#preserve T-shirts

[aueyhaibara]

T-Shirt Care Tips: How to Make Your Favorite Tees Last Longer

A T-shirt is more than just a piece of clothing—it’s a statement of personal style, a memory of a favorite event, or simply a staple in your wardrobe. Given the sentimental and practical value many people place on their T-shirts, learning how to properly care for them can make a huge difference in their lifespan. By adopting a few effective care techniques, you can keep your T-shirts looking…

[thinwhitedoc]

MILLER'S GIRL | Martin Freeman as Jonathan Miller

[grimbeak]

eughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh charles finding carlos's letter to kevin

[cameronsbabydoll]

I love the fact that rafe treats her like a child. I need a part where she sleeps round rafes house and when she wakes up she walks downstairs in her night clothes and with her teddy and sees all of rafes friends round fr

TOO SOFT FOR HIS WORLD — ᥫ᭡

rafe cameron x bunny!reader

Rafe keeps you tucked away.

Not hidden, exactly—just preserved. Kept soft and sweet and untouched by the rougher parts of his world. His friends know about you, of course, but they don’t see you. Not really.

So when you pad downstairs that morning—rubbing the sleep from your eyes, wearing one of Rafe’s oversized t-shirts, your teddy bear clutched under your arm—you don’t expect to walk into a room full of them.

They go silent.

Kelce has a coffee halfway to his mouth. Topper’s mid-sentence. Some of the other guys are sprawled across the couch, beer bottles on the table even though it’s barely noon.

And then there’s Rafe.

Sprawled in one of the chairs, legs spread, watching you with an expression that shifts fast—from mild surprise to something possessive.

You blink.

They blink back.

And of course Topper makes the mistake of grinning. "Well, well—"

"Not a fucking word."

Rafe’s voice is low, dangerous, and just like that, the moment shatters.

You hesitate, curling in on yourself, but Rafe’s already standing. His hands are on your waist before you can think, steering you away from their gawking stares.

"What did I tell you, angel?" His voice is softer when he speaks to you, but there’s an edge beneath it. "Not down here dressed like this."

You pout, looking up at him. "I didn’t know—"

"I know, baby," he soothes, tucking your hair behind your ear. Then, voice firm, "Back upstairs."

Your fingers tighten around your teddy, but you nod, obediently turning back toward the stairs.

Rafe watches you go, his jaw tight.

And when Topper opens his mouth again, Rafe doesn’t hesitate—he tosses the nearest thing at him.

"I said shut the fuck up."

[cavillscurls]

MESS OF MINE

joel miller x f!reader

You needn’t think—not when he’s here.

warnings/tags: MDNI. Jackson!Joel. Soft!Joel. Established relationship. Fluff. Intimacy. Praise. References to past smut. Reader is in a pretty heavy sub-space. Dom/sub dynamics. Daddy kink. DD/lg dynamics—seriously, do not read if this off puts you. Caregiver!Joel to the max. Pet names (baby, little one, good girl, darling). A smidge of grinding/dry humping. Brief reference to food aversion. Food consumption. wc: 1.8k

You haven’t left his house in three days.

Haven’t had to. Snowed in. The blizzard that’s taken Jackson by storm an absolute blessing in disguise.

And sure, you feel for Maria and the strain it’s put on organizing her patrol routes. You know plenty of mothers struggle to entertain cabin-fevered-children, and you sympathize with those who have to make treks for rations they hadn’t prepared for.

Still, you can’t help but revel in the selfishness. It’s his fault, really. What else does he expect three days of doting will do to a girl?

You’re on the floor in his living room. Tummy down on the center of the rug, socked toes facing the fire he’s carefully tended to. You’re in one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties, nothing else. You don’t need much else. When the flames aren’t keeping you warm enough, he’s happy to compensate.

There’s a soft tune buzzing from the record player, and you take the time to savor the words on the pages splayed out before you. You’ve been reading a little slower today. Everything seems to slow down when he’s got you like this.

You don’t think you could ever tire of the life you’ve lived these past three days. Joel always takes care of you, in every way, big and small. But there’s been a shift towards all that is so big, the lack of responsibility and expectations allowing you to sink deeper into the roles you both understand well.

So he takes the weight of everything big, promises to nurture it, and handle it with care. And you relish in the freedom that is feeling so small, releasing your usual tension and burdens for an aloofness that would otherwise not be acceptable. You’re not sure how long you’ll have it, and you aren’t willing to spare a moment.

Your mind wanders, less focused on the words inscribed before you and more on the images that paint your memory. That of his hands, that have gently washed your hair. That lay out your clothes—or lack thereof—and deliver you cups of tea. That glide over your skin morning, noon, and night, coaxing breath and cries alike. That hold you still, close, when he sucks on your neck and fills your womb, the remedy for all grievances. Silences your mind, the numbness bright and freeing.

“Baby?” he beckons, and it sounds like he’s repeating himself. Like you didn’t hear him the first time, and perhaps you didn’t. Too entranced by the cozy little oasis he’s created around you, for you.

You cast your eyes towards his voice, dripping in honey, the way that always makes your belly warm. He’s leaning in the archway between the kitchen and living room, a gentle smile curling at the edges of his lips.

“Are ya hungry?” he asks, and you scrunch up your nose.

Admittedly, you’ve been a bit indolent. But it’s easy to languish in the comforts of mindlessness when he makes it so easy. You haven’t cleaned a single dish, washed a single article of clothing, or cooked a single meal, in three days. You’ve hardly walked from room to room without Joel adamantly at your side. The lack of energy exertion squanders your appetite.

He tsks his tongue and slants his eyes at you disapprovingly.

“C’mon, baby. You’ve hardly eaten today. Let me make you a snack at least, yeah?”

You sigh. You don’t want to give him a hard time, even if it’s only for the sake of regaining his attention. So, you offer him a lackluster nod, and he smiles in return—something prideful, that of a man who is pleased to preserve you, and even more so when you’re willing to let him.

He disappears into the kitchen for a handful of moments, and when he returns, sets the plate of chopped veggies down on the coffee table. You sit up, and instead of reaching for it, extend your arms towards him. An overwhelming desire to be held takes you, as it has for these many days, many times. He’s been off doing chores for nearly an hour now, and you can feel yourself growing impatient, needy.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises, shaking his head and stepping back just out of reach. He isn’t fazed by the pout that befalls your lips. “Not till you finish your food.”

You huff, making a show out of crawling your way to the edge of the table and snatching one of the carrots up. You peer up at him as you bring it between your teeth, taking an aggressive chomp out of it as if to prove that even though you’ll listen, it doesn’t mean you’ll like it.

Joel shakes his head and chuckles, pleasantly amused. He approaches you while you chew, knees to your nose, and you crane your neck back to get a good view of him like this. So close, towering, and dripping with power and ease. You’ve never known anyone so mighty, yet so loving.

He reaches a hand down and gingerly pets the crown of your head. “That’s a good girl,” he muses, and the low purr of his voice sends a pang of want through your gut.

You chew a little faster now. Make sure he knows how good you are, how good you’ll remain for him and him alone.

A soft little whimper leaves your throat at the loss of his hand, and the sight of him turning back towards the kitchen.

“Just gotta finish a couple more things, darlin’,” he calls over his shoulder. “I expect to find that plate clean when I come back!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you think, turning your attention toward the colorful spread. As if your body means to spite you, you feel a sudden grumble in your stomach. You are feeling pretty hungry, and he knows. He always knows.

You eat slowly but steadily, determined now to finish before he returns. He’s scooped a spoonful of Tommy’s homemade hummus on the side, the flavors making you bounce a little in delight. The chickpeas are out of season, and Joel only has a handful of his share left for the winter, but he always gives you extra. He knows how much you enjoy it, and the selflessness of the act today only furthers your growing want.

Fifteen minutes pass before you hear his footsteps return towards the living room, and you’re swallowing your last mouthful. He shuffles his way towards the couch, and you watch in silent fascination as he lowers himself with a heavy groan and crack of his knees. He sighs, spreading his meaty thighs wide, and letting his eyes close for a brief moment. You know, despite how much he enjoys his time with you, the days cooped up haven't been easy on him. He’s a doer by nature, perhaps the exact reason he’s channeled all of his energy into caring for you.

His eyes find you as soon as they open, and you wait with bated breath for him to pat a palm against one of his thighs.

“C’mon now,” he murmurs. You don’t need to be told twice.

You abandon your empty plate, which he acknowledges with an approving nod, and slowly crawl your way around the coffee table. You nudge yourself between his feet, rising to your knees, flashing him wide eyes, and waiting for his hands to grip you under your arms and scoop you into his lap. You’re all flimsy limbs and needy fingers, straddling the mass of him—the stretch that you feel in your inner thighs does not go unnoticed, much to accommodate—and wrapping your arms eagerly around his shoulders. You bury your nose into his neck, slumping into his chest, and sigh.

You’re warm, and content, and full, and so small.

He hums, the deep sound rattling through his chest into yours, and you shiver both at the sound and the gentle touch of his fingertip tracing over your bare thighs. You can’t help but wiggle in closer, the rough friction of jeans against your soft cotton panties dizzying.

“Daddy,” you whisper, voice raspy with disuse.

Gentle touches turn to kneads, palm-fulls of your thighs squeezed between his fingers, one hand drifting up and taking a handful of your ass. His touch is grounding, comforting. Turns your body into molasses so you may drip into him with ease, head fuzzy, inundated by his sheer presence. Your eyes droop shut, and a little yawn creeps up through your throat.

“S’about that time, little one.” His voice is so soft, it’s hardly there. Like coaxing a baby animal out of hiding. “Should get ya settled for a nap.”

You whine a sound of protest, but make no effort to move. He’s right, of course. You could fall asleep right here, right now. Bathed in his warmth, the crackle of the fire, the soft tunes. His other hand has trailed up your spine, drawing soothing circles, lulling you in.

“M’not tired.” A lie, but you’re greedy. Greedy as your cunt he hasn’t touched all morning, that starts to grind gently against the front of his jeans. “Wanna play, Daddy,” you mutter into his neck, placing a chaste kiss on the vein that protrudes there.

A low growl settles in his chest, but his hand at your backside slides towards your hip, wrapping his fingers around it and holding you still. You can feel him swell below you, all the restraint in the world unable to stop him from reacting to you the way he does. The way he always does. He’s turned you greedy.

“How about,” he starts, his tone one of reason, though it drops an octave with desire, “you take your nap right here on Daddy’s lap, and he’ll wake you when it’s time, hm?”

You admire his restraint, you really do. You also cannot deny how good he is, tactful in the way he lets his hand trail all the way up your back until it’s woven into your hair, scratching gentle circles across your scalp, the way he always does when you need help falling asleep.

Your breathing slows, eyes still screwed shut, but you give him another humph of disagreement, and he chuckles. He presses your nose deeper into his neck, wraps a heavy arm fully around you now, and flushes you against him, using the weight of his hold to settle you.

Yeah, he’s good.

“One hour, that’s all,” he reasons.

You sigh, already nodding off somewhere between sleep and wake, the dull thrum in your lower belly overcome by the sensations of slumber.

“You swear it?” you press, and he places a kiss on your temple.

You feel his smile against your skin, brighter than the sun itself. And you’re reminded, just before you slip away, how lucky you are for the gift of mindlessness. A silent promise to yourself that when you wake, you’ll cherish the dwindling hours of the day, unsure if tomorrow holds the same luxury.

“On my life.”

[navybrat817]

Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Local Figure!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky didn't have a great day, so you help him unwind.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied sex, light fluff, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by an ask from @yenzys-lucky-charm, so I'm also submitting this for her Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge (🗡️ A: Smoothing out the crease in Cranky’s frown while straddling their lap B: Cranky character melts, pulling them in for a kiss). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky tossed his jacket away and loosened his tie the moment the front door shut. In public, he had to maintain an image of confidence and controlled passion, carefully toeing the line between showing too much or too little emotion on the issues at hand. When things didn’t go his way, he couldn’t lash out or show defeat. Behind closed doors, he could allow himself to be a bit cranky. He didn’t have to put on a show.

With you, he didn’t have to put on a show either.

“Go sit, and I’ll make you a drink.” It wasn’t a suggestion. He didn’t drink often, but it was a rough day and you sensed that he needed one. If the drink wasn’t enough to help him unwind, you were sure you could think of something else.

Bucky kicked his shoes off before he took a seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Town Hall meeting should've gone off without a hitch, but Nick just had to show up and run his mouth.” His hands curled into fists when he grumbled, “Fucker.”

Bucky was never a fan of Nick Fowler. The man had a way with words and had experience, he’d give him that, but the guy wasn’t trustworthy. Too many secrets, too many people in his pocket. Some would say Bucky wasn’t trustworthy either since he was also a local figure, but he cared about his town and only wanted the best for everyone who lived there. He couldn’t say the same for Nick since he was only out for power and would step on anyone to gain it.

“It was rocky at times,” you said carefully, pouring him a glass of whiskey. Being overly optimistic would’ve been an insult, and he valued honesty since it was sometimes difficult to know who was telling the truth in his line of work. “But it ended on a high note.”

“He still proposed to cut funding for the library, and people agreed with him. It’s struggling as it is, and it needs the money,” he muttered, his steel eyes softening when you brought his drink over. “I swear he only proposed to cut funding to piss me off.”

Education was important to Bucky. The library, in particular, held a special place in his heart. It strived to create a welcoming and inclusive environment for the community, offering free resources to all. More than that, it was a space where history was preserved, and where people could feel valued and respected. It brought people together.

“And it’s working,” you pointed out, running your fingers through his soft caramel hair once you sat down and earning a sigh in response. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let him get under your skin.”

Nick getting under Bucky’s skin meant he was losing, and Bucky wasn’t a man who lost.

“I’m trying,” he promised, taking another large sip and drawing your attention when he licked a drop from his lips.

You had to blink so you wouldn’t let his sexiness distract you from making him feel better. “Don’t forget, you have a fundraiser right around the corner,” you reminded him. There were people who would love to make a contribution to one of his passion projects, including the library.

His shoulders relaxed the more you played with his hair. “That’s true.”

“And listen, if I could get away with it, I’d wear my ‘I READ BANNED BOOKS’ shirt when I attend just to make you happy,” you teased.

That got a chuckle out of him. “That shirt got my attention.”

Going to that Town Hall meeting was one of the best decisions you ever made. “If you think that got your attention, wait until you see the dress I’m wearing.”

Closing his eyes with a groan, you had no doubt he was imagining it. He had an amazing suit picked out and you got something to not only match but something to drive him wild. “As long as John doesn’t show up and hit on you,” he tried to joke, but there was an edge to his voice.

As if the meeting wasn’t enough to put your man in a bad mood, bumping into John Walker after was the icing on the cake. If there was someone Bucky couldn’t stand more than Nick, it was John. The arrogant public worker rubbed him the wrong way, demanding respect and trust when he hadn’t earned it.

“We both know he wouldn’t stand a chance,” you said. Gorgeous looks aside, Bucky had you hooked from the beginning because of who he was. No one else could compare.

“If he tries anything…” Bucky could cut men down with a mere look, but people like Nick and John liked to push.

Taking the glass from his hand and setting it aside, you slowly straddled him. “You’re still cranky.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he whispered, resting his hands on your hips. Of course, he wasn’t. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked to dwell in any unpleasant headspace or emotions.

