#No one stopped them from flirting this time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ozarkthedog · 2 days ago

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𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

summary: Declan introduces you to a friend.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x afab!reader / Rupert Campbell Black

warnings: 18+ mdni. filth. unspecified age gap. oral sex (m). Declan calls the shots. fingering. edging. no m/m. slight anal play. dirty talk. squirting. rough sex. Rupert pushing the boundaries aka he’s a menace. cuckhold of sorts. male masturbation. cream pie. light, barely there after care. ep 8 spoilers. w.c: 2.4k

author’s note: i'm a Declan girlie but I had to write something feat. Rupert.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Soft golden rays bleed through the aged windows of the O'Hara estate. Its owner, Declan, sits comfortably on a worn chair in the middle of his study. Books and papers litter the room, even on the small sofa adjacent to the chair. As the fireplace crackles, the bright orange flames warm your skin as you kneel naked between your employer's thighs.

Declan groans as he feeds you his cock. His thighs widen, as much as his unzipped trousers will allow, on the tattered chair, giving you more room to swallow him down. His heart beats steadily under his lush brown sweater as you suckle his cock while looking up at him under your lashes.

Declan enjoyed times like these when the house was empty, and he got you all to himself. With Maud gone, leaving everything to Taggie was unfair, so he caved and hired a housekeeper. Little did he realize he'd fall head over heels for you.

You both took your time dancing around one another like nervous teenagers at a school dance. Harmless flirting and late-night conversations over the meals you'd cook for him led to Declan taking matters into his own hands.

He was used to control. He enjoyed it, really. The power felt comfortable, and he had no issue wielding it.

Declan was still on edge one day after a trifling day at Coriniuim. His usual soak and cig in the tub wasn't helping. The radio was blasting ear-aching songs, and the water was getting too cold too fast, but that all changed when you walked in on him with an armful of fresh towels.

He took a chance, one that could've ended with him locked up, but you didn't run. You followed his dubious commands and let him exert his dominance, allowing him to reign over you.

Since then, you two have been inseparable.

"Ah, right on time," Declan notes, looking at the clock perched on the mantle in his study as the large front door creaks open.

Declan mentioned inviting a friend over earlier in the day, but you didn't think he meant now.

The sight of your wide doe eyes makes his gut fervently twist. He's always appreciated someone yearning after what was his, especially an individual so well-loved by the women of Rutshire.

"Don' stop, Love," Declan instructs. His Irish accent dips low as he curls a solid hand around your head when you start to draw back. Your wary, garbled sounds vibrate Declan's cock eliciting a hiss from his lips. He sends you a pensive look and keeps you locked as the steps draw near. "You know I like people ta watch, but I wan' to try somethin' new."

Your heart lodges in your throat. Declan had divulged this kink not long after the two of you began dating. It was harmless fun flirting with other men while Declan observed from the shadows like a deviant; the journalist grew feral until he could no longer hold himself back, scurrying off with you in his arms, leaving the poor target in a stupor.

No one could ever come close to Declan; you never want them to.

"I seem to have come at a rather inconvenient time, have I not?" A pondering English baritone fills the room.

Rupert Campbell Black.

With arms crossed, the affluent man leans on the rustic doorframe. He catches your uneasy gaze with a cheeky smile, prompting a wildfire in your belly.

Declan shakes his head, his thick mustache ticking excitedly, "Not at all. Come in."

You try to move again, but Declan doesn't budge an inch. Your brows knot in confusion as your hands fly to cover your exposed bits as best you can.

"Say hello, ta Rupert, Swee'heart," Declan instructs, his dark chestnut eyes alight with devilry.

Your gaze trails from the man's supple leather loafers and pressed lined slacks to the sepia colored dress shirt that exposes a svelte chest as the top two buttons are undone. Rupert oozes high society and overt confidence, the kind of man you'd go dumb even looking at.

