#she tries hard not to but sometimes think about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cassiemaebarnes · 14 hours ago

Text

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 18 (final part)

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 3,068

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI

After a few hours of reading, you closed your book with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m bored. And hungry.”

Bucky just chuckled, closing his own book and looking over at you. “Alright. Where do you wanna go?”

You just hummed, then looked at him with a smile. “We should go somewhere nice. First official date as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “I know a place.”

He stood, grabbing your book from your lap, then reaching out his hand to help you up. You took it and stood, then laced your fingers with his as you made your way back to the car.

He opened the passenger door for you, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in, leaning back and tossing the books back into the bag in the back seat.

The drive wasn’t long, just about twenty minutes, with soft music playing on the radio and your fingers still laced with his over the center console. You tried to guess where he was taking you, throwing out random names of restaurants and diners around the city, but he just smirked and shook his head each time.

When he finally pulled up to a charming, warmly lit restaurant tucked on a quiet street corner, you let out a delighted little gasp.

“This is perfect,” you said, already reaching for your door handle.

“Ah, ah,” Bucky scolded playfully, immediately getting out and circling the car.

You just smiled, heart fluttering a little as he opened it for you and held out his hand. You took it gladly, stepping out, and as soon as you were on your feet, he gently tucked your hand into the crook of his arm.

“Such a gentleman,” you murmured, teasing.

He just smirked. “You bring it out of me.”

Inside, the hostess greeted you with a warm smile and led you to a cozy table near the back, the lighting soft and golden. Bucky pulled your chair out before you could even think to reach for it, then sat across from you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a fondness that made your cheeks warm.

You both scanned the menus for a few minutes before placing your orders, and once the waitress walked away, you both settled in comfortably, conversation flowing easily.

“You know,” you said, twirling your straw in your drink, “if you keep being this perfect, I might get used to it.”

Bucky grinned, leaning back in his seat, one arm resting over the back of the chair beside him. “That the worst thing that could happen?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Hmm…no. But it does raise the bar significantly for everyone else.”

He leaned forward a little, voice low and teasing. “Good. I don’t want anyone else to try.”

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh, but your smile lingered as you rested your chin on your hand. “You know, I like this. Just…us. Normal.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Me too, doll.”

The food arrived not long after, and the conversation shifted from mission stories and random Avengers chaos to childhood memories and bucket list dreams. You laughed so hard at one of Bucky’s sarcastic remarks about Sam that you nearly choked on your water, and he looked so pleased with himself it only made you laugh harder.

By the time the plates were cleared, you felt full – not just from the food, but from the warmth of the night, the comfort of Bucky’s presence, the soft kind of happiness that didn’t need to be loud to be real.

And when the waitress asked if you wanted dessert, Bucky looked at you and asked, “You want something sweet?”

You smiled. “I already got you.”

He groaned at the cheesiness, but he was grinning like a fool.

“Alright, now you’re just trying to kill me,” he said with a chuckle.

“Okay but seriously,” you said, looking at the waitress and raising an eyebrow, “what do you have.”

She laughed softly before handing you a dessert menu, telling you she’d give you a few minutes and stepping away.

Bucky clutched his chest as if you’d wounded him, eyes wide with mock betrayal.

“You actually do want something sweet?” he gasped.

You grinned, totally playing along. “I do. I can’t help it. I’m craving something rich and chocolatey.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. “Unbelievable. I give you my heart, and you throw me aside for dessert.”

You snorted. “Please, like you weren’t planning on stealing bites the second it shows up.”

He narrowed his eyes with a smirk. “Bold of you to assume I like sweet things.”

Before you could reply, the waitress returned, and Bucky turned on the charm like a switch. “She’ll have the chocolate lava cake, please.”

You rested your chin on your hand and smiled at him. “You know me so well.”

“I do my best,” he said with a wink.

When the dessert arrived, you practically lit up, grabbing a spoon and diving in with a satisfied hum. “Oh, this is so good.”

You held out a spoonful to him. “C’mon, just one bite.”

He leaned back slightly, shaking his head with a half-smile. “I’m not a big sweets guy.”

You froze mid-spoon lift, gasping dramatically. “Excuse me?”

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You don’t like sweets?” You blinked at him in mock horror. “So you don’t like me?”

His grin turned sly. “Oh, I like you plenty. I can handle some sweetness.” He leaned forward slightly, voice low and teasing. “I’m just saving my dessert for later.”

You paused, caught completely off guard by the heat in his tone. Your brain short-circuited for a second, your cheeks heating as your spoon hovered in midair. But then you laughed, biting your lip and shaking your head.

“Wow,” you said under your breath. “Did not see that one coming.”

But inside, your thoughts were far less composed. The words replayed in your head on a loop, and suddenly, your legs felt a little weaker under the table.

You finished the dessert with a flurry of shared smiles and lingering glances, and when the waitress brought the check, Bucky was already reaching for his wallet.

“I can–” you started, but he was already slipping a card onto the table.

He gave you a look. “I’ve got it.”

You shrugged, completely unbothered. “Good. Because I didn’t even bring my wallet.”

That got a real laugh out of him, head tilting back slightly. “Unbelievable.”

You just grinned smugly, pushing the empty plate toward the edge of the table. “What can I say? I like being spoiled.”

He leaned closer, lips curling into a soft smirk. “Good. I like spoiling you.”

And you couldn’t help it – your stomach flipped again, that light, happy flutter taking over your whole chest as you looked at him across the table.

The waitress came and took the check, then came back a moment later, setting it down with a smile. “All set. You two have a great night.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a nod as he stood, already moving around the table.

You started to push your chair back, but he was there before you could even touch it, gently sliding it out for you. You gave him a look as you stood, a smile tugging at your lips. “You really going for the perfect gentleman routine tonight, huh?”

He just offered his arm with a smirk. “Always, doll.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you toward the exit. He opened the restaurant door for you too, holding it until you stepped outside, then following close behind.

When you reached the car, he quickly jogged around to open the passenger door for you. “After you.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Careful, Barnes. If you keep this up, I might get used to it.”

He smirked. “Good. You should.”

The second you were buckled in, he shut your door and rounded the front to slide into the driver’s seat. He started the car, one hand on the wheel, the other settling comfortably on your thigh.

At first, it was casual – his thumb rubbing slow circles into your leggings. But then his hand started to drift. Just a little. Barely noticeable.

Except your stomach noticed. Immediately.

You glanced down, then shot him a look, grinning. “You know that’s illegal, right?”

He looked far too smug for someone who was definitely not watching the road as closely as he should’ve been. “What? My hand? It’s just resting.”

“Resting doesn’t involve slowly creeping up my thigh like that,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

His thumb moved just a little higher. “You sure? Feels pretty natural to me.”

You snorted, trying not to squirm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” he added casually, “if you didn’t want me touching you, you wouldn’t be wearing these leggings. They’re criminal, doll.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

“Completely,” he said without missing a beat. “You wear them, I suffer. It’s a crime against me, really.”

“Uh-huh.” You leaned your head back against the seat, trying to hide your smile – and how warm your skin was getting under his palm. “You’re laying it on thick tonight.”

“Can’t help it,” he said, flashing you a grin. “You looked too damn good crawling across that bed earlier. It’s burned into my brain now.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “You’re such a menace.”

He chuckled, voice low and rich. “You love it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Unfortunately.”

He laughed again, and you felt his hand squeeze your thigh gently – still wandering dangerously close to territory that was definitely not rated for a public highway. But his grin stayed playful, teasing, never crossing the line.

And the whole ride back, the two of you kept trading jokes and flirty banter, your laughter filling the car, the heat between you simmering quietly – the kind of warmth that promised more later, once you were back behind closed doors.

By the time you pulled up to the compound, your face hurt from smiling and your stomach still fluttered every time Bucky’s hand moved just a little higher on your thigh.

He parked the car and turned off the engine, glancing over at you with that same teasing smirk he’d worn all night. “You good?”

You raised a brow. “You mean aside from being relentlessly harassed in the passenger seat?”

“Harassed?” he scoffed, feigning offense. “That was gentle affection.”

You snorted. “Your definition of gentle needs some serious revision.”

He only grinned more, unbuckling and hopping out. You reached for your handle, but – of course – he beat you to it, opening your door with a flourish and offering his hand.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you said with a curtsy of your head as you stepped out.

He shut the door behind you and leaned in. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You walked side by side into the compound, your steps slow, a bit lazy from the comfortable buzz of good food, warmth, and the lingering tension still dancing between you. The building was quiet – most of the team already turned in for the night. The low hum of lights and soft echo of your footsteps filled the halls as you headed toward his room.

The second you turned the corner toward his hallway, Bucky’s hand found your waist and pulled you in closer, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. “Still sweet?”

You glanced up at him, meeting those blue eyes with a challenge. “Why? You planning on testing that theory?”

His grin was slow and dangerous, his hand tightening just slightly on your waist. “Maybe.”

“Well then,” you said, opening his door, stepping inside, and tugging him in by the front of his shirt, “let’s see.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and the second it did, Bucky was on you.

One hand stayed on your waist as his other came up and cupped your face as his lips met yours. His fingers slid back into your hair as the kiss deepened, and your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, your bodies pressing flush.

You walked backward blindly, lips never parting, until your legs hit the edge of the bed. His hands were everywhere – your waist, your back, skimming the hem of your sweater and slipping underneath. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his fingers on your skin, warm and a little rough, his touch reverent and searching.

He picked you up effortlessly, laying you down on the bed as he climbed on and hovered over top of you. He used his knee to part your legs, then settled in between them as he leaned back down to you.

His lips crashed into yours again, more urgent now. He pulled your sweater up and over your head, tossing it aside without even looking, then leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses down your neck, taking his time like he had nowhere else to be but with you.

You gasped when he reached a sensitive spot near your collarbone, your hands tightening in his shirt before you started pulling it up. His red henley joined your sweater on the floor, and your fingers traced over the defined lines of his chest, the contrast of soft skin and firm muscle beneath your palms making your stomach flip.

His hand slipped underneath your back, unhooking your bra, then pulling it off of you.

His eyes dragged over you with quiet reverence, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the center of your chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, lips brushing over your skin with every word. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You felt your cheeks flush, your breath catching as his kisses trailed lower – over your ribs, down your stomach – each one deliberate, slow, like he was savoring you.

“Still sweet?” he whispered again, his smirk returning as he glanced up at you, lips just above the waistband of your leggings.

You arched an eyebrow, challenging. “You tell me.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His fingers hooked into the band of your leggings, dragging them down achingly slow. “I plan on finding out,” he murmured, the heat in his voice sending a shiver through you. “Told you I was saving dessert for later.”

He kissed your hipbone, then lower, his voice rough with want as he added, “And I’ve been starving, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched again as he settled between your thighs, and then his mouth was on you – warm, purposeful, and utterly devastating.

You cried out, fingers threading through his hair, hips instinctively rolling toward him. He held you firm, one hand gripping your thigh as the other slid slowly up your side, grounding you.

“Mmm,” he hummed, wicked and pleased against your skin. “Knew it. Fucking sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You were already trembling, pleasure curling low in your belly, but that voice – his voice – was what unraveled you. He kept talking between kisses, every word more sinful than the last.

“Could spend all night right here, doll…tasting you, hearing those sounds…”

You whimpered, and he chuckled darkly. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Let go for me baby.”

It didn’t take long.

And when he finally pulled himself back up over you, his mouth found yours again – slow, deep, dizzying – and when you tasted yourself on his tongue, your whole body lit up all over again.

And for the rest of the night, he made good on every promise his voice had made.

The soft hum of the alarm drifted through the room just after sunrise.

You didn’t move.

You were still curled against Bucky’s chest, your leg draped over his, your body tangled with his beneath the sheets. His arms were wrapped around you, protective even in sleep, one hand resting over the curve of your waist like it belonged there.

You felt him stir before the alarm clicked off – his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, laced with sleep.

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes still closed, “no it’s not. It’s too early to be morning.”

He chuckled softly, and the sound rumbled through his chest against your cheek. “Fair point.”

You both lay there in the stillness for a while, no rush, no expectations. Just the warmth of the covers, the quiet hum of the compound beyond the walls, and the comfort of being exactly where you were supposed to be.

Eventually, you shifted just enough to look up at him. His hair was tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the soft look on his face when he met your gaze made your heart flutter.

“What?” you whispered, smiling.

He shook his head slightly. “Nothin’. Just…never thought I’d be waking up like this.”

You let your fingers drift lightly over his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your touch. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Kind of crazy how fast everything changed.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but he looked at you with that rare kind of softness that was reserved only for you.

You tucked your face back into the crook of his neck, breathing him in, and let your thoughts wander. It really was wild, how different everything felt now. How not long ago, he was the quiet, brooding guy in the corner, the one everyone called grumpy. The one who barely spoke to anyone.

And now?

Now he was the one who kept your toothbrush in his drawer. Who ordered your dessert without asking. Who kissed you like it was the only language he knew.

“Y’know,” you said softly, “you haven’t been that grumpy lately.”

He hummed, eyes closed again. “Don’t need to be. Not when I’ve got you.”

You felt your chest squeeze, your smile turning soft and full of something deeper.

“Guess the new girl fixed the grump,” you teased gently.

He smirked, eyes cracking open. “Nah. She just gave him something to smile about.”

You leaned up and kissed him, slow and sweet – no rush, no pressure. Just love. Real and full and steady.

And as the morning light spilled gently through the curtains, you stayed right there in his arms, knowing that this wasn’t the end of your story.

It was just the beginning.

Masterlist

Thank you guys so much for the love on this series!!!! I appreciate you all so much! I loved writing this, but I decided it was time to wrap it up...I have so much more in store for you all though!

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken @starfly-nicole @440mxs-wife @vicmc624 @lostinspace33 @prettylittlepluviophile @softpia @maryevm @glossy01 @ye-olde-trash-panda @bonnyclydecat @iyskgd @ohdrey89 @death-in-love @herejustforbuckybarnes @whitewolfluvr @violetpassionfruit @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @silas-aeiou @avengemepercy @starstruckfirecat @yehfitoormera @ifilwtmfc @navs-bhat @buckysgirl-12 @comfitchaotic @youknownothingjohnwatson @rnurse-kole

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #marvel #avengers #grumpy #the new girl #cassiemaebarnes

153 notes · View notes

rosenclaws · 2 days ago

Note

AHHHH IM THINKING ABOUT LOGAN AGAIN... like what would his reaction be when his s/o cooks or bakes for him??? BWIAGAUSHIDBAOAHWIWHS

EE so cute omg

Origins Logan -

He fucking loves it oh my goodness. I mean Logan cook alright. You know he can grill a steak but he wouldn't consider his meals nice home cooked stuff that reminds you of your childhood. if it wasn't that then it was take out or pizza. But when you come around and surprise him with lunch one day he's shocked. He opens up the little brown bag you gave him and inside is pasta and chicken with some veggies. Along with a cute sticky note that's written in your handwriting. He loves it. Fuck the other guys if they tease him about it, at least Logan can say he's got someone waiting for him at home. He looks forwards to all your sticky notes and gets sad if you forget to put one in.

Trilogy Logan -

It's hard for him to get used to it but he likes it. You're always in the kitchen at the mansion and at first Logan thought nothing of it. Teased you about it when he'd come downstairs at 3am to see you baking muffins for breakfast. Then one night the two of you had a little heart to heart and he learned that baking keeps away the bad thoughts, the nightmares and the doubt that's so hell bent on creeping into your brain. He tells you that he doesn't sleep much either with his nightmares and he likes waking up to the smell of something baking. After that he finds little treats waiting for him downstairs or by his door. A note saying that its only for him and no one else. Scott gets annoyed because he loves your baking so why does Logan get extras but that makes Logan even happier. One night he's brought you the empty plate and complained about putting on some weight from your cookies. I think he kisses your cheek as a thank you and walks away hearing your heart beat go into overdrive. Cheeky bastard.