“I know. You had a rough day, and you have every right to be cranky. But I also know that the smile I love is in there somewhere,” you smiled. Bringing your hands to his face, you smoothed out the creases in his frown. His body went lax beneath yours when you did it again. “I just need to find it… Ah! There it is.”

Something you loved about Bucky was that he smiled in different ways before his mouth moved. He did it with his eyes, something so warm and loving that only you could see. Some days you heard it in his voice, in the tone he used and the words he chose. Even the way his body relaxed with you was a smile, happiness blooming from his core.

And Bucky was smiling when he pulled you in for a kiss.

Your heart tried to beat right out of your chest when he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Tasting the whiskey when his tongue slipped past your lips, you moaned. The kiss was full of hunger, eager to take what you were willing to give. There was a hint of desperation, like he was trying to use your mouth to chase his bad mood away. Above all, it was vulnerable, a side of himself he trusted you enough to show.

“You’re too good to me, sweetheart,” he whispered, rolling his hips up and making you moan again. “But I’m still a little cranky.”

“Is that right?” you smiled, rocking your hips teasingly just because you could. Making the powerful man hard made you feel powerful. “Are you proposing that I do something about that?”

The fingers on your waist flexed. “I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”

“Promises, promises,” you teased.

“I keep my promises,” he pointed out. In a world of liars and cheats, Bucky was a man of his word.

“That’s true.” You pretended to think about it when he thrust his hips up with a small growl, heating up your core more. “Okay, fine. Rest back so I can make the crankiness go away.”

And knowing Bucky, he’d make sure you felt nothing but bliss, too, before the night was over.

I know, lovlies, I don't need more AUs, but I would give him everything and more. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ryanseslow]

NEWYAWK T-SHIRTS ARE BACK!

Experience the epic saga behind the NEWYAWK t-shirts brand, a story etched in the heartbeats of New York City itself! Born amidst the legendary streets of the Big Apple, NEWYAWK is not just a brand; it’s a vibrant symphony of multi-sensory soulfulness that pulses through the veins of every true New Yorker.

Picture this: The bustling 1970s, 80s, and 90s, a time when the city was an evolving kaleidoscope of cultures and dialects. New Yorkers didn’t just speak; they orchestrated their own language! “Walk” metamorphosed into “WAAWK,” “talk” became “TAAWK,” “coffee” was no longer just coffee—it was “CAAWWFEE.” And “three” wasn’t just a number; it was “TREE.” These linguistic quirks are the very heartbeat of NYC’s vibrant culture.

As our founder journeyed through these bustling streets, he discovered the magic of graffiti and stencil art, a transformative love that birthed the unique tag: “newyawk.” This wasn’t just a tag; it was a revolution in lowercase, a cardboard stencil masterpiece that evolved into a hand-painted marvel for screen printing. And then, the pièce de résistance: a classic car image, symbolizing movement and the relentless drive of New Yorkers.

The journey of NEWYAWK is one of passion, creativity, and an undying love for the art of silk screen printing. This technique didn’t just create prints; it immortalized them, preserving the hand-painted charm that makes each t-shirt a timeless piece of wearable art.

Today, NEWYAWK isn’t just a brand—it’s a grassroots phenomenon. These t-shirts, born from a heart full of NYC pride, have taken the world by storm. They’re not just worn; they’re celebrated, cherished, and adored by those who wear their love for New York on their sleeves.

Join the movement. Embrace the story. Wear the legacy. Discover the NEWYAWK t-shirts brand and become a part of this incredible journey.

Explore our collection and feel the heartbeat of New York City at https://newyawkteeshirts.com/ – The brand name is NEWYAWK, and we promise you, this is more than just a t-shirt—it’s a piece of NYC history, ready to be worn by you.

Feel the energy. Live the legend. Wear NEWYAWK.

Grab yours now from our Shop!

[woso-story]

Hot And Cold

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV, playing a movie neither of you were fully invested in. It was one of those nights where neither of you wanted to go out, preferring instead to stay in, wrapped up in each other's presence. You were curled up on the couch, a thick hoodie pulled over your head and a heavy blanket draped over your lap. Meanwhile, Alexia sat beside you, relaxed in just a pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt, as if the chill in the air didn’t even exist.

You glanced over at her, your teeth slightly chattering. “How are you not freezing?” you asked, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Alexia turned her head to you, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Freezing? It’s not even that cold.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t understand you,” you mumbled, hugging yourself to preserve whatever warmth you had left.

Noticing your shivering, Alexia scooted closer, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into her warmth. You sighed in relief, nestling into her. She was always so warm, like your own personal heater, and you loved it. Your body slowly relaxed as her warmth seeped into you, and soon, you felt comfortable.

For a while, everything was perfect. You were warm, wrapped up in Alexia’s arms, with the soft flickering of the TV light casting a glow over the room. The movie continued playing in the background, neither of you paying much attention, instead lost in whispered conversations and shared laughter. Occasionally, Alexia would press a gentle kiss against your temple, and you’d squeeze her hand in response, fully content in her embrace.

But then, you felt her shifting slightly. Her fingers drummed against your arm, and she let out a small huff.

“Something wrong?” you asked sleepily, glancing up at her.

She sighed dramatically. “I’m hot.”

A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned to look at her. “You are indeed very hot.”

Alexia let out a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder. “No, I mean really, I’m burning up. How are you not?”

You grinned, finding amusement in the irony. “Because I was freezing before you showed up to save me.”

She groaned, fanning herself lightly. “I need to cool down.”

You chuckled, sitting up. “Alright, let’s go to bed. You can escape my heat trap now.”

Alexia agreed, and you both turned off the TV before heading to the bedroom. You immediately crawled under the blankets, sighing in contentment as the warmth enveloped you. Sleep was already pulling at you when you heard Alexia climb into bed a few moments later. She settled behind you, and before you knew it, her arm was wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. You sighed happily, melting into her embrace.

But then..

A cold hand slipped under your hoodie and onto your stomach.

You let out a startled shriek, flinching away. “Lex!”

She burst into laughter behind you, her grip tightening. “I need to get warm.”

“You’re evil,” you grumbled, trying to wriggle away from her icy grasp.

Alexia only chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “You love me.”

You huffed. “Not right now.”

She pouted, though you couldn’t see it in the dark. “Come on, don’t be mad.”

You were still playfully scowling when she pulled you back into her, her warm breath tickling your ear as she whispered, “I love you.”

Your heart softened, and you sighed. “I love you too.”

She placed another gentle kiss on your neck before resting her head against yours. With her arms securely wrapped around you, the both of you drifted off to sleep, cuddled up together, warm and content.

As you lay there, you couldn’t help but murmur, “I don’t understand how you’re always so warm, but your hands are freezing cold.”

Alexia chuckled softly, her fingers tracing light patterns on your stomach. “Balance, carino.”

You let out a sleepy hum, still skeptical. “It’s unnatural. You’re like a furnace, but then your hands feel like ice cubes.”

She laughed again, squeezing you gently. “Maybe I just like keeping you on your toes.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, letting yourself drift off once more, safe in the embrace of the woman you loved.

[wchswift]

hii hii there!! OMG congratulations for your 125 followers! that's a great achievement so proud of youuu!! you deserve it sm <3

had an idea hihi 🌺 + touch it by ariana grande. would it be okay if i ask for a lot of slow burn before giving in to each other? but it's okay if you can't write them!

and i would love to see worst! wolvie and fem! reader for this one :3 thank you!

─── touch it.

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: logan pretends to not even notice you outside of missions so you push him until he stops holding back. ─ inspired by touch it, ariana grande.

note! hello hello zayn thank youu <3 and tysm for the request love, I loved your request so much I really hope it does justice to what you asked for. I tried to keep as much slow burn as I could lol. this is part of my 125 followers celebration! Join the celebration too!

ℒogan masterlist !

mdni 𖤐 18+

The first time she met Logan, he barely spared her a glance. Wade had brought him along on a mission, dropping some half-assed introduction that didn’t matter because Logan didn’t do introductions. He was gruff, closed off, and clearly not interested in making friends.

Which only made her more interested in him.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen men like him before—hard, angry, wearing their pain like armor. But Logan was different. His silence wasn’t just brooding; it was defensive. The way he kept his distance wasn’t arrogance; it was self-preservation. And that only made her want to crack him open more.

It didn’t help that he was devastatingly attractive. Rugged in a way that shouldn’t be so alluring, all sharp edges and raw masculinity. The rough stubble, the wild hair, the way his muscles tensed beneath his worn t-shirt—he was built like something out of a fever dream, something dangerous and untouchable. And yet, all she wanted was to touch.

They worked well together, even if he frustrated the hell out of her. Despite the chaos that followed Wade like a curse, she and Logan found an easy rhythm, and somehow, she’d ended up watching his back more times than she could count. He was fast, efficient, brutal. She was clever, quick on her feet, and stubborn as hell. More often than not, they ended up fighting back-to-back, instincts perfectly in sync.

But outside of missions? He was a ghost.

She’d catch him watching her sometimes, like he was trying to figure her out, but the second she met his gaze, he’d look away. If she got too close, he’d make some gruff excuse and disappear.

It drove her insane.

Because she knew—knew—there was something there. Some unspoken thing that hung between them, thick and heavy, just waiting to be acknowledged. But Logan wouldn’t let it happen. Wouldn’t let them happen.

And, God help her, she’d fallen for him anyway.

So she waited.

She teased him in the field, pushing his buttons just to see the way his jaw clenched. She made sure to sit next to him whenever they went out for drinks, reveling in the way he tensed every time her arm brushed against his. She learned how to get under his skin, how to make him react.

One night, she wore a tight tank top that hugged her curves, the hem riding up just enough to show a sliver of her stomach when she moved. Very short shorts that exposed long stretches of skin. And the way Logan looked at her when she walked into the bar? Worth it.

He was staring before he even realized it, his knuckles whitening around his glass. She smirked, sliding onto the barstool next to him, ordering a drink with a casual ease that only made him more rigid.

“Something wrong?” she asked, all innocence, fingers playing along the rim of her glass.

Logan didn’t answer at first. Just exhaled sharply through his nose, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before muttering, “Nothin’.”

But when the bartender leaned in just a little too close, flashing a flirty smile as he handed her another drink, Logan shifted in his seat, his grip tightening on the glass. She caught the tick in his jaw, the way his shoulders squared like he was fighting the urge to say something.

So she pushed, just a little. Leaning in, close enough that her thigh brushed against his, warm and deliberate. “You sure?” She said, holding her breath, waiting.

Logan’s eyes flicked to hers, dark and heated. His breath was slow, controlled, but there was an edge to it. Like he was holding something back.

Then Wade stumbled in, ruining everything.

But she never pushed too far.

Not until tonight.

The apartment smells like cigarette smoke, whiskey, and something inherently Logan. It’s not unpleasant—just rough around the edges, lived-in, much like the man himself. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the walls, making the space feel smaller, more intimate. And maybe that’s why her heart is pounding in her chest.

She wasn’t supposed to be alone with him tonight.

Deadpool had invited her over for something—she honestly couldn’t remember what now—but, as always, he had his own plans, leaving her alone in the apartment with Logan.

Just the two of them.

“You gonna stand in the doorway all night?” Logan grumbles from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

She huffs, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting your brooding session.”

He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t fire back like he usually does. Just watches her with that sharp, unreadable gaze, his knuckles tightening slightly around the bottle.

It’s always like this with them. Tension so thick it could choke her, words unsaid hanging in the air between them. She’s tried to ignore it, to push it down and pretend like she doesn’t lie awake at night thinking about him, like her chest doesn’t ache every time he pulls away just when she gets too close.

But tonight? She’s done pretending.

“Why do you do it?” The words slip out before she can stop them.

Logan’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This.” She gestures between them. “You pull me in, then push me away like it never happened.”

Logan stiffens, jaw clenching. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

She lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Bullshit.”

His eyes snap to hers, something dark flashing in them. He looks like he wants to argue, to shove the conversation under the rug like he always does, but she steps forward before he can.

“Logan, I see it. Every damn time. The way you look at me, the way you—” She swallows hard, forcing herself to keep going. “You want this just as much as I do. So why won’t you just let yourself have it?”

The silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. He looks torn, like he’s caught between running and finally letting himself stay.

Then, his shoulders drop. A long, weary sigh leaves his lips, and for the first time, Logan lets her see him. The man beneath all the rough edges, the one who isn’t untouchable, who isn’t immune to her.

His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for her but doesn’t. So she does it instead.

Softly, she brushes her fingers against his wrist. He doesn’t pull away.

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... let me in.”

Logan swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His hand hesitates, then lifts, rough fingers ghosting over her arm before settling on her waist. It’s not a kiss, not some grand confession, but it’s something. Something that says he’s tired of fighting this, of fighting her.

“You sure you know what you’re askin’ for, darlin’?” His voice is low, gravelly, filled with something she can’t quite place. “Because I don’t know if I can let you go if we start this.”

She smiles, small and sure. “Yeah. I do.”

That’s when he finally moves.

It’s not rushed or desperate. Instead, Logan pulls her in slowly, his lips brushing hers—tentative, questioning. When she doesn’t pull back, he deepens it—slow, wet, unhurried. A kiss that tastes like whiskey and restraint finally breaking. His hands tighten on her waist, tugging her closer, and she melts into him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him in like she’s been waiting for this forever.

And maybe she has.

His breath is warm against her lips when they part, his forehead resting against hers. His grip firm, as if grounding himself in the moment, in her.

“You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me,” he mutters, voice rough.

She smiles against his lips. “Then maybe you should show me.”

Logan growls low in his throat, and the next thing she knows, his hands are on her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She gasps, gripping his shoulders as he carries her toward his room, the heat between them finally, finally breaking loose.

And this time, Logan doesn’t hold back.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

tags: @cruel-as-sin @mcrdvcks @logaenhowlett (tagging some logan mutuals i really like <3 sry, if you want to be added or removed let me know <3)

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. III

summary: you and joaquin run into each other...there's only some progress.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,379

contents: 18+/MINORS DNI, angst, pining, longing, a SMIDGE of hope

an: so this series is really taking on a life of its own and will be longer than anticipated bc the angst is just...not going away? i can't control them okay, they're doing whatever the want and i'm just writing it.

vuelve a mí masterrlist

There hasn’t been much contact between you and Joaquin since the night you kissed. He’d texted you that night to make sure you made it home safe and of course you replied.

Every other week or so he would try to check in with you, and sometimes you would answer— other times you would let the messages come, the number growing and growing as you continued to isolate, not just from him but from almost everyone in your life. 

You were going to call him. You were. You’re going to call him when you’re ready, if that time ever comes. You meant what you said, and lying to Joaquin…it’s never been an option. Not when he looks at you with those deeply honest brown eyes. 

You’ve started with less abrasive parts of your old life. 

After weeks of simply walking by it, you return to your favorite cafe. It’s a place you shared not only with Joaquin but also with your family and friends. There’s so much meaning to this simple place that’s a mix of browns and creams and greenery.

As you take the last few steps to the cafe, you send prayers up to the universe, begging that no one from your past will be there. The coast is clear once you make it inside– none of the baristas look familiar and the crowd has certainly changed.

You order what used to be your regular– a dirty chai– forcing yourself to stop changing things. That’s all you’ve done since being back– change and change. You cut your hair, you darkened your style and found a new job despite your company offering you your position back. You were convinced your taste buds had changed, avoiding all the things that were your favorite. The most obvious is that you’d broken up with Joaquin. 

But, as you take the first few sips of your drink, it tastes like it always has. Light, the perfect mix of sweet and spiced. For the first time in two years you feel…normal.

