before he could stop himself. 

“Missed you more,” he breathed. But he didn’t say the rest. Didn’t say I still love you. I’ve never stopped. I’d wait forever if you’d just ask me to. Instead, he pressed his lips to your hair again and closed his eyes. Another kiss from you, barely awake now, this one to his collarbone. Your foot slid against his, hooking gently, claiming him again without even knowing it.

“Don’t go anywhere, T,” you murmured, half-asleep on his bare chest, skin to skin, tequila-soft from the night. The room was hush now, save for the faint remnants of people echoing through the walls, like the party didn’t want to let go of you just yet. But he did, his arms wrapped around you, grounding you gently like gravity knew his name.

“Not going anywhere,” he whispered. “Not anywhere away from you.” 

“You sure?” You asked nervously, half asleep, but conscious enough to need to know his answer. Trent inhaled as if there was any other answer beside yes but all he got was just you infiltrating his lungs so he exhaled in sweet surrender. 

“Yeah, c’mere. Come gimme a kiss. Show you how sure I am.” Trent’s palm cradled your cheek, thumb tracing up the slope of your jaw, tilting your face to him like you were something precious, a sculpture he needed to see in full. His touch was reverent. Honest, real and warm. You kissed him, slow, certain, a tether. His lips were soft and sure against yours, full of things he hadn’t said and you were too scared to. Your world spun dizzy around that kiss, every nerve lit up, like your body was remembering something your mind couldn’t admit yet. His hand pressed against your bare back, fingers splayed with aching gentleness, holding you like glass. You melted into him, into the sheets, into the hazy warmth of his mouth moving against yours. Drunk, God, you were so drunk. On the tequila. On him. On the way he looked at you like you were something holy and heavy with meaning. The words clawed at your throat, choking you with their weight. I love you. But all you could do was sigh into his kiss, lashes fluttering shut, the confession stuck in your chest like water in your lungs. Drowning in it. Sweetly. Willingly. You belonged nowhere else but here, in the hush between his breaths, in the cradle of his hands, in the sleepy sanctity of a kiss that felt like a promise. And that’s when you fell for him all over again. After slowly, you both drifted off. Holding each other without saying the things you meant, but speaking them anyway, in quiet touches, barely-there kisses, and hearts pressed close in the dark. A bed like a cloud. A room that felt like a secret. His arms, your anchor. Your body, his prayer. And in the hush before dreams took over, he heard you sigh his name once more, like it still belonged to you. Like maybe, he still did too.

—

The next morning had been soft. Light filtered through his curtains like a secret, the duvet warm around your limbs, your cheek still pressed to his chest long after sleep had faded. It was quiet but not unkind. The silence between you had begun to shift, just slightly. Like something healing, almost imperceptible. He didn’t rush you out. You didn’t rush to go. A few mumbled words, a lazy kiss to his jaw, and then the day moved on. That was last week. Since then, you’d texted a little. Fleeting things. A TikTok here, a dry comment there. Nothing that hinted at anything too close to emotional. Because neither of you wanted to bring up your birthday. The night. The gallery. The kiss. The ache. No, that would require maturity, vulnerability, things that didn’t fit inside the silence you were both stubbornly maintaining. So you ignored it. Pretended everything was fine.

Now you were in Manchester, deep into day two of a Hypebeast shoot, this one with Jordan Mainoo-Hames and Kobbie. They were cheeky and loud and exactly the kind of distraction you needed. Focusing on lighting the two brothers in high fashion looks rather than what was happening in your heart. You posted a quick Instagram story from set: “countdown’s on, wrap in 2 hours 🫡”. You didn’t think anything of it. Just a throwaway post for your close friends. But what you didn’t realize was that Trent had already seen Jordan’s story the day before.

The one of you bent over the monitor, back arched, your top slipping down one arm as you scrolled through the frames on a MacBook. He had teased you about your music taste from across the studio, voice cutting through the story: “Why she always blasting roadman anthems like she tryna summon a ghost of her ex?” You’d laughed. Loud, radiant, devastating.

“Lemme listen to my D-Block in peace!” you’d yelled back, smile wide as you tucked your face into your shoulder. But Trent didn’t feel peace. No, he felt heat. A sour twist in his gut. That was something you said to him in his car. Your thing. The two of you with the windows down, singing over bass. It didn’t matter that it was harmless. Didn’t matter that you were working. Trent was jealous. And now he had a countdown. Two hours ‘til wrap. Two hours untill he reminded you who you were supposed to come home to.

—

The studio had long gone quiet. The last echoes of footsteps and camera clicks had faded hours ago. Everyone else was probably already halfway through their second pint, but you remained where you always did, last woman standing. Cross-legged on the concrete floor, back slightly aching, fingertips stained with dust and the light grease of handling tech all day. Your MacBook was balanced on a makeshift crate beside you, tethered to your hard drive and memory cards, thumbnails flickering across the screen like a quiet film reel. You barely noticed the time. The playlist you'd let run had already looped through three times. D-Block Europe murmured faintly from your speakers, a familiar hum as your eyes flicked across shots; crop, color, reframe, tag. You liked this part. The stillness. The control. The solitude. Until a ping interrupted the silence.

‘Shoot done?’

Your chest pulled tight in that way you hated how much you liked. A warm little curl of something that loosened in your stomach. You responded without thinking too hard.

‘All wrapped but I’m still working. Last standing as per.’

Short. Light. Safe. The kind of message that said you were fine without him. Even if you weren’t. His reply came faster than expected.

‘Can’t have that.’

Your brows pinched in confusion. You stared at your phone for a moment, trying to decode it, until, not ten minutes later, the soft sound of knuckles against steel pulled you out of your haze. A knock. You froze. The front door had been locked. No one should be coming in now. Another knock. Firm. Steady. Familiar. You moved to the side entrance slowly, heart climbing higher with every step, until you swung the door open, and he was there. Trent. Leaning one shoulder against the frame, grey hoodie pulled tight over his broad chest, hair damp from the drizzle outside. In his right hand, slightly sheepish but proud all the same, he held a bunch of flowers. Not overly polished or prim. Just… beautiful. Wild. Like he grabbed whatever made him think of you. Dahlias, baby’s breath, hydrangeas, eucalyptus—soft blushes and whites and gentle greens, stems still dripping from the rain.

“Thought you might need a reason to stop working,” he said, eyes drinking you in. You blinked at him, stunned.

“You brought me flowers?” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his voice was softer when he replied.

“Didn’t feel right showing up empty-handed.” You took them gently from his fingers, your thumbs brushing against his knuckles longer than necessary. They were cool from the air, and so was he but his eyes were warm, that ever-present ache behind them that never seemed to leave since your birthday. The one he hadn’t dared bring up. The one you both had been avoiding like glass on a kitchen floor.

“You’re silly,” you whispered, a shy smile tugging at your mouth. “You didn’t have to…”

“I know,” he said quickly. Then added quieter, “I wanted to.” You exhaled, the smell of the flowers catching in your nose; clean, earthy, sweet.

“I was just editing,” you murmured, stepping aside. “Didn’t even realise the time.” He followed you in without asking, looking around the studio, wires, light stands, your jumper draped over a chair, and a mostly empty cup of cold coffee. You were a mess in the most beautiful way, and it wrecked him. You looked like you. Your legs toned, shimmering under your shorts [ref index] stretching down into your little white socks and trainers, your tank top haphazardly tucked in like you hadn’t tried and yet it was so stupidly sexy. Trent could only shake his head.  

“I saw Jordan’s story yesterday,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck as you set the flowers down in a water jug. “Friend sent it to me. Didn’t like watching you smile like that. Not when I wasn’t the one making you smile.” You turned slowly, heart stammering in your chest.

“So you drove all the way over here…” You raised your brow. Not teasing, genuine.

“Yeah,” he said, standing in front of you now. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” And suddenly, your quiet little edit session turned into something else entirely, the air full of unsaid things, of soaked petals, of him just standing there like he wasn’t the one thing you’d been trying to stop dreaming about for a week.

–

[BRIGHT - Zayn]

The studio had settled into a strange kind of hush, the lights half-dimmed, save for one or two softboxes still glowing like moons overhead. The hum of your hard drive spun quietly as you worked, cross-legged on the cold white floor again, but this time with Trent behind you. You were nestled between his legs, your back against his chest, his arms looped loosely around your middle like muscle memory. Your Mac was balanced across your thighs, the screen casting a cool glow across your face. And Trent, Trent, was making it so fucking hard to concentrate. One of his hands had slipped beneath the hem of your top, fingers resting low on your waist, lazy and proprietary. The other was spread across your thigh, kneading rhythmically, like he couldn’t sit still without touching you. His chin was tucked into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Soft exhales right against your skin, every now and then letting out a small hum, like he couldn’t believe you were real. You tried to keep working. You really did. But then he kissed you. Just below your ear. Once. Soft. You stilled, jaw clenching. He did it again. Slower this time. Lips dragging warm and plush against your skin. Another kiss. Just beneath your jaw now. Your breath caught, head tipping ever so slightly to the side. Offering. You felt his smile against your neck.

“Trent…” But it wasn’t a protest. Not really. It came out more like a warning. Or a prayer. He ignored it. He kept kissing you. Lazy, lingering presses of mouth to skin that made your chest flutter and your core tighten. He kissed up the slope of your neck again, the shell of your ear now, your pulse hammering beneath the surface. And then he whispered it. Voice thick. Low. Honest.

“I got so fucking jealous.” Your breath hitched. You blinked at your screen, but the thumbnail grid had long since gone blurry. “Seeing you like that. Bent over in front of someone else,” he murmured, hand sliding up your thigh. “Didn’t think it would get to me. But it did.” You swallowed, lips parting.

“Baby…” You cautioned him again although the pet name alone showed your hand. 

“I know… I know...” He spoke really saying nothing at all but you were barely listening as you felt him press another kiss, higher now, closer to your jaw. “But you’re supposed to be mine.” Your hands had fallen from the keyboard. You tilted your head, letting him kiss you again. Letting him keep saying the things you’d both left unsaid. Your eyes fluttered closed. “And when you posted that story… saying the countdown was on I don’t know. I needed to see you.” He shifted behind you, turning you in his lap like he couldn’t bear to be without your mouth for more than a second, letting your mac slip from your lap onto the floor. His lips caught yours again, this time firmer, deeper, and your breath hitched against him, arms curling around his neck as you melted further into his body. His hands mapped your waist, slow and reverent, pressing and squeezing as if to remind himself you were really his, and not just a ghost that haunted him. Then he moved, one smooth, sure movement as he gently lay you back onto the cold concrete floor of the studio. The chill shocked your skin, but the moment was too heady to register anything but him. His warmth. His weight. The way his hands bracketed either side of your head as he hovered above you. His gaze raked down your body, chest rising and falling with restraint. Like he was holding himself together by a thread. “Maybe you should leave the cameras on,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, lips brushing your cheek. “You look… unreal.”

“Stop.” You laughed, breathless.

“Nah, so serious,” he said, nipping your jaw softly. “I’d watch that.” He smirked, kissing your collarbone, slow and open-mouthed. You arched beneath him, fingers curling into the hem of his hoodie, dragging it up. He let you, arms lifting, and then it was gone, tossed somewhere across the studio floor, forgotten. Your hands traced the taut muscle of his torso, the lines of him familiar and still somehow new. He made a soft sound when your thumbs skimmed just above his waistband.