"My, my, where has Declan been hiding you?" Rupert croons. His azure orbs fixate with dark intrigue at your naked, shivering form.

As you greet Declan's neighbor, a slight garbled noise barely registers to the men. Tauntingly, Rupert leans over and puts a hand behind his ear, "Sorry, Angel. What was that?"

Your belly flips, and butterflies flutter carelessly in the wake of being so degraded. Still, your cunt produces a wave of arousal and clenches around nothing.

Knowing he doesn't have much patience, you chance another look at Declan and wish you hadn't. His white teeth bared, and his lips pulled back into a light sneer, like a wolf facing down prey, waiting for you to heed his command.

Declan bites back a moan at the hedonic sensation of you stringing together a messy greeting for the affluent man.

Rupert snickers. "Aren't you cute."

"Thatta' girl." He praises before thrusting his length into your throat and cutting off your air.

He waits for a beat, relishing in the watery glaze that coats your eyes and how your chest heaves. Fidgety hands dig into his darkened slacks, knocking the loose ends of his belt. Drool spills down your chin and settles at the base of his cock.

"Ya know ya waited too long ta give Rupert a warm welcome." He fumes, his expression twisting lightly with displeasure.

With a soft growl, Declan eases his grip. You fall back on your heels, a blight, coughing up spittle and trying to suck down fresh air at the same time.

"Might I say, you've got a real treasure here," Rupert leers down at your messy face and spit-soaked breasts that make your nipples shine in the light. "Lovely to meet your acquaintance."

"Though' you migh' like a taste." Declan offers, looking up at Rupert like you weren't perched at their feet, anxiously awaiting their next move.

"Would I ever." A Cheshire grin tugs at Rupert's lips. He makes a show of folding his button-down sleeves over his muscular forearms as he stalks around you.

Declan beckons you with the tilt of his head, "C'mere, Love. I ain't done wit' your mouth."

You sniffle before taking your place between his knees once more. Declan can sense your worry as Rupert traces a finger down your spine while he crouches behind you. "Don' worry abou' him. He won' do anythin' out of line."

Declan taps his bulbous crown against your swollen lips, drawing your attention away from the blue-eyed beau. His sturdy thighs are a protective shield, enveloping you like a fortress from harm.

As curious fingers tickle your sticky thighs, your lips part with a gasp, allowing Declan to thrust into your warm, wet mouth.

"Jesus Christ, she's soaked." Rupert husks as he softly skims your glistening folds. Your cunt throbs from his unfamiliar touch, coursing a frightening spark of arousal up your spine.

"She's not 'ad much experience." Declan hisses as his crown breaches the tight confines of your throat. Your hand tugs at the thick base that's peppered with dark curls, fingers barely overlapping, pumping in time with his languid thrusts across your tongue.

"You don't say." The Englishman trails off, no doubt thinking of all the crude ways he could defile you.

As you start a slow rhythm, bouncing your head up and down Declan's cock, making the older man unashamedly moan, Rupert swipes his fingers across your seam and gathers all your shiny slick, drawing it up to your clit before lazily circling the tender bud.

Bright lights erupt under your eyelids. Blood rushes south, pooling in your core, heightening your suffocating lust as your body bends to his will.

"Ah ah, Angel." Rupert tsks, grabbing hold of your wriggling hips. His grasp keeps you stock still, unable to evade his voracious touch.

The pads of Declan's fingers press into your scalp as a soft warning. "Be good ta Rupert."

Being pushed and pulled between the two older men was agony of the luscious kind. You only knew of Declan's touch, the succulent highs and lows. The amorous sublime.

A gentle hand glides over your ass before massaging the plump cheek. Your frantic cries are a mumbled mess as you're pushed higher and higher into the pleasurable abyss from Rupert's caress.

He winds two fingers into your core, cursing from your tightness, and splays his dexterous digits along your walls. His thumb lands square on your clit, swiping back and forth with prowess. "So sweet and responsive. Such a good girl." he curls his fingers along your walls, drawing pathetic noises from your chest.