Sucking in a deep breath, you let yourself sink into the feeling of being yourself, the woman before you had crumbled. Your body feels recognizable and new all at the same time. It's good, sitting in this cafe, sipping chai with scone in tow.

It’s so, so good—until it isn’t. 

You would know his voice anywhere. That is something that never changed despite the blip. His voice, the way his hair falls, the shape of his shoulders, the sharpness of his jaw; all of these are things you could forget if you tried. And you had tried, tired of the pain of not being with him.

You go still at the sound of his voice, hoping that he won’t notice you. Daring a glance, you see him at the counter. He must have just finished training– the grey t-shirt he has on clings to his skin, darker in some places than others from sweat. 

You don’t mean to stare, but he’s Joaquin and he’s here. That frozen feeling from when the two of you reached for the same puzzle floods your body and you overwhelmingly feel unlike yourself again. You’re internally chanting at yourself to look away as you watch him pay because if Joaquin were to turn around right now, your eyes would meet. 

Look down. Look down and focus on your scone. 

But it's too late– what you feared would happen does and you’re face to face with Joaquin. There’s several strides and a cafe of people between you but it doesn’t feel that way, not with the intensity of his gaze. Not with the way he makes your heart flutter a million miles a minute. You’re finally able to look away a few moments after your eyes meet, your self preservation finally kicking in.

You start to move, slipping your scone back into its bag, throwing your bag over your shoulder so you can stand. As you do so, Joaquin is already making his way towards you, though his steps aren’t as confident or smooth as you expect them to be. 

“Hi,” He breathes cautiously, hands grasping at the baseball cap in his hands.

“Hi. I was just leaving, you should be here, not me.”

“Querida, that makes no sense. This is your favorite cafe. Plus–”

“I have errands to run anyway, it's not a big deal.”

“I’m not staying– I have to meet Sam for some recon.”

Your heart beat slows a bit where it had quickened. “Oh, um– well…you’ll be careful, right?”

“Always,” He promises sincerely. There’s an uncharacteristically awkward beat before he speaks again. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay. Working on it.”

“Yeah?” It's impossible not to hear the hopeful shift in his tone. 

“That's why I’m here. I wanted to see if…if I could be in places I used to be. Enjoy things that I used to.”

“And?”

“Well, it was going okay…” You say delicately, trailing off. You don’t want to blame him– you truly believe that none of this was his fault but you wouldn’t be nearing an out of body panic attack if he hadn’t showed up.

He tilts his head in confusion, you can practically hear his brain churning to understand and you pray that it doesn’t. Much to your dismay, clarity materializes in those beautifully warm brown eyes. “Then I showed up.”

Your stomach feels heavy. When will you be able to outrun this guilt? Every time you get a head start, every time you believe that it's finally left you alone it rears its ugly head and takes grip of your heart. 

“No, Joaquin, that’s not fair to you.”

“But it's true, isn’t it? You didn’t deny it,” For the first time, there’s some bitterness in his voice, some anger. As you look in his eyes, you see the sadness that’s been rooted there since you returned.

You can’t blame him. You deserve it.

“Yes,” You admit softly, regretting allowing yourself to say it when you hear him sharply inhale. 

“Y’know, querida, maybe you were right. Maybe we just aren’t the people we used to be.” 

You frown at his words, trying to explain it the best you can. “Quino, it's not like I want this. I’m going to call when I’m ready, I meant what I said.”

“You know what Abuela says; you shouldn’t promise things you don’t believe are possible,” He murmurs matter of factly. 

“I… I’m trying. You don’t– have to be so unkind,” You grit out, trying your best to contain the tears that have pooled in your eyes. 

Joaquin realizes that he let his frustration override his patience and love for you once he sees the shine of tears in your eyes. But, just as it was the moment he turned around to face you, it's too late. His words—no matter how much or little truth they hold—feel etched into your brain.

They’re added to the pile that confirms your worst fears. 

You’ll never be the same. You’ll never figure out what’s wrong with you. Never be able to safely love and be loved by Joaquin again.

You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have thought that things could ever be the same or that some part of who you were had come back with you.

“Querida–” He begins.

“Goodbye, Joaquin,” You say stiffly, attempting to rush past him to make your exit.

His hand grasps yours– firm enough to stop you in your tracks, but gently enough that you can let go if you wish.

You aren’t sure what you want at this moment but you stop, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It's just…frustrating. Quiero que vuelvas,” He squeezes your hand, running a thumb over yours.

You squeeze his hand back, trying to soothe not only him but yourself. “I’m trying, Joaquin. I want me back too. Give me time to find her.” 

"Okay," He agrees, resigned.

“Be careful with Sam.”

“I will. And you too…cuídate.”

You give him a simple nod–not trusting your voice– before you walk towards the door and make your way. Joaquin stays cemented in place, eyes tracing every detail of you that he can just in case his biggest fears come true. But he’ll hold onto hope, he has to.

> pt. iv

must be 18+/have your age displayed to be added to the taglist!

joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @moonymeloncholymoney, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuff, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @giuliahowlett, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9, @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism

[sushirrrry]

pulse. a harry styles one-shot; 12k words. the one where harry goes with his best friend, jack, and jack's little sister, charli to a music festival. CW: language, explicit sexual content (fingering, squirting, intercourse), explicit drug use

“And that’s when I knew I wanted to save the world, one fire at a time.”

The looks from the girls in front of them were flourished with admiration, maybe a bit of chaos and something that was a bit more addictive than that. But Jack was pushing his shoulder into Harry as they stood there, trying his best to play the wingman that Harry had desperately tried to dismiss the entire situation.

Harry held the bottle between his fingers, lifting it to take a sip as the morning sun rounded out into the cloudless sky. The tension in his back was killing him, his eyes were a bit heavy at the way that he tossed and turned all night from laying on the ground.

“But my guy here,” Jack took his hand on Harry’s shoulder to bring his attention back, “This guy saves more than just lives— he’s preserving the art in the minds of children.”

Jack was laying it on heavy, building up every detail of Harry’s life to mean much more than it was. Harry being a primary school music teacher wasn’t anything that was new and exciting in the real world. Jack made it sound much, much more delicate, and necessary than it was.

The two girl’s faces were astonished by the fact, one staring at Harry until he caught her eye. He smiled sheepishly at the fact, nodding a few times to confirm with what Jack had been saying before he turned his head to notice someone coming from one of the tents in their small camp.

Her hair was long and untouched, small braids still placed in her hair as she placed sunglasses over her eyes. The night before was a bit too rough on them; Harry was aware that the second day usually felt worse than the first. He couldn’t seem to turn his head away as he watched her diligently try to unscrew the top of her water bottle, almost as if her muscles had turned to mush.

Harry took it upon himself to move towards her, taking himself out of the conversation before she saw him coming.

“Need some help with that?” He offered. His own hand holding a beer as Charli held out her bottle towards him with a small grunt.

“I don’t know how you’re drinking that without gagging.” Her voice was rough, hoarse, as she cleared her throat.

Charli took a seat under the small pavilion that their group had set up; her seat now in a foldable chair as she slinked into it. The large t-shirt covering her chest and her pajama shorts that resembled boxers were nicely matched with the tall, rain boots that she had been wearing around their small camp as the dust and dirt seemed to be kicked up.

Harry took the water bottle from her hand, holding his beer against his chest as he multitasked to unscrew the top lid.

“I didn’t take any shots of lemonade vodka, and I drank a bunch of water before bed. That might have helped a bit.” Harry smiled at her; his eyes not being able to relay the affection that they may have had behind the dark sunglasses on his face. The backwards hat sat on head while the bandana around his neck helped to shield the morning sun.

He didn’t want to stare; he knew that his sunglasses had been blocking the obvious, though.

“You look good for someone who’s probably one sip of water shy of dying, I have to say.” Harry shrugged, watching as she took a few sips from the bottle he had opened for her. The look on her face showed a bit of thankfulness of him obviously giving her some pity.

“I don’t think that sleeping in tents is necessarily my thing,” Charli shook her head, knowingly hating camping to an obvious degree, but wanting to find herself in these experiences that pushed her boundaries.

That was the whole reason that she was here in the first place. Charli was always the little sister that wanted to keep up; she wanted to do everything that Jack did, and she knew that she could if he would just let her participate. When this summer festival came around, Charli asked her friend Rena to book a ticket to come with her—knowing that Jack and Harry would say no to it.

Harry and Jack went to festivals all year—they frequented this one in Spain every year and had become quite close with a bunch of other people who had traveled in for it. But this time, Charli wanted to just insert herself into the situation so neither of them could deny her entry, or her company.

Jack and Charli were close, but that did not mean that he wanted to watch her dance around at a festival and get herself into trouble. Neither did Harry, really.

But something had changed a bit. Harry hadn’t seen Charli in a year or so. He hadn’t spoken to her or hung out with her enough to notice the changes in her personality, her being, her looks. She was older now; she wasn’t the little teenage sister that tried to slip into the car every time they would head to the mall or to grab a bite to eat.

She was always beautiful, there was no denying that. But Harry found himself blushing at her remarks, stopping himself from staring at the way clothes hung off her body, and tried to deny himself from watching as she danced with her friend while trying to entertain the other men standing behind them.

Charli had always just been Jack’s little sister.

Sometime between the lines, it had taken a turn, though. Harry had looked at Charli one day and noticed that her eyes struck a match, his heart started to race a bit faster than usual, his eyes stared to wander, his palms became a bit sweatier than normal.

Instead, he tried his best to remain subtle—not wanting to say anything different, but just allowing the weekend to go along.

After the awkward teenage years when they would go on family holiday’s, Harry would always think Charli was quite funny—she was witty and dry with her humor, but it always intrigued him to some degree. And she had always been very good at Pictionary, which Harry found hilarious.

Now, it was different. Now, Harry found himself staring longer, harder. But it must’ve just been the heat, he thought.

“You look like shit,” Jack had mentioned, coming from behind Harry as he looked at his little sister, “Festival already got the best of you lot already, hm?”

When Charli had approached Jack to wanting to go to this festival in Spain, Jack and Harry had already made plans with their friends to go. Jack, being her older brother, had shown some apprehension considering he knew that Charli and Rena had never done anything like this before. They were freshly in university, a few years younger than Harry and Jack.

“Don’t be fucking annoying,” Charli said to Jack, rubbing her forehead, “We’re just hungover—it’s nothing unusual and we aren’t used to the bit of heat all the time. We’ll be okay.”

Harry’s lip turned up on the side, but his attention as brought back to Jack who hit him on the chest.

“What was that for?” Harry asked, a bit taken back by the action as he rubbed the site where he had been hit.

“Mate, you totally walked away from those two birds, left me in the dust,” Jack turned his head to try and locate them, craning his neck, “The blonde was totally into you. They were having a kickback before heading back into the grounds tonight.”

Harry focused on the beer in his hands, finishing the first one of the days before he threw it over to the small pile of garbage that they had started to collect.

“Dunno—not super interested,” Harry shrugged, but Jack gave him a strong look of disapproval.

“Not interested? In what? You not interested?” The confusion was taking over him as the three of them sat in the small, confined area. Harry poked his tongue into his cheek before he tried to think of how to get Jack to stop talking.

He didn’t care that Charli would hear how Jack talked about him—surely, she could figure out his habits on her own, but he didn’t necessarily want them repeated. Of course they had had fun at festivals in the past. But there was a small amount of embarrassment that sat on his chest as he felt the judgement pour off from Charli’s facial expression.

“It’s like, a girl’s rite of passage to hook up with you at a festival once.” Jack chuckled, grabbing his own beer from the fridge before popping open the cap, looking over at Charli. “Better keep Rena away from him tonight or he may go mad with the wandering hands.”

Charli smirked at the comment, “I’m not keeping anyone away from anyone else. Maybe she wants someone’s wandering hands.”

Jack chuckled at the comment, Harry rolled his eyes with the smile steady on his face.

The three of them sat around, making themselves a few sandwiches for breakfast—Harry brought bagels for them to share. They sat in a circle, eating and talking about the day ahead of them. The heat hadn’t really started to become an issue; it was quite nice in the shade unless you were in the direct sunlight.

The day took them into night—getting ready in their tents, while simultaneously letting the party get started. Jack and Charli were significantly more into drinking than Harry was; he kept a steady buzz with the beers that he had brought, but he let general buzz of the alcohol mixed perfectly with the contentment of the weed, too.

Jack had always made fun of Harry in the best way because he always knew how to have the best time, making sure that everyone else was having the best time around him. It was a rare kind of person who knew his own limits but was able to let the people surrounding him in on the most significant adventure of a lifetime.

Harry didn’t add much to what he was wearing except a bandana around his neck to keep the dust low. His sunglasses hung from his shirt, the backwards hat shieled his neck from the hot afternoon sun. The Adidas sneakers were dusty and worn, his shorts and t-shirt were moderately hot from the dark colors that absorbed the heat.

But it was when Charli and Rena came out of their tent that his eyes tried their best to look away—failing miserably, he knew.

Her perfectly sun-kissed skin with patches of redness that he just knew would burn to the touch with spots of freckles that accompanied, the dark curls that cascaded down her back with micro-braids that were misplaced, her top was practically irrelevant as it hung from her shoulders and tied around her back with just a simple string.

It was all that it took for him not to combust. He tried to remind himself: it’s Charli. Something about that sentiment stopped working like it had before.

The group was a bit larger now; there were many more people around to involve and take his attention. He watched as Charli and Rena had found the attention that both had been looking for. A few different guys who looked more their age had started to make their way around them. Charli and Rena took a few shots, their energy had increased drastically with a mid-day nap and some blush to help elevate themselves.

When they started to move their way towards the stages and grounds, Harry had packed himself what he needed in his pockets—a few joints, a baggie with other worldly possibilities, and a lighter. Everything he could have needed.

The bass pounded relentlessly, a constant thrum that seemed to reverberate in Harry’s chest, matching the wild, erratic beat of his heart. The music festival was a sensory overload—lights that dazzled, bodies that pressed in from all sides, and a heady mix of sweat, alcohol, and something else altogether more intoxicating the longer he stood and watched. It was almost as if he had been placed into another world; his brain would have convinced him, otherwise.

Charli.

She moved like a force of nature through the crowd, her every step drawing his gaze, every laugh tightening the coil of desire in his chest.

She was supposed to be off-limits, a hard line he’d promised himself never to cross. But tonight, with the flashing lights painting her skin in shades of electric blue and purple from the neon lights that threatened him with desire, Harry could barely remember why.

It wasn’t just the way she looked, although that was enough to drive any man to the edge. Her outfit—a slinky, black top paired with high-waisted micro-shorts—revealed just enough to set his imagination on fire yet left enough to keep him burning. It was the way she moved, all easy confidence, as if she knew exactly the effect she had on him, and maybe she did. The sway of her hips, the way her curls bounced with each step.

It was all fun and games until her eyes sought him out in the crowd—it all added to the tightrope tension between them that he hadn’t been sure was there before.

He shouldn’t be here, standing this close to her, watching her with hungry eyes while pretending that he didn’t want to touch her, taste her. But here he was, and there she was, her presence overwhelming every shred of common sense he had left.

She caught him staring—again—and shot him a look over her shoulder that made his pulse skip. Harry wasn’t sure that she had been looking at him, either. He wasn’t sure if he was misreading the signs; maybe she was just looking past him.

But that smile, playful and knowing, was his undoing. It was like she could see right through him, could tell that he was a hairsbreadth away from losing all control that he had. And maybe she liked it, liked knowing she had him wrapped around her little finger.