“Take it off,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. But he paused. Brushed his nose against yours, forehead resting to yours.

“I don’t want to rush it.” He said, erring on the side of caution but doing nothing about it ultimately.

“I know,” you said, softer. “I don’t either.” And still, you wanted him. You always had. Your top slipped over your head next, his hands pulling it slow, so careful, like he didn’t want to startle the moment. His thumb slipped underneath the clasp of your bra. Then the hook popped, seamless, easy. Then your bra was gone completely and you laid there beneath him, bare in more ways than one. Not taunting. Not performative. Just his. His fingers brushed your sternum, your ribcage, like he was memorizing bone and breath and softness. His voice went quiet.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy,” he said, awe-laced. You could feel his heartbeat, heavy and fast, where your chests almost touched. And then he kissed you again, lower this time, between your breasts, down your stomach, tracing you with his mouth like he wanted to worship every inch. His hands never stopped moving, grounding you, cradling you, stroking you like his touch could undo all the nights you'd cried alone thinking of him. You sat up to strip the rest of your clothes, and before you could reach for his, he beat you to it, trousers undone, shirt tugged over his head, heat and muscle and scent washing over you all at once. He was golden in the low light, shadows playing across his skin like sculpture. Jealousy looked good on him. And then he was crawling back over you, eyes dark and full of something feral and fond all at once.

“I missed you like this,” you whispered, one leg hooked around his hip. He lowered his mouth to your neck, lips dragging upward with a slow, wet trail of kisses.

“Missed you,” he murmured into your pulse. “Every inch. Every night.” And then your bodies met, bare, desperate, electric, moving with a softness that burned. It wasn’t frantic. It was raw. It was emotional. It was everything you’d swallowed down finally rising to the surface in touch, in sound, in surrender. The air was thick between you. His skin, golden and warm, brushed over yours, and it felt like static, like memory, like a promise you hadn’t dared believe in. He captured your lips in a deep, searing kiss that made your toes curl. There was a sweetness to him, the kind that made your chest ache but it was threaded with something filthier, darker. His mouth devoured yours like he’d been starved for you, and you melted into it, the rhythm of it, kiss after kiss, until the world faded out. You hardly noticed his hand slipping between your bodies, sliding your panties aside with practiced ease. His fingers found you soaked, spreading your folds with a slow, deliberate drag that had your hips twitching. A soft, high whine escaped you when he circled your entrance.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and rough in the stillness. “Missed this pussy. So wet f'me.” His thumb dragged up to roll over your clit just as two fingers pushed into you, slow and firm, and you blinked up at him, moaning, your eyes begging without a word. He curled his fingers exactly how you liked, and the look in his eyes shifted, darkened with awe at the way you unraveled under his touch. He’d missed this. All of it. The way you came alive for him. The way your body gave you away before your lips ever could. Every inch of contact sent sparks down your spine and made your stomach twist, made your heart ache in that unbearable, beautiful way. You didn’t need to say it, he could feel it in the way your pussy clenched around his fingers.

“Baby, need you,” you whispered, breath hitching, voice breaking. That was all it took.

“I got you, baby,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours as he dragged his cock through your folds. His other hand cradled your face with such care it nearly broke you. Then he sank into you, slow, deep, like he needed to feel every second of it, like this was sacred. You held onto him, nails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist, your eyes locked on his like they could see straight through to the softest, truest part of him. And he looked back, wide-eyed, reverent, as if you were something holy. This wasn’t just a reunion of bodies. It was a reckoning. A collision of longing and history, of things unsaid and feelings too big to contain. Every inch of him inside you cracked something open. There were no more games. No pretending. Just the breathless, quiet truth finally pouring out, moaned, murmured, gasped between tangled limbs and shaking breaths.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, head tipping back. “Feel so big, baby.” He groaned low in his throat, hips grinding deeper as your walls fluttered around him. The cameras were off, but this, this was the most honest either of you had ever been. He moved slow at first. Purposeful. Each thrust was a long drag of heat and friction and restraint, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you again. His hand gripped your hip, anchoring you to him, while his mouth found your skin, your breast, your shoulder, the edge of your jaw, kissing every place his love had once lived before fear pushed it away. You gripped into his curls and pulled him closer.

“T, look at me,” you breathed. He did. And what you saw there shattered you. His eyes were wide, dark, wrecked, and full of something raw. Something undeniable. Love. He saw the recognition flicker in your eyes before you could hide it. Your lips parted, breath catching, tears blurring your vision. He felt it. Knew it. You loved him back.

“I’ve only ever looked at you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. And you kissed him like that truth made you dizzy. The rhythm of his body quickened, tension winding hot and low in your belly. Each glide of him against your walls made your breath stutter. You arched up, a soft cry catching in your throat, and he groaned like it undid him. His hand slipped beneath your thigh, hooking your leg over his arm to angle deeper, and when he hit that spot, that spot, you broke.

“Right there, I know, baby,” he murmured. “That’s it, hmm?” His other hand slid under the small of your back, pulling you closer, keeping you flush to him. He kissed your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth, like he was stitching himself to you, breath by breath. The tension built unbearably. Your hands clutched at him, desperate, afraid to let go, afraid of what might happen if you did. But he was right there, whispering against your skin, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Ah, fuck. Oh my god, T,” you cried, voice breaking into babbles. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

“Yeah, go on,” he whispered, cock dragging deep. “Cum f’me, baby. Be a good girl.” The pressure inside you snapped. You came hard, body clenching tight, the orgasm silent at first, stolen breath, frozen muscles, legs trembling around him, then a sob of his name spilled from your lips. That did it. His hips stuttered, and with a deep, trembling groan, he followed, spilling into you, forehead pressed to your neck, arms locked around you like he could keep you this close forever. Then came the stillness. The kind that feels sacred. Breathless. Undone in the best way.  But it didn’t last much longer. He rolled over to your side and pulled you into him drowsily. His chest rose and fell as you moved tighter to him, unable to keep away. You wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“I can’t even sleep some nights. I reach for you every night like an idiot.” Trent whispered into your skin, holding you, open and earnest. An admission he didn't know he was goin to say. You swallowed down a whimper. It broke something open in you because he was completely transparent with you. A glass man, shattering for you, again and again. 

 “Trent…” You said softly but he didn’t let you finish. His mouth found yours again, still slow, but deeper now, with more ache behind it. His hands were everywhere and nowhere at once: your thigh, your back, your waist, your face. Gentle, greedy, reverent. Maybe to distract you from what he just said or to confirm it. And you melted. Let him kiss you like that. Let him cradle your face in his palms like he was afraid you'd be the one to shatter. Let him unspool you, thread by golden thread, with every sigh and brush of his lips.

“Missed touching you,” he confessed against your mouth. “Missed how you sound when I do this…” his hand dragged up your thigh again, slow, firm, taunting, coaxing a breathy moan from your throat. You gasped and laughed at once, head tipping back.

“That’s… That’s not fair, baby.” you giggled. 

“You always make the rules up anyway,” he grinned, and kissed the curve of your throat again, right where you were softest. “M’just trying to keep up.” His voice was velvet now. Sleepy and seductive. He tasted like mint and heat and something sweeter, like the beginning of forgiveness. Of coming home.

“I want to stay here,” you whispered, curling into him. And you didn’t mean the studio, you meant with him. He went still at that. One beat. Two. 

“Then stay.” He said quietly but certain. You blinked up at him. “Stay,” he repeated, his hand cradling the back of your head, his voice low but firm. “I don’t care. Just… stay. Like this. With me.” Your heart thudded. And you nodded.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Okay.” And then you were kissing again. Longer this time. Deeper. His arms tightened around you and you felt the moment stretch out—like the room was underwater, like the two of you had slipped between worlds and landed somewhere warmer. Softer. You didn’t care that the night was falling fast outside the studio. You didn’t care that there were conversations waiting, hard ones. This moment wasn’t about logic. It wasn’t about fixing everything. It was about being here. Together. But finally, finally… not alone.

—

The studio was still, save for the hum of one low light left glowing above. You were still curled against him on the white backdrop, skin warm against the faint chill of concrete, a tangle of limbs. Your Mac lay abandoned off to the side. Shoes scattered. Camera lenses glinting like quiet witnesses. Trent’s chest rose steady beneath your cheek, bare and golden with the warmth of leftover exertion. His arm was wrapped loosely around you, fingertips tracing slow circles against your skin like he couldn’t help himself, like still touching you was the only way to believe it had really happened. You giggled into his skin, the sound small and breathless. One of those post-high laughs that bubbled up without warning, disarmed and elated.

“This is so bad, baby” you murmured, a grin spreading against his chest. “Like I cannot believe we just did that… here.” You buried your face against him, embarrassed, the reality of what just transpired settling in. He huffed out a soft chuckle, deep in his throat. 

“Here. On the floor,” he replied, mock-incredulous. “In a studio. With two softboxes pointed directly at my bare arse.” You laughed harder, warmth blooming all over again, in your chest, your cheeks, your belly. He looked down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, smug and fond and still dazed. Like you were his favourite miracle.

“Maybe you had a point. We should’ve kept the camera’s on,” you teased, nudging him gently with your knee. “Could’ve sold it for six figures. Hypebeast After Hours.”  He smirked, all dimple and mischief.

“You tryna monetize me now?” He teased.

“Not you,” you said sweetly. “Just your ass.” Trent tipped his head back and laughed, rich and unguarded, the sound echoing in the empty space. It made your heart ache in that delicious, overwhelming way, the way it only ever did when you remembered this was real. That he was real. Here. Holding you like something precious. The laughter faded, but the warmth stayed. He glanced down at you, thumb brushing gently over your bare hip now, slow and unthinking. 

“You feel different,” he murmured, voice lower, tender. You looked up, your smile softening. 

“Different how?” You asked him, with a tilt of the head. He swallowed. Searched for the words, like they might change everything. 

“Like you’re mine again. Even if it’s just… for right now.” He admitted and your breath caught, not from fear, but from the truth of it. From the knowing that this didn’t feel fleeting. It felt inevitable. It felt like every road had led you here, to this exact floor, this exact day, this exact version of him.

“You’re dumb,” you whispered, nudging him again, and he looked mildly offended until you added, “I never stopped being yours.” He stilled. Just for a moment. Then leaned in, pressing a kiss to your hairline. 

“Say that again.” He hummed. You buried your face back into his chest, flushed and giddy, lips brushing the skin over his heart. 

“I never stopped,” you murmured. He exhaled slowly, fingers tightening on your waist like it physically pained him to hear it. Or maybe because it healed something. Silence settled again, not heavy this time, but warm. Safe. After a while, you reached for the throw and pulled it higher over you both, already sleepy, already sated.

“Next time,” you said, half-delirious, “can we do a bed?”

“Next time?” he echoed, cocking a brow. You cracked one eye open and smirked. 

“Might let you get lucky again, you never know.” His laugh was quiet, but it carried. 

“Yeah, alright then,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Just say when, baby.”

—

[Since I Have A Lover - 6lack]

The moment the studio door clicked shut behind you both, the night air kissed your bare skin with a rush of cool. It shocked a little giggle out of you, your arms hugging your chest on instinct, only for Trent to immediately drop the bags and peel his jumper off himself and wrap it over your shoulders like he’d been waiting to do it all his life. Despite your own being in your bag, he wanted you to have his.

“Didn’t think that one through, did we?” he teased, eyes flicking down your legs, still bare from where he’d all but worshipped them twenty minutes ago. 