DOFP Logan -

This man NEEDS your cooking. You never should have started cooking for Logan because that man wants it all the time. He can eat for like 5 people too so he's hungry. He knows your cooking like the back of his hand. He can tell when you've changed a recipe or when someone else cooked one of your dishes because it doesn't have that right taste. He swears he can tell but you think he's just being picky. But every time you test him he gets it right. He can always pick the dish you made. When you're alone he jokes it's because it's made with love so that's how he knows. Anyways that man is so needy for your food. It just tastes so good and he doesn't like to share so sometimes he'll beg you to make him his favorite just for him.

Old Man Logan -

He's like a puppy waiting for scraps. Okay he just moved into a small town with Laura and is trying to lay low you know? And so he enrolls Laura into a school and tries to live a normal life, away from all of the violence and threat of before. You're his next door neighbor and show up to his house with fresh baked cookies to welcome them to the neighborhood. It totally throws him off guard. He takes the cookies but isn't great at small talk. Laura devours like half of them and he scolds her for having too much sugar. She starts to bug Logan to ask for more and he says fuck no because that's rude (plus he's dreading having to look you in the eye again, afraid of making himself look like a fool.) Anyways one day he can literally smell you baking those cookies and reluctantly goes over to your house, using the plate you brought them on as an excuse to come see you. He's awkward but still charming and still stupid handsome so somehow it works and he's going home with more cookies. It just brings a love to him that he hasn't felt in a while and he really doesn't wanna let it go.

Worst Logan -

He isn't used it at first and it kinda throws him off. Like he'll wake up and stumble out of bed shirtless and cute and tired and he you serve him a plate of breakfast and he's a little like. huh?? Like a cute puppy head tilt you know. Back in his world he was living off of instant noodles or shitty cheap food. It had been years since he had anything cooked for him really. So seeing you cook for him was so different. You know that whole fatten him up because he's used to basically starving himself back in his world trope? Yeah it totally applies here. As much as you love his abs, you like seeing him well fed more. He doesn't want you cooking all the time because he feels bad about it so you end up teaching him how to cook. It's your date nights. He picks the recipe and you show him how to make it. It's adorable.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett headcanons

99 notes · View notes

sapphicautumn · 2 days ago

Note

what abt a fix where bella ramsey ellie and reader are best friends and reader is insecure abt her body (a stomach, big thighs etc) and ellie says smthn along the lines of “do you trust me?” and ellie shows her how pretty she is :)) (and also maybe add in like some stomach grabbing it’s my weakness) (i’m so not self projecting rn 🙄)

Awe! Thank you so much for this suggestion, it’s so fluffy and soft and ahhhh! :(

Lotus Flower. E.W

Plot: your friend notices somethings up with you, and tries to cheer you up in the most Ellie way possible.

Pair: Best!friend ellie x afab reader. WLW!

Fluffy fluff fluff and corny FLUFF!

Men && minors, stay away!

“Did y’know that the Lotus flower can be used as herbal medicine in parts of Asia?” You spoke, your back pressed against the bed in your small little cottage.

Your friend, Ellie, sat across the room as her hands worked to fix a guitar she managed to find along yesterdays patrol with Tommy. Her fingers plucked at the strings, waiting to hear a tune that correlated to the note it was supposed to be. “Oh yeah…?” Her voice was distant, listening but not too involved.

“Yup” your voice popped the “p”, hands closing the garden book. Flowers have always interested you, it was evident for anyone. All they had to do was step foot in your room to see the decor on the wall, even the bedsheets, which you still can’t believe were in tact. Your tired body sat up, glancing down at your legs as you spoke once more. “What time are we heading over to Joel’s?”

Ellie glanced up, smiling gently. “He said dinner would be ready ‘round 6….that work for you?”

“I just need time to get ready and shit”

She scoffs, a laugh as she continued to pluck at the acoustic guitar. “You look fine, you don’t smell….like you usually do” her voice carried a tone that resonated with teasing.

“I’m serious….” You somewhat whined, feet helping you stand as you walked over to your closet and tried to find something that would work. Clothing hangers clashed together as your hand slid them across, scanning each jacket, flannel, shirt, jeans, or dresses. You had a lot of clothes for someone living in the world we live in, yet you hard such a hard time enjoying them.

It wasn’t anything new, sometimes you’d feel amazing, confident even. Other times, it would be like someone knocked the wind out of every ounce of admiration you had for yourself. It was difficult to convince yourself otherwise.

“So am I, you look fine. It’s just Joel, who cares? He’s not gonna be…inspecting the type of flannel you wear or some shit” the words mumbled out, eyes still focused on the instrument.

“Well you don’t have to worry about these things so I don’t really wanna hear it” your arms crossed over, holding your shoulders as eyes continued to scan the selection of wardrobe.

This made Ellie put the guitar down for a moment, eyebrows scrunched, “what’s that mean? What don’t I have to worry about?”

“Like, you don’t have to worry about how clothes look on you, is all I mean. Like you can wear anything and look normal and I just look-"

Ellie’s face showed major confusion. She thought you were beautiful, genuinely. She didn’t understand how you could even think against it. “Dude…trust me, you’re good”

Your feet carried you over to your bed, where you very …very, dramatically fell face forward.

“Oh my god, really?” She laughed dryly, making her way over.

You looked at the sheets, fidgeting with them as Ellie made her presence more visible. “Yeah really….I just don’t feel as pretty as I used to”

“And why’s that?” Her tone was careful, concerned. She laid on her stomach beside you, her hands fidgeting with her own rings so she isn’t looking at your sad expression.

“Ellie”

“What?”

“Don’t act oblivious, I’ve gained weight. Stop pretending you can’t see that”

She scoffed, “ok? As if this is some life changing news that’s gonna change the projection of my life or something.” Her voice ended with a laugh. “I don’t care, in the nicest way.”

You mumbled something before Ellie spoke again.

“How you look is no one’s business, the only person who should care is you, but besides that….thinking you’re not attractive isn’t an option by the way” she smirked, turning to you.

You laid on your back and huffed, rubbing your hands down on your legs. “But my thighs…”

“Are cute…they’re cute.”

“You’re such a shit eating liar” your voice laughed, in denial.

“Why’s it hard to believe I think it’s cute, huh?” She poked your shoulder with a stuffed animal that laid upon your bed beside them. “Is that such a bad thing? End of the world?”

“No, I just don’t think you’re being truthful…”

Ellie watched you for a moment. She inhaled softly before testing the waters. “You trust me..?”

“Not always” you smirked, rolling your eyes at her expression. “Kidding, dumbass….yeah I trust you…”

She nodded, satisfied with the answer as she moved to lay beside you again, almost spooning you from behind. You two usually cuddled here and there, so it wasn’t totallyyyy bizarre- but Ellie’s touch felt softer this time around.

She rubbed your love handle, “honestly, I don’t get how you could be insecure, this is probably the best thing ever right here.” She squeezed the skin around your abdomen, giggling.

You were taken aback before a soft smile spreads across your face, somewhat enjoying the softer affection from your friend. “What’re you doing?”

“I told you…think you’re cute….sue me” her hand messed around with your jeans thigh, squeezing a bit. She couldn’t lie, it turned Ellie on a little- but she wouldn’t tell you that. Not yet anyways ;)

You just laid there and let her cuddle you, enjoying the moment before she had to go and ruin it by tickling you.

“H-hey! Fuck you!” Your hands pushed her off, panting to catch your breath from laughing.

She held up her hands in defense “sorry!” Ellie’s lips curled to a smile before returning her hand to the edge of the soft skin covering your hip.

“Did Yknow the lotus flower has the ability to grow in dirty conditions?”

“What?” Your tone grew confused.

“Yeah, then it grows to becomes a beautiful creation…it is made with mud, and dirt, and still persists….”

You just watch her.

Ellie clears her throat, “Yknow, you grow with these,…stupid thoughts in your mind about how you look, yet you still come to be so beautiful…?” Her cheeks dusted pink, real smooth els, real smooth. Like butter.

“You read my flower book?” Your voice giggled, breaking the silence.

“That’s all you got out of that??” Her face fell, laughing along with you. “You’re awful….”

“You just said I was beautiful though” you teased.

“You can be pretty and awful…..at the same time”

You both smiled, watching eachother for a moment before finally,

“I can enjoy your little flower book too ok? Yeah I read it.”

You nudged her shoulder, laughing once more.

#lesbian #tlou #wlw post #ellie tlou #the last of us #ellie williams #queer #sapphic #bella ramsey #wlw community #hbo ellie williams #bella ramsey ellie #ellie williams fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fic

74 notes · View notes

littlemissrbf · 2 days ago

Text

Summer Lovin’

Robert “Bob” Floyd x Fem!Reader

Y’all I am so late to the Bob Floyd hype train but I can’t stop thinking about giving him the full SoCal experience (Also is Bob actually from Montana or is that just a widely accepted hc ?)

(No use of y/n, fem!reader, reader is a SoCal native, language, for the purpose of this fic Bob is from Montana, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, I think this is gonna end up being a multi-part fic)

Part 1 [Word Count: 3k]

Meeting a man like Robert Floyd had to be a moment of pure fucking luck.

The drive down to San Diego was a complete bitch. You were on your way to Naval Base Point Loma for your uncle’s retirement ceremony and of course, when you got there, you were stuck at the main gate because of your lack of military ID or spouse card. You needed your uncle to basically confirm that you are family and let you in. You grabbed your phone off its stand and snickered to yourself at the contact name from when he had this ridiculous mustache that he refused to shave

“Hey siri, call Wannabe Tom Selleck.”

After a few rings, he picked up,

“Ohh guess who finally decided to show up. Lemme guess, you need me to come buzz you in?”

“Yep.”

“Well what’s the magic word?”

You let out a groan and tried again,

“Can you please come get me, I’ve been driving for two hours and I feel like if I don’t stretch my legs in the next five minutes I’m gonna lose it.”

“Relax kiddo, I’m on my way.”

The ceremony started promptly at one and was over by two, your uncle spent the next hour showing your family around the base then you took family photos on the beach for a bit. At dinner, your relatives gave you the interrogation of a lifetime: asking about your school, work, and relationships. The last topic had you flustered as it had been a while since you’d actually dated anyone. Sure, you had some flings here and there, but nothing actually serious or worth bringing home to meet your family.

“You really ought to find yourself a military man just like your aunt, that way you only have to deal with him for about half the year, and you’d get the whole house to yourself while he’s away.”

Laughter erupted around the table, and your uncle smiled over his glass before speaking,

“Well that’s the case for about 20 years or so, then he retires and you’re stuck with him and his loud-ass snoring forever.” He lazily threw his arm around his wife, who rolled her eyes and smiled.

You reached out to hold her hand and asked, “Seriously Auntie, how have you put up with him for this long?"

She gave your fingers a squeeze and replied, “Well sweetie, he’s the love of my life, and I just have to remind myself of that sometimes. Especially when I’m thinking of smothering him with my pillow.”

The sound of laughter bounced around the restaurant, and you laughed along too, but your mind was still stuck on the idea of 'finding yourself a military man'. Of course, you wanted to find a good man to settle down with but it wasn’t that simple, it felt like literally every part of dating was a struggle for you, even meeting people was hard. And then there was the other thought, if you were to be with a navy/army/whatever guy who was deployed half of the year, is that something you could realistically handle. You'd never been in a long-distance relationship and you've heard the stories about military spouses who's partners cheat while away. Or what if he's perfect and you love him and everything is great- and then he gets stationed in another state. Then you would have to choose between staying close to your family or moving to stay close to him. Your uncle must have noticed you spacing out, or maybe he saw the way your eyebrows furrowed a bit as you pondered the hypothetical relationship with a military man. He took a piece of his napkin, rolled it between his fingers, and flicked it at you from the palm of his hand. It hit you right between your brows and you turned to him with a (greatly exaggerated) open-mouth face of shock, with a hand over your chest 'clutching your pearls'.

He threw his head back as he laughed at you,

“Geez Louise kiddo you’ve gotta lighten up a bit, maybe live a little.”

You scoffed “Gee thanks for the advice, any more suggestions on how to ‘live a little’ old man?”

Before he could respond to your sarcasm with his usual quips or a clever joke, a brilliant idea hit him like a brick, and you swore you could actually see the little lightbulb appear over his head.

“We’re going to the beach.”

The “beach” in question was actually a military-access beach on Coronado Island called “Breakers Beach”. Since it was a part of Naval Air Station North Island, it was only available to military personnel and their guests. You had given your keys to your aunt, who was ready to go home after a day in heels and her second glass of wine, so your uncle drove the two of you in his truck. Turns out, your little field trip to the “beach” was actually a little field trip to a bar called the “Hard Deck”.

You’d heard about it before in one of your uncle's stories, he was arm-wrestling another officer at the bar when a man at the other end accidentally knocked over a drink. The wet counter caused his elbow to slip, he lost the match and got stuck paying for his buddy’s tab. Of course, he then grabbed the man from the end of the bar and dragged him outside by his collar (at least he had the "decency" to take him outside before bashing his face in). Turns out, the man was a flight instructor for the Top Gun program, so bashing his face in was not a good idea and probably would’ve resulted in a lifelong ban from the bar. They apologized, shook hands, and then did some shots together.

Your uncle pulled up to the gate with his ID ready, the man in the booth took it and looked your way, and you handed over your driver's license. He looked between the two of you and asked for your "relation?" Before you got the chance to respond, your uncle smiled at the man and clapped his hand on your shoulder like he was showing off a new car at the dealership,

“Oh, this young lady right here is my beautiful niece who just so happens to be single.”

Then he fucking winked at the officer and brought his elbow up in a “nudge-nudge” gesture.

You felt your heart stop. The son of a bitch was actively trying to get you a man.

“Oh my god please no” you begged with your face now buried in your palms, but he was still going at it with the poor guy who just stood there dumbfounded.

“I’m just saying if you’re single and she’s single-”

You cut him off, “Sir, I am so sorry please ignore him.” But he just couldn't shut the fuck up,

“See? Look how polite she is, son I’m telling you this is honest to God girlfriend material right here!”

Finally, the poor man spoke up,

“I uh- already have a girlfriend sir.” he gave a little shrug as he handed back your IDs and opened the gate.

Your uncle didn't miss a beat.

“Well in that case, son, you just dodged a bullet cause she’s actually a handful, you have a good night.” he said with a grin, then slowly pulled through the gate.

You waited until you were out of earshot,

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

After a few minutes of driving in complete silence, you made it to the bar and he pulled into a spot. Realizing that your uncle was about to go boyfriend hunting for you in a bar full of Naval officers you pulled down the sun visor’s mirror to check your face and hair. You had dressed up and done a bit more makeup than usual because it was his damn retirement ceremony and you knew your family was going to take pictures. You picked one of your nice dresses, a blue short-sleeved one that cut off just above your knees and was perfect for the warm weather, you wore some ankle boots with a small heel and a purse to match. You had no idea if you were overdressed or underdressed, and honestly, you don’t really know which is worse. Your uncle had changed out of his dress whites before dinner and now he wore just jeans and a polo shirt, so between the two of you, you definitely looked overdressed.

Your uncle made his way over to you as you hopped out of the truck, and put both hands on your shoulders,

"Here's the game plan kiddo, we're gonna go in there, get some drinks, and have a good time. I don't wanna hear any complaining. You're gonna go put yourself out there and meet some guys and get their numbers. And if anyone starts giving you trouble, I'll take care of it."

You looked up at him, nodded, and gave a small smile. Despite all the jokes and embarrassing moments from the day, it was nice to know that he cared and would protect you no matter what.

