#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

[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.”

[lonelypoisongirl]

Sister Somno Sex: Featuring transgender big sis and YOU(pussy-having little sis) enjoy :3c

You tread lightly through the hallway of your house, careful not to step on the creaky parts of the floor. You’ve had the path to your older sister’s room memorized ever since you were little. At night you’d sometimes sneak into her room and watch TV with her on the flatscreen your parents had given her for her 13th birthday. She’d roll her eyes when you’d open the door and tell you to go to bed while simultaneously making space for you in her own. You’d excitedly scamper across the room, hoist yourself onto the mattress and wriggle under the covers next to your big sis. The two of you would watch reruns of old cartoons as you slowly drifted off to sleep with your big sister’s body wrapped around you. But that was more than half a decade ago. You missed that intimacy so much but there’s not much you can do about your sister growing out of you. Apparently it's not cool for girls like her to be super close with their younger sisters, or their family at all to be honest. 

You push your nostalgia aside as you are now in front of your big sister’s door. You check your smart watch, 3:46 AM, she should be asleep right? You absent-mindedly adjust the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, underneath it is only a tiny black thong that is already thoroughly damp from the anticipation of what you’re about to do. Softly and with as much steadiness as you can muster you turn the doorknob and push open the door, careful not to let the hinges squeak. Your sister’s room is almost completely dark except for a dim red night light on the wall opposite your sister’s bed. You softly close the door and tiptoe over to the bed where she lays. She’s beautiful like this, her skin is glazed with a layer of sweat and the room is filled with the aroma of her unwashed musk. She's lying on her back with her blankets in a bunch at the end of the bed. She probably got too hot. She’s only wearing a tank top and panties so you get quite the view. Well, mostly wearing. One of her tits seems to have popped out of her top and it takes all your restraint not to dig your fingers into the soft flesh of it and eagerly suck out the milk that’s probably not contained within. You sigh and climb onto the bed, straddling your sister’s sleeping form. You feel the sizeable bulge in her pants press into your crotch. Your sister had to do a specific HRT program that was designed to preserve her ability to procreate. She said she wanted kids when she grows up. You fantasize about her getting you pregnant and raising a family with you. You wonder if she’d ever had a fantasy like that before, It’s fairly likely considering the usual fetishes of teenage trans girls. 

The itch in your pussy that appeared when the idea of fucking your sister first occurred to you seems to increase in intensity at the thought of your imaginary incest family and you compulsively grind into your sister. She moans softly in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. You remember her being a pretty heavy sleeper when you two were kids. Now, it’s time for the main event. You pull down her panties to just above her knees and her 6 inch dick springs upward. You press your face into the tip and inhale deeply. Her smell is more intoxicating to your horny mind than any drug ever could be.You run your fingers through her bush as you continue huffing her thick, sharp scent. You reach back with your left hand and push your panties to the side to begin fingering your oozing slit. You’re so worked up that you cum after only a moment of stimulation. You wait for the wobbliness of your orgasm to subside before sitting up and finally aligning your pussy over your sister’s dick. You take a deep breath and push away the part of you that still thinks this is a bad idea, there’s no going back now. You let yourself drop and finally take your sister’s length inside you.

It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. It’s almost like your pussy was made specifically for your sister’s dick. Its natural curve causes it to press into all your most sensitive spots. You start slowly riding your sister. With each movement your mind is filled with another wave of indescribable euphoria. You glance at your sister who is now moaning consistently in her sleep. You pet her hair as your tight hole squelches lewdly on her cock. You put more force into your downward thrusts and press down hard, pushing your sister’s dick into the deepest parts of you that have never been touched before. The action alone brings your near the edge so you stop riding for a minute and grind, tickling your clit by tracing it over your sister’s pubes. You’re so horny now that you're barely even thinking, you start riding again but this time at a rather feverish pace.

You pound into your sister’s lower body and the squelching sounds are quickly drowned out by the clapping together of your bodies. You reach out and place your hands on the mattress you give you more leverage. Your sister’s dick reaches all the way to the end of your pussy and presses on the entrance to your womb, causing you to moan loudly in pleasure. That moan is joined by the chorus of your sister’s own moans which are increasing in intensity. It’s amazing she hasn’t woken up. Maybe she’s taking sleeping pills now? You shake off the thought, it doesn’t matter why she’s sleeping through it, all that matters is you using her like a dildo. 

Your orgasm builds up quickly and overcomes you before you can stop yourself. You squirt all over your sister and the sheets as your body is overtaken by the greatest feeling you’ve ever experienced. It feels like someone pumped pure ecstasy into your veins. Your body shakes but you keep riding, determined to make your sister cum as well. Your pussy pulses as you ride out your climax on top of your sister’s cock. You wonder if the increased tightness feels better for her as well, a question that is quickly answered as your sister’s dick begins to throb in your pussy. As much as you’d really like for your sister to get you pregnant you aren’t really eager to explain to your parents how you got knocked up without ever leaving the house except to go to the grocery store. You slow down and start pulling yourself off with the intent to do the rest of the work with your mouth, but a pair of hands on your hips pushes you back down instead. You look in horror at your sister who is very much awake and currently staring at you with more lust than you thought the human face was capable of conveying. “No” she croaks.

In an instant she’s sat up and rolled the two of you over so you are now below her with your legs pressed into your chest. She puts one hand on your hip and uses the other to cup your face. Your own big sister pulls you into a sloppy kiss while thrusting her cock deep into your cunt. You moan into her lips and tongue as she starts pounding you. She moans back into you and moves the hand on your hips under your shit to grope at your tits. You grab her still free-hanging breast with one hand and slip the other under her shirt and start rubbing her nipples causing her whole body to convulse. She breaks the kiss and buries her face in your neck. You feel the pressure of your third orgasm of the night begin to build. You breathily moan that you’re cumming and your sister increases her pace in responses. “I’m going to fill you with my puppies now ok.” your sister whispers in your ear. It sounds like a question but she is definitely not asking. She wraps both arms around your body and latches her teeth onto the soft skin of your neck and thrusts as hard and and as deep into you as she can while digging her fingernails into your back. The sensation overcomes you and you climax very wetly. The pulsing of your orgasm triggers her own and she begins pumping hot, thick seed directly into your womb. You both moan in pleasure and hold tightly onto one another’s bodies. The two of you lay still for a few minutes basking in the glow of each other. Eventually your sister rolls over and pulls your still-sensitive form against her.

“That was…the best sex I’ve ever had.” she whispers.

“...same…how long were you awake?”

“I got woken up by your moaning, so whenever you started doing that”

You suddenly actually process what just happened and jolt upright.

“What?” your sister asks dreamily

You stare at her in shock

“You wanted to fuck me!?”

Your sister is quiet for a beat.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you…I just never said anything cause, well, yeah…”

“Really?

“Uh huh, I’m a trans girl. We like sister sex. It’s like, one of our things.”

You lean over and kiss your sister slowly and with more passion than you’ve ever kissed anyone before. Your lips are locked together and you stick your tongue as far down her  throat as you can, almost like you’re trying to reach her heart. Your hands grapes at her har, her tummy, her back, every single part of her. The two of you keep making out for what might be minutes, or hours, you’re too enraptured to pay attention to time or space or anything at all really. You’re fully focused on your big sister. Eventually she pulls away and sighs contently.

“I love you sis” she says, running a hand through your hair.

“I love you too sis.” You get off of her and lay down next to her and bask in her warmth. “You might have actually gotten me pregnant by the way. I’m ovulating right now”

“WAIT WHAT”

The End

[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!

[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.”

[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.

[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

[translunaryanimus]

A Married Couple from the Chlâsle culture displays their outfits The Chlâsle (Beader) culture, also known as the 'central' culture(s) is by far the most widespread culture among Chenesht. Here a married couple, Shêdach [Sheedat] (left) and Mhachâp [Mataap] (right), show off traditional garb for Married Adult Chenesht. Garb is conveniently labeled for our sake. More in depth descriptions below the cut.

Shêdach's Outfit

Shêdach is wearing a Ghelâlcha, a Mhach, a pair of Mhsêlba, and a Nhêdlba. A Ghelâlcha [Gelaalta] directly translates to 'Ghelâ Cover'. Named for its vauge resemblance to the Central Ghelâ when fully unrolled. The Central Ghelâ is a small amphibious quadruped descended from the same common ancestor as Chenesht and populates the waters, sometimes hunted for food. Some Ghelâlcha are patterned specifically to look like the pelt of a Ghelâ, though some find this practice garish and offputting. Shêdach's Ghelâlcha is made of silk, though most are made of a lighter fabric.

A Mhach [Mat] directly translates to 'Cape' or 'Cloak' and is a common item for everyday wear. A Mhach is typically made of hand woven linens crafted from fibers stripped from aquatic plants. On occasion, sturdier fabrics like a canvas weave or even silk are used, but these are typically more expensive as they require more effort and skill. Mhacha are more or less elaborate depending on the occasion, and are frequently decorated with beads along the edge. Shêdach's Mhach beads are in the 'flyfish' (front 3) and 'bloom' (the rest) patterns, and the Mhach itself is clasped with an airjelly beaded pin.

Mhsêlba [Mseelba] directly translates to 'Tie Pants'. Mhsêlba are typically simple and unpatterned as they spend most of their time hidden beneath the Mhach. They're similarly made of linens or silks and are tied with either a flat ribbon or braided chord to keep them out of the swamp below. When untied, Mhsêlba reach the ankle.

Nhêdlba [Needlba] directly translates to 'Tie Shirt'. Nhêdlba are much the same case as Mhsêlba, spending most of their time hidden beneath the Mhach. Patterned Nhêdlba are more popular among unmarried adults and teens. Nhêdlba are tied around the waist with a flat ribbon or braided chord and fall just above the tail when untied. Their hems are typically tucked inside the Mhsêlba.

Shêdach comes from a wealthy family, and so he owns more items made from expensive fabrics and items with more beads/more complex beaded patterns.

Mhachâp's Outfit

Mhachâp is wearing a Mhachlcha, a Mhachnhâl, a Nhêddhan, and a Shochlba over a pair of Mhsêlba. They also carry a Ppamh.

Mhachlcha [Matlka] directly translates to 'Cape Cover', named for its resemblance to the common Mhach. The Mhachlcha is comprised of two parts, a tighter headwrap typically made of linen or silk, and a translucent mesh or sheer linen covering pinned to the headwrap with a decorative fastening. Mhachâp's Mhachlcha is pinned with one of her shed rhamphotheca casings from their canines. The casing was filled, capped, and fired to preserve it and make it sturdier before being used as a fastener. It's decorated with tentacle patterned bead strands.

Mhachnhâl [Matnaal] directly translates to 'split cape/cloak' or 'slit cape/cloak' and is a variation on the more traditionam Mhach. Mhachâp's Mhachnhâl is decorated with 'vine' pattern beads and is tied up under her arm that rests on her Ppamh.

Nhêddhan [Needan] directly translates to 'wrap shirt'. Traditionally a Nhêddhan is one large piece of unpatterned linen or silk wrapped around the torso and arms and pinned at the side, hence its name, though more modern cuts of Nhêddhan appear more like the t-shirts of earth. Patterned Nhêddhan are more common among unmarried adults and teens. Mhachâp wears a modern linen Nhêddhan.

Shochlba [Shotlba] directly translates to 'tie skirt'. A Shochlba is typically a split piece of patterned linen tucked into the tied waistband of a pair of Mhsêlba then draped over them, as demonstrated by Mhachâp. Schochlbâ are much longer than expected, and some worn for parties or fancy events drag along the floor. These, understandably, are only worn to places in which a dry floor is present.

Ppamh [Ppam] directly translates to 'stick', but is more commonly translated as 'staff' or 'cane'. A Ppamh is a simple mobility aid for Chenesht, typically constructed of varnished wood and held together with silk threads. Ppamha typically come in two parts, a base and an extension. The extension is used for when the ground is unstable or squishy, and accounts for the Ppamh sinking slightly into the soil. The extension can also be used to adjust for height and is especially useful for teenage chenesht. Ppamh are sized to a Chenesht's comfortable bipedal stance.

Mhachâp comes from a middle class family and considers their Ppamh to be their 'highest quality' item due to the time and care taken to craft it to her proportions. She needs her Ppamh for weakness and chronic pain in her back legs.

Grammar note, 'a' is appended as a suffix to denote multiple. In words that already end with a, it's changed to â. So Mhach -> Mhacha, Ppamh -> Ppamha, Shochlba -> Shochlbâ, etc.

[badnoahmens]

You’re Mine

Noah Sebastian x Reader

3.6k words.

A/N: jealous Noah has me feeling strong feelings. Smutty shit so 18+ only. Wrote this instead of working on higher priority WIPs.

You twist the handle for the hot water off, steam being the only thing that filled the small shower around you now. After the long day you had, a nice, hot shower was the only thing that seemed to help take the edge off. With a sigh, you step from the warmth surrounding you, reaching for the towel and swiftly tucking in the side to preserve your modesty.

As you exit from the bathroom, you swipe meaninglessly through your phone, scrolling through photos posted from friends and the odd targeted advertisement. With a small ding a new notification graces the top of your screen. An old friend of yours, Patrick, that you had kept in touch with throughout the years, had recently reached out and was sending memes he thought you would like. Seeing as the two of you had similar jobs, they were mostly focused on that. Innocent enough, but it wasn’t worth looking at now.

Without taking much notice of your surroundings, you walk between the bathroom and into the kitchen in search of a snack to quell your cravings. Noah was leaning on the counter in the middle of the kitchen, elbows propping up with one hand curled into a fist under his chin, the other scrolling through something on his phone. His eyes were slightly glazed over, a side effect of the doom scrolling that he often fell into. You side-eye him as you walk past, pulling an unimpressed face as you responsibly reach for an apple.

The bite you take makes a loud crunch that is the only sound that breaks the silence in the room. The chewing that follows is equally as loud and disturbing, echoing as an irritating wet, mushy slurp. You kept your eyes on Noah as you took a second loud bite from the apple, knowing full well he loathes the sound.

Another scroll with his thumb flashes bright colours and fast-moving videos on his phone, still unaware of your presence.

A third bite of the apple, this one finally earning a reaction. His head slowly turns, pivoting on the hand that he still has balancing under his chin, his eyes landing on you as you take a fourth, menacingly slow and obnoxiously loud bite.

And then it is a stare-down. You refuse to let up, keeping a blank expression on your face as you grind down, meticulously masticating the organic surgery fruit. Noah squinted his eyes, knowing full well that it was your intention to bother him. He clicks his phone so the screen locks, and places it gently on the counter.

“Alright! That’s it!” he finally calls as you lift the apple, almost gone now, to your mouth dramatically slowly for another bite, although you never get to take it. Noah stands and strides over to you, snatching the apple from your hands, tossing it into the bin that sat in the corner of the room. It was immediately after that you were tossed over his shoulder, flailing in a panic. He turned on his heels and speed-walks to the bedroom. You bounced slightly as the pace he held wasn’t one that was all that graceful. He was laughing maniacally at your feeble attempts to squirm from his grasp. You would never tell him that you weren’t actually trying.