“We were a little busy,” you shot back, tugging the jumper tighter around you, his scent still clinging to the collar.  He hummed low, grabbing the strap of your camera bag and slinging it over one shoulder, the flowers he brought you in his other hand.

“Yeah, I suppose I was otherwise occupied,” he said, voice silky and full of implication. You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“You’re not funny. This was so unprofessional.” You retorted. He grinned, all smug and boyish. 

“But I am charming.” He giggled. “And trust me, what we just did was very professional. I take sex with you very seriously.” You reached to smack him, but he caught your hand mid-air, lacing your fingers through his instead like it was the easiest thing in the world. Your steps slowed together as you walked down the street, the city quiet around you, and it felt like the world had shrunk to just this, him, your hand in his, and a night full of possibilities.

“Where’s your car?” you asked, glancing around the sleepy street. He nodded toward the corner, but didn’t speed up. 

“Round there. But I’m enjoying this.” He told you.

“This?” you echoed, a little breathless at how sweetly he looked at you, like he couldn’t not look. He gave your hand a tug and pulled you into him, not rough, just greedy, playful, his free arm wrapping around your waist like gravity had its own opinion. 

“Walking slow. Dragging it out. You, clinging to me like you weren’t just whining my name on the studio floor.” He smirked, devilish and devastatingly gorgeous. 

“Baby” You whined. Your cheeks flamed, covering your face with your hands. 

“What?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, maddeningly soft. “Just saying. You looked good under those lights.” You swatted at him again, which only made him laugh and pull you even closer, nuzzling a kiss to your cheek and then another just below your ear, smug and languid. 

“So so bad,” you mumbled, even as your hand slid into the back pocket of his trousers, possessive without meaning to be.

“Speak for yourself,” he said, turning to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. barely a brush. “Personally, I thought it was fucking amazing. That image of you will stay with me for a long time. I really enjoyed myself.” You bit back a smile.

“Oh I’m sure you did. Showing up at my place of work looking for a quick fuck under the guise of bringing flowers.” You teased him and he just shook his head. 

“Nah, I showed up at your place of work to tell you I missed you. And I’ve been thinking about you.” He said honestly but his lips beginning to curl told you he was about to say more. “And look…” His smile grew, raising a hand for innocence that you knew would be a farce. “You told me to take my clothes off. I know you pretty well and trust me… you enjoyed that.” He said and you felt butterflies swarm your stomach. Completely smitten by him. And he could read it all over your face. There was no denying it. “Mmm? Thought so.” He hummed before kissing you again, properly this time, slow and sticky-sweet, his hand cradling the side of your face, like he couldn’t help but sink into it. You leaned in too, rising on your toes, heat fluttering in your chest like a second heartbeat. When you finally pulled apart, lips flushed and breath short, he rested his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot. “Still buzzing,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” you breathed, dazed. “Me too.” He kissed you again, just because he could. Just because you let him. And when you finally reached the car, he opened the door for you, tossed your bags in the back, then leaned one hand on the roof and the other on your waist like he was reluctant to say goodbye. 

“You driving me home?” You tilted your head.

“‘Course,” he said, cocky, leaning in to kiss the spot just beneath your jaw. “Can’t have my girl walking anywhere after fucking her on the floor. That’d be inconsiderate. You’ll be sore.” Your jaw slacked, swatting him again, laughing so hard you had to grab his shirt for balance. 

“T! Don’t say it like that! That didn’t happen!” You whined. “And wow so considerate of you…” You rolled your eyes but he kissed you mid-laugh, and this one turned into a full-blown grin, both of you tangled up in it, kisses between giggles, touches between breaths, the city spinning quiet around you.

“Definitely did happen.” He whispered. And even when he finally pulled back and rounded the car to the driver’s side, his smile stayed, like it had been stitched into him. Like whatever had broken before had been mended. Thread by thread. Touch by touch. You weren’t just buzzing. You were lit. And he was the spark that started it.

—

The car was quiet when he started it, save for the soft hum of the engine and the even softer hum of a playlist he must’ve put on earlier, low, late-night R&B, the kind with warm bass and honey-slick vocals. Trent adjusted the volume with a flick of his fingers, then glanced at you with a little half-smile like he was already remembering the way your breath had hitched under his hands.

“Seatbelt, please,” he said, voice gentle, fingers tapping the wheel. You clicked it into place, still tugging his jacket tighter around your bare legs, but his eyes flicked over you anyway, slow, amused, a little possessive. Like he was still drinking you in.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you asked, soft laughter laced behind the question. He shrugged, eyes still on the road as he pulled away from the curb. 

“Can’t help it. You look sexy.” He smirked. 

“I feel gross.” You scoffed. “It’s probably sweat.” You dragged your hand down your neck.

“It’s sex,” he corrected, glancing sideways, all grin and glint. “And joy. And a little bit of triumph.” You rolled your eyes, but your smile was spreading like wildfire. 

“Triumph?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” he said, hand resting on the gearshift. “I’ve had dreams about touching you like that. Call it unprofessional, but that wasn’t even just a fantasy, baby, that was a win.”  You laughed out loud at that, head tipping back against the seat, heart pounding from affection now, not nerves. 

“Yeah, I mean it was beyond unprofessional but I guess if I can make your dreams come true then I’m happy to help out.” He reached over to squeeze your thigh at the next red light, broad and warm and confident, his thumb rubbing small circles near your knee. You felt it everywhere. In your chest, your stomach, the soft throb between your legs. His touch was casual, but the tension simmered just beneath it, electric.

“You alright?” he asked, softer now, eyes on you again.

“Yeah. You?” You nodded. He paused like he was actually taking stock, then let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. 

“I’m better than alright. I feel like... I dunno.” His grip on your leg tightened a little. “Like I finally did something right.” Your throat tightened, unexpected emotion rising. He said it so offhandedly, like it wasn’t the most honest thing he’d told you in months. Like he didn’t realise how deeply you felt it too.

“You did. You have. Always have.” You covered his hand with yours. The light turned green, but neither of you moved right away.

“Come back to mine?” he asked quietly, thumb tracing the crease where your fingers met his. “Just to sleep. Just to hold you.” You nodded before he even finished the question. And when he started driving again, the city passing in streaks of gold through the window, you stayed like that, his hand on your thigh, your fingers tangled, the car cocooned in warmth and a shared kind of wonder. You’d had each other before. But this? This felt new. This felt good.

—

The drive back to his stayed quiet and slow, the car bathed in soft shadows and the occasional sweep of amber from passing streetlights. You watched the glow flicker across his face, his profile calm now, the tension that once sat in his jaw noticeably gone. There was no urgency in him. No need to fill the silence. Just a quiet kind of relief radiating from his whole body, like the simple fact that you were here again, beside him, was enough. When he pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine, he didn’t speak, just glanced over at you, eyes soft, then stepped out and came around to your side. The gentle click of the door opening made your chest tighten. He held it open for you, like he always did, and offered his hand as if to say you’re safe now. You took it. The moment your feet hit the ground, you felt it, the stillness in the air. Like everything had paused just for this. Just for you and him. He led the way up to the door, unlocking it with the ease of someone who wasn’t rushing, just ready. He stepped back to let you go in first, and you did, crossing the threshold into the familiar hush of his home.

Inside, everything was dipped in that quiet that only comes after something raw has been laid bare. You toed off your shoes, the soft thud of them against the floor the only sound, and shrugged off his jumper, still warm from your body. It slid from your shoulders and draped across your arm, grounding you in the reality of where you were, back here. Back with him. And he was watching you, not to rush you, not to question you, just taking you in. Like he didn’t need anything else.

“Want tea?” he offered quietly, rubbing the back of his neck, already wandering further into the living room but still offering like an after thought. You shook your head. 

“No. Just you is fine.” You said softly. His eyes cut to yours, warm and soft and stunned in that boyish way he never quite got over when it came to you. He didn’t say anything. Just turned back, closing the space and kissed you once, slow and grateful, before taking your hand and tugging you toward the sofa. You padded after him barefoot until he sank into the sofa like something hollow and you curled in right after him. Like muscle memory. Like instinct. Like you’d always known exactly how to fit yourself around him. The room was dim, only a lamp on in the corner. You curled into each other under a throw, your legs over his lap, his hand tracing idle shapes on your shin. It was quiet, but not empty. Quiet, but full. Like the kind of silence that holds something new. Something safe. He didn’t speak. Just buried his face in your shoulder for a beat too long, exhaling like maybe he’d been holding it in all day. His hand found the back of your shirt. His fingers slipped beneath the hem, resting on your skin, needing to feel you there. You stayed like that. Wrapped in each other, no need for questions or consolations. Just the quiet hum of his house and the steady reminder in your chest that he was yours, even when he didn’t know how to say he needed you. You shifted just enough to look at him, his lashes low, lips parted slightly, the weight of the day still heavy in his shoulders. There was something childlike about him like this. Something raw and unguarded that he rarely let show, even with you. But tonight, he didn’t pretend. And maybe he didn’t want to. Your hand found the back of his neck, thumb brushing the fade of his hair, and he melted into it like it was all he’d been waiting for. His face tucked in closer to your collarbone, nose brushing against your skin.

“I didn’t want to drop you off at your place,” he murmured, voice rough, like it hurt to admit. “I just… I just wanted you to be here.” The words fractured something inside you. Not because they were loud or grand, but because they were simple. Honest. Heavy with everything he didn’t know if he should say out loud, that he was tired of performing, of pretending he didn’t care as much as he did. That maybe this was the only place he ever really felt safe. You pulled him in tighter, fingers tracing shapes along the line of his back. 

“I know, I didn’t want to go home.” You whispered into the shell of his ear. “You don’t have to explain, baby. I’m here.” A pause. His hand drifted up beneath your top again, not out of want but out of need, like he had to ground himself in the feeling of you. Real. Warm. His. And then softer…

“Don’t go.” Your breath caught. He never said things like that. He showed them, in the little ways, bringing you tea without asking, sending songs at 2AM, remembering the way you liked your pasta done, but rarely did he let the words themselves out especially since you hadn’t returned the sentiments.  And now they sat there between you, fragile and trembling and true. You nodded against his hair, the emotion thick in your throat. 

“I wasn’t planning to.” His arms tightened around you at that, and for a moment, the entire world outside ceased to exist. There was only his quiet breathing, your steady heart, and the knowledge that whatever storm he was holding inside, you weren’t going to let him weather it alone. You almost drifted off like that, forehead tucked into his neck, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, until your eyes caught on the corner of the room. A stack of boxes, half-slumped, still sealed with parcel tape but marked in Dianne’s neat, looping handwriting.

LFC Foundation — kit + balls + shirts for signing xx

“Trent…” You blinked.  

“Hmm?” He didn’t even open his eyes.

“You still haven’t signed your mum’s stuff.” His brow furrowed against your temple. 

“Is fine, baby. I’ll do it tomorrow.” He told you casually.

“No, no, no,” you said with a giggle but still firm yet equally fond, sitting up. “You’ll do it now.” You pulled at him. He groaned, head falling back into the cushions. 

“Nah, you’re taking the piss. Just c’mere baby.” He pulled at you to come back but you held your ground with a sure smile. Trent exhaled in defeat, maybe surrender, definitely in love though. “Mum will love you, huh?” He smirked. And you’d be lying if it didn’t feel a little bit like a compliment. You grinned, already standing up. 

“She’ll love me for this.” You hummed.