You sighed and turned towards the bar, thinking 'fuck it, I've got this'

Dear lord, you did not 'got this'. You did not 'got this' at all. The bar was completely full of patrons and it wasn't even six yet, and it was loud. All the conversations, the multiple pool games going on, and the music playing in the background layered on top of each other.

Your uncle agreed to stay with you for a bit while you worked up the nerves to go out on your own, you sat together at the corner of the bar facing towards each other. Your uncle strategically sat down so that he was facing the TVs, and you were facing the other end of the bar where the pool tables were. There was a group around one of the tables, all in their khaki uniforms, there were about ten or twelve of them in total, but a smaller group of five stood closer to the table chatting. A woman at the center caught your eye immediately, she was shorter than the men around her, but she carried herself with no less confidence. She was talking to two men standing together, probably good friends and another two were placed on each side of the table.

Your uncle turned around to follow your gaze, then turned around once he saw the group you had been watching

"Someone's interested, alright which one of 'em is it?"

"Calm down, I was just trying to figure out what their uniforms are for."

"They're probably pilots."

"How can you tell?"

"Bunch of little nerds, just look at the one with the glasses over there."

You raised an eyebrow, there were about ten faces you skimmed over and absolutely none of them had glasses.

"On a stool, to the right. Look but don't be obvious."

You rolled your eyes and shifted your gaze past your uncle to look for the "little nerd" and sure enough, there he was. He was sitting on a stool with a cup of peanuts, watching the conversation in front of him. His hair was sandy blonde and styled nicely, he wore the same uniform as the rest of the group, and he had some huge fucking glasses which would've been ridiculous had he not been so good-looking. He's pretty cute- but of course, it's the one your uncle makes fun of that would catch your eye, you smiled as you thought to yourself.

Then he turned, and suddenly he was looking straight at you.

You immediately looked down, startled by the sudden eye contact, after a beat you looked up to see if he had turned away yet. He didn't. When he caught you staring a second time, a small smile crept up on his lips, and raised his hand to give a little wave. Damn it he's cute. You smiled back, but instead of waving back you looked down again in embarrassment and started fiddling with your hair. Your uncle did not miss the interaction,

"Seriously, him?"

"Dude stop he's gonna hear you."

"I mean, you do you kiddo but he's probably only gonna ever want to talk about Star Wars, and video games, and books."

"I like those things."

You peeked over and sure enough, he was looking too.

"You like 'em little nerds."

"Okay stop saying 'little' and 'nerds' you old man or I'm gonna start introducing you as my grandpa."

"Ya know what, just for that you're on your own, I'll be over there watching the game and you're gonna go socialize."

He grabbed his beer and slid off his barstool, giving your shoulder two taps as a 'good luck' before making his way over to a booth near the TVs where he joined a group of patrons he recognized.

When you turned again to see if the man with the glasses was still looking he was now talking to the group of pilots around him. You watched as he stood up from his chair, took the cue that was being handed to him by the woman from earlier, and began to set up a game of 9-ball for the group. You were a bit disappointed that his focus was on something else but relieved that you didn't have to immediately go and strike up a conversation, you wanted to prepare a little. The woman behind the bar snapped you out of your daydreaming,

"Can I get you something to drink hun?"

You looked down at your empty glass, considered a second drink, then thought better of it. If you were actually gonna go talk to Mr. Glasses it was not gonna be while inebriated. You smiled back at her and asked shyly,

"Could I get something without alcohol?"

"Of course, sweetie. I can get you water, soda, or a Shirley Temple."

You hadn't had a Shirley Temple since you were a kid when it was your favorite thing in the world. You'd ask for it at every restaurant. It's just a ginger ale with some grenadine and maybe a cherry, nothing special, but the nostalgia hit you like a truck.

"Can I get a Shirley Temple please?"

"Sure thing, hun. I'll put it on your old man's tab"

You laughed as you thanked her, of course, she'd overheard your conversation earlier, she was probably standing directly in earshot the whole time. You turned toward the pool tables to see if Mr. Glasses was playing but instead, a tall blonde man held the cue and Mr. Glasses was off to the side next to another pilot with a buzzcut. The second you locked eyes again you smiled quickly, so you didn't seem rude, and then turned away.

'Every time I look at him he's looking at me.' you smile to yourself as the bartender comes with your drink. She seems like such a sweet lady so you introduce yourself, shaking her hand and she introduces herself as 'Penny' and mentions that the Hard Deck is actually her bar.

You spend the next hour or so chatting with Penny whenever she's not too busy with the patrons. She asks what brings you to Breakers Beach and you tell her about your uncle's retirement and how he brought you here to basically find yourself a husband. She chuckles at this, before telling you to 'be careful with those aviators', when you ask what she means by that she shrugs and tells you 'it's a long story'.

You steal glances at Mr. Glasses whenever Penny is busy making drinks or working the cash register, and every time he catches you looking he tilts his head, a boyish grin plastered on his face.

Eventually, you notice the group of pilots start to make their way toward the bar for some more drinks, but Mr. Glasses stays at the pool tables holding the cues, cleaning up a bit. You feel a little tug on your heartstrings, he must be awkward, he has to be. Any other man would've struck up a conversation by now with the amount of times he's caught you staring.

Okay this is it, you're just gonna walk up to him, introduce yourself, and try to have a good conversation. If it goes well, great! And if it doesn't, then at least you know that you tried. You gather up the last beats of courage you can muster as you finish the last few sips of your drink, say a quick goodbye to Penny, and walk over to go meet Mr. Glasses.

He looks genuinely surprised when he notices you make your way over to him, when you're a few feet apart you manage to get out a "Hi" which comes out way higher than you intended. Before you can introduce yourself, his eyes light up

"Oh did you want to play?" He smiles and extends one of the cues to you.

"Huh?"

"Well, I noticed you look over a few times and I thought that maybe you just really wanted to play billiards."

Are you fucking kidding me, you'd spent the last couple of hours stealing glances and blushing at this guy from across the room and he thinks it's because you just 'really wanted to play pool?!' You haven't played pool in years but it would be too awkward for the both of you to just decline. And, if you play a game or two with him then that gives you the opportunity to actually talk to him. So you smile sweetly as you take the cue from him, softly brushing his fingers with your own, and you introduce yourself.

"Oh I'm Bob. Bob Floyd."

"Bob?"

"It's uh- it's short for Robert."

"Would you mind if I called you Robbie?" you asked, tilting your head.

"No, not at all." a pink blush spread to the tips of his ears.

You smiled as you had your own little lightbulb moment.

"Tell you what Robbie, let's play 9-ball and whoever loses has to buy the winner a drink."

He stared at you for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open, then he swallowed and looked down to pick up the cue chalk. He met your eyes again, and oh god he has gorgeous eyes, and he smiled, confidently now, and replied

"You're on."

(Author's Note: oh this is already wayyy longer than I had planned. I've never really written a fic before and I kinda just use the dividers when I don't know how to move from scene to scene. Let me know if you have any writing tips or suggestions! - update: I just went in with a couple of edits to fix the grammar and dialogue)

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd #fanfic #lewis pullman #top gun fanfiction #top gun

140 notes · View notes

chunibyo-x-sorcerer · 1 day ago

Text

"Look! If we tried everything, we gotta use ideas that sound crazy but it might work! Sometimes you gotta plan something that the bad guy won't expect. He won't expect the unexpected!" Kisho stated. "Plus we all know how strong Maki is in a fight! She's good at weapons and hand-to-hand combat! We, the sorcerers, can be the distraction so Maki can come in and jump the curse user from behind without him noticing! At that time, he would be focusing on us while we are wearing him and curses down."

Now Ichiji had to think about this. Someone without cursed energy that can sneak up on a curse user and knock them out while the curse user in question is distracted by the sorcerers. Could it work? It's not impossible. But that's really hard to pull off. Maybe asking Maki about it and see what she says.

"I am going to be honest....that plan did kinda work when we facing an enemy esper." Ristu admits this. "The esper was so busy on fighting other espers like Mob, Reigen had to come in and beat up the guy without the enemy esper noticing..." He said it, sighing.

"It's true." Mob added.

So what was the answer for all this? Who would be the distraction towards the cursed user now. However, some were silent wondering who to get his answer. It seems like the idea of a secret weapon. Even Sukuna was curious who it was.

The answer?

Maki!

"......Maki?" some mutters hearing her name.

"Hold on; Maki? Our girlfriend Maki Kisho!?" Nobara said with Yuria looking confused.

"...Would she even do such a thing? She might end up exorcisting the curse user." Megumi said knowing she wouldn't agree with this. But she might? No no no, Megumi knew she wouldn't.

"Come on! How is-"

"Maybe we should ask her and see. Maybe Kisho's onto something.." Yuji said.

#crack rp #thesilverpeahenresidence ( the sorcerer of ten shadows megumi fushiguro )#thesilverpeahenresidence ( the cursed one yet kind soul yuji itadori #sorcerers' silliness;rp #thesilverpeahenresidence

231 notes · View notes

forkshighschooler · 1 day ago

Note

can you do some Paul Lahote headcanons where he finally allows himself to be vulnerable around his imprint, the reader? (paul lahote x female!reader)

Thank you soo much, love your works 🩷

~love, Lacy

Paul Lahote Headcanon

( Him being vulnerable to his imprint)

A/N- Thank for reading some of my other work! I hope this is what you meant!if you have any others requests I would love to write again for you!

1.It Doesn’t Come Easy

Paul grew up equating strength with silence. Vulnerability was something people used against him — something unsafe. So when you come along and treat his rage and silence with patience instead of fear, it unnerves him. It takes months for him to realize you’re not just tolerating him — you see him, and you stay.

⸻

2. He Talks About His Dad Once

Late one night, you’re both lying in bed — he’s warm behind you, arm loosely wrapped around your waist. Out of nowhere, he says, “He used to hit the wall. Never me. Just the wall. But I always thought… someday he would.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You just hold his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. It’s quiet, but your presence says everything. Paul doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t sleep much that night. He just holds you tighter.

⸻

3. He’s Afraid You’ll Leave

Even after imprinting, there’s a voice in the back of his head that whispers: She could still leave you.

It’s not insecurity in the usual sense — it’s abandonment trauma, buried deep. You catch it in the way he sometimes stares at the door too long when you say you’re going out. The way he texts, “you okay?” when you’re gone longer than expected. The way he sleeps with his arms wrapped around you, like you might vanish.

⸻

4. He Trusts You With His Temper

He tries so hard to keep his temper in check around you — and he’s mostly good at it. But one day, something sets him off. You’re there when he phases, panting and growling in the trees. Instead of being scared, you speak to him softly.

“Paul, I’m not leaving. Come back to me.”

He does. Shaking, naked, eyes wide with shame. He expects you to flinch. You just wrap him in the blanket you brought and rest your forehead against his chest. His breathing slows. That’s when he knows: you’re his anchor.

⸻

5. He Lets You Touch His Scars

Paul never talks about the worst fights. But when you trail your fingers along an old scar on his ribcage one night, he doesn’t stop you. He just says, voice low, “That one was mine. I lost control.”

You kiss it without a word. He closes his eyes and exhales — like he’s been holding that shame in for years.

⸻

6. His Love Isn’t Loud — It’s Honest

He doesn’t say “I love you” often. But when he does, it’s raw and unguarded. It’s whispered in your hair when he thinks you’re asleep. It’s muttered into your skin after a bad nightmare. It’s spoken with wide eyes during arguments, as if losing you would be the final crack in him.

“I love you,” he says one night, barely above a breath. “Even when I’m scared of what that means.”

⸻

7. He Apologizes — Really Apologizes

It’s a big step for Paul. Not the casual “my bad,” but the real, trembling kind: “I was scared and I pushed you away. That’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”

His voice shakes. His jaw tightens like he expects you to lash out or walk away.

Instead, you cup his cheek and say, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Paul doesn’t speak. He just leans into your hand like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

⸻

8. The Softest Moment: He Lets Himself Fall Apart

It’s a quiet night. Rain outside. No patrol, no pack, no pressure. You make him tea. He sits beside you on the floor, head resting against your shoulder. For once, he lets the silence stretch — no front, no mask. Just a man who’s tired. A boy who grew up too fast. A soul learning how to be loved.

He whispers, “I don’t know how to do this. But I want to try. With you.”

You brush your thumb under his eye where a tear threatened to fall. “That’s all I need.”

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

#forkshighschooler #twilight fanfic #twilight wolfpack #twilight x reader #paul lahote x reader #twilight #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x yn #wolfpack headcanon

56 notes · View notes

urfavrib · 2 days ago

Text

Frost leads his emotionally unstable family in a meditation

(he does it one at a time for the sake of my own sanity)

Kremy

Frost and him do it first thing in the morning

its taken months of pushing to get Kremy to agree but he did

Frost in his tan linen shirt and charcoal grey pants, Kremy in one of Gideon’s Henley shirts and some loose pants. Both barefoot.

Kremy is grouching the whole time and Frost is already practicing his patience

Then finally Kremy and Frost lay in the grass eyes closed

The morning dew soaking into their clothes as Frost gently leads Kremy’s mind

They start with breathing

“Breathe in and out, slowly. Feel where your breath stagnates in your chest.”

Kremy doesn’t want to initially but Frost pushes in his mind and he does as he’s told

He breathes deep, expecting nothing

But it feels like the air sits heavy in his chest a sadness and anger swelling with his breath

“I can feel the anger and pain, breathe it out”

Kremy breathes out and then in. And out hard.

And for once it feels like there’s less of it.

Less weight on him

“Now do it again” Frost urged

They just sat there breathing

Sometimes that’s enough

Once Frost feels Kremy release some of the stress, and become more mindful of his breath and body, they call it quits

They never speak of it again

But every once in a while you’ll find Kremy laying in the grass breathing and Frost will keep you from interfering

———————

Gideon

Gideon struggles with PTSD flashbacks

Seeing the train around him and hearing it even clearer

And Kremy is only so good at handling them. he really tries but he’s not equipped for the situation

Frost noticed, like Kremy he’s smart but unlike Kremy he’s also in tune with the emotions of the Krew and can handle them

He asked Gid to go on a walk with him, one on one

They walked in silence for most of it till Frost asked him to do something

“Plant your feet, and look out. Tell me what are 5 feet things you see and two things you know about each”

Gideon did so, although confused

“Good 4 things you hear”

This continued, till at last Frost asked “1 things you can taste”

“Lunch” Gideon chuckled

“Do you feel more connected to here and now?”

He nodded and Frost smiled

“I want you to practice this with Kremy, tell him to count down 5 and give you the prompts i gave, i think he will be more successful in making this exercise effective”

It took lots of practice but Kremy and Gid seemed to get it

Since then when Gideon gets overwhelmed or distant you can hear Kremy counting slowly down from 5

———————

Gricko

Gricko and Frost started practicing meditation years ago

Gricko was genuinely interested in why Frost would just walk into the woods when he was overwhelmed and come back with a clear mind

So Frost taught him (he was just barely out of the order but teaching Gricko seemed so natural)

Frost was very aware that Gricko very rarely could sit still so he tried something else

a combo yoga tai chi meditation

He and Gricko stood face to face, barefoot in the grass about 3 feet apart

This was the first time Gricko saw Frost take off his robe, he made sure to note it but not say anything

Frost silently lead Gricko through the sun salutations and warrior poses before moving into the fluidity of Tai Chi

Focusing on their breaths, they seemed to reach a point where even though Gricko had never seen this kind of moment before, him and Frost were on the exact same page

Moving in time like a dance with a goal

They slowly picked up speed and when they stopped they both started laughing

They were sweaty but relaxed and felt very very very connected

The do it every time they feel the need to reconnect

Hootsie even joins in sometimes she’s not as adept but she tries and does a great job

——————

Torbek

Frost seems to constantly be aware of Torbek’s anxiety and seems to be able to feel when the other is pushing to be released

So one day when the sun is setting, dinner is over and everyone is shifting to go to bed Frost pulls Torbek aside to sit with him on watch

And at first they sit there in silence until

“Torbek, how many breaths do you think you take in a day?”