When she slipped through the crowd, it was like slow-motion. She was turning her head just enough to signal him to follow, and he didn’t hesitate in the slightest bit. It was almost an innate reaction to her; she walked, he followed. His feet moved of their own accord, pushing past bodies until he was right behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. She led him away from the main stage to a more secluded spot where the music was a distant pulse, and the crowd thinned out. The darkness here was thicker, the lights softer, casting long shadows.

Charli stopped abruptly, turning to face him, and he nearly collided with her. The sudden proximity knocked the breath out of him. Her chest brushed against his as she looked up at him through her lashes, eyes dark and inviting.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she teased, her voice soft but laced with something that made his blood run hot. “Something on your mind?”

“More than a few things,” Harry replied, his voice rough, strained. Her scent was everywhere, a mix of something sweet and sharp, mingling with the night air, making it hard to think about anything other than how close she was. He could reach out, just a little, and—

No. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

But then she tilted her head, and that damned smile returned, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. “Like what?” she asked, her tone daring him to say it, to cross that line they both knew was there.

He clenched his fists, shoving them deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her. Instead, he pulled out the joint he’d rolled earlier, holding it between them as a distraction, a lifeline.

“Like this,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Want some?”

Charli’s eyes flicked down to the joint, then back up to him, and the look in them was nothing short of wicked.

 “Sure,” she murmured, stepping even closer, until there was no space left between them. Her fingers brushed against his as she took the joint from his hand, the contact sending a jolt of electricity straight through him.

He watched, mesmerized, as she brought it to her lips. Her eyes glanced up at him with few blinks before Harry’s hand cuffed around the spliff to light it as it sat between her lips.

The motion was slow, deliberate, and his gaze was locked on her mouth, on the way her lips wrapped around the end of the joint, the way she inhaled deeply, then exhaled a plume of smoke that curled in the cool night air. Her eyes never left his, and there was something in them, something hot and dangerous, that made his pulse quicken.

When she passed the joint back to him, their fingers lingered, the touch just a little too long to be accidental. Harry took it, barely feeling it between his fingers, all his senses focused on the heat of her body so close to his. He took a drag, more out of necessity than desire, needing something to calm the riot of emotions inside him. But it didn’t help. If anything, it made the world spin faster, the edges of his control fraying with each second that passed.

“Having a good time so far?” Harry asked her, watching as she waited for him to pass it back to her. When he did, she took it gratefully and took another puff herself.

“Definitely. I’m just a bit overwhelmed, I think. So much going on, the music just—you can feel it in your bones. You can really—yeah, I don’t know, I just feel really, really good.” Her voice was sharp, but it had a bit of slurring to it. He knew that the dehydration and overall adrenaline would send her into overdrive if she kept up the pace of her habits. He took the joint away from her this time, wanting to keep her from overdoing it.

It was obvious—the way that she moved closer to him when he would take another step back. He could smell the alcohol on her breath, but he had watched her take only a few drinks before getting here tonight. It was obvious that they were getting high on something stronger than any of the substances combined.

Harry cleared his throat, letting their eyes linger on one another for a long moment—much longer than he had anticipated, but when her lips parted for a moment, he shifted on his feet.

“You know we shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured, not entirely sure if he was talking about the joint or the way they were practically pressed up against each other, the space between them crackling with unspoken tension.

Charli took a step closer, closing whatever distance was left between them. Her body was almost flush against his now, her breath warm against his neck as she leaned in. “Doing what?” she whispered, her voice so soft, so innocent, and yet so full of intent that it made his head swim.

“You know this is just some infatuated fantasy shit, right?” Harry’s voice was low, “Your signals—your messages. You don’t want to mess around with me, Char.”

He went to place the joint between her lips again; his fingers lingered at her lips as she gratefully took the end. The color of her lips was the softest baby pink he had ever seen, a color so intimidating and intriguing.

“I think you’re writing me off because you think you know me,” Charli shook her head as she held the joint between her fingers, blowing out the smoke, “But I think you’re a bit scared. And I’m very intrigued. It’s my first festival, after all.”

Harry scoffed, “Not scared at all, love.”

Charli bit her lip, knowing the implications of the way that his eyes would gravitate towards where her teeth held her lip. Her tongue ran over her bottom lip softly, watching him stare at every single tiny movement that she could benefit from his view.

“So full of shit,” She half-whispered, shaking her head, “Can’t keep your eyes off of me, you really think you could keep your hands off if you got the opportunity?”

Harry’s eyes raised at her words, his tongue pushing into his cheek as he lifted his hand to take a large draw of the spliff between his fingers. The smile on his face was significant as he practically chuckled at her words.

“You think I’m scared to put my hands on you?” Harry shook his head, feeling the pity as he stepped close to her. The small space that they had created here in the back of the lot had become theirs as he stared into her eyes. “I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to stop once I started. This wouldn’t be a one-time thing—me and you. That’s why it’s not happening.”

Charli’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she listened to the words he spoke, practically feeling the overwhelming feeling on her skin just at his words. She tried to keep herself together, but he saw right through it.

It was practically a growl that he let out, hoping that she would back off, “I’d fucking wreck you, Char.”

As quick as he spoke, she took a step forward, “Well, then fucking wreck me.”

Her lips brushed his jaw, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down his spine. Harry’s hand tightened around the joint, the other clenching at his side as he fought to keep control, to not give in to the desire roaring inside him. He stuck his hand in the front of his pocket as he felt his cock twitch just at the hot breath of her so close.

There were a million words in his brain, but they were all nonsense.

“Charli,” he breathed, her name a rough exhale, a plea. He knew he should push her away, should step back, but he couldn’t. His hand moved on its own, slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. “We can’t—”

“Why not?” she challenged, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and teasing. Her hands moved to his shoulders as she pulled herself against, letting the smell of him infatuate every part of her being. “Please, please, please.”

Her words were a siren’s call, a temptation way too sweet to resist. His resolve, already shaky, crumbled to dust. His grip on her waist tightened, and she responded by pressing even closer, her body fitting perfectly against his.

His mouth hovered over hers, the world narrowing to just the two of them, to the feel of her, the taste of her on the air.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game with me.” He whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp, heavy with the desire he could no longer hide. The sound of the music in the background was just enough to heighten their senses as he practically breathed a moan into her own.

Charli smiled, that same knowing smile, and his heart skipped a beat. Her lips brushing his without another word, the touch so light it was almost a tease, a promise of what could be if he just let go.

The last thread of restraint snapped. Harry’s hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her curls as he pulled her to him, crushing his mouth against hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was fire and desperation, a release of all the tension that had been building between them for so long.

If she wanted to be wrecked, so be it.

Charli responded in a way that surprised him, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. She tasted like smoke and something sweeter, something that made him dizzier than he had felt in a while. The thump of the bass had disintegrated into a memory, the sounds of the stranger around them had begun to dismiss, the only thing that mattered was the feel of her in his arms, the sound of her soft moan against his lips as he devoured his only saving grace.

He kissed her harder, deeper, pouring everything he’d been holding back into that one searing kiss. Her hands roamed over his back, her nails digging into his skin through his shirt, sending a thrill through him. He wanted more, needed more, and the way she clung to him told him she felt the same.

But then, just as he was about to lose himself completely in her, a shout rang out from somewhere behind them, cutting through the haze of desire like a knife. The sound shattered the moment, and they broke apart, breathless, their hearts pounding in unison as Harry practically pushed her away from him.

“Charli!”

Rena’s voice had come from behind Harry, neither of them laying an eye on her until they had moved apart, and Harry’s back turned towards her. They hadn’t known how much she had seen, but it seemed like her cognizance had been long gone as she stumbled her way over to her friend.

“Hi, Harry,” Rena had seemed to forget Charli was there for a moment as she gave Harry attention first, her hand making its way to his bicep as she tried to steady herself. She moved her attention back to Charli, “I met someone who can hook us up, but I don’t know—like how much are you willing to pay? And like, he seems nice.”

Harry’s attention moved back to the conversation before his eyes narrowed gently at their predicament. He bit his lip just at the way that it didn’t sit right with him.

“I mean, a good amount, I guess. Nothing crazy. What’s he have?” Charli asked, almost like she had forgotten what had happened moments ago.

“He didn’t really say—I don’t think he’s given specifics, but I think we just want to tell him what we want to feel, and he can give it out.”

Harry shook his head, as he leaned down between them. “I know it’s your first time doing shit like this, but don’t fucking buy drugs from a random dude at a festival. That’s a way to get you offed. Unless he can prove his inventory, just don’t waste your time. Stick with the psilocybin’s and X.”

Rena and Charli looked back at him, before he shrugged.

“We have a hundred in cash,” She pressed, “I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re not just sitting on weed and beer, Harry. You and Jack go to festivals all the time—I’m not an idiot. Help us get something.”

Harry took a sip of the bottle, humming to himself before he shook his head at the thought. Turning to face her, he noticed the depth of her blue eyes that captured his breath for a moment.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to help my friend’s little sister roll like that,” He shook his head, “Especially if something happens to you. Not taking that chance.”

The words of implication felt odd as he spoke to them, the truth feeling a bit overwhelming before he watched Charli bite her lip and lift her eyes to him.

“Don’t let anything happen to me, then,” She bit her lip again, as if knowing that was the game to be played. Rena watched the interaction, but it wasn’t clear if she was taking anything into memory, “Do it with us, if you’re so worried about us.”

Rena rolled her eyes at the interaction, “C’mon, Char. He’s not going to help. I’m going to go ask for more details, I’ll meet you back here, yeah?”

Charli bit her lip as she crossed her arm; she nodded a few times as she watched her friend move back towards another guy that was behind Harry—one of the ones that they had talked to earlier. There was a group of a few guys and girls that seemed to be the same age, and possibly the same curiosity as them with these types of experiences.

She turned back to Harry, a bit disappointed by his lack of help and coddling of her.

“I’m definitely not doing it with you—that’s dangerous if you’ve never tripped before,” He told her firmly, giving her an answer she may have been looking for. Biting the inside of his cheek, he decided to question her a bit more, “But how do you want to feel?”

Charli took a moment to think, crossing her arms as she shrugged, almost like she didn’t know how to respond to his request. She wasn’t prepared for him to answer her that way; there was so much that she didn’t know, but she didn’t want him to read from her, in hopes that he may breakdown and help her out.

“I want to feel light—I want to feel careless and out of body. I want to feel a heavenly touch, almost,” She tried to think, “A pleasure like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Like, bringing me to tears type of euphoria.”

It was almost like she had described exactly what he had wanted to do for her for years, but her innocent face hadn’t caught onto it yet. His smirk wasn’t hidden as he turned away from her, pulling the bottle to his lips as he shook his head with a blush on his cheeks.

“Well, shit, Char,” He answered with a bit of shyness, “You don’t need drugs for that, you know.”

Her recognition had caught on, breathing out of her nose just a bit before she covered her face with her hand.

“That’s what everyone seems to say, but I guess I’m not having the same type of experiences they are.”

Harry bit hard on the inside of his cheek, practically drawing blood as he looked down at the ground. A race of thoughts entered through his brain, pacing back and forth at the thought of how much he couldn’t stand to be next to her now—he couldn’t think now if he wanted to. He hummed again, in recognition of her statement before he ran his thumb over his lip to try to keep himself busy for a moment.

“I’ll help you out, but only under one condition,” He told her; moving to face her, even though he knew that was not a clever idea. He knew as soon as he turned to look at her that he wanted to look away.

She nodded in agreement; he lifted his eyes from her lips.

“You can’t leave my sight,” He nodded, “Understand?”

Charli nodded again, almost like she was in a trance to nod and do whatever he said. “Uh-huh.”

His heart skipped a beat as he felt the sensational pulse through his blood, down into his stomach and all extremities before he let a soft, troubling few words leave through his lips.

“Good girl. Let’s go back to camp, then. I may have something for you both.”

Charli felt a pang in her chest at the way that his words were reactive to her; each detail struggling to make sense within her as they stood together for a moment before he nodded his head for her to follow him back. The walk was only ten or so minutes. It gave Charli a few moments to grasp the sobriety a bit; it was what Harry had expected before they made their way back to the tent area that still had quite a few people around.

That was the culture; that was the essence of it all. The darkness had small bits of light around to maneuver their respective campsites, laughter and partying continued far into the evening. It was only around midnight now before Harry had reached his tent. He opened the zipper, pressing into the space that he had been sharing with Jack before he invited Charli inside.

There was a lantern inside that he flicked on before he found a seat on the small mattress pad, he had laid down, but knew didn’t make too much of a difference.

“I’m only giving them to you, by the way,” Harry told her before searching through a backpack he had stored behind his pillow. “I can’t keep track of both of you. She’s also much more drunk than you, which is dangerous.”

Charli sat on Jack’s side of the tent before she watched Harry pull out a small saran-wrapped baggie that held a spoonful or so of white powder that was tied together; Charli eyed him for a moment before he dug to the bottom of his backpack before he shrugged and went back to the small bag and another bag nestled in his shorts pocket.

“This is what I’ve got—looks like a little snow, some tabs. Kind of mixed together, but that’s what I’ve got.”

Maybe it was showing the innocence in her, but Charli felt a range of curiosity mixed with nerves as she looked at what Harry was offering. His eyes searched her face as she cleared her throat, reaching for the small bag.

“Do you—I mean, you know how much to take? I just—I mean, I just want to try. But I don’t… you know more than I do.” She trailed off, which led Harry to smiling at her for a moment. He crawled over to where she sat, sitting next to her then on the small blanket and mattress pad.

“This is going to make everything bright—you’ll get the smallest dose, just enough for it to be good. It’s only good every so often, doing this stuff everyday wears off the pure adrenaline which is really the good part about it. Taking a bump makes everything better, it’s why it’s so addicting.”

Charli held the baggie, using her fingers to unwrap it before she looked back at him. “Give me a bump, then.”

In the most oddly intimate manner that he could think, he felt the tension and significant rush bend through his veins as he watched the way that her eyes followed his hands before he was able to add a bit of the chalky white powder the end of his pinky that was coated in a blue nail polish.

Harry extended his hand towards her, his pinky finger gently poised near her lips.

“Just breathe it in. You’re safe.”

She scoffed with a hint of a laugh, “I thought I was playing a dangerous game.”

Harry’s eyes felt heavy as he tried to ignore her flirtation. “Smartass.”

The proximity of his hand, with its subtle warmth, seemed to magnify the anticipation between them. Charli leaned in, her breath mingling with his, her lips brushing lightly against his finger as she inhaled the bump of coke from his fingers and feeling the effect almost immediately.

The burn, the tingle, the numbness that was in her nasal passage drove her head to loll back for a moment.

As she took in the powder, her eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat, and then slowly opened, revealing a glimmer of surprise and pleasure. The change in her expression was subtle but unmistakable; a softening of her features, a slight arching of her brows as if discovering a new dimension of sensation.

Harry watched her intently, his gaze never wavering away from her as she studied the way that she discovered pleasure. He could see the moment the effects began to take hold—a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks, a slow, satisfied smile curving her lips. Her eyes, once wide with anticipation, now seemed to shimmer with a new, heightened awareness after several moments of silence.

“How does it feel?” he asked softly, his voice a tender caress as he leaned in closer, the space between them shrinking.

Charli’s lips parted in a slow, blissful exhale.