“She already does,” he mumbled, but he let you pull him up, muttering about how cruel you were. You guided him by the shoulders, pushing him gently down into a chair at the dining table. He flopped dramatically, arms spread. And so he began, shirt after shirt. A sloppy scribbled ‘TAA #66’ again and again.

“Baby. I’m tired. My hand’s gonna fall off.” He complained after shirt twenty or so rolling the pen away from himself this time sure about his defeat. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you said, laughing as you cracked the tape on the next box and pulled out another shirt, then tossing him the pen back. He scribbled his name on the bottom hem with a sigh. “Oooh. Good one, baby.” You leaned over his shoulder, hands draped lazily around his neck, chin hooked just above his ear. 

“Really?” He paused mid-signature.

“Nah. That one’s crap,” you teased, deadpan, making him laugh. He nudged your thigh with his elbow. 

“You’re an actual snake.” You hummed against his cheek. 

“Oh, poor you. Sign the little boy’s shirt, superstar.” He glanced up at you, eyes narrowing. 

“What do I get for each one?” You raised a brow. 

“Excuse me?” You asked, fighting a giggle. He only smirked. 

“One kiss per signature. It’s only fair.” He explained. You clicked your tongue. 

“Bit cheeky, aren’t you?” You teased.

“Forcing my hand here, aren’t you? I’m just asking for some fair compensation.” He laughed cheekily. Childish and adorable. Like he knew he’d get exactly what he wanted. Your chest pulled tight in that way it always did around him. But you didn’t run from it this time. You leaned in, pressed a kiss just behind his ear because you’d do anything for him. Even as silly as this because you were unequivocally in love with him. 

“Right, because you need more compensation. They’re low balling you with that £180k a week, huh?” You mocked him. He shook his head at your tease. “Alright, fine.” You murmured. “A kiss per signature.” His grin was boyish. Smug. But it softened quickly when you moved to sit down sideways in his lap, your legs over his, arms looped around his neck. The box of shirts in front of you both. The pen still in his hand. You passed him the next one.  “Sign, please.” He signed, and you kissed his cheek. Again. Again. A slow rhythm building, shirts passed, signatures scrawled, your mouth to his skin, your bodies pressed too close for people who weren’t completely, irrevocably in love. Eventually, his hand slowed. His arm came around your waist, squeezing you a little tighter. 

“This is domestic as hell.” He smirked. 

“Mmhmm.” You hummed giving him a kiss, no strings attached. 

“I like it.” He told you. You kissed him behind the jaw. 

“I know.” You purred. And you stayed there like that, warm, intertwined, two people quietly learning how to belong to each other again. Even in the ordinary. Even in the mundane. Because it was never just about the kiss or the touch. It was this. You. Him. Home.

—

Morning bled in soft and slow. The kind of light that filtered through linen curtains in golden ribbons, warm against the sheets but not quite enough to pull you from sleep. Not yet. Trent stirred beside you first, you felt it in the shift of the mattress, the quiet exhale against your shoulder as he pressed closer. His hand found your waist beneath the covers, curling instinctively around you, palm broad and grounding. Like he couldn’t help it. Like even in sleep, his body remembered yours. You were sore in the way that made you ache with something deeper than just the physical. Last night hadn’t been frantic, it had been slow. Reverent. All hands and murmurs and mouths that moved like prayers. His body on yours like he’d been waiting his whole life to earn the right to worship you, not ruin you. And he had. Worshipped you, you mean. With every kiss that mapped your skin. With every breathless ‘C’mere,’ when you tried to hide your face. With every moment he held your gaze while he was inside you, eyes dark, jaw tight, like he was breaking and building something all at once. You shifted now, back pressing into his chest, your legs tangling without thought. His hand drifted lower. Lazy, aimless but cheeky as always. 

“Stop trying to pretend you’re not awake.” You hummed. He groaned softly against your neck, lips brushing sleep-warm skin. 

“Was gonna let you keep dreaming.” His lips curled against you. Warm and full. Perfect too.

“I wasn’t dreaming.” You whispered tiredly, but laced with infatuation. 

“You were smiling.” He nuzzled closer. You turned slightly in his arms, and he tilted his head up just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were hazy and soft, rimmed in gold from the morning sun.

“Didn’t think I could feel like this,” you whispered, voice still thick from sleep. He didn’t answer. Not with words. Just leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that came with urgency. It didn’t ask. It just gave. A slow press of lips to yours, his hand trailing up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. Your body melted into his, bare and already so familiar, and when he pulled back, just barely, your foreheads met like they always seemed to now. You stayed there, suspended in that syrupy quiet. Until his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

“If you have a workout to do right now…” You groaned. The mere thought of Trent leaving the bed right now made you upset.

“I don’t,” he mumbled, reaching lazily over you for it, squinting at the screen. “It’s my mum.” You laughed into the pillow. 

“Oh good.” You teased, embarrassed you were naked in his bed even if it was only a text. He chuckled, thumbs tapping. Then paused. Then he groaned.

“What?” you asked, rolling slightly to face him again. “What’d she say?” He hesitated.

“Nothing.” He was quick to respond. You narrowed your eyes.

“No, what'd she say?” You asked shifting towards him more, nosy.  He sighed dramatically, holding out the phone like it burned.

“She said — and I quote — 'I knew she was good for you. Need someone like her in your life. Prettier than she is sweet and that’s saying something, hun.” He rolled his eyes facetiously. 

“She’s not wrong.” You let out a giggle, curling into him, squeezing your arms around his waist playfully. 

“Oh really?” He said, eyes narrowing playfully as he tossed the phone back onto the nightstand. “So you agree?”

“I didn’t say that...” You batted back propping your chin on his bare chest, tilting your head up to look at him smugly. 

“You did.” He countered, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“I said she’s not wrong.” You laughed just as he rolled you beneath him in one smooth motion, sheets tangled between your legs, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way. His voice dropped, low and honeyed, as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone.

“You think you’re pretty?” he asked, teasing, but there was something else buried beneath it. A quiet need. You softened immediately. 

“Baby,” you purred. But he just kept kissing down your body, each word warm and muffled against your skin.

“Too pretty. Too sexy” His lips trailed the slope of your breast, the dip between your ribs. “Softest thing I’ve ever touched…” Lower now, his breath tickled your stomach. Your fingers found his curls, gentle. “You’ve no idea what you do to me…” He kissed your hipbone, then looked up, eyes dark and aching. “No one’s ever made me feel like this,” he said, voice low and reverent. “Like I’d burn the whole world down just to stay right here.” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. You just pulled him back up to you and kissed him again, slow, sweet, deep, as if to say: Me too.

–

[Everything - Kehlani]

The late morning light wrapped the room in a soft, golden haze, the scent of coffee  in the air sneaking up to his bedroom. Trent had slipped out of bed before you, you could hear him moving around the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans the only sound breaking the peaceful quiet. You stretched lazily, arms above your head, and the remnants of sleep still clung to you. The room smelled like him, something earthy and warm, a mix of cologne and soap and something undeniably Trent. You let out a small sigh, still half-dreaming, before pushing yourself up to sit against the pillows, your legs curling beneath the sheets before eventually willing yourself out of the dream that was his bed. You made your way downstairs and when you padded towards the kitchen, you could see him, his bare back to you, muscles shifting as he stirred something in a pan. The sunlight hit him just right, casting shadows along his defined shoulders. He’d made a half assed effort to bring a shirt with him. The way it was lazily thrown over his shoulder made you smile, and you couldn’t help but stare. The shirt, not even in use, was practically begging to be pulled off him completely.  You tilted your head, watching as his movements became a little more exaggerated, the way he made sure you could see him. The back of his neck shimmered either from the heat of the stove or a shower. The playful smirk on his lips wasn’t lost on you, though, he knew you were watching.

“Don’t burn the bacon,” you teased, purposefully ignoring his show, voice dry from sleep. He shot you a cheeky grin over his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You laughed softly coming into the room, letting the cool morning air kiss your bare skin as you crossed the room, coming up behind him. The soft hum of the kitchen light and the sizzle of something vaguely resembling breakfast filled the air, but the most prominent sound was the easy rhythm of you two moving together. The morning had been lazy, wrapped in warmth, but more than that, it was familiar, so familiar that you didn’t have to think about it. It was second nature. Trent was standing at the stove, fumbling with the spatula in a way that made you smile. He had somehow managed to get a few eggs into the pan, but the way the yolks were splattered over the sides of the pan told you this wasn’t his strong suit. But you already knew that. You stepped up behind him, pulling the useless shirt off of him, placing it on the countertop before slipping your arms around his waist, the warmth of his skin instantly comforting. Your hands slid across his chest then moved them down to his abs, pressing yourself against his back. His body tensed for a moment before relaxing under the weight of you, leaning back into you.

“What are you making?” you murmured. “This isn’t your usual breakfast routine,” you teased, lips brushing against the back of his neck. He shot you a cheeky grin, his hands reaching behind himself, resting on the curve of your back, pulling you tighter against him. 

“Your favourite,” he teased, his voice low and a little gruff. “Or… well, your second favourite. First one’s... you know, me.” You bit back a smile, the warmth of his body against yours making it hard to focus. You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin as your hands slid towards the pan in front of him. His fingers brushed yours as you took the spatula from him, and you hummed in approval as he let you take over stirring the eggs. “And it could be my routine for you.” He added with a cheeky tone, but it was laced with something so sincere. You weren’t awake enough to really process the offer. Did it mean something more, or was it just a passing flirty comment? You didn’t know so you responded on par with his cheek. 

“Is this your way of bribing me into staying a little longer?” you asked, your voice playfully mocking. He grinned, the hint of a challenge lighting his eyes. 

“I’m just trying to be nice to the woman I’m making breakfast for.” His hands splayed a bit wider across your back, keeping you close.  “Wouldn’t want her to go hungry.” He added. You smiled softly, your gaze flicking up to his face, still so close to your own. His hand, still warm and calloused from football workouts, but softened by £80 lotion, slid up your spine, pulling the shirt you’d nicked from him up to settle on the small of your bare back. You purred as you leaned further into him, your lips finding his shoulder.

“Mmm lucky me.” You hummed, but you weren’t talking about the food. But when you heard a sizzle you peered around him. “You’re doing a wonderful job… and by ‘wonderful’ I mean, slightly burnt.” You teased, inspecting the pan.

“I didn’t burn it,” he countered, turning his head to look at you, his nose brushing your temple. “It’s just... extra crispy.” You laughed quietly, a sweet, private sound, gently taking real control of the eggs. 

“Is it?” You giggled. “How about we just shoot for crispy. Leave the extra out.” He rolled his eyes but the help was more than welcome. “Baby,” you said quietly, humor dropping immediately, as you pressed your cheek to his back, your hands in front of him, tending to the eggs you couldn’t see, “this feels... really nice.”

“Yeah? Just wait until you taste my ‘wonderful’ brekkie” He chuckled softly, tilting his head back to kiss your hair. You laughed softly as you nuzzled your nose against his skin.

“T… you’re not exactly a chef. Stick to what you know.” His hands stayed on your waist, fingers lightly squeezing in retaliation, as you stood close behind him, guiding the spatula and gently moving the eggs around without thought. His body was a comforting presence against yours, and the natural sway of his movements made it feel like you’d been cooking together for years.

“Eh, you’ll see,” he whispered, cocking his head back to kiss you again, the scent of coffee and his cologne intoxicating as he pressed you against him, his body still warm from the stove. You couldn’t help but smile. 