With a jostle and a thud, he dumps you on your back, the soft mattress bouncing below you. You fight playfully, trying your best to catch Noah’s fast and nimble hands as they darted in and out, tickling your sides. His smile is palpable, his hair wavering from side to side as he adjusts his plan of attack every time you twist and turn under him. He has his knees pinned by your sides, grey sweats and a black t-shirt lingering over you as his colourful, decorated arms and neck looked ever so enticing. You couldn't help but notice the way that his pants twitched as he continued to hold you pinned down on the bed.

In a sudden change of heart, his hands stop, grasping your wrists and holding them above your head in one of his hands. He drops his face so that it is an inch from yours. His breath wafted over your face and you smiled, glancing between his intense gaze and watching the way he licked his lips.

“How was your shower? Did it fix your bad day?” He asked. His head tilted to the side slightly. The question sounded innocent enough, right?

“I’m still a little tense,” you reply. And you were honest with your response. It was a long day. When you arrived home, your bags were quickly dumped on the floor by the door haphazardly, a huff leaving you in an attempt to exult some of the emotion that had pent up all day. Working with kids was difficult on a normal day, but there must have been something in the air today for them to be as wild as they were. Noah knew you were in a less-than-ideal mood. Bless his soul, he did try and help, but the best thing you could do was to wash the day away. Now, even after a shower, the aftereffects of a bad day were still lingering despite being only towel-clad underneath your boyfriend.

“Turn over” he motions with his head, releasing your hands from his vice grip allowing you to lay on your stomach instead. In the midst of this motion, he tweaks his fingers under the top of where your towel sat, tugging at the tuck that held it secure. You had a sharp inhale as the cold air hit your bare skin, still warm and slightly damp from your shower.

You heard Noah hum behind you and you glance over your shoulder back at him, but he doesn't see your face. Instead, his eyes are trailing down your body, pupils dilating when he sets his sight on your ass.

Noah was an ass man for sure. And he was obsessed with yours. He would always be so handsy with you, the odd playful slap here and there, tucking his hand into your back pocket to cop a feel when he probably shouldn't be, even his favourite sex positions were the ones where it was front and centre in his view.

You tucked your hands under your chin, still twisting so that you could see Noah in your peripherals. His hands started to glide over your back, down your sides, following the sweet contours of your body. Noah let out a low growl from deep within, but you’re certain he wasn’t aware of half the noises he was making; the deep breaths, slight gasps and quiet moans.

Using all of his restraint, Noah tears his gaze from your ass and lifts his body so that he is kneeling over you, hands now placed on your shoulders. He could still feel the tension in the knots that had built up over time, forming firm ridges across your shoulders and back. Tattooed digits started to knead into the tender muscles twisting under your skin. The pressure mixed with the slow circles made you close your eyes and let out an involuntary moan. Noah hummed and smiled to himself, knowing the power this had over you. You were such a sucker for massages, and could never deny having Noah;s hands all over your body.

He continued to try his best to break down the clusters of tension, twisting and rubbing at the bundles that had gathered over a long time. Your head would roll from one side to the other, allowing Noah to work into different areas and use different pressures to make some kind of difference. Noah would be lying if he said he didn’t love it too. Having his hands all over you? Making you feel good? Knowing full well that this often led to something far more exciting? Yes please.

It was at this moment, as you were about to be lost to Noah’s touch and oblivious to the world, when your phone dinged again. Lifting it up to your face, another notification from your old friend lit up the phone that was strewn carelessly on the bed next to you.

Noah’s hands stopped.

“Who’s Patrick’?” Noah asks, the slighted hint annoyance in this voice. You readjusted your position so you could see Noah’s face, his expression blank. You tried to wriggle so you could twist from under him, but his legs tensed and squeezed you so you were stuck, completely at his mercy.

“He’s an old friend. Has a similar job. Been sending me some memes about work. He sent me one earlier but I didn’t respond so he’s probably sending another” you answer.

“Sending you memes, huh? He does this often?” Noah’s leg muscles were still tense beside you as he sat back on his haunches, warm calloused hands now retreating from your body.

“I mean, a little bit. He reached out last week after he started a new job with someone I used to know.” You pause, Noah’s demeanour was changing before your very eyes. Now, he seemed a little standoffish.

Noah makes a “Hmff” noise in response.

“Noah?” He doesn’t respond. “Are you jealous?”

No response again.

“Noah” you call once more.

“You’re seriously moody because I have been talking to an old friend?” You prop your head up on your hands in an effort to get a better view of Noah. Although you could see his face, he had turned to look across the room beyond you, and he seemed perplexed.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me. That's totally fine” you say sarcastically, shifting underneath him to slip out from his legs still perched beside you. Before you could free yourself entirely, Noah leaves. He stands and crosses the room, disappearing into your walk-in robe. Sounds of shuffling items then follows.

You twist and sit up, pulling the towel back around you. Your gaze was down at trying to hitch the material back into a safe tuck as you ignored the kerfuffle Noah was making when he walked back into the room.

Just as you are satisfied with the towel adjustments, Noah’s hands are on you, pushing you back down onto the bed. He hovers over you again, but now his eyes were dark and his motions were very intentional.

You go to speak, but Noah shakes his head and stands again, holding a firm grip on your hips so that you swivel to a new angle, diagonal across the bed, and spinning so that you land back onto your stomach, just like before.

Your eyes glance up in front of you and you see what the commotion Noah was making before. A full body-length mirror was now sat up leaning against the wall, allowing for your reflection to stare right back at you. You look up at Noah through your eyelashes in the mirror, raising an eyebrow quizzically at you, trying to figure out the expression Noah has spread all over his face. That is, until it hits. It’s a look of desire.

He proceeds to crawl over you, leaning forward on closed fists so that they land on either side of your head before rising to be on his knees. Illustrated hands that contrast with the towel hitch around your hips, yanking them up fast and forcefully so that your knees fall under you, perching your ass high.

You couldn’t help but have a smirk plastered on your face; Noah on the other hand, still doing his best to hold a poker face. His gaze wanders down, allowing his hands to rub possessively over your cheeks under the fuzzy material. They dance lightly over your hips, then begin the trace lines on the insides of your thighs. You let out a high-pitched whimper as an automatic response. You had no control over what influence Noah had on your body, let alone when you were like this.

Noah’s eyes didn’t leave your face, so you teasingly leant back, pressing your skin closer to him. Your breath started to quicken, hitching in your throat when his nimble fingers flicked at the towel causing it to slip down, exposing your body once again. Noah struggled to keep his composure as he took the sights, expression faltering slightly and his hands moved to your folds immediately feeling the warm wetness on his fingertips.

Your eyes slipped closed, relishing in the lightest of touches that Noah was gracing you with, that was until one hand came down with a hard slap on your ass, and the fingers teasing you were gone.

Your eyes shoot open and your body jolts in reaction, except Noah clamps his hands on your hips and pulls you back closer to him.

“Keep them open” he growls, and you watch the way his mouth twitches as his fingers return to your folds, one hand grabbing a handful of the tender skin of your ass cheek perched up in his direction. You lock eyes in the mirror. “I want you to see who’s you are,” he continued.

Slowly, one finger glides into your pussy. It might not be enough, but it’s something. You rock back in the slightest way, and Noah’s grip tightens on your ass. He gives you a warning glance, before his eyes move to his digit disappearing into your folds. It curls up inside you, like he was beckoning you to come closer. The caressing on your inside walls slowly pumps out, and then in again. A rhythm started to build and he added a second finger.

Starting to feel more full, your eyes begin to close, but you remember the demands before they fully shut. Instead, you peer through half-closed slits and admire the way Noah’s hips were starting to grind against you. There was a mound growing in his pants, grazing against your inner thigh, telling you that he is loving this.

“Does that feel good?” He murmurs from behind you, and his eyes are back on yours in the mirror. You nod and hum in response, sliding a hand back behind you to reach for Noah. He takes your hand, grasps it firmly, and places it on your back. It’s feels unnatural, but not unformatabme. Your fingers intertwine as acts almost like an anchor. For you? For Noah? You’re not sure, maybe even both of you.

“Say my name” he demands.

“N….” You start, and he flicks his wrist, stopping any ability to control your voice. Instead, a moan escapes.

“What was that?” He whispers, twisting his fingers again in the same motion.

“Nooaaahhhhh…” the end of his name escapes your mouth as a sigh, as though it could have very well been your last breath.

Noah’s fingers disappear from inside you, slipping out and bringing with it some of the wetness that is all but dripping from your pussy.

“What do you want?” He asks. But you can’t speak. The emptiness turns into an ache. All you can do is stare at him in the mirror and watch as he slides his fingers into his mouth, letting drips of your own liquids run down his chin. His eyes are blown wide and dark with desire, and he notices the way your legs twitch closer when his tongue graces the space between his two fingers, curling up to clean them of any remnants of you on them.

“I- I want you” you are able to stammer out between the heavy breaths.

He grins a devilish grin and shifts his weight, struggling to jam down his sweats to his thighs with one hand, ignoring his own wet patch of precum that had soaked through the front of them. His hand then lands on the outside of your thigh, in the crease where it meets your hip, as he steadies himself. You can feel the tip of his cock nudge at your entrance, and then he pauses.

His dark eyes are locked in on yours, looking through his eyelashes, and moving his eyes, slowly rocks his hips forward. The pressure is achingly slow. He is teasing you. Letting you know that he is in control here.

Your free hand grasps at fbe sheets below you, trying in some way to let out the tension that is building. The other hand still intertwined with Noah’s behind you tightens in grip. He gives his own squeeze back, almost as a reassurance. Your mouth falls open and eyebrows twist, anticipation causing you to be entirely out of control if your own body movements. You feel him inside, yet it’s the lack of rhythmic motion that is missing.

Your hips buck forward involuntarily, something deep within you just pleading for more friction between you and Noah, and he picks up on it. He begins to drag his cock out of you, placing his free hand on the inside of your thigh, tapping it with grace as though to say ‘open more’. You do as you’re told, shifting the weight to one leg and the other swings out to make a wide gap between your legs. Noah doesn’t hesitate after that.

His shaft is hammering back into you. In and out like a jackhammer. The fingers of his free hand now sitting dangerously and teasingly close to the tight ring of muscle that sat between your asscheecks. You look at his face in the mirror; a sheen of sweat building over his face after only a minute of fucking, his brows furrowed as he stares intently at the work he is doing on your behind. Nails dig into the tender flesh of your derriere as Noah tilts his head back.

You feel the white hot glow begin to burn inside you. Noah is not taking any chances tonight, his hand leaving yours on your back to tangle with the mess of hair on your head. It was already knotted, but Noah intertwined his fingers with it, tugging with little force to bring your chin up.

Your legs were shaking at this point, and it could have been from the pleasure or the absolute hammering they were receiving. There was a growl from Noah which drowned out the hum of the tv from the other room, but you couldn’t tell what he actually said. The skin on skin slapping sounding even sloppier by the second. He was getting close, he was starting to fumble over his rhythm, but he could see that you just weren’t as close to your release as he was.

His hand leaves the tangle of your messy hair, keeping his eye contact in the mirror, and lands on the underside of your belly. You can feel him pull towards him, another silent instruction. Pushing on your arms, you felt weak. They shivered underneath you and you rose to your elbows, then up on your palms.

“More. Against me” Noah hums through a tight jaw. The pounding from behind you was starting to slow and you knew he couldn’t hold on for much longer.

With the right shift of weight, you right yourself on your knees, feeling the sweaty, warm sensation of Noah’s heaving body on your back. His arm wrapped around your chest, settling with an open palm grasping needily at your breast. He grabbed, twisted and pinched at your nipple, caressing what he could as he tried his best to focus on bringing you closer. And boy, was it working.

The new position gave you a full frontal view of what state you were in. The mirror was a portal to a world of pleasure and sex, and the only ones who lived there were you and Noah. Nothing else around you mattered. Nothing else around you even existed in this moment.

Your eyes clamp shut as the build of your orgasm was teetering at the edge, threatening to unfurl and throw sensations through your body that only Noah could achieve. There was a tightening around your neck, and as your eyes open, he land on Noah’s is tense stare from behind you.

“I said keep them open” he demanded. “I want you to watch you cum. Watch what I can do to you.”

All you can do is nod. He was never this dominant, but he must have been really ticked off. He had a point to prove, and he was delaying his own paradise just to make it know.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours” you whisper.

The hammering of his cock inside you, slamming deep inside of you, paired with the hand that had just dropped to your clit was the magic that brought your orgasm to its peak. There was a flood of heat that washed through you. If it wasn’t for Noah’s arms, you would have collapsed right there in front of him. Your body jerked involuntarily as Noah let you ride out the electricity. His eyes were on your face, watching as you cried out with his name, hands desperately grabbing at his arm twisted around you.

His muscles flexed as he held you up, knowing that you needed him to stay this close, but he couldn’t help but give up the fight of holding back his own orgasm. With a wet jerk of his hips, he slipped from you just in time to let the streams of hot white cum leave him, landing on the lower part of your back. You fall forward, landing with your arms by your face, and let Noah release onto you. You watch as his own eyes close, failing to follow his own rules, and then collapses beside you.

It was minutes before either of you even got your breaths back into a regular pattern. You watch Noah lay on his back, his palm resting on his forehead, and a sex-drunk smile on his face. He turns to look at you, letting out a low chuckle.

“I’d like to see Patrick’s memes beat that.”

[blood-orange-juice]

Inspired by a discord discussion.

I keep seeing characters from snowy places portrayed as unbothered by cold or missing it, and every time I remember that it's completely counterintutive if you didn't grow up in freezing temperatures

So I thought I should write this post.

We are very bothered by cold. We are way more bothered by cold than southerners. Being bothered is what keeps you safe. Warmth is a resource.

There are few lucky people who simply never get cold (mostly guys of endomorph body type) but it's not a given and generally northerners start to complain and wear warm coats at the tiniest hint of cold.

Humans can only adjust up to a certain threshold.

For example, Irish and British winters allow you to ignore weather almost completely (you'll be miserable but you'll probably live), so there's a culture of stoicism, not heating your house above 16-18°C (60-65°F), wearing shorts and sandals (and a Very Big Scarf) when it's snowing and all that.

(I quickly got used to leaving the bathroom window open at 4°C when I was living there. who cares really)

So there's a common misconception that you can do the same with even colder weather.

However, once you are past that adjustment threshold (for most people it takes as little as -5..0°C/23..32°F lasting for more than a month per year) there can be no special built-in resistance to that type of cold (unless you are a yogi or a Taoist monk), instead you learn a bunch of behaviours that help you. You start to preserve warmth religiously.