“It’s… like everything’s just glowing now,” she said, her voice carrying a dreamy, almost hushed quality. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing against his, and he could feel the gentle tremor of her touch, a tactile confirmation of the high she was starting to experience for the first time. “You’re really going to let me at this alone?”

Harry swallowed harshly, letting his lips part as he thought about all the reasons he shouldn’t join in her fun. But as he watched her pupils dilate, he blinked a few times to remember the way that the blue sapphires disappeared just like that in front of him.

Charli shut her eyes softly as she hummed before moving to lay on the space that held her brother’s blanket. She laid down on her back, Harry’s eyes gravitating towards the pull of her tits before they settled a bit more upwards. He leaned his arms against his legs as she sat on the ground and watched her start to feel the threat of the pleasure eat away at her.

“We should get back out there, hm?” Harry piped up, his words almost barely heard before her watched her head move up from the lolled position, opening her eyes. “You have to find Rena.”

There was a moment of silence before she sat up on her elbows, her eyes gazing at him heavily before she let her fingers draw over a part of her stomach that were visible from the shirt’s complete openness. Harry’s eyes were focused in—it had been a trap all along, he noticed as he watched her smile with complete satisfaction.

“Should we?” She questioned, “I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to leave your sight,” She paused for a moment, sitting up completely. Her body practically touching his as she let her hand move to dance along the tattoo on his skin. “And I’m all yours now.”

Harry shut his eyes as he moved his head to the other side; trying to take in any breath that didn’t have her scent lingering within it—but that was merely impossible at this point. He shifted his hips as he sat, trying his best to overcome the initial feeling of this infatuation with her. It had never been this way before.

“Fucking tease.” He swallowed heavily as he licked over his lips.

There was a noise that Harry heard, a whimper of sorts when he stayed put. He tried to keep his eyes closed, but he felt her presence heavier the longer that he sat.

“Just once? Please?” Her voice a mere whisper, but a fixture in his memory now.

“No, Charli—that’s taking advantage of you.” Harry tried once again; he couldn’t physically move, but he just had to keep saying no, no, no. One of these times, that wouldn’t be good enough for him. He knew that one of these times she asked, he would flip. He couldn’t contain himself for that long, surely not if she continued down this path.

Charli blinked slowly, she leaned her chin on his shoulder as she sat perpendicular to him, her mouth hot against his neck. “Fucking gentleman shit. Stop making me beg, Harry, it’s not nice of you. I’m really not against begging, you know?”

Harry sensed the danger in this game—his adrenaline living for this type of interaction as he practically chewed through his bottom lip. He swallowed, letting his dry throat be a reminder of how he felt in the moment. He shut his eyes softly again before he watched Charli reach for the small baggie. His eyes narrowing as she had practically memorized his movement, picking up a small amount on the nail of her pinky before looking at him with the dazed, blown eyes that were starting to hypnotize him.

“C’mon, please,” She asked again, softly, “It’ll be fun, we don’t even have to leave the tent.”

He felt himself tense at her words—knowing full well that they could do dangerous things just in this small vicinity. He would ravish her; make her cry out in pleasure so trembling that he wasn’t sure it was for his eyes, or not. Harry became quite a monster in all the best senses when his senses were heightened—he wasn’t sure that he would be able to hold himself back again.

It was one thing when it would be one-and-done; this was Charli, after all. He would never be able to stop thinking about the pleasures and soft whimpers and rushing feelings of nirvana that would overcome him with her wrapped around him.

But what would be so bad about that?

He turned his head to the left, looking at her for a moment before he put his finger up to his nose, closing a nostril before sniffing in the white powder on her nail, letting it coat his nose and every inch of his last bit of sanity. The head rush made him breathe out in a gasp before he stared up at the ceiling. The numbness in his throat, the adrenaline rush that went straight to through his limbs and into his chest.

“Fuck,” He stated clearly, letting himself sit for a moment before the high took over. Staring at her under the influence became a greater, much more euphoric feat as he turned to see Charli smiling at him with a face of triumph.

The world outside the tent seemed to fade into a distant hum as Harry and Charli sat cross-legged on the crumpled blankets. The warm buzz of the coke coursed through Harry's veins, amplifying every sensation, every sound, every breath Charli took in the small area. The tent was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lantern they’d placed at the entrance. It cast a golden hue over Charli’s face, making her skin look impossibly smooth, her eyes dark and endless as her dark curls laid around her face.

Charli leaned back on her elbows, her gaze fixed on Harry with a mix of amusement and something else he couldn’t quite place. She bit her lip, a small, almost absent-minded gesture that sent a jolt through Harry's chest. He was hyper-aware of everything—of the way her top had slipped slightly off one shoulder of how her breath was just a little unsteady, matching his own.

“This stuff’s intense,” Charli murmured, her voice soft but carrying a weight that made Harry’s pulse quicken.

“Yeah, it really is,” he replied, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. His eyes flicked down to her lips, then back to her eyes. The air between them felt charged, thick with anticipation and a tension that couldn’t be fooled.

A slow smile spread across Charli’s face, and she tilted her head, studying him like she was seeing him for the first time. “You’re different here, you know that?” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Not the same Harry I see with Jack.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, but it may have been the mixture of substances. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Charli shrugged, her smile deepening. “You’re… less shy. More fun.”

Harry laughed softly, the sound coming out shaky. “I guess this place brings it out of me.”

Charli’s smile faltered for just a moment, her eyes searching his. “Or maybe it’s just us,” she said quietly. “In this world.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, and Harry felt a thrill run through him. Charli sat up slowly, closing the space between them until he could feel the heat radiating from her body. Her knee brushed against his thigh, and it was like an electric shock. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how close she was, how he could smell the faint traces of her perfume, mixed with the sharp scent of sweat and something sweet.

“I’ve always liked that about you,” Charli said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “How you’re different. How you make me feel different. You’ve always been so nice to me, you know? So… pleasing.”

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Charli…”

She didn’t let him finish. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. Her touch was light, almost tentative, but it was enough to break the dam.

In one swift motion, Charli leaned in, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was both fierce and hungry. Harry’s mind went blank, every thought drowned out by the sensation of her mouth on his, the taste of her, the feel of her body pressing against his. He responded instinctively, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, grew more frantic. It was a deepened state of mind that brought him back to reality as he pulled away for a moment to breathe and regroup his thoughts.

Harry grabbed the bandana around his neck, pulling it off before he moved to the front of the tent. Charli’s eyes narrowed as she watched him begin to leave, her mind not meeting her words that she wanted to speak out. Instead, she watched as he wrapped the bandana around the zipper of the tent, letting it hand off the outside before he zipped it up fully.

“So Jack knows I’m in here with someone,” He told her, “Our secret, though, yeah? You and me?”

Charli nodded a few times before they had reattached to one another again. Harry reached out to grab the back of her head, pulling her lips to him in a quick, rushing moment. They were pressed to each other, the messy top lip kiss elated a whimper from Charli before she sat up on her knees, pushing back against Harry to try and get him to lay down so that she could take the control she craved.

He resisted, letting his hand grab at her waist before letting her climb into his lap as a fair compromise. Her arms wrapped around his neck, hair falling over their kiss as she allowed her tongue to travel over his plumped bottom lip. It was a feeling greater than pleasure; one of great heights that she would never be able to pinpoint except in this moment.

“You’re a needy little minx, aren’t you?” Harry grabbed onto her waist, the bares skin only being covered by the string that held her top up. “Coming onto your brother’s friend, such a needy, sly little fox. Wouldn’t have ever thought it.”

His hands felt the small of her back before she pulled back to get a glimpse of the way that his eyes dilated to the largest, dark circles of abyss, staring at her with a want so great that she wasn’t sure she’d ever find again.

She didn’t know which substance was talking but she seemingly found either to be mesmerizing.

“God,” She breathed out, pushing his hair back—his head pushing back as she kissed along the base of his neck. Her hips pressed into his, pushing up on his stomach as she pressed against the length of his body. “Wasn’t going to fuck just anyone this weekend, you know,” She breathed, “Love getting what I want.”

Harry scoffed at her answer, pulling her back before he let her hands rest against his shoulders. His eyes flew down to the way that her top dropped in the front. His hands reached behind her to grab the tie, pulling at it hastily before the top practically fell apart in his hands. The way that his eyes glided over her perfectly settled tits was mesmerizing; her left one holding a small, silver piercing that caught his attention like a hawk.

As she sat in his lip, her chest at eye level, Harry stared up at her for a moment before she squirmed in anticipation. Harry licked his lips softly before spitting gently onto her hardened nipple, watching as the dribble slid down the curve of her skin. Her heart practically stopped at the stalemate interaction, waiting for him to touch her.

The heaviness of her breath took his breath away— watching her chest inflate, deflate, settle. His cock hardened underneath her, her hips moving and feeling the reaction before a bit of surprise crossed her face.

“You’ve gotten me worked up all weekend, you know that?” He told her roughly, his throat hoarse but telling her simply, “Not going to go lightly on you—I’m going to fuck you into oblivion, and you’re going to take every inch, every moment, every word of it. You understand me?”

His thumb reached out to rub over the darkened, hard nipple that had sat untouched. Her reaction was visceral. The heat of the tent was starting to get to her already but couldn’t breathe at the thought of what was to come.

“Mhm,” She nodded, curtly, “Yes, sir—fuck, yes, please.”

The nickname sparked an electricity below his belt before he pushed her from him and onto the small, padded area of the tent that he had been sleeping on. Her world flipped as she stared now at the ceiling; the small light of the lantern by the door was the only amount of light. His hips pushed into hers as they melted into one another.

It didn’t take him anytime at all before he pulled down the shorts that sat on her body—they weren’t covering much, but they were enough of a barrier. The boots she had been wearing came too. His eyes drifted to the jet-black thong that covered little to nothing. The growl in his chest reverberated before he leaned up to kiss her again— messy, the way that his mustache tickled her lip was a certain kind of pain.

She wasn’t sure what was his needs and what was the drugs that were heightening every inch of her sense. She felt her body trembling, Harry watched as she shivered, her teeth chattering for a moment before he nodded as if to speak to her without a single word.

“You’ve got it all pent up,” He nodded at her, confirming her want and needs, “It’s going to fucking snap—you’re going to feel like you’re looking at yourself from up above, like you’re levitating almost,” He licked his lips, “I’m going to talk you through it though, don’t you worry.”

His hands moved to her hips, pulling them up as he played with the edges of the small thong that barely created space between them. Harry pulled himself up to leave a few more kisses on her mouth, notably feeling the want and need of her tongue pressing past his lips for more intensity—more feeling as she responded to his touch.

“Do you hear that?” She asked him, breaking their touch and kiss as he stared down at her for a moment. His eyes heavy on hers as she stared at him with a million sparkles in her eyes—the sparkling dust filling around her orbiting pupils.

“The music?” He asked, unsure. But when he watched her shake her head, he narrowed his eyebrows.

“That sound—it’s a buzzing, it’s uh, it’s like, it’s rushing—the ocean,” She shook her head, shutting her eyes. “It’s—”

Harry lifted his hand brushing her cheek softly before he looked between her eyes. Licking his lips, he nodded in acknowledgment.

“That’s the blood in your veins you’re hearing. Sounds like the rushing of water, every time your heart beats.” He explained, as if it was logical.

Charli took in a breath, “It’s addicting—that sound.”

Harry let his hand drift further down, down, down. Stopping at the small string of her thong, pulling at it.

“Let me make the sound louder, hm?” He sat up just a bit, giving him room to pull the underwear down her legs. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he watched them turn menacing, the devilish pleasure kingdom heating between her thighs.

It took everything in him not to drop his eyes—he’d never get the sight out of his memory once he did. Her laying there in complete submission to him—wanting his touch more than the security of never doing anything about it.

Her knees bent upwards, her hand resting on her stomach before she teased the idea of going further on her own. His eyes flickered, catching sight before he breathed outwards. The world turned upside down, eating away at him as pulled at the cotton tee that rested on his back, letting the clothes make a puddle next to them.

“You going to show me how you like it, then?” He teased, letting his lips settle between her breasts, giving a small kiss before moving down a few inches. The kisses were hard, pulling at her skin the way he knew she wanted.

“I’ve never felt like this,” She told him honestly, arching her back.

“Need me, then, do you?” He asks, sitting up a bit before kissing the top of her knee. His hand ran itself down the length of her torso, watching every movement of it. It was like a trail, a road. Every divot, every freckle, every small wrinkle of her skin.

“So bad.” She gasped out before he let his fingers move down her body further. The moment he touched her, they both gasped at the undeniable feeling of longing—the collection of wetness that coated his fingers, the warmth of her being.

Harry watched every moment, every movement. His lips parted, watching as she quickly settled, finding her grounding once he pressed one finger deep into her. The way that she opened for him wasn’t a coincidence; she had been waiting for this moment for so long, he could feel every inch of her holding onto his soul.

“God, more,” She begged, her hands moved into her hair as she arched into the feeling. “More—fuck.”

In that moment, he felt like an other-worldly being, giving her everything that she could have asked for. Anything he did would pleasure her; it was a superiority that couldn’t believe he had in his touch, but he smirked at her desperation.

“More?” He confirmed, letting his middle finger slide in right in place, before he curved them, “Like that?”

A mewl left between her lips as she huffed a breath. It was a bit loud; he could process that as soon as it happened, the noise going straight below his shorts before he leapt up to grip at her chin.

“Shh,” He told her, “Knew you’d be loud, but we gotta’ keep it to us, hm? Just right here.” His mouth leaned down, hot breath along her lips as he held his arm up right next to her head.

Charli felt like her body had melted onto the floor and completely dispersed in a million directions. The lightness that she felt, the warmth that her body harbored while still having a chill to her skin. Each movement, each touch, each breath—it came into her mind like the brightest sunshine.

His fingers moved in a synchronization with her heartbeat as she felt the easiness that came with pleasing her. He pressed on her lower abdomen when he pressed in, which elicit her back to arch against the ground. It was a rapid movement, but more of a flick to his wrist like a painter would say practice makes perfect.

Harry’s eyes moved down to the perfectly pink tone of her clit, aching and drenched with pleasure as he let his thumb rub over it. Her own wetness creating the perfect glide of his fingers as he bit back at the filth of his thoughts. He had so much to say and would hold it back from scaring her off.

The soft whimper of her created a symphony between them; one rock of her hips too many would set him off, he was certain.

“Don’t be scared of it, c’mon,” He pushed his fingers in to the knuckle, letting them beckon with the motion, letting them sit for a moment before his thumb rubbed over her swollen clit—the blood rushing through her system as he nodded at her. “You can fucking do it, Char, fucking soak me, huh?”

Her back arched in anticipation of the rush, pressing her hips into his touch further as the overwhelming and unjustifiable sense of pleasure carried her upwards into the heavens. The sound she made was sinful, the way that her eyes rolled back. Every inch of the detail was harbored by the darkness around them, but Harry felt that he could see through it—watching it as brightly as he could.

There was a small gush of her orgasm that made her body shiver with adrenaline as it soaked her inner thighs, the muscles in her legs contracting and shaking as she pulled them together. She breathed out a whimpered moan before grabbing onto his forearm to elicit the message that she was simply overworked by the feeling.

Harry breathed heavily, watching her wrecked laying in the middle of the bed he had made—simply lying in it. Her chest pulsed upwards as she had her eyes shut; he knew, even in his high, that he needed to give her a minute before they imploded. He didn’t want to make her heart rate skyrocket, so he settled on giving himself the pleasure of bringing his fingers towards his lips, letting his tongue dance over the wetness of them.