“Does this feel good to you?” you murmured softly, your lips near his ear as your hands moved in front of him, as if they were his, still aimlessly pushing the eggs around. “The eggs, I mean. Does it feel good?” His chuckle rumbled low in his chest. 

“Baby, it feels really fucking good.” He said, voice thick with the teasing warmth of morning. “And I don’t mean the eggs. I forgot we were even still making them.” You grinned, lifting your chin to press a soft kiss to his jaw, the touch lingering, full of something soft and familiar. Your fingers moved the spatula with ease, working like you had all the time in the world, the delicate rhythm of your movements syncing without even thinking. You leaned forward a little further, trying to angle your head to get a better look at the eggs, but all that did was press your body more firmly against his, the heat from him sending a flutter through you. His breath came out in a soft laugh when his abdomen hit the edge of the counter, forcing him to stand a little straighter.

“Are you sure I can’t help you? I feel kind of useless.” He said, his hand sliding down your waist before letting go, his arms returning to be in front of himself, but his fingers were quick to find you again, tracing the skin of your wrist before he squeezed lightly.

“Yeah, very sure,” you replied with a smile, enjoying the closeness more than the cooking itself. “This is my kitchen now.” Trent grinned, his eyes flicking over to the pan, watching your hands  for a moment move with ease without even being able to see all that well as he stood in front of you. But he didn’t mind this, not one bit, so his hands slid back to your waist again, fingertips pressing into your sides. 

“Alright. Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “You can have the eggs. But what about everything else?” He glanced over his shoulder at you, his back to your chest, your warmth wrapping around him as his hands shifted to rest on your hips. 

“Everything else?” You asked. He turned to look at you, awkwardly craning his neck.

“The rest of the breakfast,” he said, voice a little lower now. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “I’m just saying, you’re lucky I don’t burn the rest of this.” You leaned your head back onto him, giving a soft laugh. 

“Burn it, and we won’t have much to eat” you murmured as your lips grazed his skin again. And you thought you caught a cheeky glimmer in his eye after your response but you weren’t sure why so you left it. The conversation drifted into comfortable silence as you continued moving around the kitchen, bodies touching seamlessly, his hands never leaving your sides, the feel of his breath on your skin reminding you of just how simple it all was. He wasn’t perfect at cooking.  You didn’t want him to be. He didn’t care to be. But it didn’t matter. Because this, this, was effortless. And so finally after more kisses than cooking, breakfast was made. You shifted slightly, getting lost in the moment of feeding him bits of the scrambled eggs, each touch becoming softer, closer, like time had slowed just for you both. And when the plates began to empty, you turned to face him fully, your hands sliding up his chest, draping around his neck,  just to really look at him, to be with him, to be close to him. Close in that unspoken way that had become second nature. He smiled at you, something soft and full of meaning behind his eyes, but no words were needed. It was there. It had been for a long time now. 

—-

The late morning light filtered in through the large window panes leading out to his back garden, slanting golden and soft across the kitchen table, wrapping everything in a warmth that felt almost borrowed from a dream. You were barefoot, Trent in slippers of course, but both of you still dressed in the quietness of sleep, the stillness of a morning that didn’t require rushing. The breakfast you’d made together sat half-finished between you, eggs slightly overdone, toast gone cold, but perfect in its own way. Trent sat beside you, legs stretched out under the table, one hand lazily trailing up and down your thigh like he couldn’t not touch you, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Your plate scraped gently as you pushed it forward, full from the food but even fuller from the domestic ease of it all,  the shared glances, the teasing over who made a better breakfast, the way you’d stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist while your hands guided his at the stove. It had all felt natural. Thoughtless. Like breathing. Then, the doorbell rang. Your brow furrowed slightly, head tilting toward the sound. 

“Are you expecting someone?” You asked but Trent only smiled, that quiet, secret kind of smile that made your stomach dip.

“Just stay right there f’me.” He kissed your temple before standing, disappearing down the corridor with the kind of calm assurance that told you he wasn’t surprised. You heard the soft click of the door, the shuffle of movement, and then he was back, slippers padding on the tiled floor, curls slightly mussed, carrying a pristine white pastry box wrapped in a soft tan-colored ribbon. He placed it gently in front of you on the table. You looked from the box to him, suspicion curling into your grin. 

“What is this?” You asked hesitantly, but without even opening it, completely smitten. 

“I stuck to what I know,” he said easily, sinking back into the chair beside you, that boyish mischief dancing in his voice. He was mocking what you said earlier, but you’d hand it to him. What he did know, he did it well. Still, you raised a brow, fingers beginning to tug at the ribbon, undoing it slowly like you knew it would make him squirm. The lid came off with a soft sigh, and your breath caught. Inside: six perfect donuts, each one glazed or dusted, some sprinkled in flecks of gold, one with delicate rose petals curled at the edges. All of them looked completely unnecessary. And completely perfect.

“T… These are so beautiful. Like I know they’re food but wow…” Your voice breathy and full of affection. Your brows lifted and you unsuccessfully tried to fight off a pout. He nudged your knee with his, scooting a little closer whilst reaching for your chair to tug it closer to his. 

“They’re champagne donuts.” He said meekly, like he was worried, maybe this was all silly. You looked up at him, startled by the tenderness in his voice. It wasn’t about the donuts. Not really. “I know it’s not a London hotel,” he said, voice quieter now, almost unsure. “With 2am truffle chips and Dom being popped. But it’s still morning. Still… you and me. And I thought maybe…” He trailed off. His hand was on your leg, but his eyes flicked away, unsure. Embarrassed. You turned fully toward him, your heart doing that gentle ache, the one that only happened when he got shy in the midst of loving you. His brows furrowed faintly. “Sorry. Maybe it’s a bit dumb. I just…” He exhaled. “I thought you might like…” Your expression softening as his words slowed.

“Trent,” you whispered, reaching for him before he could talk himself down further. You smiled, shaking your head, giggling softly, slipping from your chair to his lap, arms curling around his shoulders as your knees bracketed his thighs  His hands found your waist instantly, like he’d been waiting. You leaned in, letting your nose brush his, eyes glinting. “It’s not dumb.” A smile tugged at your lips, soft and sure. “Thank you, baby...” You whispered. He looked at you then, really looked, and in his eyes was something deep and glimmering. Something ancient and boyish and terrified all at once. 

“Yeah?” He blinked. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, brushing your lips across his cheek. And then you added, with a playful lilt that masked the sincerity beneath it, “Maybe champagne and donuts can be part of our breakfast routine at home.” At home. The word echoed somewhere in his chest, reverberated through his ribcage like a secret he hadn’t dared say aloud. You weren’t just here. You belonged. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned forward, pressing his lips softly beneath your jaw, a kiss full of reverence.

“Will you try one with me?” he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, soft as the morning sun bleeding through the windows. You nodded, lips curving, a smile stitched together by emotion you wouldn’t dare let fall, not over a donut, not over this, not now. He reached into the box, selecting the one dusted in gold like it had been dipped in daylight. His fingers broke off a piece with reverence, careful, like he didn’t want to ruin its shape. But his eyes never left yours. Not once. He held it up between you, waiting.

“No games this time, though,” you whispered, teasing, but your voice wavered, too wrapped in memory to fully play. His lips quirked. But he didn’t laugh. He only shook his head, voice low and sure. 

“No games, baby.” And something about the way he said it, like a vow stitched between heartbeats, made you feel a little bit drunk. Dizzy, but soft with it. And it wasn’t the champagne in the donut. It wasn’t even the sugar. It was the memory of London, of two A.M. on a hotel bed, truffle chips balanced on crisp white sheets, his bare chest rising with quiet laughter as he tossed one your way and dared you to catch it with your mouth. You did, barely. He kissed you like you were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. That was the last time you played a game and neither of you wanted to anymore. It wasn’t the donuts, you both knew you were talking about something bigger. No more games. So you leaned in, slow, languid, like time was on your side. You kissed his wrist first, featherlight, then the back of his hand. He stilled. Breath hitched. Then you kissed the tip of his finger before taking the piece from him with your lips, your eyes never breaking from his. It wasn’t just a bite. It was an answer.

“I like the idea of champagne and donuts being our thing,” you murmured, your voice wrapped in something warm, half sugar, half something deeper. “Chips for hotels… donuts for home.” He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes soft and searching, like you’d cracked something open inside him with that one word again. Home. His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in a quiet caress.

“Yeah,” he said at last, voice low and certain. “I’m okay with that. Donuts for home.” And in the silence that followed, he just… looked at you. Like he was falling in love all over again, and he knew he couldn't ever not. You smiled through it, nodding. “They good?” he asked, watching the way you chewed with a quiet kind of awe. 

“Yeah, try, baby,” You turned to pick up another piece to offer him, but when you looked back, he was already close, leaning in with that look that said everything before his lips even touched yours. He kissed you slow, reverent. Like I love you. Like I’m here. Like you’re it. When he pulled back, his voice was a soft hum against your mouth.

“Perfect.” And all you could do was smile, because somehow, this boy had turned morning and powdered sugar into something that felt like forever. You both knew. The game was over. And neither of you wanted to play anymore. And in the quiet hum of the kitchen, with sugared fingers and tangled knees and the scent of champagne glaze in the air, you tasted sweetness that had nothing to do with pastry. It was him. It was you. It was home.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 22 - Real

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[inanewmoon]

Rivals’ Kiss - The fujoshi!Ranma AU is here!

Ranma stumbles into a completely different friendship in junior high. Ranma’s new best friend Makoto is a regular girl with an unorthodox vision. Ranma’s curiosity, mischievousness and determination leads to a wholesale adoption of Makoto’s favorite hobby - and together they are completely unstoppable!

Even if Makoto isn’t there when Ranma steals the first piece of bread from Ryoga’s grasp, she recognizes that Ranma has also stolen a piece of Ryoga’s heart at the same time! Therefore, it is a sacred duty of Ranma and Makoto to team up and give the lost boy’s heart exactly what it wants! Even if Ryoga hasn’t found the truth himself.

The plan for Rivals-to-Romance hits a few snags along the way. Ryoga is a little bit too oblivious. Makoto is a little too excited. Ranma… forever remains a mess of contradictions. The heart beating in Ranma’s chest might just not belong to a boy - and that means the whole plan is a wash… or needs someone else with a boy’s heart to step in. Prologue and Part I are up now. Read here:

Artwork by @beedokart 💙 If you're wondering just who this Makoto OC is... she's totally a manga character. Look:

Here she is, all excited about the two pretty boy rivals!

No, manga doesn't give her a name.

Yeah, I know, Makoto, it's horrible. I've been told the name Makoto comes from voiced background character lists in the old anime, but I basically took her idea from en_passant and ThrashJazz. So in that sense, she's an ascended extra with a gimmic. Of course I exaggerated it all a little, and drew her into the spotlight together with Ranma. I've been using this reaction image for any boy/boy RanRyo content for almost the whole month, and people haven't thrown me out of the discords I do it in, so feel free to use it too:

bonus points for @beedok for making it look so her hand is waving excitedly when we zoom out, by the strategically placed branches!

💙💙💙 Hope you enjoy! 💙

[ssr-archives]

We Know Her Value

Celebrating Ten Years of Agent Carter

In January 2015, Peggy Carter did something no other female Marvel characters have done at the time: headlining her own show. She strutted onto our screens, knocked out some bad guys with a stapler, and told us to call her “agent”.