You also start to differentiate between types of being cold and avoid some of them (some build up over time and it wears you down, so it's best to avoid them entirely). Anything that drops your core temperature (this is noticeable long before you start shivering, shivering is the equivalent of fire alarm) is a huge no. Fingers getting a bit numb from building a snow castle is nothing major though.

It can be hard to unlearn that even if you moved to a warmer place years ago.

Stoic northern characters who have moved to a warmer country are very likely to Complain About The Cold.

They'll start wearing coats at higher temperatures than southerners (because, well, the weather might get worse, or you might stay outside longer than you planned, or move less).

They'll get cold hands more often because their body panics at the tiniest signs of cold and diverts blood to the centre (my first impression of the Irish was how warm everyone was when we shook hands. I'm the same now).

Most will heat their houses to the point where it's possible to walk around in a t-shirt no matter how cold it is outside (those who don't will comment "thank gods that people don't do that in your country, I hated it back home").

They'll whine at +5°C (40°F).

Apart from heavier clothes they'll have a bunch of weird habits like Walking Really Fast when the weather is bad (it's for when you don't want to wear heavier clothes).

They might have a fondness for scarves and good winter shoes (warm shoes and a warm hat are even more important than a warm coat. the lack of hats in fantasy upsets me. scarves are less important but they are pretty).

When locals get surprised they'll reply with "yes, but this is *damp* cold, *dry* cold is different" (it's more complicated than that but this answer usually stops further questions, so we go with that).

It's not like they are actually less cold-resistant, they just take cold more seriously.

At the same time they can be weirdly unbothered by things that freak some of the southerners out because they know how their body deals with low temperatures and which things have no consequences.

(it's not something that you learn from books, it's practical knowledge of what you personally can get away with. for example, I often get completely numb thighs during winter walks, takes an hour to start feeling anything when I get home. but I know it's all right as long as my feet are warm and my core temperature is within normal range)

They also won't suffer consequences when it gets truly cold, while more nonchalant southerners won't notice when they get borderline hypothermic or just cold enough to get sick.

They'll probably consider -30°C (-22°F) exciting. It becomes enjoyable again, because the outside world is now a death zone and there's some macabre fun in resisting it. Oh, and your eyelashes get covered in frost and it looks dope. What's not to like.

Kids will make a point to eat ice cream outside in -30°C (no, they won't get sick from it). I can't explain it, it just works like that.

Generally people from colder countries are not bothered by cold if they can return to a warm place soon enough, it's the prolonged exposure to cold (even mild) they are worried about. Going out for a smoke without a coat is common.

If they are still in a cold country, it's also a bit different from what you expect.

There's a trope of drinking to keep warm. It doesn't work like that. You can drink alcohol to feel warm but not to keep warm and it's an important difference. When it's cold your body's proper response is to constrict blood vessels and to divert blood flow from extremeties to slow down the loss of warmth. Alcohol reverts that.

This means it's perfectly appropriate to drink eggnog or mulled wine at a fair (when you are supposed to get to warmth soon enough, so the illusion of not being cold is not harmful) or hard spirits when you get back from the cold (it will help you warm up faster), but not if you are staying in a cold place. During a hike through winter woods a thermos with sweetened tea and fatty food are your best friends.

Some won't know it and get drunk and frostbitten/hypothermic. People are stupid.

Food gets weird, fats start to seem even tastier than usual. People in Antarctic expeditions are known to crave sticks of butter. In certain weather sandwiches with frozen lard are delicious.

Anything can and will be made into tea.

Some tropes I personally disagree with.

Pain. Pain levels depend on the weather. Cold eases any kind of external pain (cuts or burns) but makes worse anything internal (broken bones, cramps, most headaches).

Hypothermia feels nothing like peacefully falling asleep. It's the most miserable state I've ever experienced, psychological trauma doesn't even come close.

Well, maybe there are people who do fall asleep but other people I've talked to seem to share my experience.

I'm not sure how exactly it works, I think it messes up your self-regulation, since most chemicals in your body require a certain temperature range to work properly. Basically you become Not Yourself. Your emotions go whack (usually it's either extreme self-pity or extreme anger). It feels awful. I hope you never get to experience it.

Most of us don't really miss cold.

Well, some perverts do, but there's a general consensus that cold is awful.

We do miss some things that only happen during cold days though. The stillness and the quiet or how pretty snow looks. How bright the stars are on a clear night. The colour of sunsets and twilight sky when it's freezing.

(in my opinion, the best experience happens around -5°C, it's already pretty but the world is not a death zone yet)

There's also an appreciation of contrast with things that are Not Snow.

Walking from the cold into a greenhouse with orchids.

Watching a blizzard rage outside your window while you sit in warmth with a cup of tea.

Jumping into a lake straight out of a sauna (then going back. do not do that if you have a heart condition).

Fireplaces. Holiday food. Mulled wine. Saffron in pastry.

There's also a lot of beauty in the world that is frozen. I keep stumbling upon the fact no one around me shares these experiences anymore and it saddens me.

The xylophone sound of first ice being broken by a passing boat.

Sea moving under the ice — when it's not too thick it rises and falls like some large animal breathing.

The whale-song-like sounds of ice cracking on large lakes.

There's a very special mood of waiting for first snow. The world is too cold and dark without it and then you wake up one night from the sudden quietness (snow muffles all sounds) and you know it's there even before you look out of the window,

There's the exhiliration of spring. The moment when the wind starts to have a scent — thawing snow smells a bit like watermelons but clearer. Winter smells like nothing at all.

The first tiny yellow flowers in mud. They are our hanami.

(I don't think anyone in Europe truly appreciates spring if they are not from Nordic or Baltic countries)

There's a certain attunement to the scent of ice too.

Like that barely perceptible tingle in the air in late September, long before you can see any ice.

I feel the scent of ice when there's wind from the right part of the Atlantic. No one ever notices but it's there. I love it.

It's nostalgic in a way.

But it's never missing the cold itself for me. For very few people it is, I think.

*

This is, of course, personal perspective and my experience is not universal. I'm a person from continental climate with harsh winters and hot summers and a city dweller with occasional visit to country houses and a tiny bit of mountaineering experience.

An indigenous person from a place with barely any summer or a character from a fantasy everwinter country will probably differ from me.

There are, after all, simply people who genuinely love cold. A lot of them. It is, however, not the default northerner's experience.

But hey, it's still more complex than it's usually written.

*

If you want to read something focused on winter descriptions, there's Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Høeg.

It's hauntingly beautiful prose and the main character is from Greenland.

‘It’s freezing, an extraordinary -18 °C, and it’s snowing, and in the language which is no longer mine, the snow is qanik – big, almost weightless crystals falling in stacks and covering the ground with a layer of pulverized white frost.’

And then there's Moominland Midwinter. I think it gets better when you read it as an adult and it's probably still the best thing I have ever read about winter solstice.

Anyway.

I think we need more good winter stories.

[suguwu]

RECKONING

In the morning light, things are painfully clear.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

a sequel to aftermath.

pairing: getou suguru x gn!reader

notes: was i ever expecting to finish this sequel? not really. did it possess me this afternoon? yes. so here we are. unbeta'd.

wc: 1.2k

cw: mentions/implications of child abuse.

You make mackerel for breakfast.

It crackles as you lay it in the pan. You watch as the skin starts to sear, and you think of the scorch marks a lightning strike leaves behind.

Suguru is warm next to you, deftly cutting a cucumber into perfect little medallions. The quiet, hollow thud of your sharpest chef’s knife rings in your ears.

(He took it from you with gentle, firm fingers, his big hand wrapping around yours on the handle. The blade flashed in the watery morning light, a quicksilver gleam. 

You could feel his dark eyes on you. Idly, you wondered where he was slotting you in his ever-shifting equation.

He swept his thumb over your skin. The touch was soft. Familiar.

You let go of the knife.)

Suguru pauses mid-cut.

“The girls are awake,” he says, just as you feel his curse—swirling slowly around your guest room, a lazy seaweed drift—stutter to a halt.

“Go,” you say. “I'll finish up here.”

He’s broad against your back as he slips by, and you know that if you turned around, he’d curve around you like the sky, vast and unending. His fingertips ghost over the small of your back, leaving little imprints against your skin, even through your shirt. Then the heat of him is gone; you hear him pad down the hallway.

He leaves the knife. 

For a moment, you stare at it. It's glinting on the cutting board, wet with cucumber seeds. Your fingers twitch.

You flip the mackerel over.

You’re watching the edges blacken when Suguru reaches past you and turns off the burner. He moves the pan to the side. When he pulls back, he catches your chin in one big hand and makes you face him. 

His eyes—night-sky dark and gleaming like starshine—trace over you. He has Nanako balanced on his hip; Mimiko is holding on to his pant leg, her knuckles white. She stares up at you with big eyes. There are bruises scattered over her face like storm clouds, deep and dark. 

Your chest hurts, a bone-deep ache, like your ribs are collapsing in on themselves, an eggshell cage. 

Suguru’s grip tightens on your chin. He looks you over, his gaze flaying, stripping you down to your marrow, an autopsy cut. You don’t know what he sees in your face, but he sweeps his thumb over your bottom lip, slow and heavy. 

When he lets go of you, the breath you were holding spills out of you. You watch silently as he puts Nanako down. He kneels in front of both girls to speak to them, but you don’t hear him, not really. The words are beyond your grasp; there’s only the sound of Suguru’s voice, warm and rich, dripping over you like resin. You think of insects caught in sunlit amber, how perfectly they’re preserved in their final moments. 

The girls disappear into the dining area, accompanied by one of Suguru’s more playful curses. It darts around them, hovering nearby and nudging at them when they turn to look back at him. 

There’s something in Suguru’s face each time they turn around; a terrible, tender twist of his lips. 

You turn back to the stove.

Suguru settles at your side. “I think it’s beyond saving,” he says, watching you poke at the mackerel with a chopstick. 

“It’s not.” 

The skin crunches, a few bits of char flaking away. 

He wraps a hand around your wrist. When you glance at him, his dark eyes pierce through you. “Yes,” he says. “It is.”

He watches you. You bite your lip and nod.

The sound of him emptying the pan into the trash makes you wince. Each scrape of the knife echoes, a whining animal noise that makes your bones ache. 

Suguru sets the pan into the sink with a hollow thud.

“I have eggs,” you offer. 

“Tamagoyaki?”

“Yeah.” 

“Sounds good.”

You gather everything you need; Suguru goes back to the cucumbers, the knife singing as it slices through them, its blade slick. You try not to watch, instead staring down into the frothy swirl of eggs.

It’s quiet. 

In the distance, you can hear the girls talking to each other softly, their voices barely over a whisper, all shivering leaves. It makes something in your chest go tight, how quiet they are. 

“You would have taken them too.”

You go still. You don’t look at Suguru.

“Yes,” you say. “I would have.”

He hums; it sounds pleased. You swallow down the bile. 

The two of you don’t speak again.

—

Breakfast is a quiet affair. The girls stare at you from across the kotatsu, where they’re pressed in against Suguru’s sides like little limpets. They flinch when you move, their honey-brown eyes widening. It makes your stomach roil, a storm-struck sea. 

Suguru talks, but you barely hear him. When you have to ask him to repeat himself for the fourth time, he pauses, his dark eyes flickering over you. 

He shoos the girls into your living room, sending yet another curse flitting after them, a little darting fish with too many eyes. 

“Come here,” he says, and you do. 

When you settle next to him, he raises a hand and cups your cheek. You turn into his touch without thinking, your lips pressing against the leylines of his palm. You wonder if his future is written there. 

(You think yours might be.)

He examines you for a moment. Suguru has always been able to flay you down to your marrow, but this time, it feels sharper, a slit into the very heart of you. 

He strokes a thumb over the apple of your cheek, shifting so that he cradles your jaw. Your lips part; you unfurl for him, petal-bodied. He leans in. 

“Don’t,” you murmur.

He pauses.

For a moment, he lingers, his lips almost brushing yours. His breath ghosts hot across your lips; when he breathes in, he takes your air, makes it his own. 

“You’re not coming.”

“No,” you whisper. ���I’m not.” 

His fingers tighten on your jaw. You take in a sharp breath and they loosen again, before his hand falls away entirely. 

When you look at him, his face is perfectly blank, a rising new moon fading into the sky. There’s something secret tucked up into the corner of his lips, too faint for you to decipher. 

“Suguru—”

He pushes to his feet gracefully. He gazes down at you, still on your knees before him. Like this, he takes up your entire world, his broad form the earth and the sky alike. He gazes down at you, and for a moment, you don’t know him at all.

He steps around you, heading towards the living room.

Something in you cracks open, a wound of your own making. You swallow down the sob. 

“I’m sorry,” you say to the empty room.

Only silence answers you.

—

Suguru leaves.

Mimiko is cradled against his shoulder, her little body furled in tight against him. You think of early spring blooms, still delicate in the aftermath of winter’s harsh touch. Nanako is pressing close to his leg, her hand engulfed in his steady grip. He’s slowed his pace for her.

You watch them until they disappear. 

Suguru never looks back.

—

“Principal Yaga?” you say into the phone. “I need to make a report.”

[laurfilijames]

Happy Birthday, Darlin'

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 4,014

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Smoking. Mild descriptions of cuts and blood. Mentions of fighting. Unprotected intercourse. Slight asphyxiation. Some insecurities about Jax and his habits.

Summary: It's your birthday, and while Jax is pressed to make it to you in time to celebrate, he makes sure all your wishes come true.

A/N: Happy Birthday to ME 🥳 yes, I'm that bitch who wrote herself a birthday fic because I can. I've been dying to write for Jax for so long and thought this would be a fun way to get a feel for writing his character. If my writing wasn't self-indulgent before, it definitely is now.

This takes place after Season 2 Ep 12 The Culling where the Sons fight The League/Zobelle's guys because I just found Jax to be wildly sexy in that scene (but also when isn't he?)

---

The night air was cool on his face as he ripped as quickly as he could down the quiet, country roads back into town, easily shifting into fourth gear knowing every cop in Charming would be responding to where he just fled from and not having to worry about being pulled over for his excessive speed.

Jax knew he was pushing it for time - your birthday over in just less than two hours - so with a reminder of his bruised and bloodied knuckles, he twisted the throttle and opened up his Harley even more in order to get to you faster.

With a smile on his face at knowing your neighbours already complained about his presence on your street, he let open again on the straight section of road about half a mile from your house, hoping you and everyone else would now be fully aware of his arrival.

The fight with Zobelle’s gang already had him fired up, but not nearly as much as getting to see you did, and as he pulled into your driveway, his buzzing fury changed into a different kind of energy entirely.

Taking one last haul on the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he blew out the smoke and tossed it onto the asphalt, stepping on it with a twist of his dusty shoe as he unbuckled his helmet.

Jax glanced up to see the dim, warm light of a lamp in your living room, smiling to himself again that you were still awake and no doubt waiting for him as he took his backpack off his shoulders and unzipped the main compartment.

Relieved the box didn't get smushed, he pulled out the still perfectly preserved cupcake and dug in his pocket for the single candle he stuck in there earlier, bringing his lighter out with it along with another cigarette.