This conversation is strange and unprompted, but Torbek indulges Frost

“Torbek doesn’t know, what does Frost think?”

“A lot” he says simply

“Follow me i wanna try something”

And the walk just a bit off from camp so if they make noise it won’t wake the others

Frost drops his robe to the ground and takes off his shoes which Torbek’s jaw drops to the floor for (he’s never seen Frost without his shoes)

“sit let’s begin” Frost sits cross legged and look at Torbek to follow which he does

“close your eyes, and imagine an orb in front of you. you can choose the color the size but imagine you can hold it in one hand.”

Torbek does and a small Green orb appears in his mind (about the size of a large apple)

“Good, now put every negative thought into it.”

Torbek didn’t have to do much to have the other’s grating words of hate fill the orb till it turned from brilliant green to black

“Now listen closely to my words and watch the orb”

Frost said words of praise for Torbek, clearly, with a strong belief in what he was saying. And the orb slowly returned to brilliant green

“Do you see the power of thought? Now you try it let the negative thoughts come, and banish them with my words”

And Torbek did

He let the other say the horrid things he’d become so used to and the orb turned black

And then he took a deep breath and remembered Frost’s words

“Torbek you are kind. Torbek you are irreplaceable. Torbek you are valued above what you can do for others. Torbek you are part of our family. We couldn’t have made it this far without you”

And the orb returned to green maybe a more vibrant one from before even

“Frost that was amazing!”

Frost smiles that knowing smile

“Everytime you feel out of control or that you’re not good enough, fix your orb”

Torbek nodded

“Now go get some rest big day in the morning”

———————

Frost

when frost was first learning to meditate he was very young

easily distracted and excitable

The order was harsh on this

Punishing Frost every time he stepped out of line

But eventually with Frost under a specific master there was promise

The master didn’t hurt Frost when he got out of line just redirected him

He lead Frost through so many different types of meditation trying to find one that stuck

He found that playing a game mentally was the best way

So Frost and his master would play crowns while they meditated

his master expanded the board, made Frost play as every piece, he tried to use it to teach Frost the ability to cut his emotions for the purpose of strategy

But the thing with Frost is no matter how hard you push he is still a man of great emotion

But to practice meditation taught him time and place ( for the most part)

#legends of avantris #morning frost #once upon a witchlight #gideon coal #kremy lecroux #coalecroux #gricko grimgrin #torbek #ouaw #hootsie grimgrin #just a little head canon #I like frost a lot

62 notes · View notes

rokkucha · 3 days ago

Text

crashing out over hiroaki nakamigawa being genuinely the best bpd rep i have ever seen in media. i’ve been in this fandom for barely 3 weeks now but he’s already come to mean so much to me as a character and i’m so so attached to him, like i will never stop being amazed by tetro danganronpa and how honest it is when it comes to underrepresented topics that are an uncomfortable reality for so many people that never really get to feel seen that way.

(impassioned analytical rambling & tons of spoilers ⬇️)

so many things that often get glossed over in fiction or get left implied are CONFRONTED in tetro, bluntly and unapologetically, while showing the consequences in a way that’s so raw but still so empathetic. especially things like the less “palatable” aspects of disabilities, like how dissociation is fucking annoying and severely inhibits your life and makes people see you as helpless when you cant even do anything about it with ojima, and how humiliating it can be to ask for help even when you really REALLY need it with kamimura. especially gendered issues like misogyny in teen girls’ home lives and being forced to grow up too quick with watari, male relationship abuse, its normalization & dismissal, and its effects on self esteem (not to mention when combined with child abuse) with yanagi, and how strong women realistically often have to become strong out of necessity (rather than just being built different girlbosses by nature) with hayashi. tsuno was also an amazing portrayal of ongoing successful recovery while at the same time one of self-imposed pressure and burnout.

then there’s some that become more apparent with outside perception, like isono getting straight up mischaracterized for being A Woman and not having enough screentime to be really understood, and sasaki. oh my god sasaki. sasaki being a victim of SA in school, then vilified for taking on a MUCH needed leadership role in an otherwise unruly group of equally scared teenagers, and fuck, of course she did some awful shit, but she was scared. all of them were. and hiroaki, her most dedicated hater, was the only one to realize that wasn’t who she truly was afterwards and empathize with her.

hiroaki specifically is such painfully and uncomfortably realistic bpd rep, but honestly? it’s a needed perspective. definitely for me, at least. a lot of the vile shit both other characters and fans say about him, real people in my life have said to me, and he’s not exactly recovery goals by any means but god dammit he is TRYING when all odds are against him and holy shit is that difficult enough as it is. he’s trying so fucking hard. i saw myself in him, a version of myself that struggled and felt how he felt, and i was rooting for him the whole time. i cried with him and i cheered when he made progress and i got emotional when someone empathized with him and was patient and forgiving like i wish someone had been with me.

what i love especially about hiroaki is how well-rounded he is in terms of bpd portrayal. he doesn’t just have splitting episodes or obsess over an fp or have super black and white views/opinions, but he also has horrible self-esteem issues that he hides behind an exaggerated ego and lashes out to hide how much he cares and feels crushing, overwhelming self-hatred because of things other people say or think. and even then, we see the less discussed aspects of more acknowledged symptoms with him too. when he splits, he feels immense remorse after. case in point, the sheer horror he felt at the end of [low talk]. he still sometimes tries to make things right where he can even though he can’t stop self-sabotaging. he has moments of kindness with multiple people to varying degrees of closeness.

and despite all this awful shit happening to and around him, he is making a valid fucking effort and god i will always defend him for that. he’s emotionally self-aware and he has goals and values and he cares about people in his life even if he’s bad at showing it. sure, he’s trapped in bad habits and a bad lifestyle, but also… he’s just a kid. he’s 17 years old doing and believing and enduring things no one should have to at that age. he’s been on his own since he was even younger too.

people fault him for backsliding in his attempts at Being Better but that is so fucking unfair, because it is never that goddamn simple. ever. you hear “recovery isn’t linear” just about everywhere, but it’s so rare to see that process explored so thoroughly in fiction and when it’s just brushed under the rug to make him out to be an irredeemable villain because it’s annoying or not entertaining enough, it’s… so painfully real.

the [stairwell] episode in particular was fucking brutal for me. i’ve been him in that situation, except instead of someone like tamba it was someone much closer to me than that. it was such a personal gut punch hearing her scream at him that he just can’t be a better person no matter how hard he tries because that’s just who he is. because he doesn’t want to change bad enough, because he’s innately selfish and cruel and evil and doomed to die alone and unloved. and he stands there and takes it while she hits him everywhere it hurts most, and while i will acknowledge tamba is just as scared and flawed as the rest of them, she says some of the most deplorable shit to him a person can say to someone until he just can’t take it anymore and proves her right. and just like that, he’s regressed back to square one again.

and tamba is never held accountable for how horribly she treated people, or even truly acknowledges how fucked up what she said to hiroaki was. it’s not even clear if she realizes the depth of it. that part is uncomfortably real for me, too. tetro is such peak fiction dude because the only reason i can’t like her is personal beef with her actions related to me and not her.

anyway i’m a shameless tetro glazer, hiroaki is my beautiful & beloved bpd princess, and everyone should be nicer to him and should also keep in mind that some of the shit you say about fictional characters you could inadvertently be saying about someone close to you as well. this fangan is doing something extremely rare and extremely valuable, and at the same time creating such a vulnerable space for people, so always be nice & be considerate <3

#hiroaki nakamigawa #tetro danganronpa pink #tetro danganronpa spoilers #tetro pink spoilers #i wrote this a few days ago but oughhh he’s so important to me

64 notes · View notes

nadvs · 8 hours ago

Note

the power play is one of the best fics I’ve ever read. Like seriously. I love the way you write dialogue and the dynamic between those two :)) for the blurbs, I was wondering if we could see more of how reader adjusts to their new relationship. though they’ve been doing the fake thing for a while now, do you think she gets hesitant about what to ask for in a relationship since this is her first one? like does she have a hard time telling rafe what she wants, whether that’s emotionally or physically? no pressure at all, but if you’d be interested in writing a little blurb that explores that dynamic, I’d be eternally grateful 🫶

thank you 🥹 writing their dialogue was my fav part!! omg you read my mind. this is why she needs sm reassurance once they start dating for real. it doesn’t go away on its own. and we know he has his own issues 😬 set in the power play au.

at the beginning of their relationship, they’re in a total honeymoon phase. arguments are rare and usually shallow and get resolved quickly, because they have a good understanding of one another.

but eventually, they start arguing more, and the fights get harder to resolve. she gets to a point where she’s so in love with him that it scares her, and she starts to think that she cares more about him than he does about her.

rafe gives her all the reassurance he can, but he starts to feel like he’s failing as a boyfriend if his girl is asking if he even likes her as often as she does.

and it’s a fear of his, not being enough. he starts getting defensive, leading her to spiral more. she worries she’s asking for too much, or maybe that she doesn’t even know how to ask for it in the right way.

on top of that, rafe has crazy bad insecurity. he gets horribly jealous at times. he knows how charming his girlfriend is and in his darkest times, he thinks she’s only with him because she could get along with anyone, and he was just there at the right time.

she doesn’t take his jealousy well. she tries to communicate to him that she needs him to trust her, but again, she doesn’t know what’s ‘normal’ and she second guesses herself a lot as they get more serious.

their differences are both good and bad, because they challenge each other, but they show love in opposite ways. he shows her he cares with actions, while she’s all about words, wanting to hear that she’s loved.

they have a lot to work though, but she eventually finds a balance of asking for reassurance from him, while also improving her own self-esteem so she doesn’t have to rely on him to make her feel worthy of love.

they both entered the relationship with very damaged hearts, and with time, they realize they can’t rely on the other to fix all the pain. they have work they have to do on themselves and sometimes, they need time apart to do that.

#ask #tppblurb #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

50 notes · View notes

foreverisntenough · 3 days ago

Text

‘Aperture’

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

Chapter Index:

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

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

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

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

Chapter 22 - 'Real' | 'Aperture'

word count - 14.7k

Trent dropped the box of shirts onto the hallway console of his mum’s house with a quiet thud, letting out a breath as he did. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off yet. Dianne appeared from the kitchen the way only mums could, soft footsteps but an unmistakable presence, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she clocked the drop-off.

"That for me?" she asked, arching a brow. Trent nodded, kicking his trainers off lazily.

“Told you I’d get them done.” He smiled softly. She glanced at the box like she already knew how the contents got signed on time, then looked back up at him with something gentler.

“Did you say thank you for me?” She asked like a breeze.

“Huh?” He blinked. She gave him a look, the kind he’d gotten since he was six and tried to sneak biscuits before dinner.

“To her. For helping. That was sweet of her.” He made a noncommittal sound, already heading into the kitchen, opening her cupboards like it was still his house, like he hadn’t moved out years ago. Searching for biscuits or crackers or whatever snack nostalgia could hand him. Dianne didn’t follow, but her voice trailed in behind him. “She’s beautiful, hun,” she said lightly. “Very sweet. The kind of girl who listens with her eyes.” He hummed again, his head practically inside a shelf, hoping to delay any further talk. Dianne smiled to herself. He thought he could dodge her, like she didn’t raise him. Like she didn’t know every deflection tactic in his very limited arsenal. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely.

“Seemed to know that you’re shy. That’s new,” she said, almost teasing. Trent froze just slightly, barely a beat, before he grabbed a packet of crackers, avoiding her gaze with impressive subtlety.

“Everyone knows I’m pretty reserved, Mum.” He replied, curt, but pleading. She let out a little laugh, not unkind, just full of knowing.

“That’s not what I mean, love.” He hated when she used that voice. The soft one. The motherly one that slipped through his ribs and curled into all the places he’d worked so hard to armor. He sat down at the table, still munching, trying to keep it casual, but the air had already changed. It wasn’t about the fact that you were beautiful. Trent had been around beautiful. He was beautiful himself. His world was wallpapered with it. He knew how to flirt, how to entertain, how to let girls orbit his life without ever getting too close to its center. But this was different. You knew him. You’d seen the sides of him that weren’t polished or rehearsed. The ones that stammered sometimes. That grew quiet instead of clever. He’d invited you into parts of his world he rarely showed. His house. The soft, small, real part of his life. You’d seen him help tie a six year olds shoelace at a football pitch early in the morning and you watched his eyes gloss over confessing he loved you. The entire spectrum of emotional realness. You’d seen him tired and tender and scared, never to impress you, but because he trusted you. Because he didn’t need to perform for you. Dianne spoke again, voice like a warm cup of tea he hadn’t asked for but somehow needed.

“But they don’t know you the way she does, do they?” That made him look up. It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a question, not really. Just something honest, something she could feel as his mother, that quiet knowing that he’d handed you something he didn’t give away often. Himself. He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the table, chewing slower now. Something in him was unraveling, thread by thread. Dianne wasn’t naive. She knew what the world saw, the footballer, the headlines, the girls that lingered and left without meaning to. She knew he was used to having attention. What he wasn’t used to, what was rare, was being known. Not just his stats, or his dimpled smile, or the way his voice dipped when he was flirting. But his heart. His stillness. His fear. His softness. And somehow, you had that. You held it without demanding it. Without flaunting it. You just… had it.

“No,” he murmured finally, low and vulnerable. “They don’t.” And a part of him hated you for it. Not really, not truly. But in that dizzy, terrified way people hate the things that could break them. The way he hated that there was no backup plan now. No exit strategy. That if he lost you, it wouldn’t just hurt, it’d hollow him out. Because you held it too well. His heart. Gently, yes, but firmly. In a way that made him feel like there was no going back. And even if he could, he wasn’t sure he’d want to.

—

Dianne didn’t push straight away. She never did, knew better than to rush him when his guard was cracked open like that. Instead, she busied herself with tidying up the tea towel she’d been holding, smoothing it over the kitchen handle like something about the moment needed to be tucked in and neatened up too. But her eyes drifted back to him. To her boy, sat at her kitchen table with the same distracted frown he wore when he was fifteen and didn’t know how to tell her he didn’t do well on a maths quiz.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said softly, breaking the quiet. Trent didn’t look up right away. Just picked at the edge of the cracker packet, thumb worrying the plastic like it was a pressure valve. He hummed, not in agreement, not in protest , just to say he heard her. Dianne took the seat across from him, hands folded on the table. Calm. Open. “She’s lovely, you know,” she said gently. “I meant it when I said I wanted to have her round for tea.” Another hum. This one softer. Less like avoidance, more like surrender.

“I know.” He murmured. Dianne watched him closely, and then, with a tilt of her head…

“You should tell her how you feel, hun.” He finally met her gaze, eyes tired. Not with exhaustion, with weight. A weight he hadn’t even realised he was carrying until he stepped into his mum’s kitchen, until you came into his life and sat inside it like you belonged there. And then, suddenly, quietly, without ceremony, he spoke.

“I just don’t wanna be the one to say it first again.” It came out so simply that it took her a second to understand what he meant. But when she did, her chest ached with a kind of mother’s heartbreak she hadn’t felt since he was little. He wasn’t pouting or sulking, it wasn’t that. It was the raw truth of someone who’d given love before and had to sit in silence while it echoed back to him. Dianne stayed composed, but her fingers brushed the edge of her mug in thought.