“So, so fucking delicious.” He stated under his breathe, watching as she writhed under him. Her eyes now wide open, watching him taste her on his fingers as she mewls with need. It’s filthy—it’s nothing she’s ever witnessed; a man devouring a woman in this way. She knew it would be like this with him, which turned her on more than she could imagine.

“Going to wet my cock like that too, hm?” He asked, coaxing her. “Going to prove yourself to me?”

Her face was flushed, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. It took him a moment, the words leaving his lips were enough to push her over the edge once again. He pressed his hands into her hips to steady her, giving her a sense of grounding. His high made his head dizzy with greed; his thoughts danced with a flourishing wave of desire.

“You have to stay with me, Charli,” He told her gently, “Let me hear your pretty words. You want me?”

Charli had tears in her eyes, a push of absolute certainty flooded through her as she sat up in a haste to let her hands move through his hair. Her lips found his again, letting her taste herself against his lips—his tongue was warm with her.

“Mm, those aren’t words,” He murmured against her. “But I’ll take it as a yes.”

“I’m just speechless,” She giggled out, “Sorry.”

It was chaos; the mascara smudged on her bottom lash line that created a darkened effect. It was revelry; the waning moon of her pupils as they settled back into a faded darkness.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” Harry echoed out his thoughts into the air as he let his thumb press into her bottom lip. He grabbed onto it, letting her smirk take over as she only harbored the horniness further from the way he degraded and lifted her in such bliss. “So, so fucking pretty. Could wreck every inch of your pretty cunt.”

“Let me play the game,” Her voice shrouded innocence, letting her hair fall into her face before he pushed it back. Her mind was running a million miles a minute, but her movements were slow, her erraticism and need for him ate away at her.

In an instant, she was pushing at his chest, moving him back so that he could rest on his hands. She wanted to pull on his shorts, let them both then lay together. The sweat that had sheened over their bodies both had created a humidity within the tent as they continued to find air to breathe, focusing on themselves.

Charli’s hands had pulled the shorts down his hips, practically not even giving attention to the stiff cock that laid against him—ready for her at any moment. Their lips intertwined again; he had missed the sweetness, knowing that it was such a part of their collective. She sighed against him, loving the feeling of his facial hair against her skin—the rough pleasure of it.

Harry laid, his back arching from the hardness of the ground, his hands on her hips as she moved to straddle him. Charli placed her shaking hand around his length, pumping him a few times, eyeing it for a moment before the sensual want of her eyes caught his. Harry bit his lip at the way that she looked; her disguise of innocence was just that.

Her head leaned down, a gentle lick under the head of his cock just to set his skin ablaze. Her eyes matched his, the eye contact far too superior. His eyes watched the hunger that captivated her, each moment longer than the next as she rested her weight on his chest before she lifted herself to sink down onto him instead.

The control he didn’t have was obvious now; he gripped onto the flesh of her hips, jaw tight. His eyes shut as he tried to come to terms with the already built feeling that settled within him. It had built up to an indecent amount, and his mind was blurring with thoughts that continue to poke and prod.

It was quick—an instant, really. No thoughts, no inhibitions, just surrender and want.

“God, fuck,” He cursed, letting her settle as her torso seemed to go for miles, he looked up. “You’re so fucking wet. Christ.”

Charli lolled her head back at the feeling of him, her hips moving back and forth just to grab onto the tension that was building. Her hair fell onto her back as she let out a breath, her hands resting on his chest to hold herself up as Harry watched her practically rub herself onto him.

His eyes wandered up her chest, watching as she arched her back to pull herself towards him. Harry’s hands landed on her ass, spreading her apart as he bucked his hips into her, his length poking in and out of her enough to create a guttural response in the back of her throat.

Harry lifted his fingers to grab at the back of her neck, pulling her head forward. His thumb pressed gently into her lips as they pouted outwards, letting his fingers coat themselves in the wetness of her bottom lip. Their hips rocked together; he grabbed her ass, pulling her upwards before he slammed his hips into her.

It was fun—it was one of the most diabolical moments he could remember, considering he knew that they could be caught at any moment in the most compromising of positions. He bit his lip to stifle the smile that pushed on his face as Charli looked down towards him, biting her own lip with ease.

“You are such fucking trouble,” Harry’s tongue was hot all the sudden, “Going to be the end of me.”

Charli hummed, laying forward to let her lips crash against Harry’s once against, a sea of teeth and scrapes as she let her nose rest against his for a moment.

“Been trying to tell you for years,” She breathed out while keeping their rocking motion of thrusts, their in-sync motions letting her breath heighten, “Too stubborn.”

“Bullshit,” Harry moved her hips against him, looking up at her, “You haven’t shown a bit of interest in me.”

Charli threw her hair to the other side of her head, letting her lips move down to the base of Harry’s jaw to suck gently—he lifted his head a bit to let her work.

“You’re clueless, then,” She chuckled under her breath, “I always wanted you to be my first kiss, you know. I had the biggest crush on you.”

The slight ping of vulnerability that hits the air lets Harry’s eyes flicker back to her; his hands roaming the fleshiness of her hips, fingernails scraping against her skin, details of her touch were kept in his mind.

“Had?”

They seem to be the only words that Harry can muster out before he watches her blush, pulling her head down into his neck as they both moan in unison from the way that she pulls up, moving down a bit more forcefully.

“Shit, you can’t keep doing that—” Harry starts to warn before she does it again, eliciting a reaction as he holds onto her waist so she can’t move any further. Charli can’t help it though, she’s pushing herself back at the feeling, knowing the one that she’s chasing is enough to give herself another orgasm.

She pushes back again a few more times—Harry’s inhibitions and self-control have formally flung out of the air; he’s never felt more obliterated and unwell. Focusing on her for a moment, he shakes his head as he recognizes that he’s not at all in the right headspace. The powder usually calms him and gives him more self-control, but something about this feels different.

Something about her.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna,” He pulled her hips up, lifting her from him before ribbons of cum were left on her lower tummy and thigh, and his stomach as he held his length to finish himself off. “Fuck.”

It was a senseless act, knowing that their response time had already been stunted from the high that they were on top of the world with. His muscles contracted heavily, watching as she held herself up, straddling his lap around the mess that coated both. It’s a moment of silence, a bit of regret at the now messy situation that has them both sitting for a moment with shaky breaths and uncontrollable heart rates.

“Oh, god,” He breaths, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

His eyes feel like they’re moving a mile a minute, trying to settle as they look at Charli on top of him. She’s bent over now, laying on top of him with their chests intertwined.

“Let me,” He offers, pushing her up a bit. He grabs the shirt he had been wearing, wiping it along himself, and her.

A few passes with the fabric, he throws it to the other side of the tent. At this point, his body feels like it’s become quite exhausted—it may have been dehydration, it may have been the high that had been wearing off. Harry licks over his lips as he feels Charli move from his body and down to his side. His arm reaches to grab the blanket that they had both been laying on top of, now moving it over their bodies as he felt her shivering next to him.

The high had been wearing off; her eyes shut and heavy as she laid on her side away from him. Her body tangled itself into the blankets, forming a cocoon of sorts to lay comfortably against him.

“Stay?” Her words were almost a question; one that he wasn’t sure was for him, or a confirmation from her that she would be. Instead, he pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, shielding her body that was out in the open. His breath inhaled her scent, nose nudging at her shoulder before he nodded.

“Stay.” He confirmed.

Harry clenched his jaw as he shut his eyes; the sleep that was impending came sooner than expected for the both of them.

When Harry opened his eyes next, the light from the tent had been bursting in. The heat of the fabric had given his skin a sheen of sweat as he pulled the blanket from his chest. The way that his head pounded was a stark recollection of the previous night and the person he had wished most to see when he turned over.

But the space next to him was empty—the tent was empty.

He sat up, horrified by the way that he felt—knowing that he shouldn’t have participated in the coke with Charli, but knowing that what came out of it was stuck in his memory for the rest of his life. He wondered if she regret it; walking away from him without waking up next to him felt like something someone with regret would do.

Harry pulled his shorts on, as he hadn’t redressed the night prior. Crawling towards the zipped-up door, he opened it, finding himself squinting at the bright lights that had been trying to make their way through the fabric of the tent.

The pavilion was covered, and the familiar voices spoke outwardly with familiarity.

“Well, look who it is.” Jack’s words echoed out as Harry approached the small circle then. The small circle was the two people that he had not wanted to explicitly talk to right away. “Crazy night, huh? Couldn’t even come back to my tent, you must’ve been going all night. Lucky lady.”

He noticed Charli sitting there, her legs pulled up to her chest, wearing a large t-shirt and shorts that were most definitely men’s boxers. He swallowed hard, not wanting to take a closer look but being almost completely certain that they were his.

Their eyes met for a moment; Charli lifted her hand to bite the skin around her thumb to keep herself from asserting any type of notion that either of them had a clue about what Jack had been talking about.

Instead, Harry nodded simply.

“Yeah, something like that.” His pulse threatened to burst at the thought of her; at the thought of them. “Yeah—I, uh, think that’s the first time that won’t be a one-time thing.”

Charli’s interest piqued, her eyes focusing on him for a moment before Jack hit his shoulder, chuckling out softly before he shook his head.

“She must’ve stolen your heart for you to say something like that.” Jack exclaimed, taking a bite of his breakfast, offering Harry a plate before he took it willingly. Charli, sitting there trying to mind her own had a simple smile on her face, trying her best to not give away any details of the previous night.

But her mind took her back to falling asleep next to him; the quiet snores, the softness of his skin, the warmth of his embrace. She tucked some hair that had been falling out of her ponytail, biting her lip as she sniffled softly.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded a few times, the smile encapsulating his face, “Something like that.”

[lazy-ahh]

You said I could send u a request! so I am taking u up on ur offer 🤓👆🏽if u write for them…Mohawk mark varient x male reader? I’ve been craving something hurt/comforty?as comforty u can get with those dorks ANYWAY thank yewwww i really do love your writing it’s SO GOOOODD AISBWOSBSUDBDUVE

ME? CARE? LOL. LMAO.

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x male reader

imagine the most unhinged version of mark grayson—now give him a mohawk, piercings, and exactly zero self-preservation instincts. this is that fic. (also maybe some feelings. but we don’t talk about those.)

the warehouse is dark, smells like motor oil and regret, and you’re really wishing you hadn’t gotten captured today. like, seriously? it was your day off. you could be bed-rotting right now. scrolling through dumb videos. eating cereal straight from the box like a feral raccoon. anything but this.

but no. instead, you’re tied to a chair in some crusty villain lair, your favorite hoodie probably getting dust stains, and your only entertainment is the fact that this dumbass in front of you actually thinks he can use you as leverage.

"you really think this’ll work?" you mutter, testing the ropes around your wrists. they don’t budge—not that you’re trying too hard. you could get out if you wanted. but where’s the fun in that?

the villain—some guy with a fancy energy glove that probably cost way too much for how ugly it is—grins at you like he’s just won the lottery. "oh, it’ll work. invincible cares about you. he’ll negotiate."

you blink. then you laugh—a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoes off the warehouse walls. "invincible? negotiate? dude, he’s gonna rip your spine out through your nose."

glove-guy’s smile flickers. "shut up."

"no, no, i gotta know," you continue, leaning forward as much as the ropes allow. "who even told you this was a good idea? like, did you see him at all before you decided ‘yeah, kidnapping his whatever-i-am is a solid plan’? because—and i cannot stress this enough—that guy is fucking feral."

glove-guy’s eye twitches. "he won’t risk your life."

"oh my god," you groan, tipping your head back. you don't deny it, though. "you actually don’t get it. he’s not gonna risk my life because he’s gonna erase yours before you even blink."

"enough!" he snaps, raising his stupid glove like it’s intimidating.

you roll your eyes. "bro, i’ve literally seen that guy bite someone’s ear off for looking at him wrong. you’re toast."

before you could get another taunt in, he decides to punch you on your side. hard. you cough, eyes wide, before you glare at the motherfucker. you ignore the way your side actually stung. oh, he's about to get put on a t-shirt once you're out of this chair. glove-guy opens his mouth to retort—

—and then the wall explodes.

concrete shrapnel flies, dust clouds billowing up in slow-motion like the universe itself is screaming oh shit. and then—there he is.

mark.

silhouetted against the moonlight like some kind of feral, bloodthirsty angel, floating in the wreckage of the wall he just obliterated because subtlety was never in his vocabulary.

not that you’re looking or anything.

okay, fine, you’re looking. who wouldn’t? mark’s all lean muscle and barely-contained violence, his stupid skintight suit doing nothing to hide the way his body moves—like every inch of him is built for destruction and looks good doing it. his shoulders are broad enough to throw a car (and have, multiple times), tapering down to a waist that’s stupidly narrow for someone who eats entire pizzas in one sitting. his arms are corded with muscle, veins standing out along his forearms as he cracks his knuckles, and his thighs—god, his thighs—could probably crush a watermelon. or a skull. whichever’s more convenient.

his mohawk’s sticking up in every direction like he just stuck his finger in an outlet (again), the shaved sides of his head only emphasizing the sharp cut of his jaw. his grin’s all teeth—sharp and way too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is loving every second of it.

and god, his eyes—locked onto glove-guy with the kind of unholy glee usually reserved for kids in a candy store. or maybe a cat who just knocked a glass off the table. same energy, really.

oh, and the piercings.

because of course mark’s the type to have them—two little silver studs on each side of his eyebrows, catching the light when he tilts his head like he’s considering the best way to ruin someone’s day. two more at the corners of his mouth, glinting when he smirks (which is always), drawing attention to the way his lips curl when he’s about to say something especially shitty. and if you happen to notice the flash of metal on his tongue when he licks his lips—well. that’s your business.

not that you care.

"ohhh," mark croons, voice dripping with the kind of mock sympathy that absolutely means someone’s about to lose several internal organs. "you thought taking him would work?" he tilts his head, the way a wolf does right before it goes for the throat. "that’s adorable."

"ohhh," mark croons, voice dripping with the kind of mock sympathy that absolutely means someone’s about to lose several internal organs—messily. he tilts his head, the movement sharp enough to make the silver studs in his eyebrows glint under the flickering warehouse lights.

"you thought taking him would work?" he asks, sweet as poisoned honey. he takes a single step forward, the crunch of broken glass under his boot sounding suspiciously like bones snapping. his shoulders roll, the fabric of his suit straining over the muscle as he cracks his knuckles—one by one, slow, like he’s counting down to disaster.

"that’s adorable," he taunts.

you snort. "told you."

glove-guy’s face does this fantastic little journey from confident to oh no to full-blown panic in about half a second flat. "i—i have your partner!" he yelps, shoving the glowing end of his stupid glove against your temple like it’ll help. "i’ll kill him!"

you sigh, long-suffering. you don't even bother to try and deny that you aren't his partner (yet). "mark, please don’t monologue."

"you don’t monologue," mark shoots back, pointing an accusing finger at you like you’re the problem here.

"my bad," you deadpan, "you just looked like you were about to start your boring ted talk again. this is a very uncomfortable chair, you know. if this was any other time, i wouldn’t have minded falling asleep."

mark’s eye twitches. "falling asl— you’re literally at gunpoint."

"eh." you shrug. "technically it’s a glove-point. and honestly? after the week i’ve had? this is almost relaxing."

"relaxing," mark repeats, flat.