He placed the fresh smoke between his lips, not paying any attention to the cut stinging on his lip where it rested, focusing on sticking the candle in the center of the cupcake and lighting it. With the pink candle set ablaze, he brought his lighter to the end of the cigarette and inhaled as it burned the paper, shoving the Zippo back in the inside pocket of his cut before carefully making his way up the steps to your front door with his free hand blocking any wind made by walking from blowing out the tiny flame.

He grunted quietly to himself when he knocked on the door, his hand more sore than he thought it was after punching Weston's face in so many times, muttering to himself when he realized he was getting blood on the side of the cupcake from a split on his other hand.

"Ahh, shit," he sighed, knowing he didn't have enough time to try to clean anything up when he heard your footsteps coming to answer. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and quickly forced the smoke out with a deep blow, waving his hand so it wouldn't be in your face when you opened the door.

An automatic smile formed on his lips as soon as he laid eyes on you, leaning against the doorway in nothing but your panties and his white reaper crew t-shirt that he left the last time he was over, his voice hoarse as he started singing.

"Happy birthday to you," he began, taking a step through the entrance. "Happy birthday to you," he continued, getting right close to you until your faces were inches from each other, his eyes flickering over your shy, but happy features as his gesture made you flush all over.

"Happy birthday, darlin'. Make a wish."

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking from his intensely blue eyes down to the candle in front of you, and blew it out.

"What'd you wish for?"

"I'm not supposed to tell, Jax."

He smirked, leaning even closer to you so his lips were hovering over yours, "Then I'll have to guess."

His kiss tasted like smoke, but you didn't care, craving the nicotine that transferred from his mouth to yours like you were addicted to the habit itself, deepening the kiss by arching into him as if you were never able to get enough.

Jax walked forward, guiding you further into your house, the sound of the door closing lost on both of you as he kicked it shut behind him and eventually broke your kiss.

"I didn't think I was going to get to see you today," you whispered, your lids heavy with lust when you looked up at him.

"Yeah, well, I skipped out early to come give my girl her gift." He held up the cupcake and let you take it from his hand, watching your expression change to confusion as you noticed the blood stained on the side of it.

"Is that your blood?"

"50/50 chance," he laughed, swiping his finger through the icing before licking it clean.

“Should I even ask?”

“Probably not.”

You began taking in the deepening colours of purple and red on his cheek, the cut on his lip and the ones that flawed his hands, the concern you felt taking away from the joy in having him there.

“Is this why you're late?” you questioned, your fingertips ghosting over his cheek and down to his lip.

“So you were expecting me, then," he winked, his smugness always managing to outshine anything else, forcing you to roll your eyes at him.

He kissed you again, plucking the cupcake out of your hand and placing it blindly over on the hall table where you kept your keys and purse, his hands reaching up to cradle your face.

"I should report you for theft, you know," he warned, pausing to take a breath, nodding down at his shirt that hung loosely on your body.

"I think of it more as safe keeping until the owner comes back to claim it," you challenged, your eyebrows raising to show your displeasure in it being too many days that had turned into weeks since he was last here.

"Hey, at least I didn't miss your birthday," he objected, trying his best to defend himself, his head tilted while his eyebrows rose to crease his forehead.

You backed away from him, turning to walk through to the kitchen, looking back over your shoulder.

"And how many other birthday's did you celebrate in the meantime?"

"Oh, come on," he laughed frustratedly, your accusation making him look up at the ceiling. "You know it isn't like that."

You nodded slowly in silent agreement, trying not to let your insecurities and jealousies get the better of you.

He sighed loudly, waiting for a moment before following you, his voice raising slightly to make sure you heard from down the hallway.

"You're the only one I always come back to. The one I want to be inside every night."

Hearing his footsteps coming toward you, you closed your eyes and breathed out, terrified of the hurt he could cause but realizing you were being hurt every time regardless.

His voice was near and softer now that he was in the kitchen with you, making your heart pound faster in your chest even though he seemed so calm.

"You gotta stop pushing me away."

It was safer that way; always keeping him at an arm's length, never wanting to get your heart involved when you knew what he was like and how many beds he ended up in. Jax Teller could have any woman he wanted; more charm in him than all of Charming, a simple crooked grin or nod as he strutted past enough to seal the deal, and not one person could say he wasn't successful in his endeavors.

Despite it all, you wanted him, but kept it casual enough to get a taste of what you needed, having said to both yourself and him on more than one occasion over the years that nothing more would ever happen as long as his habits remained the same, and you weren't about to ask a man like him to change.

He came up to you, his hands holding your waist, his lips peppering across your shoulder and dangerously close to your neck. You closed your eyes again and sighed, relishing in the sensation while praying he didn't do the one thing you always told him not to.

But Jax always did whatever the fuck he wanted.

He kissed up along your neck, making you moan and breathe deeper, trying to keep some sort of resolve.

"Jax, you know my rule," you pleaded, feeling your entire body ignite to his lawlessness.

"Remind me what that is again?" he lied, continuing to kiss and suck your neck, knowing damn well what it was.

You shivered, feeling yourself slipping away and quickly becoming willing to do anything he asked or all the things you really wanted to do; the way he kissed your neck was your kryptonite and weakness and the one thing you always prevented in order to save yourself, fearing you would reveal exactly how you felt about him anytime he lingered there.

"Jax…"

He stopped, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him, his eyes dancing back and forth with yours as he looked at you seriously.

“I'm done playing. I want this," he said pointedly, speaking with surety.

You let go of the breath you were holding, still questioning whether to trust him regardless of how convincing he was right now.

Taking hold of your cheeks again, he smoothed his thumbs back and forth across them, an honesty and pleading present in those clear blues that made you lose yourself every time.

Before you could argue or plead your case, he crashed against you, inhaling deeply like he was trying to suck all the air out of your lungs, his tongue probing deep into your mouth to tangle with yours.

There was no sense in trying to hold back now, done with pretending for as many years as you had, the whine that passed from your mouth to his signaling your surrender.

The metallic taste of blood mixed with tobacco teased your tastebuds with each kiss, increasing your hunger to taste more of him while your body displayed those needs and your hands roamed frantically under his hoodie and the waist of his low-sitting jeans.

The leather of his cut was soft on your fingertips as you ran them along the open panels, feeling Jax’s eagerness increase in his kiss when you peeled it down his arms and placed it carefully on the kitchen chair beside you without looking. He shrugged off his hoodie and white t-shirt while you busied yourself with unfastening his belt and jeans, letting the weight of his knife pull them to the floor without assistance, leaving him standing in his boxers with a cheeky grin on his face.

“You seem pretty happy unwrapping your present.”

“Is this all I get?” you teased, matching his smile and giggling when he picked you up and put you over his shoulder, giving your bum a harsh smack as he started making his way down to your bedroom.

"Come on, birthday girl, let's go make those wishes come true."

A seriousness took over again once you were in your room, what remained of the playfulness exchanged just a minute ago in the kitchen leaving the moment your feet touched the hardwood floor, Jax peering down at you with a look you hadn't seen before.

You'd be lying if you told yourself you weren't absolutely terrified, scared of letting yourself fall even further for him, but the way his expression had softened and his eyes held what you knew had to be love for you in them, you were ready to give in.

“I mean it,” he muttered, one of his hands reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear where you leaned into his touch.

You crashed against him, kissing him hard, the need to have him more fierce than ever and only fueled more by him meeting your enthusiasm equally.

Jax tore his shirt from your body, only pausing in kissing you for long enough to get your head through it, stepping closer to you so your bodies were pressed together, feeling his hard cock nudging against your thighs and then between your legs through his boxers.

More desperate for him now than you thought you had ever been, you tugged his loose-fitting shorts down roughly, your mouth watering as his dick sprung free and bounced temptingly before you took hold of it and began rubbing the silky, veiny skin, his approval of your touch sounding as a low growl from deep in his chest.

"Fuck," he hissed, his mouth close to your ear as he leaned in against you, his hips moving into your strokes.

Finding his focus, he let his fingers hook in your thong to pull it down over your hips, his head angling to meet your mouth with his again as he slipped his fingers in your folds to spread your slick, both of you pressing your mouths against each other's harder as ecstasy quickly took over.

This was normally the time where one of you would frantically reach for a condom, barely keeping it together in time to get it on him as the temptation to go without almost always won, and today it seemed it would. You had always trusted that he wrapped up whenever he was with anyone, and although you were on birth control you were happy not to take any risks, but today was different. You wanted him, and all of him.

Jax walked forward until the back of your legs met your bed, and forcing you to sit, he crawled in over you, his blond hair hanging in your face as you spread out beneath him and he settled between your open legs.

He gave you a once over before meeting your eyes, admiring your perfect form spread and ready for him to ruin, his cheeks flinching as he clenched his jaw while he waited for you to give him the go-ahead.

Your consent was silent as you lifted your head up to capture his lips with yours, his sun-bleached beard scratching over your chin, lifting your hips at the same time so you rubbed yourself over his leaking head.

Jax wasted no more time, driving into you deeply in one push, pausing when he bottomed out to flex his cock inside you. You moaned into him, your hands clawing over the tattoo covering his back, unable to believe how good it felt to have him bare inside you.

Immediately choosing a rhythm that was both slow and hard at the same time, he thrusted in and out and ground against you with perfect precision, sending you close to the edge faster than ever before.

"You feel so fucking good!" he growled, his mouth parting from yours and leaving a string of wet between them, moving his lubricated lips over to your neck where you whined loudly and rocked more into his movements.

"Fuck, Jax!" you cried, knowing you were leaving ten red trails across his pale skin, but feeling the need to claim him as yours.

He was doing the same, sucking at your neck to leave darkened blemishes behind, his tongue alternating where his teeth came out to nip harshly at the tender skin to soothe each bite, his tempo growing erratic as he lost himself in your dripping cunt.

You seemed to only get wetter the more he kissed your neck and fucked you deeply, hitting that sweet spot with his head with each blow, the way you squeezed his girth tightly as he dragged in and out of you making him want to blow it already.

He forced himself to pause, needing to compose himself so he could keep fucking you for as long as he could, not wanting this to be over any time soon. Your whining increased, making him unsure if it was because he was sitting idly inside you or that he was persistent in continuing to kiss your neck all over to the point you had goosebumps littering your skin and you writhing desperately under him. It made him smile, knowing he had such an effect on you, smug in his ability to have you past the point of control and that you were seconds away from admitting something you tried so hard to deny for so long.

If Jax was anybody but the asshole he was he would've said it long ago, but selfishly he wanted to hear it spill from your gorgeous lips first, and he didn't ever go down without a fight.

"Roll over," he demanded, pulling out of you and forcefully grabbing at your leg to help flip you onto your stomach, hooking your knee up to bend at a high angle.

You took your hair in your hand and draped it over one shoulder, exposing the side of it for him to do with what he wanted, making him smirk more that you clearly wanted him there despite what you always said.

The hand that wasn't supporting him on the mattress gripped your cheek and spread you apart, driving his dick in you again torturously slowly, watching your face contort as he stretched you open. Your hands tore at the sheets as you backed yourself into him to push him in further, meeting his hips in slow, rolling motions, that tingling sensation of your building climax quickly returning.

Sex with Jax was always mind-blowing and the best you ever had, but tonight it felt so much better, so much more powerful, and you knew you could never have it any other way again.

He leaned over you to gently kiss your neck, more carefully than before, his efforts in wrecking you focused in his movements even though the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin had you shivering and threatening to come undone just as much.

The scent of your skin was like a drug to him as he breathed deeply, his nose ghosting at your nape and in your hair, dragging him right along with you to a point he would never recover from.

Wrapping a hand around to wedge between you and the bed, he found your clit, rubbing precise circles with his fingertips in the way he always knew made you scream, the thought of feeling you cum on his bare dick making him feel more feral than he ever had.

"Jax, I'm so close- Fuck!" you cried, your breathing growing ragged, your limbs moving recklessly to try to gain momentum on your climax that sat waiting just on the edge, seeking to keep up with his ruthless pounding.

He slowed his pace, adjusting to a speed he knew would have you at his mercy, his fingers pressing onto your swollen bud harder but in more languid strokes. His nose brushed along your neck, his breath fanning out over your dewy skin before he started kissing you again, the way your body tensed beneath him telling him he had you right where he wanted you.

"God, Jax, I love you," you admitted, feeling freed and unashamed in saying what you had feared to the most, your body relaxing into your words and finding the release it sought.

Jax hammered into you, pounding you through your high, his grunts mixing with your shouts of pleasure as you quaked and strangled him tightly.

Giving you no time to recover, he sat back on his heels and lifted you up with him, his cock momentarily slipping from you as you positioned yourself over his lap, allowing him a glimpse of your milky cum that coated it and sent him into a frenzy.

He speared back into you, your pussy sensitive and still tingling from your orgasm, his hand holding you back against his chest and pinching one of your nipples between his fingers to keep you as stimulated as possible.

Reaching up to turn your face to the side so he could kiss you, he rutted up into you brutally, feeling your pussy stretch out over him with each pump, your wetness dripping out to soak his golden pubes.

His kisses turned sloppy, nearing his end, his hand slipping down to hold your throat where he could easily control the amount of air allowed to pass through your windpipe, the knowledge of knowing you trusted him enough to let him do it lighting him up with an intense buzzing.

Before he could give in to that temptation, he let one hand return to your tits that bounced with his thrusts, the other replacing his lips on yours as he pulled your bottom lip down with his thumb and shoved two of his fingers inside. You sucked on them appreciatively, wetting them with your spit thoroughly as he triggered your gag reflex and pinched one of your peaked nipples at the same time, making you moan and clench hard on his dick. Removing them from the heat of your mouth, he trailed them between your breasts and straight down your stomach, landing on your clit where he spread your spit generously and worked to make you cum again.

You ground on him quickly, the increase in your movements sending you through to another climax, the sound of him grunting and panting in your ear as he began to cum encouraging you, but not as much as knowing he was about to fill you up.

He drove up into you harder, his teeth scraping along your neck and up to your cheek where he growled in your ear roughly, "I love you, too, babe."

You came together, feeling his hot spend coat your insides and start to leak out of you as he didn't let up on fucking you, wrecking you harder than he ever had before.

Your body felt weak and charged all at the same time, like you were melting into him but somehow needing more, and sliding off his dick with a quiet moan at the loss of him, you turned around to face him, sitting in his lap where you wrapped your arms and legs around him and held him close, continuing to kiss him with a necessity that was greater than breathing.

Holding your head in his hands, Jax met you with equal fervor, his chest rising and falling sharply against yours as he worked to catch his breath, and slowly guided you to lay down in the sheets with him.

Your legs tangled together, your arms holding and caressing each other with a surety you had never known before, relishing in the after effects of a level of bliss you were positive up until now you were never going to experience.