“Oh, Trent,” she murmured. He shook his head like he regretted saying it, like it made him soft or small. But Dianne didn’t see it that way. Not at all.

“It’s not even that I don’t feel it,” he added, trying to rectify or maybe just to get it off his chest. “I do. I think about it all the time. But I just…” He trailed off, jaw tightening slightly. “If I say it and she doesn’t—” He dragged his hand over his face, maybe to hide, maybe to think, maybe to rub the confusion away.

“You’re scared,” Dianne finished for him. “That’s alright. You’re allowed to be.” He blinked at her, his shoulders lowering just an inch.

“I just don’t wanna be the only one brave this time,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I want to know I’m not the only one who feels it like that… and actually say it out loud.” Dianne didn’t say anything right away. She just reached across the table, placed her hand over his, warm and steady.

“She already shows you, hun,” she said softly. “Every time she lets you in. Every time she lets you see her, and holds space for who you really are. Love’s not always loud. Sometimes it’s in the silences. In the way she sits close, or lets you rest your head, or shows up for you.” Trent swallowed hard, eyes darting away. “But I get it,” she said, still calm, still motherly. “You want to hear it, too. Want to know it out loud.” He nodded faintly. Dianne exhaled seeing Trent like this. He looked younger than he was at that moment. “You deserve that, just trust that she will. In her own time. And maybe by then, you’ll find it in yourself to say it again anyway.” A small smile touched her lips. “Because it’s never weakness to go first, Trenty. Not when it’s real.” There was a beat of stillness. The kind of stillness that came when truth had landed and all that was left was to sit inside it. “I’ll invite her for tea,” she added gently, standing. “I’d like to get to know her. And when you’re ready, you’ll say what’s already in your heart.” Trent sat back, eyes glazed with a thousand thoughts, thumb still pressing into the edge of the empty cracker wrapper.

“Hm,” he murmured absently, a faraway smile barely tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. Alright.” And maybe he didn’t know when he’d say it. But he knew now, with the comfort of his mum’s voice and the image of your laugh tucked somewhere in his chest, that he would. Eventually.

—

[Light Blue Linen - Them & I]

Campbell’s apartment always smelled like safety. That soft, expensive warmth of an oversized Le Labo candle burning slow, flickering on her travertine coffee table. Santal curling through the air, warm, smoky, familiar. It was Campbell’s favorite. You could recognize it blindfolded. And today it was tangled with the clean linen of her freshly washed throws, the bergamot of her body cream, the faint edge of the espresso she made hours ago but never finished drinking now faded to the open bottle of wine. Her place was pristine, always, light-flooded and curated; everything chic, everything cool with the Hermes blankets slung over the sofa to boot. You were wrapped in that blanket now, pulled up to your chin like it could protect you from your own thoughts, curled small in the corner of her cloudlike boucle sofa, knees to your chest, trying to anchor yourself to the cotton and cashmere beneath your fingertips. You had always loved it here, this apartment, this woman, this friendship. Campbell made space for you without asking. Knew when to give you quiet and when to press. The two of you had grown into each other the way certain people just do, like roots, winding around shared memories and the things you never had to say aloud.

Everything about her flat was calming; muted furniture, soft lights, silk-bound books, clean walls kissed by luxury and love. And yet, your chest felt like it had just been cracked open with a crowbar. The text came through while you tried to hide in the comfort of her apartment, the place you always went when you felt untethered but your phone’s singular buzz against your thigh had a storm inside you breaking. A text sat on your phone screen, glowing softly. One message. From Dianne.

'Hi Hun. Dianne. Trenty gave my your mobile. Would love to have you round for tea this week. Does Sunday work for you? Just something easy. Hope to see you x'

Your breath caught. You blinked at the screen. Read it again. A simple, thoughtful invite. Your mouth went dry and not from nursing the glass of wine you weren’t really drinking. Dianne was lovely. You’d met her before, on that spring morning when Trent had invited you to shoot the kids’ football session, camera in your hand, sun in your eyes, Trent watching you like you hung the damn sky. You liked her. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was what it meant. What this message implied. You stared at it, frozen. A dozen thoughts firing at once, none of them helpful. The kind of quiet, maternal message that shouldn’t make your heart plummet. You blinked once. Twice. As if it might vanish. You didn’t answer right away. You couldn't. Campbell padded in from the kitchen with her refilled glass of wine, bottle in hand to fill yours, barefoot, jumper sleeves pushed to her elbows.

“Here,” she said, settling beside you and tucking her feet beneath her as she took your glass to pour more of something you likely didn’t need. She caught the look on your face and frowned, placing your glass down on the table. Your thumb hovered above the keyboard, but your breath caught like a snare. Campbell noticed. This wasn’t a surprise. Not entirely. But it still hit like a wave you hadn’t braced for. You stared at the message. And then you replied. Because you had to. Because not replying felt like betrayal. But you barely knew you were doing it. Like the words just typed themselves out.

‘Hi! Thank you so much for thinking of me. That would be lovely. Just let me know a time.’

You set the phone down face-down on the coffee table. And then you spiraled. Because he’d given her your number. Because he wanted you there. Because this, this quiet invitation from the woman who made him, felt louder than anything he’d said recently. This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t a passing thought. This was intentional. This was real. And you weren’t ready. You wanted to be. But you weren’t.

“You okay?” Campbell asked gently. She could sense it. She saw it when your hand trembled a little as you put your phone back down. You didn’t answer. Your voice didn’t work right. Campbell gently tugged the blanket higher on your shoulders, tucking it in like muscle memory before reaching for the phone to peek at the message. She read it, then looked back up slowly. “Oh.” That was all she said for a long moment. A simple, soft syllable. But it was enough. And then, “Did he tell you she’d reach out?”

“No,” you whispered. “I just said yes… why did I do that…But he gave her my number.” The weight of those words felt heavier when spoken aloud. Campbell paused for another second, processing, thinking, so she stayed quiet, said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her silence was full of knowing. “She has my number.” You repeated for emphasis, your voice cracking before it could finish.

“She does.” Campbell’s voice was low, even. Steady.

“That means….he had to actively give it to her. Like, he wanted her to have it.” You explained, eyes glazing over as you lost focus of the room.

“Mmhmm.” Campbell nodded, sipping her wine.

“And he wants me to go. Doesn’t he? Why wouldn’t he tell me she’d text? What if I can’t do this? What if…” Your voice faded around the panic rising like floodwater in your throat. “What does that mean, Cam? He gave her my number. Does that mean he… wants something? Us?” Campbelly didn’t stop you. She let you spiral. Let you panic. She just moved closer, placed her wine glass down on the table, sifting on the sofa like she was preparing to sit with you for hours. “Does that mean I have to…fuck… That isn’t just, this isn’t casual. You don’t invite someone to your mum’s if it’s casual, let alone her inviting me. Like yes, I’ve already met her. But this… this is….” Your voice dropped to a whisper because you couldn’t think of a word. Nothing encapsulated what you were feeling.

“Real?” Campbell interjected gently. The word felt like a stone. You curled tighter into the blanket, like you could physically disappear inside the wool. “I think he wants it to be,” Campbell said calmly as if not to scare you off. “I think he’s waiting to see if you do too.” You blinked at her, eyes glassing over.

“I feel like I already ruined this before, Cammy. He said it. He said it, and I just stood there. I didn’t say it back, not the way I should’ve. And now it’s a bigger deal. And a bigger mess. And I’m scared.” Your voice trembled. The tears came like pressure breaking loose. You didn’t sob, but they fell, warm and silent, down your cheeks, and you didn’t wipe them away. Campbell shifted beside you, wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in until your forehead was pressed against the collar of her hoodie.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her chin resting on your head. “It’s good you said you’d go and it’s also okay to be scared. But I think you have to ask yourself what’s really going on.” You didn’t answer. Just stayed there, tucked into the fabric and her heartbeat. “You know how he feels,” she said. “You already know it’s mutual. But do you want this to be what it can be? Because if you do… you can’t keep sitting on the sidelines, babe.” Her words were quiet but they thudded through your chest. Because she was right. You could feel it now, your own heart was standing at the edge of something. Shaking. Wanting to leap. You were terrified that if you took the step and fell, he wouldn’t catch you. But maybe he would. And maybe, if you hadn’t responded, you’d regret it forever. You pulled back just enough to see her face, your own blurred by tears.

“I love him so much,” you admitted.

“I know.” Campbell smiled, soft and sad.

—

You were scared because it had never been casual, not really, not from the beginning. Because loving Trent Alexander-Arnold had always felt like lighting a match in a windstorm. Too beautiful, too risky, too much. And for someone like you, guarded, composed, forever walking the line between vulnerability and control, it was unbearable to be that exposed. You held your ground for the first twenty-four hours, chin high, heart barricaded. But after that, you crumbled like dusk swallowing Ibizan daylight. One moment of stillness, and then the shift: tectonic and total. The earth didn’t tilt on its axis, it collapsed into him. Because he wasn’t just a cheeky smile and a syrup-slick laugh. He wasn’t just flirtation dressed in designer and cologne. No, he was fatal. A slow, sweet undoing in human form. You told yourself it was self-preservation. That silence was a kind of strength. That holding back was noble, disciplined, necessary. But most days, it felt more like self-sabotage dressed in couture, dolled up in denial and designer shoes, pretending to be something softer than it was. To not say the words. To bite them back when they begged to be spoken. To watch him look at you like he already knew, and still let him go on not hearing them. The truth was this: you were terrified. Not of love but of letting him know you loved him Because of what came next. Of what it would do to you. Because you didn’t believe you could survive it. Destiny, in your story, always felt a little bit like a death sentence. And if you gave him all of you, you were certain it would end you.

He would move on if it failed. He would continue to shine, and soar, and someday love again. He would find love again, you were sure. Because you were in love with him, and you saw him clearly: charismatic, magnetic, impossible to ignore. He didn’t just enter a room, he shifted its gravity. Heads turned. Voices lifted. People rearranged themselves around his presence like planets orbiting a sun. Without you, he was untethered. A beautiful, restless hybrid disguised in shyness; half man, half myth, bursting at the seams with too much brilliance to hold in one place. You’d seen it at parties, felt it like static in the air when you weren’t alone with him. When he was on the biggest stages to perform, pitches being watched from every country. He was always split—torn between goodness and temptation, between the quiet pull of integrity and the wild thrill of possibility. The kind of possibility that only someone in his shoes, like him, could summon with a smile. And in that fracture, you found something heartbreakingly human. You understood it, God, did you understand it. And you loved him for it. Not in spite of the chaos, but because of it. Still, the question lingered like perfume on a collar. How do you love someone like that without caging him? Without dimming the very thing that made him burn so bright? You were still learning how to love him in a way that wouldn’t cost him his destiny. Even if it might cost you everything.

Because you, you would never recover from the loss of something you never even let yourself fully have. It wasn’t just the reputation. Not the tabloid tales or the smirking headlines that clung to footballers like expensive aftershave. No, it was worse. It was the inconsistency. The whiplash of intimacy followed by withdrawal. The unbearable weight of trusting someone so deeply that even the tiniest crack in their voice could break you. And God, you loved him. Desperately. Hopelessly. With a kind of ache that felt stitched into your spine. Because you loved him. Not in parts. Not in pieces. But all at once, and all the way through. And that kind of love makes even the smallest tremor feel like the end of the world.

You were scared because once, he said it first. That night, blurred in memory but seared into your chest, when his voice cracked and he told you he loved you, and you just… froze. Not because you didn’t feel it, because you did. You had for a long time, in ways that terrified you. But the weight of those three words felt like a point of no return. You panicked. You reached for the safety lever: retreat. You said something that wasn’t enough. Something true, maybe, but careful. And careful had never been what Trent deserved. You were scared because this time, it felt permanent. His mother was inviting you for tea. Not to say hello. Not to meet you for the first time. This was home. Family. Intention. This was a door that didn’t close behind you once you stepped through. And the truth was… you were scared of what that meant if it fell apart. Because then it wouldn’t just be heartbreak. It would be failure. It would be something precious, something sacred, you couldn’t get back. Him.

—-

You didn't remember what set it off. Maybe it was a photo on your phone. Or a scent, his shampoo clinging to a hoodie you'd stolen weeks ago. Or maybe it was just the quiet. That terrible, echoing quiet after midnight, where every distraction fell away and you had no choice but to face it. The guilt. The weight. The silence where I love you should’ve been. You collapsed into the bed, knees to your chest, fists gripping the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring you to earth. Your bedroom was a war zone of your own making, half-worn clothes, film rolls, books you weren’t reading, empty water glasses. The chaos outside mimicked the one inside. You sobbed until your ribs ached. Until the shape of him blurred behind your eyelids. Until all the moments you'd let it slip away spun like film negatives behind your eyes. The villa in LA, after everything fell apart. He told you then. In the middle of your heartbreak. His voice quiet, but certain. And you froze. Like if you didn’t move, maybe you wouldn’t shatter. And still—you didn’t say it back. Your birthday, the gallery, the flowers, the photos he took of you like you were a religion he believed in. You whispered something. You kissed him. You buried your face into his neck and told him he made everything feel lighter. But you didn’t say the words. Not then. And then… that night, in bed. Skin to skin. When it slipped from your mouth like a tremor instead of a truth. Muttered into the hollow of his throat. Your voice shaking. Timed so poorly, so much like a reflex that it could be dismissed as nothing more than that. You said it and still, it wasn’t enough. You said it and still, you weren’t sure if he believed you. How could you possibly render this right? How do you go back and fix the words you didn’t say? How do you hold love in your chest when it keeps leaking out the wrong way, at the wrong time? It felt like trying to plug holes in a sinking boat. The moment you sealed one, another opened. It didn’t matter that you were confident. That you were beautiful. That you had a career, a life, a spine. None of it mattered. Because this wasn’t about you versus anyone else. It was about him. And the pain of loving him, of wanting him, was so severe, so bone-deep, it almost didn’t matter if he wanted you too. Because he existed. And that alone undid you.

—

“I can’t breathe.” The words came out jagged, barely formed, like they’d been dragged over glass on the way up.

“You’re okay.” Campbell was already moving, kneeling in front of the sofa, her hands steady on your knees. “Look at me. Breathe.” You blinked rapidly, eyes beginning to sting.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What if I go and it’s too much? What if I go and I ruin it again?” She didn’t say anything at first. Just waited, warm and calm, her presence enough to tether you. “He told me he loved me,” you cried, a terrible reminder that had never left. “I love him but I didn’t say it back. I wasn’t ready. And now it’s worse. Because this is everything.” Campbell brushed a thumb across your cheek, gentle as always.

“Is it?” She asked. You nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat. “Then let it be everything.” The tears kept falling, silent at first, just a slow rush of them that slipped hot and fast down your cheeks. You curled forward, forehead resting against her shoulder as she cradled you like she used to in uni, when the world cracked too sharp and you didn’t know where to put your feelings. Her voice was soft, but anchored.“Do you want it to be real?” The weight of those words felt heavier when spoken aloud. You stopped breathing. The question cut through you. Gentle, but surgical. That was the question, wasn’t it? Not does he love you. You knew that answer. Not does he want you. You felt it every time he looked at you like you were the first girl he ever wanted to stay for. No. The real question was, do you want it? Could you say it now? Could you look at him and tell him what you didn’t that night in LA, or in the gallery, or in bed when it slipped from your mouth like a bruise instead of a vow? Did you want him? The boy who kissed you like his whole body was starving. Who looked at you like you were light in human form. Who’d told you he loved you, and waited. And waited. And you— You’d never said it when it mattered. You loved him like gravity, but you’d always found a way to keep your feet off the ground. You blinked fast, but the tears continued. They didn’t fall pretty, they fell hard. Like your body had been waiting for this break. Like it was a confession you couldn’t hold in anymore. You pressed the blanket closer to your chest like it might keep your ribs from splitting.