"y’know, aside from the whole potential death thing. but hey, at least the company’s entertaining." you grin up at him. "speaking of—you gonna do something, or are you just here to hover dramatically?"

mark’s grin goes sharp. "oh, i’m doing something."

then he moves.

one second, he’s floating there like an overgrown, pissed-off bumblebee. the next—

crunch.

glove-guy doesn't even get a scream out before mark's got him by the wrist, squeezing until the metal creaks like a soda can under a hydraulic press. the guy makes this hilarious squeaking noise, halfway between a deflating balloon and a stepped-on mouse, and you would feel bad for him—

—if mark wasn't currently laughing, wild and unhinged, the sound bouncing off warehouse walls as he yanks the guy forward by his own stupid glove hard enough to hear something pop. "hey. hey." his voice drops to a purr, all rough edges and promised violence, while his free hand comes up to pat the guy's cheek—harder than necessary, his eyebrow piercings catching the dim light as he tilts his head. "you took my favorite nuisance. you really thought that'd end well?"

you gasp, jerking forward so dramatically the chair legs screech against concrete. "favorite? mark, i'm blushing." you try to press a hand to your chest before remembering your arms are still tied behind you, so you just flop your whole upper body forward instead, nearly toppling the chair. "wait till i tell everyone you finally admitted it—"

"shut up," mark hisses, but his ears are pink under the shaved sides of his mohawk, the flush creeping down his neck. he definitely squeezes glove-guy's wrist harder just to distract from it. "you're barely above tolerable on your best day."

"aw, you do pay attention to my good days!" you beam, kicking your feet again for emphasis. "that's practically a love confession in mark-speak. should we get matching bracelets? couple's tattoos? maybe—"

"i will throw you into the sun," mark growls, but there's no heat behind it—not when he's still got that stupid pink tinge to his ears, not when his grip on glove-guy has loosened just enough to show he's distracted.

glove-guy whimpers. "can i—"

"no," you and mark say in unison. you grin; mark scowls. it's beautiful.

glove-guy whimpers. "p-please—"

mark pats his cheek once more. "aw. no."

then he punches him so hard the guy spins mid-air before hitting the ground like a sack of wet flour.

silence.

you blink. "…that was almost cool."

mark immediately flips you off. "you’re welcome."

"i could've handled it myself," you say, just to watch him scowl, your voice dripping with that special mix of smugness only someone who regularly bench-presses sedans can pull off.

"oh, really," mark deadpans, crossing his arms so hard his biceps strain against his sleeves. "really. you, tied to a chair by fucking dollar store rope, were totally about to—"

you wiggle your fingers just enough - a quick twist of your wrists, that specific angle you've practiced a thousand times - and snap, the ropes explode into fibers like someone set off a party popper full of disappointment. the frayed ends flutter to the ground in slow motion, one sad strand landing directly on mark's boot.

"ta-da," you deadpan, shaking out your hands like you've just performed some grand illusion instead of literally just flexing. "any requests? maybe saw a lady in half? make your boring personality disappear?"

mark blinks. once. twice. his nose scrunches up like he's smelled something rotten. "...you sat there the whole time."

"magic tricks," you sing-song, shaking out your wrists with exaggerated flair. "who knew?"

"i hate you," mark announces, so vehemently it makes the unconscious bad guys twitch.

"you love me," you correct, standing up and brushing nonexistent dust off your pants just to annoy him further. "admit it. you think my 'sit still and look pretty' strategy is inspired."

mark growls, grabs you by the back of your hoodie, and takes off into the night before you can even yelp.

"rude!" you shout over the wind, flailing dramatically as the city blurs into streaks of neon and shadow beneath you. your hoodie flaps like a demented cape, nearly smacking you in the face.

"you’re welcome!" mark shouts back, grinning like the little shit he is—all sharp teeth and way too pleased with himself.

you groan, twisting just enough to yank his hand off your hoodie (gently, because you like this hoodie, and mark has the grip strength of a hydraulic press). with a quick burst of energy, you steady yourself mid-air, falling into pace beside him.

the city sprawls below, a mess of glittering lights and jagged rooftops. for once, it’s quiet—or as quiet as it gets when you’re floating a few thousand feet up with wind screaming past your ears. when the two of you are in a room together, silence is rare. usually, it’s all snark and shoving and mark actively trying to set things on fire. but this? this is… nice.

you glance over at him.

moonlight cuts across his face like liquid silver, softening the usual manic edge in his expression - the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the permanent crease between his brows when he's plotting murder. he looks calm. almost peaceful, if you could ever associate that word with a guy who once bit a drone out of the sky for fun and then spat out the shrapnel like sunflower seeds.

his mohawk’s a disaster in the best way, strands defying gravity like they’ve personally rejected the concept of physics, each one a tiny rebellion against order. it shouldn’t suit him—but it does, the same way a lit fuse suits a stick of dynamite. beautiful in that dangerous, unpredictable way that makes your throat tight.

and his mouth - god, his mouth. chapped from the wind, always twisted into some variation of a smirk or a snarl, but right now just... still. the moonlight catches on his teeth when he exhales, turning them into tiny blades of ivory. not that you're thinking about how they'd feel against your skin. definitely not.

(you're absolutely thinking about that.)

you look away, throat weirdly tight. "...thanks."

mark immediately side-eyes you like you just confessed to secretly being a llama. "what."

"you heard me," you mutter, suddenly very interested in a random skyscraper.

"no, no, hang on—" he flips mid-air to face you, hovering like an overexcited hornet. "did you just—thank me?"

"oh my god, forget it—"

"no, no, this is historic," mark cackles, zooming in closer like this is the best thing he’s heard all week. "was that gratitude? from you? do i need to check for a concussion? did glove-guy poison you?"

you shove at his face. "shut up. i take it back. i regret everything."

mark dodges, still grinning. "too late. i’m framing this moment. putting it in a museum."

"i hate you," you announce, flipping him off for good measure.

"you love me," he shoots back, smug as hell.

"i tolerate you."

"bullshit," mark says, but his voice is weirdly soft. then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, "...you’re welcome, though."

there’s a beat.

then—

"awww, was that sentiment? from you?" you gasp, clutching your chest. you try to ignore the way your cheeks feel warmer. you blame it on the cold wind. "do you have a concussion? should i check for—"

"i’m going to punch you."

"liar."

mark growls, but he doesn’t deny it.

(and if he flies a little closer the rest of the way home, well. that’s nobody’s business.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the two of you touch down on a rooftop, still bickering, when your foot catches on the ledge. you stumble—hard—and suddenly, your vision whites out in a burst of pain.

"ow, what the—?" you glance down.

oh.

oh.

there’s a gash in your side, deep enough that your hoodie’s soaked through with blood. huh. that… probably should’ve hurt more earlier. maybe the adrenaline wore off. maybe you’re just that good at ignoring pain. or maybe—

"what the fuck."

mark’s voice is wrong. too quiet. too flat.

you look up, grinning weakly. "hey, so, fun story—turns out glove-guy’s stupid glove was kinda sharp—"

mark moves faster than you can blink. one second, he’s across the roof. the next, his hands are on your shoulders, shoving you down onto a ventilation unit. his fingers are trembling.

"why didn’t you say anything?!" he snarls, but it’s not anger in his eyes—it’s panic, raw and unfiltered.

you blink. "uh. forgot?"

mark chokes on a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. "forgot. you forgot you were stabbed."

"to be fair," you wheeze, "you were really distracting. all the—hnng—exploding walls and… and the smug face—"

"shut up. shut up." mark’s hands hover over your wound like he’s scared to touch it. his usual swagger’s gone, replaced by something terrifyingly fragile. "you’re bleeding out and you’re joking?"

you open your mouth. close it.

…oh.

oh.

he’s actually scared.

the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. mark—your mark, the guy who laughs while flipping cars, who grins when he’s covered in someone else’s blood—is terrified.

your throat tightens. "hey. hey. look at me." you grab his wrist, squeezing. "i’m not dying over some glove-related incident, okay? that’s embarrassing."

mark shudders, his free hand clenching into a fist so tight you hear his knuckles pop. the veins in his forearm stand out like live wires, that stupid black sleeve of his straining over muscle. "not funny."

"kinda funny," you wheeze, even though your vision's going spotty at the edges. the blood soaking your side is definitely not ideal, but hey—if you pass out now, you'll miss mark's mental breakdown. worth it.

"not. funny." his voice cracks on the last word, raw in a way you've never heard before. not after fights, not after nightmares—never. his other hand's still pressed to your wound, warm and sticky with your blood, trembling like he's the one going into shock.

silence.

then, so quiet you almost miss it: "i can’t lose you too."

your chest aches worse than the gash in your side.

you reach up—ignoring how your arm shakes—and poke the spot between his furrowed brows. "too? wow. you do have friends." you swipe your thumb over the silver eyebrow piercing he definitely doesn't let anyone else touch. "should i be jealous?"

mark huffs, but he doesn’t pull away or swat your hand off like usual. his breath hitches when your fingers trail down to brush his cheek. "asshole."

"yeah," you agree softly, your palm lingering against his jaw. "your asshole."

mark freezes. for one terrifying second, you think you've broken him. then, with a groan that sounds suspiciously wet, he drops his forehead against your shoulder, his mohawk tickling your neck. "i hate you so much." his arms slide around your waist, careful but desperate, like he's trying to put you back together through sheer willpower.

(he holds you the whole way to the medbay.

and when the medics try to pry him off you, he growls like a feral dog.

you don't let go either.)

2.9k words of mohawk mark chaos for you! thanks for the request—i had way too much fun writing this unhinged gremlin. not entirely sure if i did him justice or did this right, but hey, at least he’s here and causing problems. hope you enjoyed the mess!

[bernardsbendystraws]

ꔛ 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏…

A bitter sadness. The kind of depression that didn’t get better with anything except waiting long, excruciating months. And you didn’t feel like waiting this time around. You were so tired, so sad, so numb.

The tiles of the bathroom floor are cold. Your skin is blistered with goosebumps, the thin T-shirt and underwear not doing anything to preserve any warmth. You were supposed to be showering – doing anything to help yourself. But you just couldn’t.

This was giving up.

You melted into a puddle onto the floor. Exhaustion and defeat pulling you down hard. And you just can’t get up. Not this time. 

“Doll?” Matt asks, knocking on the bathroom door, his eyebrows furrowing more as the wood swings open further.

And then he sees you. 

There’s no tears or stains from crying on your face, but you look up at him with empty eyes. His heart sinks, his breaths getting shallow as he sinks down to the floor, crouching in front of you as he places his hands on your knees. 

“Hey,” he moves his head under your gaze as you try to stare down into your lap, “-what’re you doing, sweetheart?” he asks, rubbing his palms over your knees. 

The small hairs sticking up on your skin urge him to look down. He bites into his cheek hard as he analyzes your prickled, shivering skin. 

“Oh, baby….here.” 

You don’t fight it. You have nothing left to fight. Matt shovels you into his arms bridal style, carrying you back into the bedroom before placing you beneath the sheets, cradling you in his arms tight. 

Usually, he’d make a snarky remark about how cold your feet are. But Matt takes matters into his own hands, grabbing your calves and snuggling your feet between his legs. The bitter ice pinch of your skin is nothing compared to the snip of pain poking in his chest. 

He should’ve come home sooner. 

“I got you, you...talk to me next time. Please.”

[koolaidoverwriting]

Hii! Could I request some general dating head canons for Toby?

GENERAL DATING HEADCANONS

CHARACTERS: Ticci Toby, Gender Neutral Reader

A little late, sorry! I did include the waffles joke. I will never exclude the waffles joke.

CW: It's All Fluff, He's Socially Awkward and Cute, Mentions of Childhood Abuse

TICCI TOBY

Toby was born into a life of violence; he's been exposed to it, been a victim of it, and he's committed it himself. You, along with his colleagues, are an escape from the raw and harrowing reality of his life. You are the person he holds at night, whispering to you how you make him better — how you two complete each other.

He vows to never treat you like his father treated his mother. He wants to keep you happy and satisfied, doing everything he can to provide you support But, he's insecure about the relationship and will often ask you for reassurance.

He's overly affectionate. Toby will want to spend a lot of time with you. You go on a date at least once a week — even if it's something small like watching a movie together in the living room. He's also real touchy, holding your hand whenever he can, caressing your skin just to feel your warmth, and giving you small kisses over your body that make you all bubbly.

There's gonna be some biting involved between you two. Playful little nips on your collar. Toby sees biting as a form of love, but he'll stop if you ask him to. He just likes hearing your flustered laughs.

Sharing clothes is a huge yes. Toby thinks you look adorable wearing his t–shirt or hoodie. In the winter time, he'll be sure to pass you his coat — even if you're already wearing one; he wants you to be warm! "My goggles look so funny on you!" he jokes all the time.

If you make him waffles for breakfast (or for any meal, really), he'll be overjoyed. He has his own waffle–maker collection and will absolutely look at waffle–makers on Amazon with you.

Toby got hurt a lot. He couldn't feel the pain, so he often joked about it. Now that he's with you, and he's seen how worried you get, he's started to take care of himself more. Toby's new–found self preservation is shocking to the other proxies, but to you it's sweet.

Toby likes playing with fire. Hell, he'd have the greatest time committing arson with you if it wouldn't endanger your life. On cozy nights, you may go to the backyard, start a bonfire and burn random stuff. He claims the stuff was found in the cellar; but you've definitely seen these items in Jeff's bedroom... Maybe that's why they have such a rivalry.

Toby's gallery has an album dedicated to you. Pictures of you he's taken; the selfies you've sent to him; pictures of you two. Toby loves it all! He's the type to spam your messages with compliments after you send a picture of yourself.

!!! toby having a waffle–maker collection is such a funny idea to me and only me i am so sorry guys. i love him though. fun guy. i definitely think he's a jokester type too. always cracking puns and joking about him getting hurt when it's not funny at all... then apologising when he sees your concern.

[enemiestolovershoe]

Subtle's Overrated Part 2

Noah Sebastian x bsf!dierkes!reader

Part 1

Summary: Y/N and Noah navigate their growing connection during the tour, balancing passion, privacy, and the playful chaos of their close-knit bandmates.

Words: 4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v (wrap it up pls), oral receiving (f and m), use of y/n, language, teasing, suggestive themes, getting 'caught', lmk if i missed something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

It had been two weeks since you and Noah officially got together, and things had somehow only gotten more intense. The teasing from the band had reached an all-time high, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You and Noah were practically inseparable now, a fact that Matt and Folio had coined as being “superglued together.”

“You two are like one of those old-school cartoons where the characters’ hands get stuck together with glue,” Folio said one afternoon, smirking as he leaned back on the bus couch. “I’m just waiting for the part where you try to pull away and end up with your faces stuck together.”

“Very original, Folio,” Noah said dryly, though he didn’t move from his spot beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders as you leaned into him.

“Hey, I call it like I see it,” Folio said, grinning.

Jolly walked in, holding a soda can, and immediately jumped into the conversation. “Calling it ‘superglued’ might actually be an understatement. They’re practically one person at this point.”

“Jealous?” you shot back, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Despite all the teasing, you and Noah had your moments, though not without their share of interruptions. The bus wasn’t exactly known for privacy, a lesson you’d learned the hard way more than once.

Flashback: The Couch Incident

It had been late at night, and most of the band had either passed out or holed up in their bunks. You and Noah had decided to take advantage of the quiet, slipping into the living room section of the bus for some alone time.

You had straddled him, your lips locked in a heated kiss, his hands running up and down your sides. The world outside the bus ceased to exist as his mouth moved against yours, and you’d let your guard down completely.

That is, until the door swung open.