In the years since, Peggy, her friends, and the fandom have gone through a lot. We’ve seen the show get cancelled, and Peggy returning, Jarvis returning, Daniel Sousa returning. We tried to #SaveAgentCarter, we held fic exchanges, we cosplayed and Disneybounded, and we created zines. Despite the show’s premature end, these characters stayed in our hearts, and we made sure no one could forget them.

Agent Carter will turn 10 in January 2025. To mark this milestone, I am super excited to collaborate with @peggynet to launch We Know Her Value: Celebrating Ten Years of Agent Carter. Starting from 6th January 2025, the anniversary of the show’s premiere, we will be hosting ten themed days to celebrate ten years of our favourite show. You can join by picking a theme, making a post on that theme, and post it on the theme day. Tag me (@ssrarchives) or @peggynet, and add the tag #AgentCarterTurns10. Your works can be as simple or as elaborate as you like!

I can’t wait to celebrate this momentous anniversary with all of you! Under ‘Read More’, you will find the themes for the ten different days. Hope to see you all then! And if you have any questions, just drop me a line in the ask box or the DMs. 

Day 1: Favourite Character

The show has presented us with a whole host of amazing characters, from Peggy to lab rats and background agents. So…who is your favourite?

Day 2: Favourite Episode

Agent Carter packed a lot into 18 episodes: fights, spy shenanigans, musical numbers, engagements, kisses. Which episode is your favourite? 

Day 3: Favourite Ship

We cannot talk about Agent Carter without talking about the ships, especially not when the cast happily fanned our fandom flames. Whether you are headcanoning any two or three to be passionately involved, or you have the one true friendship that does it for you, what is your favourite relationship on the show? 

Day 4: Favourite Scene/Arc

From Peggy threatening a fellow diner with a fork, to Daniel flopping his five-episode relationship, Agent Carter packed many interesting scenes and arcs into the overall spy shenanigans. Do any of these scenes or arcs stand out to you? 

Day 5: Favourite Cast/Crew Moment

Time to look behind the scenes! Once the episodes were over, the cast and crew kept the party going, from the Stark Jar to on-set pranks to the legendary Dubsmash War. Do you have a favourite cast/crew moment? 

Day 6: Into the Multiverse

Even though the show was cancelled in 2016, that was not the last we saw of Peggy and her team. Peggy herself returned over and over again, eventually becoming one of the few mortals privy to the knowledge of Loki and the Sacred Timeline tree. Jarvis returned in Avengers: Endgame, becoming the first Marvel character to debut on TV and move on to a movie appearance. Even Daniel made a return in Agents of SHIELD Season 7. Which of these cameos were your favourite? Who do you want to see in future MCU projects?

Day 7: Containment Breach

There is a life for everyone outside of murder gases and space goop. Since the end of Agent Carter, the cast and crew continue to entertain us with excellent projects. From Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning to Resident Alien to The Merry Gentlemen, we have definitely not seen the last of our favourite agents. Have you watched any of these? Do you have a favourite? Do they inspire any AUs? 

Day 8: Favourite Fanfic

What is Agent Carter without its fandom? From SSR Confidential to Agent Carter Zine, from fandom-defining multi-chapter behemoths to short and sweet ficlets, the fic writers have not been resting at all. This is your chance to shout out your favourite fics!

Day 9: Favourite Fanart

Artists we haven’t forgotten you! The Agent Carter fandom is home to many talented artists who have graced our dashboards with everything from sketches to whole comics. Let’s share our appreciation by naming our favourite fanart/artist! (Please do not repost artwork unless you have consent from the artists. Otherwise, please reblog or link to the original artwork. Let’s make sure that the artists get the notes and credits they deserve.)

Day 10: Free Day

There is way more going on in the Agent Carter show and fandom for us to cover in one week, so like the title says, take this day to highlight whatever you want! The show’s costume and makeup? Meta writers? Peggy cosplays and Disneybounds? As long as it is Agent Carter-related, you can post about it!

[galedekarios]

what was i after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands?

out of all the little glimpses into our companions' lives after the game events, i think i like this bit about shadowheart and gale, and the friendship they've seemingly retained after the game's events, the most:

Player: Tell me what you've been up to. Shadowheart: Wandering, mostly. The adventuring life is almost a tonic when you're not constantly threatened by brain monsters and cultists. I can finally see the world beyond the Cloister. Player: I thought you might crave a little peace and quiet, after all that happened. Shadowheart: Peace and quiet will still be there waiting once I've lived a little. Though don't get me wrong - I've got a little cottage with a garden and animals in mind already. Shadowheart: One of my first stops was the House of the Moon, in Waterdeep. It's the largest temple of Selûne in existence. Shadowheart: It seemed like the perfect spot to reflect on my parents, on where they came from - and where I came from too, I suppose. Shadowheart: Hard to imagine, isn't it? Me, of all people, in the lair of the 'Moon Witch' herself. Gods, your truest act of heroism was putting up with all that Sharran drivel I was spouting for so long. Player: Waterdeep you say? Did you bump into Gale? Shadowheart: We had tea on his balcony - Tara even deigned to sit on my lap for a while. You know, I think entire forests must have been felled to quench that man's thirst for books. Shadowheart: He seems to be doing well. In his element.

it's one of the few (if not the only) instance we have of companions keeping in touch with each other after the game ends and i love this for both for shadowheart and for gale.

both of their stories remind me of gale's early access line "what was i after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands?" and i think they can understand and emphasise what the other went through before and during the game's events in ways the others simply cannot with the added layer of their abuser being a deity and their patron deity.

one taken from her family as a child, indoctrinated, weaponised and isolated, trying to take everything from her, but unable to erase the goodness of her heart. the other contacted by a god's chosen as a child, the very thing he loved for as long as he remembers governed and represented by her, the goddes who was first a mentor, then a teacher and finally a lover.

Shadowheart: Poor Gale. I hope he knows that a goddess abandoning him needn't be the end - I know from experience.

Gale: Poor Shadowheart. The gods are nothing if not vincdictive in their vengeance. devnote: Sympathetic - Gale feels the gods have also punished him

the idea of them helping each other, supporting each other to take another step towards healing old and new wounds through their shared understanding, is something i like a lot.

on a lighter note:

we know that gale values those he calls friends immensely and shadowheart does, despite her aloofness, crave connection, (re-)discovering who she is and what makes her her.

i like to imagine them sharing not only tea, but a glass of wine:

Gale: Sembian wine, Cormyrian ball, Waterdhavian conversation. It's the little things you miss while on the road. - Shadowheart: So Gale just consumes magical items like I do wine?

perhaps sharing the latest chapbook with her since he likely overheard wyll and shadowheart talking about 'the salty mermaid':

A chapbook was a short book which could contain about any content, from political opinions to crafting guides. In Waterdeep, chapbooks often contained memoirs or romantic stories. [x]

(thank you for reading my gale + shadowheart friendship propaganda post! 🖤)

[beautification-tales]

The Wereslut part 2

A tale of periodic transformations

"Come on, Ginge, you've got to check this out!" exclaimed Brigitte, her eyes glued to the screen as a group of pirates fought with exaggerated flailing and yells.

Ginger rolled her eyes, the scent of popcorn and the warm glow of the TV the only comfort in the otherwise cold apartment. She knew full well what was going to happen next, having watched the episode a hundred times with her best friend. But she couldn't help the smile that crept onto her lips as she leaned in closer, the anticipation of their favorite scene building.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the dramatic music and the clanging of swords like a knife. Brigitte's enthusiastic "Who could it be?" was met with Ginger's knowing look. It was Sam, the neighbor who had a knack for interrupting their Friday night marathons.

Sam waltzed in, his cheeky grin lighting up the room. "Looks like the weebs are at it again," he said, tossing a bag of chips onto the coffee table. He was tall and muscular, a stark contrast to Brigitte's plush figure. His teasing was all in good fun, though, and the girls had grown used to his playful banter.

“Babe I told you tonight it’s girls night ok?” Ginger called out as Sam sailed through the doorway, a playful scowl etched on her face. She knew he was joking, but she couldn’t help feeling a little annoyed. “I just miss you babe.” Sam said with a shrug, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He knew that Ginger’s friendship with Brigitte was sacred, almost a religion in itself, and interrupting was like walking into a church mid-mass. But his curiosity always got the better of him.

“You are so lucky you are cute.” Ginger replied, approaching her tall boyfriend. She got on her tiptoes and pouted. Sam bent down and kissed her lips. “But seriously, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She glanced back at the TV, where the climax of the battle was reaching its peak. “Dinner and FullMetal Alchemist Brotherhood right?” Sam asked with a hopeful smile. Ginger nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen. “It’s a date.”

With a dramatic sigh, Sam kissed her on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.” He turned to leave, waving at the screen. “Take care of the Straw Hats for me!” he called over his shoulder, his laugh echoing down the hall. Brigitte turned to her best friend. “You didn’t have to make him leave you know.”

“I know, but we need our time, bestie,” Ginger said, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in her mouth. “Besides, you know how he gets when he watches with me. After two episodes…. There isn’t much watching.” Ginger giggled at the thought of Sam's inability to sit through their anime binges without trying to have sex with her.

Brigitte nodded, her cheeks reddening slightly. “I totally get it. You guys have that kind of relationship. But, you know, I wish I had someone who was like that with me.” She playfully elbowed Ginger's side, causing her to spill some popcorn on her shirt.

“But seriously how did things change between you two? A few months ago you were crushing on him. Now he can’t get enough of you.” Ginger threw another piece of popcorn at Brigitte, who caught it with a grin. “What can I say, the universe finally realized I’m irresistible.”

“Come on you know I know you better than that. Remember Frank? You were a nervous wreck around him and he’s not even close to how hot Sam is. So what is the secret? Are you a witch now?” Brigitte said, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Huh? What? No! Me?” Ginger stuttered, her cheeks flushing. She paused the episode, turning to face Brigitte. “It’s just that Sam’s really into me, you know? And I figured out what makes him happy. That’s all there is to it.”

“I was joking but now I know you’re hiding something.” Brigitte said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Ginger felt a knot in her stomach, realizing she might have said too much. She also felt her burn mark ache as it typically does on the full moon. It was a secret she hadn’t shared with anyone, not even her best friend.

Ginger looked at her friend. She knew lying would be impossible as Brigitte was practically like a sister. Plus, she had always been terrible at keeping secrets. She took a deep breath and decided to tell part of the truth. “Ok a few months back. Sam came over to talk and we had sex… but like animals. It was like I was someone else that night.”

Brigitte’s eyes widened. “Oh my god Ginge, you gotta give me the details! What happened?” Her voice was a mix of excitement and shock. Ginger felt a thrill run through her as she remembered the night she had transformed for the first time.

“It was just... intense. Sam was being sweet like always and… I couldn’t help myself. I just let my instincts take over and next thing I know, we’re tearing into each other like it’s the last night on earth.” Ginger paused, her eyes glazed over with the memory. The burn mark on her hand began to throb faintly.

“Wow, that’s so not like you. It’s about time you got some though. At least one of us anyway.” Brigitte said, popping another piece of popcorn in her mouth. The crunch was loud in the suddenly tense silence. Ginger inhaled hard as her senses heightened in the moment. Her heart beating so fast as she massaged the mark on her hand. “You just need something to bring out the slut in you.” Ginger said licking her lips.