Slowing your kisses until they stopped, Jax looked at you warmly and flashed you a lazy smile, and you couldn't help but trace your fingertips over the creases beside his mouth and then up to run through his tousled hair.

You felt a slight pang in your chest in knowing he would probably leave soon, needing to see to some duties for the club, always having to run off shortly after his time with you to go deal with something that his loyalties couldn't ignore.

"I don't want today to end," you whispered, not ready to call it quits on your birthday just yet, and especially not ready to let him out of your bed after confessing something so huge.

Jax shifted onto his back, stretching out with a groan to reach for your alarm clock on your nightstand to check the time; 11:51 pm. Following the cord from the back of it into the wall behind the table, he pulled the plug out, watching the screen turn blank before rolling back over to you, his knee wedging between your legs as he settled his weight on top of you.

“Your birthday isn't over yet, darlin', and I'm not going anywhere.”

---

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered

I went ahead and tagged everyone I have written down for my Charlie/Will Miller taglist so my apologies if you're not interested in being tagged in Jax fics and I will happily add or remove anyone as they wish!

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

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

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

Chapter 5 - Together or Apart| ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.7k

Since Trent had texted, casually inviting you over to watch a film, you’d been an absolute mess. You stood in front of your closet, staring at your options—were jeans too dressed up? That felt ridiculous to say but then again so often you found yourself in leggings or joggers around him. Your brain hurt from how many different thoughts were swirling in your head. Was this just an organized booty call, an easy fuck for him? Was this a date or were you just two people picking up right where you left off? Your mind spun, nerves flipping from excitement to anxiety. You finally settled on something comfortable with a little bit of a fitter top, trying to preserve the image you and Layla had so perfectly crafted. You wanted to find that balance between effortless and intentional so you wore a pair of cargo pants, easy but comfortable, a white tank top, and a pair of trainers Trent had complimented before.  

He told you he’d pick you up tonight at your house. It made you start to question even further what tonight meant. Was that a good thing or a bad thing… Him coming to pick you up was sweet but was it on purpose so there would be no trace of your car at his house? So when the time came and he told you he was out front, you hesitated. He offered to come up to the front door but somehow that felt like too much. Jack wasn’t home, but it still felt almost disrespectful for Trent to come up, to let him walk in knowing very well what could happen if he did. And then you remembered there were the security cameras. The last thing you needed was any suspicious footage. So, you slipped on your trainers and grabbed your bag and headed out. When you got into his car, you barely made it past the seatbelt click before the tension overwhelmed you both. The air felt thick, and before you knew it, you were leaning over the center console, fingers gripping onto his hair as his mouth met yours. His hands almost coaxing you to come sit on his lap, squeezing your thighs. It was intense, desperate, like you’d been holding back for far too long. Just as your hands moved their way down to the soft fabric of his shirt, headlights from a passing car in the neighborhood flooded the interior, snapping you back to reality. You pulled back suddenly, catching your breath, cheeks flushed.

“Okay, T…” You mumbled out of breath before Trent tried to pull you back in for more. “Okay…” You giggled. “Alright. We need to chill out,” you muttered, half laughing, half embarrassed at the lack of control. You shook your head, trying to gather yourself, but Trent just smirked, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Yeah, relax. Practice some self-control,” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You shot him a look, ready to protest, but he was already moving, turning on the engine of the car with one hand while the other reached for you, pulling you close again as he pressed a kiss to your temple. His voice dropped, barely a whisper. “You’re so easy to wind up. Gotta relax, pretty girl.” The warmth of his words, his teasing tone, it melted whatever composure you had left. Trent’s hand lingered on your leg as he drove, his thumb tracing circles, setting off tiny shocks that pulsed up your spine.

“I’m not much of a cook, so I ordered takeaway.” Trent told you once inside his house, you’d been at plenty of times before but right now it felt entirely new. He pulled up the order on his phone, tracking its progress as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a casual smirk. You nodded as you admired at just how unfairly pretty he seemed to look in any light; it never mattered how harsh or how soft; the kitchen’s overhead lighting proving to be no different. 

“It’s fine with me because I know you’re not much of a cook.” You teased as you folded your arms, raising an eyebrow. Trent rolled his eyes making you smile. “But can you even have this right now? You’re in season… Don’t they watch what you eat?” You asked him knowing his takeaway of choice was a Chinese.  Trent let out a low laugh, shrugging.

 “Yeah, technically. Call it a cheat day.  Just don’t tell the gaffer,” he teased, reaching out his pinky to you in a playful promise.

“A pinky promise?” you asked, arching an eyebrow as you hooked your pinky with his. But he held onto it, glancing down as he pressed a kiss to his own hand. His eyes lifted to meet yours with a mischievous gleam. 

“Yeah, a pinky promise is binding. Now, you’ve gotta kiss it too.” He told you. You hesitated, feeling a nervous flutter in your stomach. There was a soft challenge in his gaze, and the air between you went quiet. With a shy smile, you leaned in, brushing your lips over your own hand, barely touching but letting the tension linger. “That’s better.” His voice was soft, but a trace of amusement edged it. Then he smiled, looking down as if he was seeing you for the first time, something genuine and unguarded in his face. “Y’know, if you really want it to count, you gotta seal it with a proper kiss.” He cooed as he pulled you into his arms, a gentle but firm embrace that made you feel safe and somehow, more nervous all at once. He noticed. He could always read you like a book and right now it was no different. “What’s got you acting so shy?” he asked, chuckling as you hid your face against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, calming, but you still couldn’t shake the self-consciousness creeping over you.

“Stop,” you murmured, laughing against his shirt. “You’re making me nervous.” He tilted your chin up, thumb brushing over your cheek. 

“Why would I make you nervous, pretty girl?” he teased, his eyes dancing as they searched yours. “Only me.” He reminded you gently but it was just that… it was ‘only Trent.’ You and him alone. 

“It’s just… I don’t know,” you stammered, smiling at your own inability to explain.

“Y'know... We’ve already kissed tonight.” He reminded you with a smug smirk. 

“Yeah, but no… it’s–” You couldn’t formulate any valid reason. This was Trent. The Trent you knew so well, you knew so well that you knew he shouldn’t be having a Chinese tonight but also the one you knew so well you’d never want to eat his cooking either. And then the doorbell rang, saving you from digging any deeper into the feelings swirling inside you.

“Well” Trent said as he released you. “When you’re ready… whenever you want…you come kiss me.” He winked, sending you one last smile before heading to the door. When he returned with the food, he set out each container on the kitchen island, opening them one by one. He lifted the lid off a familiar dish, and you noticed instantaneously it was your favorite. Your heart skipped a beat, touched that he’d remembered something so small.

“You… you got my favorite?” you asked softly with a slight giggle, the question more to yourself. He looked up, catching the surprise in your eyes. You felt a bit guilty for acting so weird earlier because just as well as you knew him… he knew you. You’d almost forgotten that amongst your nerves. 

“Yeah,” he said, simply, like it was obvious. “I know what you like.” Something shifted in the air between you both, something that felt as heavy as it did easy. He went back to unboxing the food, his focus turning to unwrapping the utensils, but you couldn’t resist the urge to move closer to him. Coming around the island, you slid your arms around his waist, resting your head against his shoulder. He stilled for a moment, then softened into your touch, a quiet smile crossing his face. You giggled softly, feeling playful and carefree as you wrapped your arms around Trent's waist from behind. His warm, muscular body felt incredible against yours, as you began kissing his neck, leaving a trail of soft pecks and nibbles. Trent's reaction was immediate. He turned to face you swiftly, his hands grasping your waist and pulling you tightly against him. Your bodies collided, igniting a spark of electricity that sent shivers down your spine.

“Hey,” you murmured to grab his attention, gently tilting his face to meet yours, leaning in for a slow, tender kiss. This time, you let yourself linger, let your hands trail up to cup his face as he pulled you closer. You could feel his breath against your lips as he kissed you back, slower this time, savoring the moment. His hand slipped to the small of your back, holding you close. He whispered something soft against your lips, a quiet promise that you could feel even if you couldn’t hear it. You kissed him again slow… steady and sexy. 

“Wow…” He whispered with a pause. “Baby, I didn’t know you were gonna kiss me like that.” He smiled, unable to pull away too far from your lips.

“Should we eat now?” You asked with a teasing smirk, your lips ghosting over his, not really meaning your suggestion. 

“Nah, Shhh… Kiss me again, just like that.” He whispered, pulling you in again. Your lips meeting. The food, forgotten for the moment. His hand drifted up, brushing over your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear as he looked at you with a warmth that made you feel like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. His fingers traced your jaw, lingering at your chin.  The scent of spices and fried rice filled the room, but neither of you seemed interested in food anymore. Your bodies were hungry for something else entirely.

"See… I told you I know what you like." Trent whispered, his breath hot against your ear. His hands roamed freely over your body, exploring your curves and driving you wild with desire.

"Maybe." you teased as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he placed you to the kitchen counter. The cold marble surface felt refreshing against your skin as he set you down, keeping you close to him, your boobs pressing against his hard chest as he held you close.

"I know you like being dirty for me, huh?" He mocking asked you before his lips claimed yours in a hungry kiss, your hands found their way under his shirt, eager to feel the smooth, defined muscles of his back. You pulled his shirt up, breaking the kiss momentarily to help him get it over his head. The sight of Trent's toned, tanned torso made your mouth water. He was a work of art, and you couldn't wait to explore every inch of him.His hands worked quickly, unhooking your bra with skilled fingers, freeing your full, perky tits, he’d told you he loved. He bent his head, taking a taut nipple into his mouth, and sucking gently, causing you to gasp and arch your back. His tongue teased and flicked, sending waves of pleasure through your body. With his free hand, he cupped your other boob, thumb rubbing the sensitive peak, making you moan softly. "You like when I play with you, don't you?" Trent murmured against your skin, his voice deep and husky. His hands moved downward, sliding off your trousers, revealing more of you. You lifted your hips to help him, eager for his touch. His fingers found the damp fabric of your panties, and he gently traced the outline of your pussy, making you squirm with anticipation. "That’s right, innit? He asked again and you whimpered

"Please, Trent," you whined, your voice hoarse with need. "I want you." Trent chuckled, the sound sending a thrill through you. 

"Oh, I know you do, baby. And I want you too. I’m fucking starving." He smirked moving a container of food that was a little too close to you both. He was hungry for anything but that right now. With that, he slid his fingers under the lace of your panties, finding your wetness and dipping a finger inside. You were already so aroused, and his touch sending you over the edge. You moaned loudly, your head falling back as your body surrendered to the pleasure.

“Baby. that’s…fuck..that’s so good.” Your squeezed your eyes shut tightly feeling a pleasure only Trent had ever given you course through your body. His cock twitched at your breathy moans and whimpers. He tugged at your lower lip with his teeth as he worked his magic, his fingers moving in and out, adding a second finger to stretch and fill you. When he dipped another finger into your wet heat, he pulled another deep moan from you and in an attempt to push you closer to the edge, he curled his fingers even further against that one spot and pressed his thumb against your clit harder. Your hands gripped the edge of the counter, your knuckles turning shades lighter as you rode his hand, seeking release. “Please keep going, T, I’m so close, I’m-fuck.” You whined his name, juices dripping down your legs and his hand, tears forming on your lash lines from the stimulation. 

"That's it. Good girl." Trent encouraged, his breath hot on your neck as he nibbled on your sensitive skin. “Fuck yourself on my fingers.” He commanded. You couldn’t stop yourself. He curled them further inside, finding your g spot fast, refusing to let up. You rode his fingers, your moans only getting louder as the harsh circles around your clit intensified. You let out a soft cry as you rocked your hips onto his hand.  "Cum for me, let me feel you." His words pushed you further, and with a final, desperate thrust of his fingers, you climaxed. Your body shook, and a wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and boneless. Trent held you gently, his fingers still inside you, as the aftershocks rippled through your body. Carefully and gently he lifted you off the counter, his strong arms making you feel weightless. You giggled, slightly delicious from your high,  but feeling playful and free as he carried you to the living room, your legs dangling, brushing against his hard thighs.  He laid you gently on to the couch, handling you delicately but his eyes burning with desire as he gazed down at you. You reached up for him, wanting to feel his naked skin against yours. Trent obliged, quickly shedding his clothes, revealing his chiseled physique. Your eyes traced the lines of his body, lingering on his thick, erect cock, standing proudly between his legs.

"I want you inside me, T," you whispered, your voice laced with longing. He climbed on to the massive sofa, his body covering yours, his hands pinning your wrists above your head. 

"You want it bad, huh, baby?" he teased, his lips brushing against yours.  You nodded, your eyes pleading. Trent's lips claimed yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he ground his hips against you, his cock rubbing against your wetness, teasing you. You whimpered, desperate for him to fill you.

"Please, baby, " you begged, your breath coming in short gasps. "Fuck me. Please I promise I’ll be a good girl again for you, T." You whined. Trent smirked not mockingly, just almost euphoric like he couldn’t believe that his dream of having you beg for his cock was happening in real time. And so, Trent happily obliged, positioning himself at your entrance. With one smooth thrust, he slid deep inside you, filling you completely. You cried out, your body adjusting to his size, embracing the stretch and fullness. When you gave him the go ahead, he began to move, his hips snapping forward, driving into you with a pace that had you crying out with each stroke. 

"Yeah, that's it, take my cock." he grunted, his voice rough with desire.The sounds were pornographic. “There she is. Such a good girl. You love my cock, don't you?" He asked you. You lifted your leg up for him to throw it over his shoulder fucking you at a new angle harder, deeper.  

“It’s so fucking good. Fuck! — Fuck you feel so big.” You babbled lost in the throes of pleasure. Trent fucked you with a primal intensity, his hands gripping your hips rasing them slightly, leaving marks on your skin. He was fucking you stupid, your mind had gone completely blank, your vision blurred. After you changed the angle, lifting one of your legs, it caused you to bite down harshly on his shoulder. He moaned in pleasurable pain. His whole length repeatedly hitting your g spot, sending you both into a blissful haze. He was leant forward, his mouth finding your nipple, sucking and biting gently as he thrust, creating a symphony of sensations that drove you wild.

"You're squeezing me so tight, baby," he groaned, his breath hot against your neck. "Want me to make you cum again, pretty girl?" He asked but all you could do was nod desperately, your chest heaving.  He reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. The combination of his cock pounding into you and his skilled fingers was too much to bear. You arched your back, offering yourself to him, your body ready to explode.

"Yeah– shit! T, right there!" you cried out, your voice high and desperate. He increased the pace, his fingers working in sync with his thrusts. You climaxed with a force that surprised even yourself, your body trembling and legs shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. 