“Yo, anyone up for Mario Kart?” Nicholas Ruffilo’s voice boomed as he barged in, Jolly trailing behind him.

The two of them froze mid-step, their eyes widening as they took in the scene.

“Uh…” Ruffilo started, clearly unsure whether to laugh or apologize.

Jolly, ever the calm one, raised an eyebrow. “Well, this is awkward.”

You scrambled off Noah’s lap, clutching your shirt to your chest in a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity. Noah groaned, his head falling back against the couch.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he muttered.

“We didn’t think we needed to,” Ruffilo said, smirking now. “Apparently, we do.”

Since then, you and Noah had been trying to pick your moments more carefully, though it hadn’t exactly worked out as planned.

Flashback: The Greenroom 

It was the third show of the week, and you’d barely had any alone time with Noah. The greenroom seemed like a safe bet—everyone else was busy getting ready or dealing with soundcheck.

You’d pinned him against the couch, your lips traveling along his jawline as his hands gripped your hips. His low groan sent shivers down your spine, and you were just about to palm him through his jeans when—

“Hey, has anyone seen—oh, come on!”

Matt’s voice rang out, followed immediately by Folio, Nicholas, and Jolly filing into the room. They all stopped short, collectively groaning in mock disgust.

“Seriously?” Matt said, his arms crossed.

“I thought we agreed the greenroom was a neutral zone,” Folio added, though he didn’t seem particularly surprised.

You scrambled off Noah once again, glaring at the group. “Do none of you knock?”

“Not when we don’t think we need to!” Matt retorted, throwing his hands in the air.

“Alright, that’s it,” Noah said, standing and brushing off his jeans. “We’re getting a lock for every door on this tour.”

The interruptions had become something of a running joke, but they’d also solidified one thing in your mind: you weren’t going to let anything happen until you had real privacy—preferably in a hotel, where no one could barge in unannounced.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Noah’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You glanced at him, his expression amused as he sat beside you on the tour bus couch. “Thinking about what?”

“Every time we’ve been interrupted,” he said with a knowing smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “How could I not? It’s like they have some kind of radar.”

“No kidding,” he muttered. “But hey, next week we’re staying in hotels for a few nights.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the implication, but before you could respond, Matt’s voice rang out from the front of the bus.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s go! Soundcheck time!”

You sighed, shooting Noah an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “We’ll pick this up later.”

With a grin, you followed him off the bus, already anticipating whatever chaos the day would bring.

The Toronto skyline loomed in the distance, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. After days of being cooped up on the tour bus and countless interruptions, the idea of staying in a proper hotel felt like heaven. This stop was a multi-day event, and you’d made it abundantly clear to Matt that this time, privacy was non-negotiable.

“Alright,” Matt said as the bus rolled into the hotel parking lot. “We’ve got the rooms sorted. Two doubles for the guys, and one for me.”

“And one for me and Noah,” you interjected, arms crossed as you stood in front of your brother.

Matt’s eyebrows lifted in faux surprise. “Oh? Why do you need your own room?”

You rolled your eyes, already sensing where this was going. “You know exactly why.”

“Do I?” he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “Just seems like an odd request, that’s all.”

“Matt,” Noah groaned, stepping up beside you, clearly already exasperated. “Man, stop being a cockblock already. It fucking hurts.”

Matt smirked, pulling a room key card from behind his back and holding it just out of your reach. “You mean like this?”

You glared at him, but Noah was quicker, snatching the card from his hand with an annoyed grunt. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Have fun, lovebirds,” Matt called after you both as you headed for the hotel entrance, his grin practically splitting his face.

The memory of his smirk stayed with you as you and Noah made your way to your room, but the moment the door clicked shut behind you, all thoughts of Matt or the band vanished. Noah turned to you, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite describe but definitely felt in the air between you.

“We’re finally alone,” he murmured, stepping closer.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though your voice came out a little breathless. “It’s been days. Weeks. It feels like years.”

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You’re telling me,” he said, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and any coherent thought flew out of your head. His lips were firm and demanding, his hands roaming up your back as yours tangled in his hair. The tension that had been building between you two for days finally found its outlet, and it was electric.

Flashback: The Bus Incident

A few nights earlier, after a show, the two of you had rushed back to the bus, desperate for some alone time while the rest of the band went out for drinks. The bus was dark, quiet, and it felt like the perfect opportunity.

You’d barely made it to the couch when Noah pressed you against it, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands slid under your shirt. Your breath came out in soft gasps, your body arching into his touch.

And then, the bus door opened.

“I’m too tired for the bar,” Matt said, stepping inside and flipping the light on. He froze when he saw the two of you tangled together, blinking in surprise before bursting out laughing. “Oh, come on! Can’t I leave you two alone for five minutes?”

“Matt!” you groaned, scrambling off Noah.

“Really?” Noah muttered, his head dropping back against the couch in defeat.

Flashback: The Salt Lake City Studio Incident

You’d managed to convince Matt to book a hotel in Salt Lake City, thinking you’d finally have some privacy. What you hadn’t realized was that Matt had booked a studio apartment for the entire band—and himself.

You and Noah had shared a tiny corner of the room, and every time you thought you might sneak a moment alone, someone was always there.

“Who books a studio apartment for six people?” you’d hissed at Matt as you passed him in the kitchen.

He smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Hey, it’s cozy.”

“Cozy?” Noah had said from the couch, his voice filled with irritation. “We can’t even breathe without someone hearing it.”

Those moments felt like a cruel joke now, but here, in this hotel room in Toronto, it was just the two of you. No interruptions, no teasing bandmates, no cockblocking brothers—just you and Noah, finally free to be together.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. “Worth the wait,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with meaning.

You smiled, your hands resting on his chest. “We’ve only just started.”

Noah smiled against your lips before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with hunger and adoration as he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss—this one deeper, more urgent. His hands found your waist, guiding you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. You stumbled slightly, falling back onto the mattress with a soft laugh.

He followed immediately, pinning you beneath him as his weight settled on top of you. The two of you couldn’t help but giggle, the sound breaking through the tension for a moment.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” you teased, your hands coming up to cup his face.

“Dangerous?” he repeated with a smirk, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “Says the girl who’s been driving me insane for weeks.”

You grinned, leaning up just enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you murmured softly, your eyes locking onto his.

The smirk softened into something more tender, his lips quirking up into a small smile. “I love you too,” he said, his voice just as quiet, before leaning down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours with a slow intensity, the kind that made your whole body hum with anticipation. You felt his hand drift down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin lightly as he paused.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his voice low and filled with both need and care.

You nodded quickly, your own hands moving to help him as you pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. Noah’s lips found their way to your neck almost immediately, leaving a trail of soft, warm kisses down to your collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

His kisses continued downward, his lips grazing over the swell of your breast before he pressed a lingering, wet kiss there. You let out a soft gasp, threading your fingers through his hair as he moved lower, stopping briefly to kiss your belly before his mouth hovered over your shorts.

Noah rested his head there for a moment, looking up at you with a playful smirk. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’ve thought about this exact moment way more than I probably should’ve.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your hands brushing through his hair. “And how does it compare?” you asked, matching his teasing tone.

“Better,” he said, his smirk growing as his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But it’d be even better if these weren’t in the way.” He tugged gently at the waistband of your shorts. “Can I take them off, baby?”

“Please,” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling your shorts down in one smooth motion, leaving your panties in place. His hands brushed along your thighs as he slid back up to you, his lips finding yours once again in a deep, lingering kiss.

“You wear too much,” you murmured against his lips, tugging lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

Noah pulled back with a chuckle, the corners of his lips twitching up into a smirk. “Better get rid of it then, huh?” he said, sitting up just enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

Your eyes roamed over his toned chest, and you couldn’t help but grin. “Much better,” you said, your voice teasing but full of appreciation.

“Glad you approve, princess,” he replied with a playful wink before leaning back down to kiss you again.

As his hands slid up your back, his fingers found the clasp of your bra. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as if silently asking for permission.

You nodded, your breath catching as he unhooked it with practiced ease. Slowly, you slid the straps down your shoulders, letting the fabric fall away to expose yourself to him for the first time.

Noah’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes widening as he took you in. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words, but the way he looked at you made you feel anything but shy. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you said with a small smile, your hands brushing along his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again.

Noah’s lips began their journey down your body once more, leaving soft, deliberate kisses that made your skin tingle. When he reached your chest, he paused, his warm mouth enveloping your nipple while his other hand massaged the opposite breast with care. The contrast of his lips and his hands sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a breathtaking moan escaped your lips.

Hearing your reaction, Noah smirked against your skin, clearly satisfied with the effect he was having on you. His kisses trailed lower, his lips and tongue mapping out every inch of you as he went. When he reached the hem of your panties, he stopped, his warm breath ghosting over the thin fabric.

Without warning, his hand cupped your covered core, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. The teasing look in his eyes as he glanced up at you was enough to make your heart race. Taking the hint, you lifted your hips slightly, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and sliding them off.

The moment you were bare, Noah wasted no time. His mouth descended on your core, his tongue working magic as he explored every sensitive spot. Your back arched off the bed as a moan spilled from your lips, your hands gripping the sheets for support.

His tongue moved with purpose, drawing out gasps and whimpers as he worked. After a moment, he slid two fingers inside you, the sensation making you cry out. His movements were precise, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to push you closer to the edge.

It didn’t take long before the tension coiled tightly in your belly snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you. Your body trembled as you came undone, your cries filling the room as Noah held you steady, guiding you through the high.

When you finally came down, your breath was ragged, your body flushed and buzzing with aftershocks. Noah pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, looking up at you with a proud, mischievous smile.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and full of admiration.

You pulled Noah up by the shoulders, your lips capturing his in a heated kiss. The moment your tongue slid against his, he froze for a brief second, clearly caught off guard. Most of his past partners had refused this kind of intimacy, but you didn’t hesitate. Instead, you deepened the kiss, your taste still lingering on his lips.

“Damn,” Noah murmured when you pulled back slightly, his voice low and almost disbelieving. “You’re full of surprises, princess.”

You smirked, brushing your nose against his. “You like that?”

“Like it?” he said with a breathless chuckle. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Your lips met again, tongues tangling in a battle for dominance. In the heat of the kiss, your hands moved with purpose, sliding down his chest and expertly undoing the button of his shorts. Noah groaned into your mouth as your hand slipped beneath the waistband, brushing against him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head tilting back slightly. Not wanting to waste time, he kicked off his shorts and boxers in one smooth motion, leaving him completely bare in front of you.

Now both naked, you kneeled together on the bed, your hands exploring his tattooed chest. “You’re unreal, you know that?” you said softly, your fingers tracing the ink along his torso.

“Me?” Noah laughed breathlessly, his hands gliding over your hips. “Look at you.”

Instead of replying, you leaned in to kiss him again, trailing your lips down his chest. Your kisses became slower, more deliberate as you moved lower, worshiping every inch of him. When you reached his length, you paused, glancing up at him with a questioning look.

His breathing hitched, and he nodded quickly. “Go ahead, baby,” he said, his voice strained.

You wrapped your hand around him first, stroking him slowly before taking him into your mouth. The reaction was immediate—Noah’s head fell back, and a low, guttural groan escaped his lips.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, his hand tangling in your hair.

You worked him with confidence, your tongue and lips driving him closer and closer to the edge. His breathing grew heavier, his hips starting to move slightly in time with your motions.

“Fuck, princess,” he groaned, his voice shaking. “I’m so close.”

You hummed around him in response, which only made him gasp louder. But then his grip on your hair tightened slightly, pulling you back gently.

“No, you need to stop,” he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I want to cum inside you.”

Reluctantly, you released him, a long string of saliva still connecting you as you sat back. The sight made Noah groan again, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you into another searing kiss.

As his lips moved against yours, he guided you down onto the mattress. His hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your slick heat. You gasped at the contact, your hips arching instinctively toward him.

“You’re so ready for me,” he whispered, his voice full of awe as he lined himself up at your entrance. He paused, his gaze meeting yours. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” you replied softly, your hands cupping his face. “I love you, Noah.”

His expression softened for a moment before he leaned down to kiss you deeply. “I love you too, princess,” he said against your lips, and with that, he pushed into you slowly.

The stretch was overwhelming at first, but the way he held you—his forehead pressed to yours, his hands cradling your hips—made it feel perfect.

The room filled with a symphony of groans and moans as he moved, your bodies finding a rhythm together. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, pulling you closer to the edge once again.

“You feel so good,” Noah rasped, his voice strained as he buried his face in your neck.

“So do you,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

It didn’t take long for the pleasure to build to an unbearable peak. Your body tensed as you cried out his name, your release washing over you in waves. Noah wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he groaned loudly, spilling into you.

Both of you lay there for a moment, panting heavily as you came down from the high. Noah stayed above you, his forehead pressed to yours as he caught his breath.

“Damn,” he finally said with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “That was... everything.”

You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “Worth the wait?”

“More than worth it,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Don’t move, princess,” Noah said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he stood and disappeared into the bathroom.

You lay there, your body still tingling, as you watched him return moments later with a warm, damp towel. Gently, he cleaned you up, his touch tender and caring. When he finished, he tossed the towel toward the bathroom door without a second thought and crawled back into bed beside you.

He pulled the blankets over both of you and immediately wrapped you in his arms, your head resting against his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles on your shoulder, and you felt completely at ease.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before,” you murmured after a moment.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Safe. Loved. Like everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be,” you admitted, your fingers toying with one of the tattoos on his chest.

Noah’s hand stilled for a moment before he tipped your chin up to meet his gaze. “That’s because it is,” he said simply.“You’re everything, Y/N. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but now that I do? I’m not letting go.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. “You’re stuck with me, Noah Sebastian. Better get used to it.”

“Already am,” he teased, grinning against your lips.

The two of you talked for a while longer, sharing stories from the past and dreams for the future. The conversation eventually slowed, and you reached for your phone while Noah grabbed his from the nightstand.

The moment you unlocked your screen, you froze, your heart sinking. There was a message from Matt, and as you opened it, your jaw dropped.

Matt: Okay, if I had known you’d get that fucking loud, I wouldn’t have taken the room next to yours. I never want to hear those noises from my sister again. #traumatized

Your face burned with embarrassment as you stared at the text. “Oh my god,” you whispered.

At the same time, Noah let out a low groan, his phone lighting up with a message. He glanced at it, and then his head fell back against the headboard with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Folio,” he muttered, turning the screen toward you.

Folio: Dude, WTF. Are you murdering her?!

You and Noah locked eyes, both of you holding up your phones to show each other the messages.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, burying your face in your hands. “I can never leave this room again. Never.”

Noah laughed, pulling your hands away from your face. “Come on, princess, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” you squeaked. “My brother heard us, Noah! He’s scarred for life! And Folio? Oh my god, I’m never going to live this down.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Fuck them, princess. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, running his fingers through your hair. “But seriously, let them tease. They’ll get over it eventually.”

You sighed dramatically, but his calm reassurance did help ease the embarrassment a little. “Fine. But if Matt brings this up, I’m denying everything.”

“Good luck with that,” Noah said with a laugh, pulling you closer. “Matt doesn’t let anything go.”

You groaned again, but Noah’s arms around you made you feel a little more confident. Maybe, just maybe, you’d survive the teasing. Eventually.

Taglist: @courta13

[seresinhangmanjake]

Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)

Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.

You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.

While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 

You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.

Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.

Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.

Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 

His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.

“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”

You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.

“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 

“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”

Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.

“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”

Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”

Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”

“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 

“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.

A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did