Your body rolls like waves, back and forth between the two men. Rupert's teeth sink into the tender skin of your ass before a gentle tongue soothes the marks and trails down the valley of your cheeks, causing you to choke around Declan's cock.

A wad of spit lands directly on your rosebud just before a wicked tongue ravishes the tight, untouched hole.

Your belly drops at his vulgar touch. No one ever touched you there before. A heavy wave of arousal slips from your cunt as you fight the urgent need for release. Rupert moans hungrily as he laps the rim of your ass.

Your incessant wriggling alerts Declan to Rupert's perverted actions.

"What'd I say, ya daft cunt?" Declan fumes. His mustache twitches as he shoots daggers at the man posed behind you.

Rupert swirls his tongue one final time before leaving your rosebud with a loud pop. "Sorry, chap. I forgot you haven't filled all her holes yet." The tug of his lips says otherwise.

Declan mumbles under his breath and leans back in his chair, focusing on you. "What'a fuckin' sight," he grunts, yanking your tear-coated face off his girth. His large hand completely cups the side of your face, making you feel like a doll with glossy, swollen lips as he stares at you like a man possessed.

Rupert twists his wrist, and your eyes grow wide as saucers. The need to come moves to the forefront of your mind. Declan can tell you're fighting, doing everything you can to hold back as you're slowly dragged to the edge.

Your jaw goes slack, and eyelids flutter; you're willing to endure any repercussions for coming without approval, but then Declan stamps your orgasm out just as quickly as it started.

"No, no, no. Don' be greedy," he tsks, shoving your dumbstruck face back down onto his length.

With Declan's cock stretching your lips and drooling pre cum over your taste buds and Rupert curling his fingers into the spongy spot behind your clit, your nerves scream for release.

The insides of your thighs are soaked, slick from want and a need held so close yet so far away. A soft cry falls from your spit-stained lips as Declan snatches your head off his cock and curves a large hand under your chin, holding you like a precious piece of art.

His opaque orbs sweep across your face, wild and feral; he's on the edge of breaking but holds steady like the stubborn man he is.

"Come on, Declan, let the girl come," Rupert implores to the stoic man holding captive your utmost pleasure.

The corner of Declan's lips tilts. He knows what'll happen. He can see it in your face, how truly gone you are, how nearly close the dam is to breaking.

"Go on, show 'im what he's missin', Swee'heart." Declan encourages, finally allowing you the taste you've wanted all this time.

Your body writhes in their combined hold with unkempt ecstasy as a ravenous cry fills the large study. You come like a geyser, locking like a vice around Rupert's fingers, forcing a curse from his lips as you coat his wrist and trousers with your creamy release.

"Jesus-" Rupert moans, dark and depraved, watching with rabid fascination as your core pulses in time to the beat of his heart.

Declan gathers you into his arms, away from the still man, propping your knees on either side of his thighs. "Sit on the couch and watch," he orders a dumbstruck Rupert before easing you down on his swollen cock.

A whimper catches in your throat from the obscene stretch as his girth widens your channel for the first time that day. Declan grabs your ass and steadily bounces you on his length, helping you rise and fall since your legs have turned to jelly.

"Gone so dumb, ya can' even move," Declan mocks. Coarse whiskers chafe your skin as he nibbles your chin, pouring filthy praises against your jaw, "Still so tight. Maybe two cocks'll do the trick," he drives his girth into your exhausted body. "Wan' your pretty cunt gapin' fa' me."

The seam of his brown sweater grazes your clit on every thrust; the fibers are soft yet overstimulating, your body boils, on the verge of combusting, and there's nothing you can do.

A low moan catches your attention, dragging you from your frenzied state. As you turn your head to find the strange noise, you see Rupert with his swollen cock in his hand, barely out of his trousers. His cock weeps, the bulbous tip pulsing red, while he sucks your juices off his glistening fingers like a man starved for days.