“Fuck, you’re my good girl, baby.” He hummed, his breathing getting heavier by the second. His cock was soaked in your slick as he rolled his hips roughly into you.  “Fuck!” He cried out. “Baby I gotta cum.” He was at his limit desperate to release. You could only nod again Your own high still continuing to roll on. His harsh movements came to a halt as he buried himself deeper inside you. “Ah Shit.” Trent grunted, his body stiffening as he came, filling you with his warmth, his throbbing cock pulsing inside you. Pumping you full with his cum while pressing his lips to yours. You both laid into each other's sweaty bodies, foreheads resting on the other.  Gasping for breath, you clung to each other, your hearts racing. Trent gently kissed your neck, his hands stroking your skin, providing comfort and reassurance. You reveled in the intimacy of the moment, feeling utterly satisfied and exhausted. “You okay, baby?” He whispered. You could only hum, your face hidden in the crook of his neck. You kissed at his skin lazily. “You sure? Was I too rough?” Trent nervously and quietly asked. Trent didn’t want to hurt you. He had protected you for years. The thing was now… things were different. Really different. If Trent was ever rough with girls before in bed he usually didn’t care too much but he had always taken care of you and it only amplified now.  Obviously it would never be the goal to hurt someone but with sex like that, rough sex like that… with you... he needed to make sure you were okay.

“I’m okay, T. Just tied from all that.” You giggled sleepily, your voice barely audible. You gave him a soft smile, tucking your head back against his shoulder as you nuzzled into him. You could feel him smile as he held you closer. The two of you laid there, wrapped in each other, forgetting everything else just for the moment. But once you realized almost over an hour had passed since the food arrived, though neither of you had paid much attention to it, you definitely were hungry now post workout… or well… post sex. Trent got up, making sure you were okay, cleaned up and all set on the sofa as he popped off back to the kitchen to reheat the food and bring it back for you two to finally eat. Now sprawled comfortably on the couch, a mess of takeout containers scattered around, both of you too wrapped up in each other to worry about making it neat. Wrapped only in blankets, clothes long forgotten, and each other, there was something thrillingly raw and uninhibited about the whole scene.

You watched on as Trent struggled with his chopsticks, holding them awkwardly and missing the noodles each time. 

“You’ve been shit at that for years. Literally zero improvement.” You held out a fork for him with a grin. You couldn’t help but laugh, playfully teasing him. But he shook his head stubbornly. 

“Nah, nah, I’m not that bad. These noodles are just slippery, and—” he rambled, an adorable frustration flashing across his face. He pouted a little, and you chuckled, leaning in to kiss him, wiping away his frown. 

“It’s cute, you know,” you said, running your hand over his thigh. The bashful way he looked down, as if trying to hide his little smile, only made him more endearing. He looked back up at you, his eyes twinkling with a smirk. Trent loved to be praised even if it was just for simply existing. And he was as cute as you said; his pouty lips and puppy dog eyes staring back at you pretending he didn’t know he was. Until his cheeky charm came roaring back. 

“Yeah, well, I’m cute what can I say; it’s a redeeming quality of mine. You’re almost as cute as me… depends on the day,” he shot back with a wink, his grin widening. You laughed, your heart flipping at his boyish charm. The way he blended playfulness with this gentle confidence was one of the things you loved most. Sitting there, eating together, feeling this giddy warmth bloom between you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so effortlessly at ease. The two of you lounged together, tangled up in the cozy mess of blankets and takeout containers, laughing at the smallest things. It was pure, unguarded comfort, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d longed for this feeling until now—just being with someone, laughing until it hurt, without any pretense. Trent’s chopsticks continued to wobble in his hand as he tried again, narrowing his eyes in concentration. He was treating it like a personal challenge, refusing to let some noodles get the best of him, his brow furrowed like he was plotting out strategy. You stifled another laugh, and he caught it, glancing up with a mock-offended look. “Aye! I’m not that bad!” he protested, dropping the chopsticks with a defeated sigh and reaching for a fork instead. You snickered, resting your head on his shoulder as you passed him the fork with a knowing look.

“Maybe I’m just better with the chopsticks,” you teased. He let out an exaggerated scoff, rolling his eyes. 

“Better at what? Eating?  Doubtful,” he said, leaning over to nudge you. But there was a softness to his gaze, an unspoken admiration as he looked down at you. “Even if you are better at some things,” he added, trailing off, his voice dropping to a murmur. You tried not to look surprised but you weren’t sure you’d ever heard Trent actually concede, not even halfway like that. “I’m better at a few things, too.” He added in true Trent fashion. 

“Oh, yeah? Name one,” you challenged, grinning as you tilted your head up at him. You knew just how to get Trent to bite. With a playful smirk, he leaned closer until his face was just inches from yours. 

“This,” he whispered, before his lips captured yours in a deep, slow kiss that made you melt. It wasn’t rushed or hungry; it was patient and full of warmth, as if he had all the time in the world to savor you. When he pulled back, his eyes scanned over your face as if to commit every detail to memory. There was an unmistakable pride there, like he knew the effect he had on you. “See?” he said softly, still holding your gaze. “Told you I’m better at some things.” You blushed, laughing as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“Alright, alright. You’re a good kisser but don’t act like I’m bad or something.” You giggled, laying your head on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Nah, course not. You’re world class as well, baby.” He cooed gently, kissing your forehead.  For a while, you both just sat in silence, content. He absentmindedly played with your hair, occasionally twirling a strand around his finger. At one point, you looked up, catching him staring at you again, his expression soft, as though he were seeing you for the first time. 

“What?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. He shook his head, his fingers grazing your cheek as he spoke.

 “Nothing. Just… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.” He smiled softly, his eyes filled with warmth.

“Like what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Like… relaxed,” You raised your brow trying not to be offended. He laughed lightly. “Nah, hold on…” He could sense your offense. “ I meant you just seem calm right now. Just before…even with me, it always had to be rushed, it always had to be sneaky and right now… you just look happy.” He said, his voice full of a warmth that melted right into you. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, smiling gently. “I like it. A lot.”

“Are you trying to say you make me happy?” You questioned a little mockingly. He hummed with assurance. You felt your heart flutter, something in his eyes settling deep within you. “Well, you’re right…You do. And I hope I do that for you too… at least a little bit,” you whispered back, a soft smile spreading across your face as you nestled closer to him.

“Yeah, pretty girl. A lot of bit.” he cooed, leaning to peck the tip of your nose. “You always have but this… this right here is better than ever before.” He softly whispered. In that moment, everything else faded—the worries, the risks, even the questions of what you both were doing or where this would go. For now, this was enough. Just you, him, and the quiet intimacy that filled the room. You sat there for a long while rattling between eating, kissing, and watching TV. “We should do this more “Trent said as he moved on the couch putting his food down. 

“T, we eat dinner and watch films like every other week” you smiled. You did. You ate dinner probably once a week together except… well, Jack was also there. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He feigned annoyance pulling you into him.  “But nah, I don't mean those nights because I rarely get to have my hands on you like this. Hmm?” He clarified. 

“Yeah,” you sighed at the reality but also agreeing, loving the current warmth of him. 

“Yeah? And you like when my hands are on you, right?” He cooed and you hummed. “I know just what you like, baby.” He leaned in, his lips barely brushing yours, and you felt the familiar flutter in your chest, the way just his presence seemed to pull you in. He could feel the way your body melted. "See?" he whispered, his voice laced with that playful edge. "I know exactly what you like." You giggled, trying to play it off, but there was no denying how much you did like this, how every small touch felt electric. 

"Confident, aren't we?" you teased, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. He grinned, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your lower back. 

"Yeah. You love it when I'm like this," he smirked, leaning back, but pulling you down with him until you were nestled against him on the couch, his hands holding you close. You hummed because it wasn’t when he was like ‘this.’ ‘This’ was just Trent. Confident and cheeky. And getting to have this Trent all to yourself with no prying eyes was a dream. You couldn't help but smile, feeling his warmth and the gentle way he was looking at you, the humor gone from his expression, replaced with something softer, something that felt more than just casual. You bit your lip, unable to hold his gaze for too long, and he just chuckled, tilting your chin up so you'd meet his eyes again. "I meant it," he said, his voice low and earnest. "We really should do this more." There was a pause, and in that brief silence, you felt the weight of what he was saying. It wasn't just about tonight, or even the past few times you'd been together. It was about something more, something you hadn't really let yourself think about until now.

"Maybe we could," you said softly, feeling your face warm as you looked down, only to feel his fingers tilting your chin back up, his eyes softening as he watched you.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of your neck. "Then maybe it's not just up to me, is it?" He smirked. And with that, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that seemed to say all the things you both were afraid to.

After clearing up the remnants of your Chinese takeaway, you stood in the kitchen, stacking the last of the plates in the dishwasher. Trent followed closely behind, observing you with a smirk on his lips. His gaze was warm, his eyes dancing with a familiar playfulness that always made your heart flutter.

“Wow,” he teased, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and a mischievous look in his eyes. “Look at you. Really are wifey, innit?” You glanced over your shoulder at him, rolling your eyes at his comment.

“Oh, shut up,” you retorted, but the smile tugging at your lips gave away your amusement. You couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the playful compliment, even if you tried to act unbothered. Trent didn’t let up, stepping forward with that grin still plastered on his face. 

“Nah, I mean it,” he said, his voice softening slightly as he drew closer. “I’ve always known you’re good with all this stuff. The little things. The considerate things. Things other people overlook.”  You felt a warmth spread through you at his sincerity, and you turned to face him fully, drying your hands on a towel, leaning your back against the island across from him as you looked up at him.

“Yeah?” you asked, tilting your head, a playful lilt in your voice. Trent’s expression softened further, the humor still present but tinged with something more tender. “You’ve clearly never lived with Jack and my dad.” You cooed, reminding him that this consideration was more survival and necessity than anything else. Trent sympathetically smiled realizing there was something much deeper behind why you took care of things the way you did. 

“Nah.Y/N, look. I'm not talking about that. I mean I am but I'm not. I don’t want to talk about... them guys,” he continued, referring to past relationships,  his voice growing serious for a moment, “because they don’t deserve the breath, but all those other lads? They were fucking idiots for losing a girl like you.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but tease him, trying to keep the moment light even though his sincerity made your chest ache. All of it, the hurt of your past and how easily he seemed to salve it. 

“Oh, really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “And why exactly is that?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.  “Because I’m so great at, what, doing the dishes?” You teased. Trent sighed but then let out a deep chuckle realizing maybe this wasn't the time for his serious compliment. And so his laughter echoing the kitchen making you smile. 

“Nah,” he said, stepping even closer and reaching out to pull you by the waist. You squirmed as he picked you up, dragging you back to the living room, only your combined laughter filling the space momentarily. He tugged you down onto the couch with him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight and pressing a flurry of silly, cheeky kisses all over your face, making you giggle more. “No, baby,” he murmured between kisses, “because you’re kind, and thoughtful, and beautiful, and even with your flaws, you’re still perfect.” he listed, his hands sliding up your sides, pulling your top up with them as he spoke. You pulled back just slightly, eyeing him with suspicion. 

“Flaws?” you questioned, your tone light with mock offense. He giggled, a true cheeky Trent giggle as he picked up the TV remote from the armrest beside him. “Excuse me?” You leaned into his touch, a teasing smile spreading across your face. He smiled deviously, taking the opportunity to snake one of his arms around you completely and pull you tightly into him, his other hand navigating what was on the telly.

“Yeah,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Like, for one, you’re not very good at watching films. You talk a lot during them. You yap more than me and that says a lot.” He smirked cheekily. You gasped, playfully shoving him away but not really going anywhere because his arm stayed wrapped around you

“Oh, okay. Really? I see,” you said, leaning into the banter. “Seems like you watch a lot of films with someone you think is bad to watch with.” You fired back, your voice full of mock indignation. Trent’s eyes softened, and he smiled, leaning in to kiss your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“Nah, nah, nah,” he laughed, leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes crinkling at the corners from how wide his smile had become. “I said you’re bad at watching them. But you’re the best to watch with. My favorite to watch with, actually.” He corrected softly, his voice a murmur as he brushed his nose against yours before pulling you into a comfortable cuddle. You felt your heart skip at his words, and you nuzzled closer, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you, your hands moving to rest on his chest. 

“Well, I guess that makes it okay, then,” you whispered, a smile spreading across your face as you settled into him, feeling perfectly content. “You’re really good at this whole sweet-talking thing, aren’t you?” you whispered, your voice teasing but your eyes full of affection. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing your temple again before pressing a kiss there, lingering for a moment.

“I’m not sweet-talking, pretty girl” he murmured against your skin. “I mean it… You don’t shut up….” Your jaw slacked. “ And I love it.” He told you, shutting your mouth closed with his hand and kissing your lips. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms in the warmth of the room. You nestled your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong. He kissed the top of your head, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the feeling. “Alright,” he announced, his voice full of playful determination. “Movie time.”

“A movie? Really? After you just insulted my film-watching abilities?” You raised an eyebrow, laughing. He grinned. 

“Exactly,” he said, pulling you down beside him. “I invited you over for a film and I was thinking.... maybe I can keep your lips busy.” He cheekily cooed with a wink. The innuendo had your mind racing, your heart pumping and your pussy pulsing.  

“Maybe we should find the list of the top 100 most boring movies.” You suggested. Suddenly you could feel the tides turning again. The sexual tension in the room rising fast.

“Why?” Trent naively asked almost instinctively forgetting the direction he was just forging but then quickly remembered what you were insinuating. He laughed at himself. His desire for you very quickly out ranking that for any movie.

“I mean, maybe that’s why I’m no good at this whole watching films thing. I think I just love a movie that can't hold my attention… besides, usually someone else has it.” You smirked. Your hand moving to run over his thigh, moving higher and higher up. 

“Fair, baby. Because we’ve watched some classics together and I barely remember a thing. Got me more locked in on you.” He cooed, the warmth of your subtle compliment lingering. You giggled nuzzling into his neck, your lips nibbling on his skin, your hand inching higher.

“Guess I should be flattered then, huh? Competing with the classics is no small feat,” you teased, but inside, you felt the excitement, horniness and a hint of vulnerability. He pulled your face off his neck and  brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gaze soft. 

“You’re much better than any movie.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully, his thumb grazing your cheek. “...Honest.” You swallowed, taken off guard by how sincere he sounded. The easy sexy  banter had faded momentarily, leaving something quiet, something that felt new and serious. 

“Trent,” you whispered, your voice catching slightly.

“Yeah, pretty girl?” he asked, smiling as he tried to read your expression, a hint of nervousness flashing in his eyes. You shifted, heart racing as you tried to find the right words. 

“I just… I like….” You paused , almost afraid to look at him, trying to decide how open you should be, how vulnerable you should be or if you should just throw reality to the wind and let your hormones continue taking over. You went with neither. “I like watching movies with you.” You admitted, but it wasn’t really what you wanted to say. When you met his gaze you felt like you saw the same openness you were feeling retreat, just as yours did. He didn’t hesitate though, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you.

“Me too.” He grinned, his tone lightening just enough to make you smile again. “How about we pick a movie that’ll actually let us watch for, like, let’s give ten minutes a go. Tops.” He smirked at you, placing his hand over yours moving it back to palm over his hardening cock.  You laughed, your face falling back into his neck, your lips returning to kiss his skin. 