“I ruined it,” you choked. “I ruined it when he said it and I didn’t know how to say it back. Not the way I wanted to. Not in a way that felt enough. And now it’s just bigger. This…this tea, it’s not just about being polite. It’s not just seeing his mum. It’s me walking into his world. Like… officially. Like… fully.” Cammy pulled you in. Her arms were soft and certain. She smelled like something floral and clean. She rubbed circles into your back the way your mum used to when you were little.

“You didn’t ruin it.” Campbell shook her head, fingers weaving through your hair. “I know you’re scared.” You nodded into her shirt. Couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. “That’s fine,” she murmured. “But maybe this is your moment. Maybe this is the moment you don’t run. Maybe this is the one you choose.”

“I did,” you sobbed. “He gave me chances. He said it. And I didn’t say it back, not when it mattered. And now I’m supposed to go to his mum’s house. And it’s a mess, and I love him.” Campbell pulled you closer with a sigh. Held you the way only a best friend could, no judgment, no rush, just warmth and patience and a kind of loyalty that wrapped around you like armor.

“Don’t think it’s about getting it perfect, babe. Maybe it’s just about showing up this time.” She said softly. And for whatever reason that stuck. Showing up. You could do that for him. You nodded, still crying. And for the first time, beneath all that fear, you felt something shift. Maybe. Like maybe this was the beginning of something you could choose to walk toward. You cried harder. Because she was right. Because it was time. Because love was terrifying when it wasn’t unspoken anymore. And maybe you needed to finally be brave enough to stop pretending you would destroy yourself just for him, just for a moment of him.

—

[Ruby Sparks - Monet Ngo]

Your phone rang just as you settled into your gate-side seat at LAX, still cradling an iced coffee that was sweating and blinking against the clinical overhead lights. You’d flown to Los Angeles for work, a shoot and a string of meetings that kept you busy enough not to think, but now you weren’t sure you were ready to fly home just yet, because what waited for you there… terrified you. You hadn’t even boarded yet, and the jet lag already felt like it had found you in advance. Trent. His name lit up your screen. Your stomach flipped, because it always did with him, didn’t it? Even now. Especially now. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” You answered, unable to fight the warmth swarming your chest.

“Hi, baby,” he murmured back, voice low and a little teasing, like he already knew you were in a mood. “So, what’s this I hear about you flyin’ halfway 'round the world just for a cup of tea?” You smiled, despite yourself.

“It’s not just tea.” You replied, anxiety creeping into your voice.

“No?” he asked, clearly grinning. “Could’ve fooled me. You sound knackered already. I’m flattered, though. Proper dedication. You’ll be sleepwalkin’ into my mum’s kitchen all for the honour of having a meal with me.” You let out a soft laugh, curling tighter into the seat.

“Well don’t talk me out of it.” You giggled, teasing.

“Nah, I won’t,” he said, and something about the way he said it made heat pool low in your stomach. There was a smile in his voice, but a promise, too. “Thank you, you know. Not just for coming. For wanting to.” That caught you in the chest. It had been a week of slowly assembling courage. A week of Campbell’s voice in your head, soft and sturdy. A week of finding yourself ready. You swallowed, quiet for a moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You hummed.

“Yeah?” he said. “You sure it’s not just a jet-lag-induced hallucination? I’ll get to see you all tired and gorgeous, accent soft, looking like trouble I can’t wait to get into.” He purred.

“T...” You cautioned him, already hearing his thoughts began to wander.

“Barely off the plane, looking like my favorite dream showed up at Arrivals.” He rambled, smooth and effortlessly charming the way he always was.

“Honestly, shut up, baby.” You laughed, exasperated and flushed. “So full of shit.”

“I’ve missed you, ya know,” he said softly, suddenly. The cheek still lingered on his tongue, but something gentler laced underneath it now. “Missed talkin’ to you like this. Missed knowin’ you’re comin’ back to me.” You didn’t say it, but you grinned so hard your cheeks ached. “I’ll be the one feeling close to feral by the time I see you,” he added. “Haven’t slept all week, thinking about you. Different timezones are shite,” he muttered.

“Ah, so you just miss me in your bed?” You smiled, chewing on your nail.

“I do,” he admitted without hesitation. “Miss you in my bed, in my arms, on my chest, under me… been thinking about you on top of me too, if we’re being honest.” You laughed, eyes darting to the older woman sitting two chairs down.

“Baby!” You scolded him quietly as if the entire airport could’ve somehow magically heard his crassness.

“What?” he said, tone innocent. “You’re the one gallivanting across countries, leaving me all wound up and imagining things. D’you have any idea how painful it is not being able to touch you when I want?”

“You poor thing,” you teased. “Guess you’ll just have to suffer until I land.”

“I am suffering’, baby,” he said, all mock tragedy. “Might not make it through the night. Might need a photo. Or a voice note. Maybe you sayin’ something filthy in that tired little whisper you use when you pretend you’re asleep but really begging for me to touch you.” Your skin flushed hot.

“I liked it better when you were just sweet,” you murmured.

“I can be both,” he said, instantly softer. “You know that.” You did. “And I wasn’t kidding’,” he added, quieter now. “I sleep better when you’re with me. You always steal the covers, always get cold and press your feet into mine in the middle of the night. Drives me mental. But it’s still my favourite thing.”

“Baby…” You exhaled, a soft smile curling on your face.

“Yeah, beautiful?” He hummed quickly.

“I really missed you too.” You finally purred. He sighed. You could almost hear him settling deeper into wherever he was, sofa, bed, maybe even his car, just to hold that moment steady. Like neither of you wanted to breathe too hard and risk popping the soft little bubble between you.

“Get here safe, yeah?” he said, warm and low. “Tomorrow can’t come quick enough.” You smiled again, almost dazed.

“One more sleep.” You closed your eyes.

“One more sleep,” he echoed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whispered again.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed. “Don’t fall asleep on the plane and dream of anyone else, hmm?”

“I never do,” you said. And you both knew exactly what that meant.

—

You hadn’t slept well. Jetlag tangled with nerves, knotted in your stomach like a fist. You’d landed back in the UK the night before, crawled into your own bed, buried yourself in blankets that smelled like fabric softener and fear. Now it was afternoon. You think, you had no idea what time it was, you were just going by set alarms at this point. A soft, grey sort of light spilled through the clouds like milk in water, dull, quiet, unsure of itself. You felt the same. Your phone said Dianne's like it wasn’t his mother. Like it wasn’t the moment.

You wore cashmere; a fine-knit cardigan [ref index] you always reached for when you were overwhelmed because it worked every time. It draped just so over cotton shorts that were hemmed crisp and understated, legs bare despite the chill. Your little ballet flats were butter-soft, polished. Nothing flashy. But everything about you spoke of quiet taste. The kind that didn’t beg to be noticed but was.

When the car turned onto the street, your heart did a small, traitorous lurch. And then you saw him. Trent stood outside the front door like he’d been waiting all day despite you texting a minute ago. Hoodie slung over one shoulder, slippers on as per, eyes squinted trying to make out the car despite his perfect vision. He looked like a boy and a man all at once, familiar and terrifying and everything you didn’t know how to name. He spotted you and his whole face changed. Not a smile, not at first. Just a softness. Something unguarded in his eyes. Like seeing you made the world tilt back into place. You stepped out of the car, and the air kissed your legs cold. You didn’t move quickly, but you didn’t hesitate either. He jogged down the front steps toward you like it was instinct.

“Hi,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, baby.” And then he was wrapping his arms around you. You melted into him like your bones had been waiting to. Your face found the curve of his neck, the scent of him, fresh cotton, warm skin, that hint of something woody he always wore, made your chest ache. His arms came around you, slow and deliberate, like he needed the anchor just as much as you did. He didn’t say anything more at first. Just held you. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades, the other at the back of your neck. You felt him breathe you in, slow and deep. You didn’t realize how tightly you were clutching his hoodie until his fingers moved to soothe you, tracing the line where your hair met your neck. He leaned his mouth against your temple. For a second, you felt his lips move, like he almost said something. And he almost did. But then he pulled back just enough to look at you. Eyes soft. Heart loud.

“You alright?” he asked gently. You nodded. But he knew the truth anyway. “You look…” He paused, his thumb brushing just under your eye. “You look like my Y/N.” You blinked, startled by how badly you wanted to cry at that.

“I am,” you said, barely breathing. He smiled, slow and aching.

“Always.” And still, he didn’t say the other words. But you both felt them. This is it. This could be everything.

—

You stayed like that for another moment, or maybe it was a lifetime, folded into him on the quiet drive tucked deep into a gated neighborhood, your arms wound tight around his waist, his heartbeat pressed to your cheek like a whisper only you got to hear. He kissed the top of your head. Not with fire, not with hunger. Just with longing. He smelled like something sweeter you couldn’t name. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was you.

“I missed you,” he murmured, low and hoarse like he’d only just realized it aloud. You pulled back to look at him, soft sweater sleeves tugged over your hands.

“You saw me last week.” You replied. He smiled, slow and tilted.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t like this.” Your fingers brushed his chest, right over where you knew the faint scar was near his collarbone. He didn’t flinch, didn’t tease. Just watched you. You wanted to kiss him for real. You wanted to say I love you for real. You did neither. Instead, you leaned in again, tucked your face under his jaw.

“Are you gonna invite me inside?” You teased, lips brushing against his skin. Trent chuckled, kissing your hair because frankly, he could hold you for hours and not know where he was. He exhaled, steadying himself.

“Oh, yeah? Gonna be funny in front of my mum too” He joked pinching at your waist. You giggled shaking your head.

—

The inside of Dianne’s house smelled like warmth and something close to comfort, like a candle had been burning just an hour ago and she’d opened the windows right after. You stepped in after him, taking off your jacket. Trent glanced back as you toed off your shoes in the entryway. He didn’t reach for your hand. And you didn’t offer it. Somehow, he knew. Somehow, he sensed that the gesture might overwhelm you, that you were already tiptoeing across an emotional tightrope. And maybe, maybe, he was scared too. Of how big this felt. Of what it meant to bring you here, like this.

Still, he walked ahead with the ease of someone who’d memorized every creak in the floorboards. It wasn’t the house he grew up in, no. He’d bought this one for his mum after he made it big. But he’d lived here for a while. Ate toast at that kitchen counter. Took his trainers off at that exact mat. There were framed photos of his brothers on the sideboard and a Liverpool kit hanging discreetly in the hall. It didn’t feel like your home, but it felt like a home. Something familial, sturdy, warm in a way you hadn’t touched in longer than you liked to admit. And then, without fanfare, Trent walked into the kitchen.

“Mum.” His voice was light, but there was something boyish in the way he slapped his palms against the marble kitchen island, teasing her like muscle memory, or nerves he didn’t want to show. It was an attempt to make her jump from the noise but Dianne had lived with her boys. She was unfazed by his antics. You hovered in the doorway, hands folded loosely at your waist.Dianne turned, smile blooming fast across her face.

“Well, there she is.” You stepped forward carefully.

“Hi.” But she didn’t hesitate. She walked right up and kissed both your cheeks, arms wrapping you in the kind of hug only mothers know how to give. Steady and full. Her gold bangles clinked at your back.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she said, voice rich and warm. Then she stepped back, looking you over with obvious approval. She tilted her head. “You dress so beautifully. Have to help me one day, hmm?” You flushed. The jumper suddenly felt too soft, the shorts too short. Then Dianne turned to her son with a little grin. “So gorgeous, huh?” She cooed. You couldn’t help it, you smiled. Not smug, but touched. A soft, breathless little thing. Okay, maybe a little smug when you saw Trent roll his eyes facetiously, grumbling something about her embarrassing him already, but you caught the way the corners of his mouth lifted anyway.

—

The kitchen held that particular kind of light that made everything feel golden and suspended, like time had stretched itself thin just for a few hours, just for this. Late afternoon poured through the windows, soft and slanted, and it caught the gleam of the marble island, the warm grain of the wood cabinets, the brass hardware polished from years of use. The air was fragrant with garlic and crushed tomatoes, a lazy pot bubbling on the hob, humming like an old lullaby. You cupped the warm porcelain of your tea, your fingers curled around it as though you needed to hold on to something. The scent of bergamot lifted with the steam, mingling with the richer, earthier notes of whatever Dianne was making. The room was a sensory embrace, linen-soft, low buzzing, warm spice and care. Trent sat just behind you, lounging at the kitchen table like he’d grown from the floorboards themselves. Legs sprawled, too comfortable in his own home, arm slung across the back of the chair, that familiar water bottle in his hand like it followed him across continents. He wasn’t talking much, but his gaze tracked you in intervals, flickering over the curve of your shoulder, the tuck of your leg beneath you, like he was making sure you were still here. Still his.

Dianne moved with ease, in rhythm with the house, opening drawers without looking, twisting the gas knob by feel, pulling down bowls from high cupboards with no effort. Her stories spilled out mid-motion, as if the telling of them was stitched into her muscle memory.

“Sorry dinner’s a little late,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as she stirred the sauce. “The day really got away from me. Got held up earlier, neighborhood drama. House at the end of the street triggered their own alarm system. Chaos. Then Marcel rang, said he’s coming for his tea. That boy thinks I’m a takeaway.” You smiled softly, eyes flicking toward Trent, who only grinned, stretching like a cat. This was white noise to him. He was listening but not following. You on the other hand were clinging to every word best you could, desperate to remember things, and desperate to stay fucking awake. You didn’t say anything. The warmth here was so kind it was lulling. While Dianne explained the soap opera unfolding down the lane, paint on fences, bins knocked over, a fox digging holes like it paid council tax, you sipped your tea slowly, folding into the quiet. And then, without warning, a yawn escaped—soft, shoulder-tucked, apologetic. She noticed instantly. “Sweetheart,” Dianne cooed, abandoning the spoon mid-stir. “You’re knackered? It’s barely half past! Did you have a late night?” She asked sincerely.

“She just flew in last night,” Trent spoke first, looking up at you. “Flight from LA. She's shattered. Trust me if she wasn’t tired, there would be two of you–” Dianne’s eyes widened, one hand on her hip like she was scandalized, cutting off Trents silly joke off promptly.

“She what? Hun! Why didn’t you say? I’d’ve told you to come another time!” You shook your head, too tired to explain that it wouldn’t have made a difference. That this had felt like something you had to face, not delay. “Oh my goodness. Well, go lie down ‘til dinner, please,” she insisted, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Honestly, don’t let me hold your ear now. You can save your chat for over the table.” You tried to demur, tried to mumble something about being fine, but Trent was already moving. He stood quietly, the scrape of the chair legs soft on the tiles, and crossed to you with an ease that made your chest ache. His arm circled your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your jumper in a way that felt instinctual, subtle, and yet purposeful. His body pressed gently against yours, a familiar presence, and you tensed, just slightly. He felt it. Of course he did because you rarely did with him. He bent his head, lips brushing your hair.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice honeyed and low. “I’m saving you. If we stay, she’ll start telling you about the dogs and that bloody fox I’ve been hearing about since last year.” Behind him, Dianne clicked her tongue.

“That fox is a sneak. Caught the little bastard going through my compost last week. Thinks he’s clever.” You giggled, helpless, th kind of small laugh that felt like it leaked out of the scared, tired part of you. Trent smiled at his mum, shaking his head affectionately, and you could feel something soft settle inside him. He didn’t grab your hand, didn’t guide you with pressure, just turned his body toward the hallway and waited. And you followed. Because of course you did. Because being next to him, even in this blurry, uncertain state, still felt like the only solid ground. As you left the kitchen, the warmth trailed behind you, simmering food, maternal affection, the hum of a home lived in. The hallway was quieter, dimmer, more private. Trent didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t need to. He just kept his hand low on your back, and every now and then, he glanced at you like he was still trying to make sure you did in fact land last night and were here with him now. But you were, you your tea left forgotten on the island, your heart full and your limbs heavy with exhaustion.