His animalistic gaze bores into where you and Declan connect. You can imagine how obscene it is. Declan's sticky balls thwap immorally against your ass. Sticky sounds bounce off the walls as he draws more slick from your core, staining the base of his cock in a creamy ring.

Rupert's eyes flit to yours. You silently mouth his name, playing with the man who's used the women of Rutshire like a kid with infinite toys. The subtle action pushes the posh man over the edge.

Biting his knuckles, Rupert spills over his other set with a ragged string of grunts. The image sets off a chain reaction. You follow suit, crying as you come around Declan's cock, and dragging your other half with you. Declan's thick brows furrow, groaning his ecstasy as he fills you with ropes of white.

The three of you gradually come down from the hedonistic scene. Your hearts beat to their natural rhythm as the birds outside sing a dusk setting song.

"T'was lovely to meet you, Angel," Rupert flirts, cleaning his cock with a handkerchief before tucking himself into his trousers. "Hope to see you again real soon."

"Fuck off, Rupert," Declan quips, jutting his chin toward the door.

Rupert sends you a wink before rounding the couch and exits with the fattest smile you've ever seen.

Declan mumbles under his breath and curls his arms around you. He tucks your head under his chin, letting you unwind comfortably before the crackling fire.

"Was that okay, Swee'heart?" Declan's asks with softened eyes.

With a satisfied sigh, you snuggle deeper into his hold, seeking the warmth and protective embrace he can only give. "More than."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#declan o’hara #rupert campbell black #rivals #rivals 2024 #declan o'hara x reader #declan o'hara x you #rupert campbell black x you #rupert campbell black x reader #aiden turner #alex hassell

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zepskies · 8 hours ago

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And I'm SO happy you're back, my lovely Wayne!! Of course, you decide to spoil me with this review the minute you dip back into this hellsite. 😘

(yesss, and don't think I didn't see that chapter you dropped of Polaris! When I get back from my vacay I will be diving into that. I need to know what happens next with our favorite cowboy sheriff 🤠)

I'm very glad and grateful you made the time to start ESC! I had so much fun figuring out Russell Shaw and the Tracker cast -- especially with all them Deanisms. 😏

Diving into the rest of your awesome comments below!! 💕

First of, Professor Goldstein is a piece of work... 😒 I wouldn't blame her for spitting into his coffee every time he calls her sweetheart. But Russell, I see you. She's gonna be so annoyed with him 😂

Oh he's a piece of something, all right. 🙄 She could def pull a Rachel on his ass. And Russell...lmao, you already saw where he's heading with this. 😂

Ooooh, another professor character paired with some rugged Mountain Man 😏 I'm addicted to those couples. She's all business up front, and he's all party in the back (seat of his Chevelle) 🤪

LOLL the way it didn't even occur to me when I was writing this (at first) that I was writing another professor paired with a law enforcement (sort of, in Russell's case), man of action type, like in Take Me Home with Beau Arlen. 😝 I came at it with the thought of, "what if she was Dory's best friend, and they worked together at the university?" I must have a thing for writing nerds who get the rugged, sexy Mountain Man. Not at all fulfilling a personal fantasy.

UGH. The nerve!!!!! Massage therapist????? How about I step on your back with my high heels, bro... And then to go on about his trip and parasailing... Guess it's true. Ignorant people are happier 😂

Fuck YES, I'd be high-stepping up and down his spine fr. 🤣 Ignorance is bliss, I guess? 🤷🏽‍♀️

Or why are campuses so big in general? My university actually had several faculties strewn throughout the city. Sometimes it took an hour and several subway rides to get to your next lecture 😅

Oooh my God, now THAT's crazy! A whole subway ride(s)?? I've worked/gone to school on some big campuses, but that takes the cake. I guess you get your daily workout one way or another lol!