“Deal,” you whispered, feeling perfectly at home in his arms and perfectly turned on to do a little more than watch a movie.

You sat on the edge of your bed, phone clutched in your hand, staring at the last message you’d sent Trent hours ago. He hadn’t replied, which was fine, you reminded yourself. He had an away game tomorrow, he was busy, and maybe this thing—whatever it was—wasn’t supposed to mean much to him. He’d said things recent enough, especially that night at his house where maybe you thought it did but then again… you tried to remind yourself, he was only a boy at the end of the day, he very well could be just like all the others. You’d been replaying the moments you’d spent together, but maybe, you worried, it had all been just a casual distraction to him. People can pretend for sex, why couldn’t he do the same. The texts and playful emojis were fun, but what if he was just passing the time? Your texting had ramped up a lot especially when he was away. There were a lot of winks, innuendos, emojis but were you simply a way for him to occupy time whilst he was on the road? That maybe it didn’t matter that it was you specifically, but that it very well could just be any girl. You actually had started to feel like an idiot expecting a message tonight. You were about to just feel defeated going to bed without a text from him. You sighed, telling yourself to let it go as you flicked off the lights and crawled into bed, the silence feeling heavier than usual. You closed your eyes, settling into the pillow, just about to drift off when your phone buzzed. The screen lit up, and you glanced at it, expecting a notification—but no, it was a FaceTime call. And it was Trent. Your heart skipped, fumbling to answer as you propped yourself up, pulling your shirt down a bit just for him. 

“Hi,” you said, hoping he didn’t hear the hint of nerves in your voice. Trent’s face filled the screen, his eyes tired but a warm smile spreading across his face. 

“Sorry for the late call. Just thought…  Well, I wanted to see you. You alright, pretty girl?” He cooed. You couldn’t pick up on it but he was as nervous as you were.  His words more jumbled than normal. You bit your lip, surprised but touched by the call.

“I’m… I’m good. Just getting ready for bed. You?” You asked. He nodded, running a hand over his hair, his smile softening. 

“Yeah, about to have a quick shower and get a some sleep too. Long day. Fucking knackered” He paused, his gaze steady on you, and something in his expression made you feel seen. “But I was thinking about you.” His words made your heart race, and you couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto your face. 

“Oh yeah? Or just bored in some random hotel?” You questioned him, a slight crack at the question that had been gnawing at you.  He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Nah, just about you alone. Trust me. Was wondering what you might've been up to without me. ” He leaned a bit closer, as though he wanted to close the distance between you through the screen. “I miss you. More than I thought I could.” Hearing that sent a warmth through you that made all the doubts melt away. 

“I miss you too, T” you admitted softly, feeling a rush of relief that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all in your head. Trent’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up. 

“Then maybe when I get back… we don’t do the whole ‘pretend we didn’t’ yeah?” He smirked. You laughed, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you nodded. 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that because I really do miss you.” You shook your head feeling both embarrassed by how much you did miss him and silly for the way you felt earlier about him not replying to a simple text when he was saying all this.

“Baby, quick question for you.” He said and you couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your face at the pet name returning. “You have snap right?” He said it so casually that you let out a shocked chuckle. He was talking about snapchat and while you did... you weren't sure you were even friends on it because well... it felt like dangerous territory.

“What…are you sixteen? Like what are you on about?” You laughed at him. You were on Facetime in bed right now. What in god's name did he want to know that for. 

“Nah…” He laughed mildly embarrassed by your call out. Understanding it merited your teasing. “I just meant I’d like it if I could see a little more of you when I don’t have the privacy to call. Y’know?” He explained. A part of you hated this conversation and a part of you loved it. You wanted him to see more of you but you were also a little confused. You’d had a similar conversation before and it resulted in a photo of you sent directly to him. 

“Oh… I mean I can send anything you want just over texts…”  You told him feigning a casualness you didn’t feel. You’d sent a photo to him before so you weren’t sure why he wanted to move the convo elsewhere. It was hard not to overthink it. It felt so suspicious but you weren’t entirely against sending him any more photos to him if it meant you got some in return. But the question ‘why’ was screaming in your head. 

“You understand what I’m actually asking for right, baby?” He chuckled, not at you but because he just felt silly asking this. “I just don’t want you to feel…” He began to explain further but you cut him off. In Trent's mind, he just wanted another access point. His schedule was so busy he liked the idea of being able to have a space for just the spicier things especially considering Jack but you weren't thinking that way and you didn't know that either because you just interrupted him.

“T… I know what you’re asking. I’ll send photos to you.” You smirked mischievously. You were hellbent on getting him to see you as a sexy woman not as a best friend’s little sister so in your opinion this was going to have to be happen, if you wanted to further that.  

“Alright, alright, baby. Send as you please.” He laughed pretty happy with your willingness to send him photos. You just were debating just how revealing they should be though. On Trent’s end, he wanted full nudes, he wanted to see the body he was claiming as his back at home while he was away. To be blunt he wanted to get off to them but just didn’t want you to feel overly exposed sending them through text, logged into your apple ids but there was a disconnect. You were not on the same page apparently even though you thought you were.  After you ended the call you decided to give it a go. You sat up, perching yourself onto your knees, your ass rested back on your heels so you could see your figure in the mirror across from your bed. You were just in your panties and a little tight white t-shirt, no bra. You could see the shape of your tits, your taut stomach exposed as you pulled on your lip with your free hand. And snap. You took a deep breath, looking at the photo you’d just taken. It was intimate, sultry, exactly the kind of picture that would send Trent’s heart racing—or so you hoped. But just as you were about to hit send, a flicker of doubt crept in. Was he only asking for these pictures initially on Snapchat because he didn’t want them saved, was he with or seeing other people he was worried might see them if they were texted. Hence you decided to opt to be partially clothed for this first go around. As close as you felt to him, it was hard not to wonder sometimes if you were just another distraction. He was a guy who could have anyone, and the idea that he could be keeping things casual with you was a thought you couldn’t shake. Yet you didn’t want to question him, not now, when things were finally feeling like they could be real. With a bit of resolve, you hit send anyway, your heart pounding in anticipation. Just as you set your phone down, another thought crept in. Maybe this was all about building trust. Maybe he wanted you to feel in control of whatever you chose to share. Never did the idea of Trent protecting you from Jack ever by chance picking up his phone cross your mind. The whole night replayed in your head—the warmth in his eyes on FaceTime, the way he’d reassured you, and how he’d seemed genuinely interested in closing the distance between you both. Moments later, your phone vibrated, and a message from Trent popped up. It wasn’t just a text back; it was a picture of him in the mirror, his smile a little sleepy, he’d just gotten out of the shower in his hotel room, towel low around his waist, water droplets still on his chest, the soft glint in his eyes unmistakably meant for you.

He teased You let out a small laugh, feeling the doubts ease away. Whatever this was between you both, it was beginning to feel like more than a fleeting fling.And with a quiet goodnight, he left you with a smile and a heart racing for the next time you’d see him in person.

Trent’s travels continued on. One country to the next.  But as he lay sprawled on the hotel bed, his muscles aching from a training session ahead of his match earlier in the evening, the hotel room modern and immaculate, it felt sterile, stripped of any warmth or comfort that reminded him of home. His teammates’ laughter echoed faintly down the hall, probably from someone’s room where the guys had gathered to relax and unwind. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to join them. His thoughts were somewhere else—somewhere warmer and more inviting, somewhere that smelled like your favorite perfume and where laughter felt more genuine. He had learned over time how to manage the loneliness of travel. Football had always demanded sacrifices, and he’d made peace with them. But now, with you, the loneliness felt different, more acute. Before, he never thought twice about how many nights he spent in hotel rooms, but now, every night away felt like a night stolen from you. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the unease that had settled in his chest, and then grabbed his phone again, the screen lighting up with notifications. None were from you, which he realized he’d been hoping for.

He rolled onto his side, staring at a picture of you he’d taken ages ago, one you probably didn't even know existed. You were laughing in it, your head thrown back, organically beautiful, eyes lit up with mischief. It was one of those candid shots that perfectly captured your spirit, and he found himself smiling, feeling an ache at the thought of not being able to hear that laugh right now. His thumb hovered over your name in his messages, and he opened your last conversation, reading over your words, feeling closer to you through the little emojis and teasing exchanges. He didn’t want to seem needy or like he was fishing for your attention, but the urge to reach out was overwhelming. He started typing a text, deleting it twice before settling on something simple; ‘Thinking about you. Hope you’re doing okay. Miss you.’ He almost sent it but stopped himself, taking a moment to let out a heavy sigh. It felt unfair to burden you with how much he missed you when he couldn’t be there. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you felt the same, but he knew how unfair this situation could be. You deserved better than waiting for stolen moments or living with the anxiety that came from constantly hiding what you were from everyone else, hiding what you might be from Jack. He put the phone down, leaning back on the pillow, and tried to shake the self-doubt creeping in. Were you getting tired of this? Of him being gone? Of him not really being yours? He couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t want to see you, where he didn’t crave your company. It wasn’t lost on him that football had pulled him away from so much over the years, but this was the first time he genuinely worried about it taking something he desperately wanted to keep. You were putting so much at risk for him with Jack and it all started to feel more wrong than ever. 

Even during his limited downtime, his mind would drift to you: your laugh, the way you’d tease him, the gentle comfort of your presence. And now, knowing that the busiest stretch of his season was right around the corner, the thought of being even more unavailable left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to make you feel special, to let you know he was thinking about you in a way that wasn’t about flashy gifts or hurried, late-night hookups. No, he wanted you to understand that he cared deeply, beyond the physical or superficial. He propped himself up on one elbow, the crisp hotel sheets rustling beneath him, and grabbed his phone once more, his mind racing with possibilities. As he opened his notes app, he began to brainstorm. He knew he couldn’t make grand, public gestures without risking exposure, and he didn’t want to just throw money at a problem that required a more thoughtful touch. He started typing ideas, his mind focusing on the small things, the meaningful things. The list in his notes app glared back at him. He glanced over the suggestions, his heart softening. Even with all his fame and money, he was nervous about something so simple as making you feel loved. How did you make him feel like a nervous schoolboy again, chasing after someone he wanted so badly to impress? He felt almost ridiculous trying to impress his best mate's little sister but you were much more than that. He chuckled softly to himself, a mix of embarrassment and adoration flooding him.

He tried to envision the letter he’d write if he went with that idea, picturing himself scribbling down every reason he liked you, every little thing that made him smile. Maybe he’d tuck it into your favorite book, so you’d stumble upon it by surprise. Or he imagined what the picnic could be like, bundling you both up in warm clothes and spreading out a feast of all your favorite comfort foods, just to hear you laugh about how out of season it was. And that thought—that image of you laughing, cheeks flushed from the cold but warm in his embrace—was enough to make him pick up his phone again.He didn’t know how he’d make it happen, but he’d figure it out. Because that’s what you did when you cared about someone: you made the effort, even when it felt impossible. Trent took a deep breath, feeling a bit more settled. He pressed send on his message before he could second-guess himself again and set his phone aside. His chest still ached, but he let himself imagine the look on your face when you finally received whatever small, meaningful gesture he’d dream up. Even if he couldn’t be there physically, he wanted you to feel his presence, to know that, no matter the distance, you were always on his mind. And as he lay there, the room still feeling cold and empty, his heart felt a little warmer, filled with a quiet resolve.

Trent was right, you did feel like his schedule was always busy. It was hard for you to understand lately. Before, as your brother's best friend it never really affected you but now… you found yourself missing him. And while you did, every time you wanted to tell him just that... you'd chicken out. You’d be lying if you said your heart hadn’t leapt when you received another text from him once you knew he was back home. It had been days since you’d last seen him, and even though you told yourself you were getting used to the rhythm of his busy life, the truth was you missed him—maybe more than you wanted to admit. The message was short, casual, but it made your palms sweat with anticipation but also your brow furrow with confusion.

Of course you agreed but the vagueness made you nervous. And in addition to those words, you didn't like to drive all that much. It just gave you a bit of anxiety but you'd do it to see him. When you pulled up in front of his house, the evening sky was tinged with hues of orange and deep purple, the last rays of sun casting shadows across the quiet street. Trent stepped out and your chest tightened at the sight of him. He looked tired but happy, his smile lighting up his face as he walked over to the passenger side of your car. He climbed in and immediately shot you a teasing look. 

“Wow,” he said, running his hand over the dashboard, “Pretty girl, pretty whip. Look at you. Who knew you had such good taste in cars.” There was a playful glint in his eye, and you couldn’t help but smile. You let out a laugh, rolling your eyes at his antics. 

“Okay, okay, I’ve said thank you a million times,” you replied, feigning exasperation. “Do you want me to say it again?” He laughed, leaning back into the seat of the Mercedes he had once gifted you for your birthday.

“Nah, I’m just giving you a hard time. It’s good seeing you behind the wheel, though. Rarely see you even drive. Was beginning to think you didn’t like it.” He smirked.

“I do! You know I just get nervous driving.” You pouted a little feeling anxious about actually driving.  

“That’s why I got you a safe car though, baby. You’re all good. Promise.” He cooed gently, leaning over and kissing your temple, feeling the familiar warmth spreading through you from his presence alone. His words reassuring. The air between you grew heavier for a split second, the implication of his words making your stomach flutter. But you quickly brushed it off, gripping the wheel a little tighter to steady yourself. You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you pulled out of his driveway.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, trying to sound casual but genuinely curious. “Why did you need me to drive?” Trent adjusted his hoodie, looking out the window as if gathering his thoughts. 

“I wanted to go somewhere,” he said, turning to face you. “Somewhere a bit more low-key. Didn’t want to attract too much attention, you know?” You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued.

 “Somewhere, huh? You’re pretty mysterious.” You cheekily teased.  He laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Nah, shush. You’ll see,” he promised, the hint of a secret in his voice. “Just trust me.” And so you drove on, the city passing by, the quiet hum of the car adding to the suspense. Trent didn’t give anything away, and that made you all the more eager to find out what he had in store. But deep down, just being near him, feeling the warmth of his presence after days apart, felt like more than enough. Trent had typed the address into your car’s navigation system, and as the map adjusted, you tried to steal a peek, your curiosity piqued. He shot you a mischievous grin, blocking your view with his hand. “Aye! No peeking,” he said, his tone playful. You rolled your eyes, fixing them back on the road, but a smile pulled at your lips despite the frustration you felt, knowing he always enjoyed these little games. When you finally pulled up to the park, you recognized it instantly: the worn-out playground, the rustling trees that framed the walking path, and the faint creak of the swings swaying in the wind. It was a place that had remained unchanged since your childhood, close to where you’d both grown up but far enough away from where you now lived that it felt like a retreat. You turned off the car and glanced over at Trent, your eyebrows raised.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, laughter bubbling in your voice. He opened the door, climbed out, and then made his way around to your side, pulling his hoodie up over his head in that way he always did when he wanted to go unnoticed. The sight was endearing but also a reminder of the reality you shared: the life he led, so scrutinized and public, and the need to keep parts of it hidden, you hidden. He pulled your door open and extended his hand to you.