—

You sat in the living room and it felt familiar, even though you'd never stepped foot in it before. There was a strange, ghostlike recognition in the way the walls carried warmth, in the worn softness of the rug beneath your feet, in the muted sounds of a house that had raised someone you loved. The evening light had begun its slow dissolve, the sky outside bruising into that aching blue before night. Inside, the room held onto its golden edges, lamplight pooling across the floor like spilt honey. The television cast flickers onto the far wall, and from the kitchen, echoes of Dianne’s movements came faintly, still tending, humming, the clink of crockery behind her like wind chimes in another room. Trent was next to you, sunk low on the sofa, his legs sprawled out afain like he owned the place, because in some ways, he did. Not just the house, but the air of it. The rhythm. He belonged here, and strangely, you didn’t feel like you didn’t. He let out a sudden, boyish giggle, that kind that cracked through the quiet like a sparkler in a dark field.

“What you doin’?” he laughed, tugging on your sleeve, his hand twisting in the thick cashmere of your sweater. His voice was teasing, soft at the edges. You glanced over at him, blurry and slow, your mouth twitching into a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes yet. You were tired. Bone-tired. Soul-tired. But his warmth tugged at something deeper than sleep. “C’mere,” he said, quiet now, like a secret. So you slid closer, your hip brushing his, your heart already sliding out of your chest. You tucked your head into the curve of his shoulder, that place you always seemed to fit without trying. His jumper smelled like him, amber, somehow different than it did outside, and something unnameable you’d missed more than you were ready to admit. He flicked through channels absently, remote in one hand, his other resting lazily on your thigh. You watched the light shift on the screen for a while, but your eyes were heavy, the kind of tired that wobbled on the edge of surrender. One of those half-sleeps that tug you under and jolt you awake just as fast, breath catching with a silent gasp. You stirred against him, fingers curling into the fabric of his jumper. “Didn’t have to come or stay, baby. Know you’re knackered.” He leaned down slightly, lips brushing your hair.

“MmMmm” A sleepy, near-silent hum left your throat, a tiny no, as your head nestled deeper against him. “Just don’t wanna fall asleep on your mum’s sofa,” you mumbled, words muffled against the warmth of his chest, your hand grazing his abdomen. Your touch was featherlight but searching, like the sleepier you got, the more you needed to feel he was real.

“It’s alright, baby,” he murmured, a smile audible in the curve of his voice. “I always do.” You sighed against him, another small, defiant hum slipping from your lips as your fingers drifted just beneath the hem of his jumper, skin to skin. Your touch was sleepy but possessive. A silent claim. As if your body knew before your mind did: this is home. This is mine. And in that moment, Trent felt victorious, not the chest-puffing, score-keeping kind. No, it was quieter. Sweeter. The kind of triumph that pressed into your skin like sunlight on cold mornings. You were soft with him. Vulnerable in a way that no one else got. This version of you, the sleep-drenched, clingy, aching-for-closeness you, belonged only to him. His thumb traced a circle on your leg, his breathing matching yours now. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just held you a little closer, smiling against your temple,

“Alright,” he said softly, his voice warm and full of trouble. “C’mere then. You can fall asleep on me, hmm? How ‘bout that?” You didn’t resist when he tugged you on top of him, his big hands guiding you with the same care he gave to everything he loved. Your body draped over his with easy familiarity—your thigh over his hip, your cheek pressed to the steady drum of his heartbeat. If you sat up, you’d be straddling him. But you didn’t. You melted, instead. Hands tangled in his jumper, fingertips slipping under the hem like you were searching for something. Safety, maybe. Him. The telly played on, ignored. Light flickered across the walls like a candle about to gutter. But in that room, in that exact moment, the air was thick with something sweeter than tiredness. Trent’s hand slipped up the back of your thigh, warm and certain before pushing beneath the hem of your shorts like he couldn’t help himself. Skin to skin. His touch was reverent, slow, palm coasting over the swell of your hip, fingers tracing a shape he’d imagined for far too many nights in a bed without you.

“Making it hard not to…” you murmured, lips brushing the soft cotton stretched across his chest, your breath warm through the fabric. Sleep clung to your voice, slow and purring, and it drove him mad. The sound, you, you on top of him, had Trent fantasizing. His mouth twitched, arousal curling into his smirk.

“You’re making me hard,” he whispered with a low laugh, husky and close. You let out a tired giggle, one hand slapping at his chest without much force, more amused than scolding. He laughed again too, but it was quieter now, weighted with need. He shifted beneath you, just enough to let you feel him. A sly attempt at resituating, only to lift his hips up into, let his hands dip a bit lower. You froze, then sighed, annoyed, amused, turned on. Your hips betrayed you, pressing into the pressure of him before you could help it. And he ate it up. “Been thinkin’ about you so much, baby,” he breathed, his hands gripping you, coaxing you into a soft roll of your hips, subtle and sinful. It was lazy, barely there—but enough. Something inexplicably dirty and sexy about something barely there to the naked eye. You whimpered quietly, hating how good it felt to be rocked like that, like the world had slowed down just to make room for the two of you.

“Baby…” you warned softly, but your voice was shaky, fading. You tiredly pressed your index finger to his pouty perfect lips in the quietest sleepiest way to say ‘Be quiet. We’re at your mum’s’ He didn’t care, he pressed his lips to your hairline, then your cheek, then your temple, his hands sliding over your waist, his fingers kneading gently like he was trying to memorize the weight of you. His voice dropped again, deeper this time, just for you.

“Been thinking about this,” he whispered into your skin. “When I get you alone, just lazy, and sexy. When you let me…” He paused, lips brushing your forehead as you clung to the silence, heart thudding in your throat. You could feel your pulse move south, heat blooming beneath your skin like a rising tide. “Let me just be inside you.” You shifted against him, your body betraying your mind, your sleepiness. He felt it, of course he felt it, and he smiled, smug and soft and in love with the way you melted for him. You tapped your finger against his lips again, a silent shut up, and in retaliation for the gloating you couldn’t see but he bit your finger playfully, catching your wrist in his hand with a low laugh that made your stomach flip. The moment turned giddy, messy and young and full of want.

“Ow! Baby!” You whined with a giggle, something high and melodic, the kind of sound you rarely gave anyone. The kind that came from some deep, pure part of you. In the kitchen, Dianne paused, holding a wooden spoon in one hand and wiping her palms on a tea towel. She tilted her head at the sound, her expression softening. Quiet steps took her to the edge of the archway where the room opened up, and for a moment, she just watched. There you were, curled on top of her son like you’d belonged there all your life. Trent was holding you like he knew he couldn’t lose you. Kissing your hair. Your forehead. Murmuring something too low for her to hear, but the smile on his face said enough. It was that smile. The one he used to be desperate to fight off. She didn’t say anything, didn’t interrupt. Just lingered for one beat longer before disappearing back into the kitchen, her heart full in her chest, a whisper of a smile tugging at her lips. Back on the sofa, Trent cradled your wrist against his mouth, kissing the inside of it now, his voice rasping low.

“Wish we were at yours, baby,” he whispered. “Wish I could have you fall asleep like that. Just have you take me nice and slow.” You giggled again, groggy and warm, nuzzling into the nape of his with a tiny sigh.

“Stop. We’re not.” You replied serious but still taunting him with a soft kiss to the column of his throat.

“I know,” he smirked. “But now you’re gonna fall asleep thinking about it. Gonna have you begging f’me. Tables are turning, baby. ” You groaned, pulling the throw blanket over both of you, your thigh still heavy over his hips, your heart finally, finally, resting. And Trent? Trent just held you tighter, like he wasn’t going anywhere. Like he never wanted to.

—

The living room had gone still. Not silent—quiet. The kind of quiet that settles between two people who’ve finally found each other after too long apart. Trent’s fingers had slowed, no longer teasing but tracing aimless patterns along the curve of your thigh, the dip of your waist. Your breath had softened, evened out, face pressed to his chest like a child nuzzling into something safe. He could’ve stayed there forever, just like that—your weight on top of him, your scent in his lungs, the hum of the telly flickering across your skin like soft light through old film. Then the front door opened with a clatter and a voice thundered through the hallway.

“Mum! Favourite’s home!” Marcel’s voice rang out, unapologetically loud, the slap of his trainers echoing off the corridor walls. “Yo, Trentski, Where ya at?” He didn’t even pause before calling again, expecting Trent to volley something back with a laugh or a curse, but instead—

“Shh, hun.” Dianne appeared in the hallway, brow pinched, swatting lovingly at his arm like she was batting away smoke. Her voice was a whisper, firm and fond.

“What?” Marcel flinched back, confused, grinning.

“Y/N’s asleep,” she said with a pointed look, stepping past him with a dish towel still in her hand, like she’d only just pulled herself away from whatever she was simmering on the stove. Marcel’s brow raised, surprised.

“Sorry?” He whispered now, confused, lowering his voice as he followed Dianne towards the kitchen. He peeked into the living room, half expecting to find the sofa empty. Surely not. Instead, his eyes landed on the quiet tangle of limbs, his older brother practically wrapped around you like he’d spent the last month holding his breath. Trent, half-lidded and blinking slowly, met Marcel’s stare. He could feel it from the look from across the room. Deadly silent and yet brutally loud with jokes. He didn’t say anything. Just smirked, a quiet, satisfied kind of smirk, his hand curling instinctively over your hip as if to say yeah… long game, bro. Marcel blinked, then grinned. Wide and knowing. He didn’t say what he was thinking, he didn’t need to.

Dinner came after. Not in a rush, not like an event. It just happened—slow and warm and full. The kind of meal you sink into. You’d woken groggy but content, cheeks flushed from your nap, and had found yourself at the kitchen table in the golden hour light, surrounded by the easy sound of laughter, forks on porcelain, the hiss of wine being poured. Dianne moved with the ease of a northern mum, serving from the stove like it was second nature, brushing off your offers to help again with a wave and a shake of her head.

“You’re a guest, sweetheart,” she said, though her tone already hinted that you wouldn’t be one for long. Trent sat beside you, relaxed in a way that felt rare. Not performative, not on edge. Just home. His arm draped lazily over the back of your chair, not even touching you half the time, but there. And when you shifted, your spine brushing against his forearm, he didn’t move. He only pressed his thumb against the back of your shoulder like an anchor. Marcel noticed it first, arching a brow in your direction with a twitch of a smile he tried to hide behind his glass. Then Dianne, stealing a glance from the stove with the kind of soft amusement only a mother could pull off. You tried not to react, tried to act like it wasn’t anything, like your heart wasn’t beating too fast, like you weren’t all too aware of the quiet heat radiating off his body. But later, when dessert was served, just fruit and tea and bits of leftover chocolate, Trent leaned in, breath brushing your ear, his voice like velvet in the fading light.

“Didn’t know how much I missed this ‘til you were back.” And the worst part? You believed him. Completely.

—

[Ooh Nah Nah - SiR ft. Masego]

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality, the quiet of the hallway stretching long in the space between you. You both exhaled at once, a slow laugh curling up between you like steam off a kettle. The afternoon had been warm, golden, filled with Dianne’s knowing glances and forks clinking gently against plates as it fell into the night. Trent’s hands kept finding you the whole time, brushing your knee beneath the table, draping over the back of the chair, on your waist as he moved behind you. Nothing overt, just barely there touches that buzzed through your whole body like static. Like he knew what he was doing. Like he wanted you squirming behind your polite smile. Now, standing outside Dianne’s after dinner you found yourselves still hungry just not for food. His eyes found yours with that same slow-burning mischief. The kind that unraveled you.

“So,” he said, voice soft but cocky, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “I’m coming over now, yeah?” The smirk tugging at his mouth made you roll your eyes, but your body betrayed you, you nodded immediately, greedy and warm and entirely his. He grinned like he’d won something.

The drive was quiet. The kind of silence that buzzed with everything you weren’t saying. His hand on your thigh. Your fingers tracing lazy shapes into his wrist. The city passed outside the window in dusky gold, but your whole world was confined to the small space between your seat and his. You didn't speak. You didn’t need to. By the time the elevator doors of your building slid shut behind you, you were already pressing your body against his back, wrapping your arms around his waist. You could feel his shoulders shake slightly with a laugh as your fingers slipped beneath his jacket.

“Mmm,” you purred, your voice low against the curve of his neck. “So needy earlier, weren’t you?” He cocked his head, grinning as he leaned it back against your temple.

“Oh yeah?” He asked.

“Touching me under the table like that,” you went on, playful, lips brushing his skin. “Greedy. Was it the tea that made you so cheeky? Or are you always like that at your mum’s?” He hummed, warm and smug. His hands covered yours where they rested against his stomach.

“Only when you’re sittin’ next to me looking all smug and sweet, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me.” You bit back a smile, nuzzling his back. Then, quieter, with that glint of teasing still coating his tone, “You want me to show you how greedy I am?” That made you smile into the fabric of his shirt. Your eyes slipped closed for a moment, just breathing him in.

“You can show me,” you whispered, and you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to. Just that you wanted it. Whatever he meant. However he meant it. You wanted it all. The elevator dinged softly, the doors peeling open to reveal your floor. He turned in your arms, looking at you properly now, and there was something molten behind his grin, something that looked like he could devour you or worship you. Or both. You walked to your door without your fingers laced with his. And as you stepped into your apartment, dusk spilling across your floorboards, you knew this wasn’t just about being greedy. It was about being known.

—

The door clicked shut behind you with a weighted hush, like the world was being tucked away. The city, your day, the guarded part of you—it all disappeared with the turning of that lock. You slipped off your shoes, turning to look at him, about to say something light or teasing, but Trent didn’t wait. He crossed the room in a few easy steps, close to a jog, and swept you up, strong arms around your waist, making you squeal through a burst of startled laughter.

“Baby!” you giggled, arms wrapping around his neck as your legs lifted instinctively, wrapping around his waist. He grinned, that boyish, wicked smile stretching across his face, all cheek and dimples and heat.

“You said I was needy, hmm?” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “So I’m gonna show you needy, baby.” He carried you through the apartment like you weighed nothing, pressing tiny kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your temple, as you laughed and clung to him, dizzy from how fast everything shifted from teasing to molten. The air felt thicker now. Heavier. Like desire was rising up from the floorboards, curling around your ankles and climbing higher with every heartbeat. He laid you gently on your bed, your back sinking into the mattress as the room dimmed with soft light. It spilled across your sheets, soft and inviting, like it was staging the moment with cinematic precision. Before you could even reach for him, Trent crawled over you, slow and deliberate. He was all forearms and intention, hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in, but not in a way that made you feel trapped. You felt claimed. Worshipped. And when his hands found your wrists and pinned them gently above your head, you gasped.

“Stay there,” he said, voice low and quiet. Not commanding, almost reverent. Your breath caught, your thighs shifting beneath him, but you nodded. His eyes traced over your face like he was drinking you in. His weight settled between your hips, firm and hungry. He didn’t kiss you yet. Just hovered, watching the way your lips parted, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the way your body arched subtly beneath his hold. “You’ve no idea how greedy I get for you,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “Not just for this.” You whimpered softly, your fingers curling against his grip, but he didn’t let go. He kissed the corner of your mouth, achingly slow, and then your cheek, your jaw, your throat. With each touch, he spoke again, low and honest, like it hurt to admit it. “I want all your attention,” he whispered. “Even when we’re not together, I want it. I think about you constantly. I want your affection like it’s air.”

“T…” You whimpered.