Ginger’s mind raced as she felt a familiar tingle throughout her body. It wasn’t a full moon tonight but the beginning feeling of pain and pleasure grew stronger. “You know what? Maybe we should call it an early night.” She said, trying to change the subject. “Oh no you don’t! You finally spill the beans and talk about being a slut” Brigitte shook her head knowing something was up with her friend. “I fucking knew you had something up your sleeve. How did you do it? Lingerie? You’ve been practicing BJ’s on bananas? Spill!”

“Mmmm all of the above and more.” Ginger said, her voice trailing off. The burn on her hand was now a constant pulse, a gentle reminder of the power that lay dormant within her. Ginger’s nails began to grow longer and sharper, a hint of the transformation that was slowly taking over. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that tonight. “I fucking took his cock and squeezed every last drop of cum out of it. You should have heard how he screamed my name.”

Brigitte’s eyes widened further, her cheeks turning a darker shade of red. “Holy porno Batman, you never talk like this!” She leaned in, eager for every detail. Ginger couldn’t help but feel a thrill as she revealed her deepest secret. “I was just so wild, Brige. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was like I had to have him, like my life depended on it. And after that, everything changed. He just couldn’t get enough of me. And I liked it.”

The room grew warmer, the tension thick as the scent of Ginger’s arousal filled the air. Her pulse quickened and her teeth grew sharper, Ginger enjoyed the feeling as she could smell her best friend’s excitement. She inhaled and closed her eyes as the animal within her took charge.

“It’s like I become someone else. Someone fierce, someone who knows exactly what she wants.” Ginger whispered, her eyes snapping open to reveal pupils dilated with desire. The TV flickered, the battle forgotten as the two friends locked eyes. “Someone who’s not afraid to take it,” she finished, her voice a seductive purr.

Before Brigitte could respond, Ginger leaned in, her sharp teeth grazing the soft flesh of Brigitte’s neck. She gasped, a mix of fear and arousal. Ginger’s grip tightened around her friend’s arm, the claw-like nails digging in slightly, leaving red marks. “What the hell, Gin?” she murmured, her heart racing.

Ginger clamped down as her fangs pierced her friends skin. Ginger closed her eyes as it felt so right to taste the flesh of her friend. Brigitte’s scream of surprise and pain woke Ginger from her trance as she pulled her teeth out and jumped back.

“Owww! That fucking hurt!” Brigitte exclaimed, pushing Ginger on her shoulder. Ginger’s eyes snapped back to normal, the painful throb in her hand subsiding. She looked tongued at her teeth, surprised to see them still human. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Are you okay?” she asked, genuine concern lacing her voice.

Brigitte rubbed her neck, her eyes wide. “What the actual fuck, Ginge? Did you just bite me like a vampire?” She was more shocked than scared, looking at her friend like she’d just sprouted a second head. The two girls stared at each other, the air in the room heavy with confusion.

Ginger’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just felt... I don’t know, something strange.” She took a step back, her hands shaking as she tried to understand the sudden, uncontrollable urge she’d had.

Brigitte closed her eyes as she breathed in slowly, her hand still pressed against the spot where Ginger’s teeth had grazed her skin. “I-I think I should go home,” she stammered, her voice shaking. She grabbed her bag and coat, her movements jerky and unsure. “Ah, yeah, maybe that’s for the best,” Ginger said, her own voice trembling. She felt a pang of guilt and confusion at her actions, unsure of what had come over her.

As Brigitte moved towards the door, Ginger reached out to grab her arm gently. "Sorry again about this. Forgive me.” she whispered, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

“It’s okay. It just hurts.. a lot. So next time you want to get kinky with me… Warn me. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Brigitte replied, her voice quivering as she tried to put on a brave face. Ginger nodded, her mind racing as she watched her best friend leave, the door closing behind her with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine.

Alone now, Ginger took a deep breath and sank into the couch. Her heart was pounding, and she could still taste the coppery tang of Brigitte’s blood on her tongue. She stared at her hand, the burn mark now pulsing in rhythm with her racing heart. What was happening to her?

Brigitte went down the stairs and got into her car. The cold air outside was a stark contrast to the heat that was still burning through Ginger’s apartment. The pain in her neck was subsiding but the memory of Ginger’s teeth remained vivid in her mind. She couldn’t shake off the feeling of Ginger’s teeth sinking into her flesh, the sharpness of pain giving way to a weird sense of warmth.

Once home, she tossed her bag onto the chair and flopped onto her bed, still in shock. She touched the bitemarks on her neck, feeling the slightest hint of arousal. It was weird but she couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of strange foreplay. She lay there for a while, trying to process the events of the evening. Her thoughts were interrupted by the throbbing pain in her neck growing stronger, pulsing with each beat of her heart.

Her eyes grew heavy, and she felt a strange lethargy wash over her. Her body begged for sleep, and she gave in, drifting off into a fitful slumber filled with vivid dreams.

The next evening, Brigitte awoke to the harsh light of day streaming through her bedroom window. Her neck was sore, and she touched the bitemarks again, feeling the roughness of the scabbed skin. She sat up, the events of last night playing back in her mind like a surreal movie. She knew she had to talk to Ginger about it, but what was she going to say?

Ginger had been her best friend since they were kids. They had been through thick and thin together, sharing every secret and every awkward moment. But this was different. This was something she couldn’t just laugh off or pretend didn’t happen. This was something that could change everything between them.

Brigitte took a deep breath and stepped out of her apartment, the cold night air hitting her face like a slap. She hurried down the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest. The thought of facing Ginger was terrifying, but she had to know. Was she okay? Was it some kind of weird kink she had stumbled into? Or was there something more?

When she arrived at Ginger's door, she paused, her hand hovering over the buzzer. What if Ginger had done it on purpose? What if she had some weird vampire fetish she hadn’t told her about? But she knew Ginger wasn’t like that. She was her best friend, her confidant. There had to be a reasonable explanation. With a determined nod to herself, she pressed the button and waited, her heart racing with anticipation.

The door swung open, and Ginger’s face fell when she saw Brigitte. "Oh, hey it’s not a good time tonight," she said, her voice shaky. "Sam and I have plans." Brigitte gave an annoyed look as she barged in. “Tough titties! We need to talk about this!” Brigitte angrily pointed to her bite.

As if on cue a knock on the door interrupted the tension. Ginger looked at the clock, surprised to see it was already 8 PM. She rushed to the door opening it. Sam was standing outside, looking as handsome as ever. “Tonight’s the night baby we are going to fuu oh hey Brigitte! You’re here too!” Sam said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Brigitte, noticing the redness around her neck.

“You have to go Brigitte. It’s late we’ll talk tomorrow.” Ginger’s voice was firm but her eyes were filled with regret. “No fuck that! Sorry Sam but your girlfriend bit me last night. It was definitely sexual so… What the fuck?!” Brigitte’s voice grew louder as she stepped into the apartment, noticing the candles and rose petals scattered on the floor.

“Plus it’s like still hurting like a bitch! Do you have rabies or something?” In unison Ginger and Sam answered Brigitte. “Or something.” They exchanged a nervous glance as Sam stepped into the apartment, his smile fading as he realized her puncture marks.

Ginger felt the burn on her hand grow hotter, the transformation starting to take hold. She knew she had to tell her, but how could she explain something she didn’t fully understand herself? The room spun as her body began to shift, the pain and pleasure mixing into a heady cocktail that made her knees weak. She leaned against the wall for support, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Too late to explain it.” Ginger whispered to herself, the transformation taking her over. Her body grew taut, muscles stretching and bones popping as she began to morph before their very eyes. Her skin shimmered and her eyes grew brighter, her short dull red hair lengthened and thickened into fiery waves that cascaded down her back. Her teeth grew sharp and her nails elongated into gleaming red claws.

Ginger moaned in pleasure as her breasts grew larger, the fabric of her shirt straining against the newfound weight. Her body was changing, and she could feel the power surging through her as her skin shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Her bra straps dug into her shoulders, a stark reminder of the human constraints that no longer applied to her. The burn on her hand had spread up her arm and across her chest, leaving a trail of fiery agony that only added to the exhilaration coursing through her veins.

Brigitte’s eyes widened in shock and pain as she watched Ginger’s transformation. The bitemarks on her neck burned like a brand, the pain searing through her body and bringing with it an unexpected arousal that made her knees buckle. She reached up to touch them, her hand shaking as she felt her own body begin to change. Her breasts swelled, pushing against the fabric of her sweater, and she could feel the weight of them in a way she never had before. Her skin grew warm, and she felt the sudden need to rip the fabric from her body.

Her eyes grew brighter, and she could see the room with a new clarity, as if the world had been painted in high definition. The colors were more vivid, and the sounds around her grew sharper. The scent of Sam’s aftershave filled the room, making her nostrils flare as she took in his musky scent. Her own body was responding in ways she had never felt before, and she knew that she too was becoming something more than human.

Brigitte’s transformation was more subtle but no less dramatic. Her once soft, plush figure grew taut and curved in all the right places. Her hips widened, and her waist narrowed, creating a figure that was both powerful and alluring. Her skin glowed with an inner fire, and her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. She had always felt self-conscious about her weight, but now she felt like she could take on the world.

Sam’s jaw dropped as he took in the scene before him. Two beautiful, powerful women, one his girlfriend and the other his girlfriend’s best friend, were standing before him, both of them oozing a sexuality that was almost palpable. His eyes darted between them, his body responding in a way that was almost painful. He could feel his cock swell in his pants, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out and touching them.

Ginger’s transformation was complete, and she now stood before him in all her glory, her fiery red hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of molten lava. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire that made him want to drop to his knees and worship her. And Brigitte, oh Brigitte, she looked like a goddess in the making, her skin a soft glow that made him want to trace every curve with his tongue.

Ginger growled “oh Sam life just keeps giving you gifts.”

[wildfloweronwheels]

A pit of nausea is boiling in my stomach today. It’s fury and fear and a sadness that sears to the bone. It swept in suddenly as I opened my phone to the news that three of Taylor Swift’s shows in Vienna, Austria have been cancelled by police due to the thwarting of a terrorist attack. Reading that sentence, I’m back in 2017, chest burning with horror and grief at the bomb that went off as young women danced and sang their hearts out with Ariana Grande. We know what attacks like this look like, we’ve felt them before, their echoes held in the minds and hearts of every live music fan across the world even now.

So, there is also relief swimming in the sick, that the police got to this in time. That they made the call that means thousands of people quite literally live to see another day. My head is spinning thinking about what could’ve been. Feeling for the fans, musicians and Taylor herself whose lives have orbited at least a little around the glittery nights they were promised. The friendship bracelets.  The cowboy boots. The glorious high of screaming ‘Fuck the patriarchy’ in a sold out stadium. The expectant hush that falls over things before the opening chords of a surprise song. The putting together of pieces in the mashups that follow. I know it’s just a concert; there’ll be more of them, we hope, but it’s also not…

It's yet more proof that we didn’t need, of an ugly truth, splashed in oozing neon. It rears its head all over the world in millions of foul devastating ways every single day and yet it still hurts every single time. The thing that most frightens men and boys is a woman succeeding. A woman living. A woman thriving. A woman feeling joy. Women gathering together in a communion of emotion that borders on the sacred, because it’s so rare in its safety and warmth.

 That’s how I would describe the nights I was privileged enough to spend at the Eras Tour earlier this year. A singular celebration of all a woman has made through her own blood, sweat and tears. A visual and musical experience underpinned by one of my favourite quotes ever from the glorious Carrie Fisher, “Take your broken heart, make it into art.” If you’re anything like me, it’s soundtracked your own.