“C’mon,” he urged gently. “Just wanted to spend some time with you.” You took his hand, stepping out of the car and feeling the cool, crisp autumn air kiss your skin. "Just you and me." The sky was a watercolor mix of oranges and purples, the sun dipping below the horizon and painting everything in a soft, fading glow. You slipped your hand out of his to wrap your arms around yourself for warmth, but Trent’s hand found your lower back, guiding you gently down the familiar path. As you walked, you both fell into an easy conversation about anything and everything: memories from your childhood, funny stories about people you both knew, and even complaints about the weather turning colder. But underneath it all, there was a tension you couldn’t shake. “Been missing you... I actually was trying to remember the first time I like properly caught some feelings for ya. pretty sure it was here,” he said, his voice quiet. His admission lingered in the air, heavy and sincere.

"I don't believe that." You smiled, not sure Trent even looked your way until your tits were out on a holiday. You were trying to stay guarded but he was making it hard. You felt your heart skip at his words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fully relax into the moment.

"You should. Made me just miss being... us." He sheepishly said the word uniting you two as a pair. You knew how much you missed him too, but there was something else—a weight that was harder to put into words.

“Hmm,” you murmured noncommittally, your eyes trained on the path ahead. Trent stopped walking, his fingers brushing against your elbow to turn you toward him. You glanced up, your gaze meeting his, and his expression was a mix of worry and confusion.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reading the unease in your eyes. He was searching for an answer, something to make sense of the way you were holding back. You let out a sigh, your breath visible in the cold air. 

“It’s not that something’s wrong,” you started, your voice trailing off. “I just… sometimes I feel like…” You struggled to find the words. How could you express the hurt of feeling like a secret, like this hidden part of his life he only got to enjoy behind closed doors? Trent’s jaw tensed slightly, his hands dropping to his sides as he watched you, his own heart sinking. He seemed to understand, even if it was painful to hear. 

“I know it’s not fair,” he admitted, running a hand over his hair beneath the hoodie. “But you make me feel grounded, Y/N. You make me feel like… me. And I just wanted some time. to feel like Trent, not all the shit that goes on during the week.” You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, nodding because you did understand. It just didn’t make the ache any less.

“I get it,” you whispered. And you did, you really did, but the understanding didn’t erase the feeling of being kept in the shadows. It wasn’t just friends and family who couldn't know… the world couldn’t know. In a way, you almost felt used or that you weren’t good enough to be shown. Nevertheless, you resumed walking, though your steps felt heavier now. Trent must have sensed your struggle because, after a few more moments, he bent down and picked a small daisy growing stubbornly among the fallen leaves. He held it out to you with a sheepish grin.

“Here,” he said, pressing it into your hand. "I always thought about nicking one of these and giving it to you but the lad's would've ripped into me back then." You couldn’t help but laugh, the gesture so innocent and sweet that it melted some of the tension in your chest. He leaned in and kissed your temple, the warmth of his lips comforting in the cold evening. You looked down at the daisy, a bittersweet smile playing on your lips. 

“They still would." You sympathetically smiled. "You know,” you began, shaking your head at the memories flooding back, “if you did that when we were kids, I would’ve screamed.” Trent’s eyes softened, a playful glint returning. 

“And now…?” he asked, wanting to hear how things had changed.

“Well…” You hesitated, your smile dimming. “It’s just a bit different now.” Your voice was quieter, the reality sinking back in. “I still like getting flowers from you.” You tried to backtrack but you couldn’t. The daisy felt like a piece of something beautiful, but the hoodie he still wore reminded you of the double life you both lived. The happiness was always tinged with the sadness of what you couldn’t have. Trent’s expression grew somber, and he stepped closer, his hands coming up to cup your face.

 “I know it’s not enough,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “But I’m trying, Y/N. I really am.” You closed your eyes, his warmth seeping into your skin. 

“I know,” you whispered back. “And that’s what makes it so hard.” You opened your eyes, looking into his, and for a moment, there was nothing but understanding between you. No words, no defenses—just the complicated, beautiful mess of feelings you shared. He pulled you into a hug, and you rested your head on his chest, the daisy still clutched in your hand. The sun had nearly set, and the park was empty now, just the two of you standing in a place full of memories, trying to find a way to make sense of the present. He kissed your forehead and instead of bringing comfort, it stung. You went home that night and pressed the daisy in a favorite book of yours to preserve it. It was a book of poems. You found a worn page that you turned to often, one that your mum loved. You hoped in some way maybe she could help you decide what that daisy meant if you kept it there between you and her.  And as you shut the book to cement it. You watched a teardrop fall onto the hard cover. You and Trent, your past and your present bound closed.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 6 - Your Brother xx

[roquebr]

The Fury

Barcelona femeni x reader

Aitana Bonmáti x reader

Summary: When all seems lost, a turnaround can be more impressive.

The rocking of the bus gives me a slight feeling of relaxation, my headphones placed carelessly in my ears, with the sound at the highest volume, hoping to hide the prevailing noise of the place.

The youngest girls on the team are very excited about today's game, it's no surprise that we are heading towards the first leg of the Champions League semi-final, simply the biggest European championship. So it's not surprising when some of them are sitting on their benches with greater concentration than the other side, which is a mess.

Everyone has their own way of preparing, mine being to ignore everyone around me as much as possible until we get to the changing rooms, music being my escape point, I always turn to Brazilian music to be my company during these moments, it's a way of feel close to home.

— Meto o chapéu na cabeça ela perde a cabeça e me fala assim... – When the song approaches the chorus, I feel a nudge on my shoulders, I pause the song and look at the intruder who disturbed me and then I relax, yeah Alexia, she knows about my pre-game ritual and I know she wouldn't disturb me for nothing.

—Hey Ale, allright?

— Yes, sorry to bother you, but we've already arrived at the stadium and the girls are already coming down.

— I lost track, I'm going too, I'm just going to get my things — I give a small smile, thanking him for his kindness.

— I see you're a little out of tune, is everything okay? – He places one of his free hands on my shoulder, with the other holding his belongings. I don't know how she manages to balance everything like that, if it were me, my cell phone would definitely be broken on the floor by now.

— Yes, I'm just concentrating on the game, you know how it is, right?

— I understand, but if you need anything you can talk to me. – I don't answer, stopping myself from just returning a kind look.

We continued walking towards the changing rooms, greeting the workers as I passed.

I know that this nervousness is not just because of the game, but because of the desire to show more than my best on the field, having arrived at the club just under a year ago, coming straight as a standout on the Ferroviária, I knew that from the beginning I had to show more than I expected.

I've had a strong presence in many of the 37 unbeaten games played so far, I've been a regular starter, but apparently I'm not good enough to start today.

As soon as Jona announced who would start before we got on the bus, my spirits immediately dropped, I know he decided the lineup thinking about preserving some prominent athletes for possible future changes of keys, but that doesn't negate my feeling of incompetence to start on the bench.

We arrive at the locker room and I immediately head to my cubicle, my headphones that have been stored for a long time no longer deprive me of Rosalía's loud voice that emanates from the absurdly loud speaker in my ears.

I change calmly, but I decide not to wear socks or football boots for now, I'm going to interpret this as a protest for being on the bench today, a bit childish I know.

I sigh and lean my head against the wall, where my game t-shirt used to hang, I watch my happy teammates as they transform and sway to the beat of the music.

I saw my girlfriend of 1 year, we met in October 2022 at Ballon D'or, I went to the event as Marta's guest after telling her in a free conversation that I would like to have the experience of going.

We talked for just over a month and soon we were dating, excited, right, but the feeling was intense and it happened, at first it was difficult because of the distance because I was in Brazil and she was in Spain, but we got through it together, whenever I could I went to visit her. there. Unfortunately, she never managed to go to Brazil, but I will resolve that during our next “vacation”.

Jona arrives in the locker room and starts his usual motivational talk, honestly I don't feel like listening to anything, with my mind confused I just focus on going to the bench.

Sit next to Alexia with Lucy on the other side, the traditional song of the champions plays bringing a smile to my face, regardless of my wounded pride, every time this anthem plays I can't help but get emotional, it's a dream that becomes childhood reality.

The first half of the game was somewhat disappointing, Barça put pressure on Chelsea's marking but unfortunately the defense did not give in, in the 39th minute came the beginning of our fall, taking advantage of a passing error from Irene that gave Chelsea close possession of the ball. to the area, making a respectable exchange of passes until he found a partner in the area, he deceived Keira's marking and passed to Cuthbert who wasted no time in scoring. We came out at half-time with 1-0 to Chelsea.

The atmosphere in the dressing room is very different to when we arrived, the totally dead Barcelona vibe contradicts the emotion I normally feel, word after word, motivation after motivation, all falling on my deaf ears as each teammate seemed focused on acquiring each lyric. said by him.

With a wave of his hand, Jona takes me aside to talk.

— YN, where are your boots?

— It's in the bank, Jona.

He sighs lightly in annoyance, the stress in his shoulders is visible.

— Look, I know you're disappointed that I didn't start today, but please put your boots on, I'll be with you on the field in about 10 minutes.

— Great Jona, I'll put it on.

Returning to the second half, a little more excited, I ask one of the physiotherapists there to put a bandage on my ankle, Sophia is her name, as I injured my ankle during the game I always put a bandage on it to avoid future injuries.

After Sophia finishes, I put on my socks and football boots, I kiss each shin guard before putting them on.

The second half began, Barça had difficulty getting into the game, then a penalty was awarded in our favor, we celebrated along with the cheers of the fans, this would be our chance to continue in the game.

The referee goes to the Var and immediately cancels the penalty, apparently the referee interprets that Salma's offside hinders the defender, nonsense if I may say so.

At 63 minutes Jona makes 2 substitutions, bringing Alexia and Lucy. Ingrid and Ona sit next to me, respectively tired and disappointed with their performances, I give both thighs a comforting squeeze.

I wait anxiously at the edge of my bench for a while, waiting for the moment when Jona replaces me. In the 74th minute, when Ramirez, Chelsea's striker, missed the chance to expand, my heart almost exploded. Patri managed to disrupt her position well, although he still let her to finish the shot.

— Jonas!! – He doesn’t even turn around in recognition.

— Que saco mano. – I go down towards him who was on the side of the field. — Jona, am I going in now?

— Be patient, YN, go to warm up.

A frown appears on my face, but I do as I'm told, not before kicking the water bottle nearby. My companions give me sympathetic looks, which makes me more stressed.

At 78 minutes, the assistant coach says I'm ready and Jona calls me to the sidelines next to him.

— Listen to me, we need you now in this field, are you ready for this challenge. – She pauses only to give the numbers to the fourth referee who is preparing the replacement panel. — We need to decide this game at home, with our fans who came here to watch us play, with courage and love when we enter the field. I know you are ready for this challenge, show who you are and what you came for.

I can't find words, so I just listen, shaking my head with a determined look. I take the place of Mariona, who wishes me good luck, running to my position, passing my girlfriend, blinking and returning to focus on the game.

Time: 80m

In a quick run down the wing, Frido sends it to Caro who tries to finish, the goalkeeper saves but the rebound goes straight to my side, I don't miss the opportunity and send it into the goal. I see Salma grab the ball so we can restart the game, I run back to position, jumping and calling the fans to play together.

Time: 83m

Patri intercepts the ball in midfield, passes it to Aitana who dribbles the opponent, leaving her mistaken, I ask for the ball and soon receive it. I notice that the goalkeeper's left corner is free, I prepare my leg and take a strong low shot, I see the ball roll quickly as the goalkeeper tries to launch himself too late, then you see the net ripple. We changed the course of the game, but it's still not enough.

Time: 85m

Aitana is having an impressive run taking advantage of Chelsea's neglect, a defender in front of her, with options like me on the left and Caro on the right, with Salma right behind. Aita rolls the ball to me, I take a slight touch to the right and shoot with confidence, the ball takes a threatening curve and soon falls into the net, surprising the goalkeeper.

Now I allow myself to celebrate, I run close to the flag post and slide down on my knees, my teammates hugging me and pulling me everywhere, the euphoria was so much that it felt like we had won the Champions League right there. I felt like crying, I scored my first hat-trick in the Champions League

Time: 88m

We receive a free kick after the Chelsea player almost grabbed Aitana trying to take the ball away from her, Salma takes the free kick which hits Lucy's head, who aims the ball towards the goalkeeper's box. She came spinning through the air, landing perfectly at my feet, I beautifully pushed her towards the goal and fell into the hug. With every second that passed the crowd became louder and louder, if possible.

Time: 90m

The gas had not passed, it was getting stronger and stronger, now with a considerable advantage, we preferred to send the team back. Keeping score is crucial for the second leg in England. Although we are currently more focused on defense, that doesn't stop us from also attacking at every opportunity. The team's confidence increased and we played calmer, making more passes and remaining calm when under pressure.

Caro has the ball on the right wing, looks up and sees the perfect opportunity to cross.

Caro's always necessary crossing makes things easier for me, I wait for her to reach the right height before jumping and sending the bike, when I fall backwards onto the grass my pain is numbed by a very loud vibration coming from the stadium.

Barely having time for anything else, I run towards the small Chelsea fans present in the stadium, stop in front of them and place both hands on my waist, with an arrogant posture, soon my teammates come to me in pure euphoria. Many compliments reach my ears, I allow myself to embrace them as much as possible before we have to return to the starting position.

9 minutes of extra time were allowed, nothing else impressive happened during this period, the 3 characteristic whistles were heard. There were many celebrations after we greeted the rival team. I head towards the referee team who hands me the ball.

Jona hugs me congratulating me on a successful game, the team soon arrives and gives me the idea of throwing myself into the air, I try to run away but I'm not fast enough, after the desperate seconds pass I run to the fans, my spirits were high today.

I ask a member of the coaching staff to hold my ball for me, while I jump into the arms of the crowd, doing my best to sign and take as many photos with everyone as possible, the only limit being the barrier.

I feel an arm go around my waist as I sign a Mapí fan t-shirt. I look to the side and see that it is Aitana, who is already looking at me with her beautiful smile on her face, her bright eyes remind me of the constellations.

I can't help but smile with her, our passionate looks betrayed our enormous passion for each other, which doesn't go unnoticed by the public, to everyone's euphoria and my poor heart, she stands on tiptoe and gives a long kiss to the my lips. , fireworks light up in my belly.

Soon the photo of that moment would be published on many pages, one of them was the official Barça account, and certainly on many fan pages that would blow up my cell phone with notifications.

But I couldn't care less, I played an impressive game and had my girl in my arms, could I ask for more than that?.

!!The inspiration for the character to score 5 goals in 10 minutes came from Lewa, when he played for Bayern he did this feat, so I thought “why not put that in the fic?”!" ... sorry for any mistakes, english is not my main language