“I know I’m being possessive,” he said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “But I can’t help it. When I’m with you like this, when it’s quiet and I’ve got you under me, I feel like I’m allowed to want everything. All of it. You.” You melted under the weight of his words, of his body, of his softness cloaked in heat. Your eyes blurred slightly with the burn of it all, how he looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

“I want you greedy,” you breathed. His mouth finally found yours then, deep and warm and searching. One of his hands released your wrist, sliding down to stroke your side, curling around your waist like he didn’t want to miss a single inch of you. You whimpered into his kiss, shifting your hips, needing him closer. He exhaled shakily, resting his forehead against yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered. “Tell me you want me.” You kissed him again, slow and sure, your free hand winding into his curls.

“I always want you.” His mouth opened against yours with a soft sound, like relief, like surrender. And then he was pressing into you, slowly, carefully, as if making space inside your body for everything he hadn’t said yet. And even with how hungry he was for you, how greedy, he held you like something precious. Something his.

—

You felt him everywhere. His hand was back on your wrist, both of yours pinned again above your head as his mouth roamed lower, your throat, the hollow between your collarbones, the swell of your chest. Each kiss left a trail of heat, each drag of his lips a promise he hadn’t spoken aloud. His voice came like velvet through smoke.

“Still want me greedy?” Your breath caught but you nodded. He smiled against your skin, a slow, wicked curve of his mouth just above your breast. “Good. Because I’ve been starving.” He released your wrists just to tug your shirt up and off, slow, reverent, and tossed it somewhere behind him without looking. You reached for him instinctively, but he caught your hands again, holding them to your chest, pinning you there while he looked at you. His eyes dragged over every exposed inch like he was memorizing it, like he’d sketch it from memory later if he had to.

“Can’t ever get enough of you,” he whispered, kissing the curve of your shoulder, the inside of your wrist, the dip beneath your ribs. “Not just your body… but fuck, this body too. I think about it when I shouldn't. Dream about it when you’re not there.” Your breath hitched, thighs clenching around his hips. He groaned when he felt it. His hand slipped lower, skimming the waistband of your panites like a question, one he already knew the answer to. He dragged the fabric down torturously slow, his eyes never leaving yours. “You feel how warm you are? You’re already wet for me. From just a few kisses, yeah?” You nodded, eyes glazed with need. “Nah, say it,” he murmured, mouth ghosting the swell of your tits.

“I’m wet for you,” you gasped. “Always.” That earned a groan from deep in his chest, and then his mouth was on you, hot and claiming. He took his time, kissing your breasts, teasing your nipples with his tongue until you were arching off the bed, hands tangled in his hair, body begging without words. His hand slid between your legs, fingers gliding through your slick, teasing you, opening you. You whimpered, hips canting toward his touch, but he didn’t rush. He circled your clit slowly, drawing out little whines from you like he was playing his favorite song.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your stomach. “That’s all mine, innit?” You could barely speak.

“Yeah...Fuck,T.” He smiled, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“That’s what I like to hear.” And then he was between your legs, tongue flicking against your clit with devastating precision. One arm looped around your thigh, holding you in place, while the other hand slid two fingers inside you, curling until your whole body arched like a bow. You moaned his name, legs shaking, fingers knotted in the sheets. He worked you open with his mouth, greedy for every reaction, every cry, every sharp intake of breath. You could feel yourself falling apart, trembling toward the edge.

“T.” you gasped. “I’m gonna—”

“Just like tha’,” he growled, lips slick against you. “Cum on my tongue, baby.” Your orgasm hit fast and hard, blinding white heat flooding through you as your back bowed off the bed. He didn’t stop, licking you through it, tasting every drop of your release with a reverence that made your chest ache. When you finally slumped back against the mattress, he crawled up your body, kissing your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, your temple. You were still shaking. He settled between your thighs again, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, patient.

“I need you,” you whispered.

“Gonna let me have you?” He purred, waiting for permission he didn’t need because he knew he had it.

“You have me,” You breathed before he kissed you deep. “All of me.” And then he pushed inside, slow, deliberate, groaning into your mouth as he filled you. Your bodies locked together like pieces meant to fit, a slow roll of hips and breath and heat. He didn’t rush. He moved like he had all the time in the world, hips grinding deep with every thrust, every inch a new kind of ache. His hands gripped your hips, then your waist, then your jaw, like he didn’t know what to hold onto first.

“You feel unreal,” he rasped. “So fucking good. Like I’m home.” You moaned, wrapping your legs around him tighter, urging him deeper, faster. The rhythm built, slow and grinding and all-consuming. He was whispering to you again, filthy and soft. “Always this tight for me. Always so good. So pretty when you cum, baby. Gimme that again.” And you did. With his name a prayer on your lips, your body unraveled again, clenching around him, dragging him with you. He cursed, burying himself deeper as he came with a shudder, hips pressed tight to yours, forehead resting against yours. You lay tangled, breathless, glowing in the light that had begun to turn dark amber with the setting sun. Neither of you moved for a long while. Just held on.

—

For a while, the only sound in the room was your breathing, his, yours, tangled together like your limbs. His chest rose and fell slowly against yours, a light sheen of sweat cooling on his skin, his face buried in your neck as if he could disappear into you. You kept your fingers in his hair, scratching gently through the curls at his scalp, still dizzy, still floating. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The silence between you wasn’t empty, it pulsed with everything unsaid but understood. It was full of your breath hitching when he first kissed you. Of the way his hands trembled slightly after you came. Of the way you held him now, arms looped lazily around his shoulders like you weren’t ever planning to let him go. Eventually, he shifted, just enough to roll to your side, though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist. His leg tangled between yours, and his lips pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder before he rested his forehead there.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice wrecked and low. “Baby… you… wow.” He shook his head, a little in disbelief, very much so in love. You smiled softly, brushing your nose against his jaw.

“You’re very dramatic.” You hummed.

“Not dramatic if it’s true.” He smirked but it was earnest. You didn’t reply at first. Just kept tracing slow lines across his back with your fingers, feeling him twitch slightly under your touch, more sensitive than usual.

“You really meant all that, huh? About being greedy for me.” You murmured, after a beat. His brow furrowed, eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

“Of course I meant it,” he said, quieter now, like the honesty cost something. “I’m greedy in every way when it comes to you. Want your attention. Your time. Your voice in the morning. Your hand on my back at night. I…I know I joke, but... it’s real. It’s always been real.” You swallowed, your throat catching a little. ‘Real’ in the way Campbell asked if you wanted it to be. And this was confirmation you did. The tenderness in his voice settled in your chest like warmth curling up beside a bruise.

“I want all of that too,” you whispered. “Even if I maybe don’t say it sometimes. It’s just…” Your voice trailed, hesitant.

“Just what baby?” He tilted your chin up gently, searching your expression. You shook your head, letting out a breath.

“Scary.” He didn’t push. Didn’t rush to reassure you or fill the quiet with noise. He just kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, and rested his cheek there.

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s scary for me too.” The honesty of it, the simplicity, broke something in you. You felt it quietly, how it softened your shoulders, loosened something clenched in your chest. Your hand found his under the sheets, lacing your fingers together.

“But I don’t want to hide,” you said, eyes on the ceiling, voice barely above a whisper. “Not from you.” His fingers tightened around yours.

“Well I’m glad.” And that was it. A light tease. No declarations. No promises. Just that quiet truth held between your hands, warm and trembling. Eventually, he broke the silence with a sigh, nose nudging your temple.

“You still hungry?” he asked, voice still hoarse but joking again. “Or are you just full on me?”

“You’re gross.”You laughed, rolling your eyes

“You like it though.” He grinned, propping himself up on one elbow. You turned into him, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“Unfortunately, I really do.” He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you in close with a smug hum like he didn’t know how else to say the things he couldn’t yet say aloud. And in the hush of your room, skin to skin and hearts slowly steadying, you let yourself believe, for just this moment, that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so scary to want everything. Because he wanted it too.

—

[Tiny Room - Arthur Hill]

It was late. The kind of late where the world outside your windows had gone still, wrapped in navy silence. Inside, everything felt hushed and golden, the lights low, the air warm, scented faintly of your shampoo and something sweet from earlier. You were curled up on the sofa, legs tucked beneath you, fingers idly tracing the hem of the blanket. The television played something soft and forgettable in the background, but your eyes weren’t on it. Not really. They were on him. In the kitchen, Trent stood with one hand on the fridge door, barefoot and beautiful in just his boxers. He’d pulled out something, you couldn’t see, you were pretty sure all that was in there was cold pasta, maybe some vegetables, but whatever it was he was eating it straight from it’s container, fork clinking softly. You watched the shape of his shoulders in the low light, the way he moved like he’d always lived here. Like the space knew him too. You must’ve made a sound, some little breath of a laugh, because he turned, catching your grin.

“Wha’?” he asked, chewing, eyes warm. “Wha’ you smiling like tha’ for?” He mumbled mouth full.

“Nothing,” you hummed, lips pressed together, failing at innocence. Your body burrowing further into the sofa, hiding, childish. God, you loved him. Even if he was stealing your pasta at 1:42 in the morning.

“Nah,” he said, already padding over, placing the container on the counter, moving swiftly back to you. “That’s a something smile.” You sank further into the cushions in an effort to hide like a little kid but all it did was back you into a corner. “Got tha’ ‘look at my man raiding my kitchen but he’s sexy so I’m gonna let him live’ look,” he replied. You tried to glare, but you were fighting back a giggle. The ease of him saying he was ‘your man’ went completely over your head, his too.

“You are so lucky you’re cute.” You smirked.

“Cute?” he rolled his head to the side with faux offense, brows raised. “Cute, baby? That’s all I get?” He raised his hands looking for more.

“Mmhmm,” you said smugly with a shrug. “Very cute, T. Like a mischievous little fox in a back garden, so nothing in the smile. Maybe I was just simply watching as you dig through my fridge like it’s yours.” You teased, lying. He beamed, boyish and smug, closing in on you like prey.

“It could be mine, baby. Got fucking nothing in there,” he said before collapsing onto the sofa, well, sort of. He landed half on top of you, his body heavy and warm and grinning with a breathy, exaggerated ‘ugh’ that was so boyish, so unnecessarily loud, something only a boy would do. The force of it made you squeak, your laugh sharp and delighted as your hands gripped his biceps, stopping him from squishing you.

“Excuse you?!?” You squealed, hands squeezing him as he nuzzled into your shoulder. He just grinned wider, his laugh vibrating through you as he wedged himself in more, completely ignoring your protests. “Baby!” You whined again. “You’re crushing me!” You complained for a third time when he didn’t move, no, in fact he settled in further. Trent huffed dramatically, turning into you more.

“Nah, m’not!” He mumbled against your collarbone, mouth brushing skin in lazy kisses with buttery-soft lips. “Besides you like this anyways. You like when I come over and steal food, make myself at home.” Trent nipped at your neck, making you squeal again and squirm under him.

“Stop!” you laughed. “You’re being annoying.”

“I’m being affectionate,” he said, wrapping both arms around your waist like a human straitjacket, squeezing tight. “There’s a difference.” You squirmed under him, laughing breathlessly.

“Fine, fine…and I also do usually have things in there, but I didn’t think we’d be eating again. We literally just had dinner.” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his neck, unable to stop your hands from slinking around his warm body.

“I’m a growing boy,” he murmured, teasing but cute. “You keep giving me these extra workouts in bed, and I gotta fuel back up, beautiful.” He continued, half serious, half joking. You rolled your eyes, grinning, fingers sliding up his ribs.

“You’re such a flirt when it’s late. It’s like the moon comes up and it drags your cheek up with it.” You kissed the column of his throat.

“It’s there all the time. C’mon now. Don’t act like I’m not charming everyday.” he explained shifting beneath you, to pull you on top of him entirely, kissing your cheek. You rolled your eyes even more dramatically this time with a click of your tongue and shake of the head. “Alright, well, I am when I’m happy at least,” he whispered, kissing just under your ear. “And I’m really fucking happy with you, baby.” That made you still. Just for a beat. Then your lips found his temple, the corner of his cheek, the edge of his smile. Kisses that tasted like contentment, soft and slow and sugar-sweet. His hands found your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt with the kind of ease that spoke of knowing you, really knowing you. Not just your body, but your heart. Your laugh. Your late-night rhythms.

“Wha’ now?” he whispered again, pulling back just enough to study your face. You shook your head, lips curving.

“Just like how nice you are.” You said so sincerely it made his heart skip a beat. Because he didn’t have to think about it being nice to you. He was trying but it also just was genuine. It was easy for him to be nice because it was so easy to love you. Still, he felt relieved to hear you say that. He smiled, all lidded eyes and sleepy affection.

“You gonna let me stay the night? Promise I’ll stay nice.” He hummed back, cheeky. Always.

“You always are nice,” you said, brushing your nose against his. “And when have you ever not stayed?” You asked with a slight tease.

“Yeah, I know, baby. I just..” he whispered, curling into you. “Tonight feels different.” You didn’t answer, not with words. Just a kiss to his shoulder, your fingers tangling in his, your breath sinking into his. He sighed, content, melting further into you. And there you stayed. Wrapped in limbs and laughter, the fridge humming faintly in the distance, the night holding you both like a secret.

The quiet deepened around you. The TV slipped into something even softer, just the glow of a screensaver now, casting pale light over the room like moonwash. Trent’s breathing had slowed, his chest rising and falling against yours in a rhythm that calmed your own. Neither of you had said anything in a while. But it didn’t feel like silence. It felt like a hum, like warmth tucked beneath your skin. The kind of quiet you only got with someone who didn’t need filling. His hand rested low on your waist, thumb moving in lazy little circles, like he was memorizing the shape of you without meaning to. You traced your fingers along the curve of his spine, gentle and slow.

“You tired now, baby?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mmm,” he hummed, nuzzling into your neck. “Only ‘cause you make me comfortable.” You smiled to yourself, your lips curling against the nape of his neck.

“You’re always comfortable. You live in slippers and track suits.” You giggled.

“Nah,” he murmured. “Not the same. Don’t hold a candle to this. Not comfortable like I am with you.” The words settled on your skin like a kiss. You didn’t reply, not with words. Just a slow sweep of your fingertips along the back of his neck, letting him know you heard him. Felt it too. Eventually, he shifted just enough to pull you somehow tighter, his limbs heavy and half-tangled in yours, like he wasn’t planning on moving. You nuzzled into him, your legs braided like you’d been doing this forever. Trent sighed again, that deep kind of sigh that people only breathe when they’re safe. “Sofa’s too small, ya know,” he mumbled, half-lidded, mouth brushing your hair.

“I apologize for not living in a six bedroom house just for one person.” You whispered mockingly with a soft giggle. He chuckled, kissing your head.

“Nah, don’t mind it just could stretch out a little,” he offered. “But now that I’m thinking about it, then I’d have to let you go and I don’t want that.” You felt your heart skip, press into the hollow of your throat. He said it so simply, so softly, like it wasn’t a loaded thing. But it was. Still, you didn’t let it show. You just kissed the skin over his collarbone, letting your lips linger there a beat too long.

“Okay.” you whispered. “I like small sofas because I don’t want that either.” He didn’t answer with words. Just pulled you closer. And you stayed. The both of you melting into each other, surrounded by love and the faint buzz of electricity, limbs warm and tangled beneath the weight of what you wouldn’t say aloud, but felt, fully, completely. You didn’t say it, but it wrapped itself around you anyway. In breath. In stillness. In the quiet way his hand stayed on your side even as sleep took him. Like his body couldn’t bear to forget you were there. And when your eyes finally fluttered closed, his heartbeat was the last sound you heard, steadily whispering what neither of you had yet dared to name.

•

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

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

Next part - Chapter 23 Coming Soon!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #aperture fic

51 notes · View notes