We’ve watched that heart break and heal again and again. Blows dealt by men loitering in a girlhood they had no place in. By ill-fated romance, snuffed out because egos couldn’t bear the load or because two people just weren’t the right fit.  By calculated campaigns designed to distort an image, dismantle a reputation and lay ruin to a legacy. And yet she’s here. And so are we. Women, I mean. Again and again we resist. We persist. We insist.

Our joy is not yours to steal. Our lives are not yours to threaten. We will keep finding it. Rising. Screaming. Teaching the boys and men around us to be better. Defying. Demanding. Deciding. I’m not interested in what you think about Taylor Swift’s music or her privilege, a financial sheen that I remind you protects from no bullet or harm being done to you or innoc ent people, in your name.  In fact, it invites it. Over and over again. But I am interested in how you talk about this moment. Right now. The one that almost happened but didn’t. It’s a sliding door so what are we going to make sure waits on the other side of it?

[justaghostingon]

Giving Natlan Characters Beef for Plot improvement

Natlan character group dynamics aren’t grabbing me like other group dynamics in Genshin have, and i’ve figured out why: No one has beef. There’s no conflict between the characters for them to overcome and grow from. (With a few exceptions, we stan a grumpy granny) Or to drive each other up the wall with for our entertainment. So in the interest of spicing things up, i’ve decided to play fast and loose with cannon character dynamics to add friction

Xilonen Vs. Kachina

These two should have been sisters. Half sisters perhaps, but sister’s none the less.

It just makes sense. Kachina’s character stories reveal that her father has put all his hopes in his eldest daughter, but why? Kachina literally has a sacred name! Unless they also had a sacred name, and could even forge more! Even kachina couldn’t compete with that!

It would make Kachina’s bullying make sense, why are people giving her such a hard time for having a sacred name? Because they don’t think she earned it. They think Xilonen made one for her, and since no one wants to say anything to Xilonen about it, they take it out on Kachina.

Kachina would then have reason to resent Xilonen, both for stealing their father’s attention, and for all the bullying. She knows its not Xilonen’s fault, but it still bothers her.

She doesn’t want to tell Xilonen about her strugglrs, because she feels like she’s so much less impressive than her, she doesn’t want to admit just how bad it is and how much its getting to her.

Xilonen for her part, is a lot older than Kachina and the rest of her siblings. She might even be her dad’s only child from a previous marriage (1st spouse died in war). The two are a lot closer because of that shared grief, and when her dad moved on, Xilonen struggled to find her place in this new family, especially now she no longer lives at home.

Xilonen loves her little siblings, but feels distant from them, and prob jealous of Kachina for being able to so easily bond with the younger ones. She expresses her love for Kachina and the others by making them things, fancy toys and the like.

If Kachina needs twirly whirly fixed, she never has to wait in line, Xilonen won’t hide from her, and will happily do so, as a way of showing her care.

This backfires because Kachina has thr reputation of being spoiled by Xilonen, leading to the rumor about Xilonen forging Kachina’s ancient name

Crucially, these two sisters do love each other, and with a little help from the traveler can slowly work on their bond.

Mualani vs Kinich

Less of a conflict and more of a personality clash.

Mualani is a major extravert who is in her own words “a lot” sometimes (she’s so Nuerodivergent coded)

Kinich is someone who is used to living by himself and struggles to open up to others

To put it simply, Mualani overwhelms him. But she’s also one of the few people he can count as a friend, so he’s stuck with her.

The two of them have worked on it a lot in their friendship, it wouldn’t be immediately obvious to players, but it could festure in charscter stories or events.

Things like: kinich trying to avoid Mualani because he’s very low on social battery but also doesn’t want her to feel guilty about it

Mualani sending us to talk to kinich sometimes when she knows he’s tired and doesn’t want to make it worse

Mualani dragging kinich into social activities outside his comfort zone (which turn out to be good for him)

Just the: reluctant friend and their extravert bff dynamic

Kinich vs Chisara

Chisara has beef with Ajaw, but she should have had beef with kinich as well

Picture this: Chisara doesn’t trust Kinich because of how mercurial he is, he in turn dislikes how she uses fear to control others. (I know its more complicated for both, but they’re running off of reputation, not the person themselves)

Chisara might suspect Kinich of being willing to sell them out to the fatui in the early days of them working together

Kinich sees her suspicion and thinks of her like those village kids who didn’t understand how the real world works and got him driven from school

Ajaw makes everything 100 times worse

Eventually Kinich and Chisara bond over a shared past of parental abandonment and having to live in the wilderness. Both realize the other is far more then their reputation.

Although Kinich is still definately jealous she got happily adopted and he didn’t, not that he’ll ever admit it to himself

Varesa vs Iansan

Iansan is annoyed with Varesa’s tardiness, but really, she has a great opinion of her

So where is the confict? With the masked warrior of course!

To Iansan, the masked warrior is an untrustworthy stranger and a menace who makes huge messes that Iansan has to make sure are cleaned up

Someone powerful but unknown who might hold ill intentions, and who Iansan fears if they turned their violence on the Collective, she wouldn’t be able to stop

Iansan might have had a run in with a certain dragon sage in disguise and be a bit traumatized by those who hide behind masks as a result (which also puts her in conflicts with a big part of the collective’s culture and its chief)

As her prize pupil, Varesa is determined to help her handle this masked menace, not realizing that it is in fact, her.

She does notice how some of her adventures tend to get mixed up with that mysterious masked hero’s though, and worries what Iansan will think of her for making the same “mistakes”

Thus she tries to downplay and even hide her heroism from Iansan, unknowningly growing the problem

Iansan vs Kachina

Iansan finds Kachina frustrating.

Kachina reminds Iansan of her younger self, bullied for her sacred name, joining the war really young, that drive to prove herself, its all there.

But the problem is Kachina is constantly relying on others and getting insecure and messing up when insulted as opposed to Iansan’s own spite based drive

Iansan sees kachina as taking the easy road, and believes she won’t improve untill she learns to build up a shell.

She fuels this into well meaning training camps with Kachina, trying to get her to work on improving everytime they meet, even giving her homework

Kachina is flattered by this help from such a famous coach, but finds Iansan’s methods and constantly on-the-go attitude overwhelming

Iansan is also struggling to teach kachina because of her projection, leading to failure which Iansan is not used to as a coach.

They’d have to talk for Iansan to realize her mistake and adjust her behavior

[crescenthistory]

I cometh to thee with a vision: argue "a dusty attic" and "I kind of like the secretiveness." with our darling Peculiar Pandora?

writing this healed me actually, thank you so much to you and every pandora anon<33 she is indeed our darling peculiar pandora

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i will ARGUE for prompt "a dusty attic" and "I kind of like the secretiveness" with pandora

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: established but secret relationship, alluded to reader being a sacred 28, implied bad parental relationships and home situations, bittersweet fluff, hopeful ending

wc: 1k

However cliche it might be, the attic truly was the best place to meet up in the Rosier manor.

In a household so policed that despite three years of friendship and a lifetime of knowing each other, you were only ever allowed within its walls when your parents were meeting with the Rosier family heads, it was best to do away in corners. And their attic was all corners, angled and wooden, cowering yet welcoming.

In the middle of it, the top of her head just barely avoiding the dark roof, stood Pandora, your Pandora, white hair perfectly complementary to the spiderwebs she was currently observing.

“Hi, Dora,” you whispered as you closed the hatch behind you carefully, murmuring a spell that would give you ample warning if someone was to come near it.

Her head turned around slowly, not at all alerted by the sound, as if she knew you were there already. The look in her eyes wasn’t any less excited, though.

“Trinket,” she greeted warmly, soft smile appleing her cheeks. As you stepped closer, you noticed the faint dust of freckles beginning to emerge over them, a gift from the summer sun. “I am glad to have you near again.”

She always spoke in such an interesting manner, one that never ceased to draw you in. You took the final step towards her, hands settling firmly and reverently on the tops of her hips and squeezing slightly in greeting. “Yes, I am, too, glad that the Malfoys have fucked up to the extent where our parents feel the need to bitch about it together.”

Pandora was entirely unfazed by your crude language. To be fair, she was already well-accustomed to Barty. She merely nodded and tilted her head to look at you. Whenever her eyes settled into you, you had a deep sensation of being seen, observed so closely that your physical being probably reveals more than you are aware.

You didn’t mind it – not when it was her.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmured, trying to not sound hopelessly pathetic while simultaneously not really caring if you do. “Summer's too long without you.”

“Only one more summer, my crystal.” Pandora stepped closer and let her hands come up to brush over your cheeks, a featherlight barely-there touch that you keened towards wanting just a little more – until her palms settled on your cheeks firmly and pulled your forehead to rest against hers. You breathed a sigh of relief. “Our future is around the corner. It will be worth the wait.”

“Well, of course you’re worth the wait,” you muttered, almost petulantly. “I just resent the wait nonetheless. And our parents.”

“No one could shame you for that, I suppose.” Never one to remain still, Pandora’s hands slipped further back on your cheeks, fingers tangling in your hair and scratching against your scalp. “Not that I am one to shame you for anything.”

The breath of a laugh that escaped you at her admittance was promptly pressed against her lips as you seized the kiss you had been aching for all week. Her piercings were cool against your skin, further intoxicating you as you let your hands slip around her back to hold her against you, enraptured and captured by her.

Pandora was an excellent kisser, equal parts give and take, slow and soft. You were breathless when you pulled away to lean your forehead back against hers. 

“One day, I will do that when we’re not hidden away in an attic.” It was a solemn vow, although your tone was light, coaxing forth the smile on her lips. You received what you wanted – and even a prompt kiss to the tip of your nose.

“It’s an endearing attic, isn’t it though?” Pandora squeezed your face once more before stepping just barely out of your grasp to walk towards the stream of sun that came in through the circular window, dust particles highlighted in it like glitter. She reached her fingers out to dance through the light and you were once again reminded that she was something otherworldly. “There are, of course, more places I would like to find endearing – but our little attic has been a kind companion.”

Your heart clenched with both love and an ache for more freedom. Your brows furrowed slightly as you followed after her, watching her rings shine in the sun as they participated in a choreography you weren’t even sure Pandora could decipher.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you asked, not wishing for her displeasure, but wanting to understand. “To be stowed away up here whenever we wish to meet?”

She shrugged, looking around the attic in amusement before her face turned towards yours once more. “I kind of like the secretiveness. I have Evan. I have you. What else could I need?”

Pandora had a way of conceptualising and phrasing her sentiments that left no air in your lungs and no questions up for debate. Her truth was so personal yet so universal, you were wrapped up in her to no end. 

Though your desire to wrap her up and run away with her this instant was no less insistent, you did soften at her words. She must have noticed, because her hand reached out to capture your own, fingers gently and messily intertwining, hanging between you delicately. Her eyes were trained on yours again, seeing all of you. 

“Our future is right around the corner.” She repeated it slowly, wanting you to hear. “It is beautiful.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and squeezed her hand, smiling wetly. “You are beautiful, my love.”

Pandora used her grip on you to pull you into the light with her. She smiled as you instinctively went in for another kiss. “My dearest trinket,” she whispered, hand on your cheek once more. Home. “There will always be an attic for us – but there will also be houses and gardens and streets and hearts.”

Your eyes were squeezed shut, wishing her every word and every want into existence as you sealed it with another kiss.