Please tell me Russell's in the room when she said that 😄🤞

Big YEP lmfaoo, and he likes her already because of it. 😂

Ooooh, right! I wonder how much she knows about the Shaws. Not something that comes casually up in the cafetaria I imagine 😅

No it would not, lmfao! But that is something that will be explored (how much she knows) in the chapters to come, for sure!

Love this whole exchange. You're making my dreams come true, babe 😘

Ahaha I had to do the little callback to sriracha fries (and figure out how tf to spell sriracha, first of all. 😂)

I keep thinking he probably has that look now because he was in the army for so long. Young Russell was pretty much young Dean Winchester in a uniform (hello there, soldier 😏)

Ooh that's SUCH a good point (and yumm). It's making me hope that we get a flashback of Russell in his military days someday in Tracker.

Well... It's a toss-up, I'd say 😆

Oh, very much a toss up/personal preference there lmao. I've loved Justin Hartley since his Smallville days as Green Arrow. 😆 But in this case, I felt like Russell would try to claim top billing there loll.

In. His. Car 🚩🚩🚩😂 If any strange man said that to you... 🚩🤣

Honestly, it's amazing how many red flags you ignore when someone's charming and handsome. 🤣🤣🤣

Well, at least, Colter has an Airstream 😅🤷‍♀️

Ha!! True, it's beating out Russell's crusty motel of the week by far, I'd say.

He is a professional flirt. Kind eyes...

Oh don't worry, we're getting to that callback. 😏

Dear God, he does not stop, does he? 😆 (On the show, I loved his persistence with Reenie too, even though it was mainly just to annoy Colter. But you captured him beautifully here with this sort of charm 🥰) PS: schmutz, schlep... I love the sprinkles of Yiddish in this 🤓

In fact, he does not! lmfao That was what I loved about it too -- like maybe half of him is serious, and the other half just wants to needle Colter. 🤣

Aw I'm glad you caught that! lol I'm not Jewish, but for some reason it just felt right for these characters. 💜

STOP IT! And he upgraded too!!! 🤣

He absolutely did!! And this time, it actually worked! 🤣🤣

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Gah, this was fabulous! I'm hooked! 😍👏 Are they gonna stay casual? Something about her brooding and reluctance tells me it's not usually her style? Which means, will he eventually settle? Get out of the dangerous hitman-nomad life?

Ooh my goodness, I'm so glad to hear that, friend! You're right. I don't think I full on state it, but "casual" is typically not her style. Also, Russell is Dory's brother, so she doesn't want there to be any weirdness or awkwardness between them if something happened or fell out between the reader and Russell.

She already knows his relationship with Dory is kind of fragile, in that they're still in that "reconnecting" phase. You'll see more of that dynamic and her thoughts in Part 2, but the rest of your questions will most definitely be explored throughout this little series. 😏

And then there's the stories about their respective families. We already know some about Russell's. How is she gonna react if she learns everything? And there's something odd about her private life as well. Can't wait to dive into that bombshell 😂

There's a lot to unpack there, right? There's a great deal that she already knows through Dory, and some things that are going to be revealed along the way...

Zep, my sweet genius Alex, you've outdone yourself once again. Bravo!!! 👏👏👏

You make me blush!! Thank you so much. 😭🥰 If you like this chapter, then I think you're going to enjoy the rest of the series. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write!! 💕💕

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk.

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor.

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.”

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely.

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad.

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

“Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips.

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #lovely review!! 💖💖 (always with you)#a line and a half feedback #ESC-verse

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planetpedri · 1 day ago

Text

All in good time, — Franco Colapinto.

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x Fem!Reader

Summary: When a college student meets her polar opposite in Franco Colapinto, she instantly disliked him. But, Franco was enamored with her and he would get her to like him, all in good time.

Word count: 1.65k+

Disclaimer/s: this is a hockey!au

A/N: this is for @purinfelix and jet only! though i love each and every one of you who choses to read it.. this was. this was ass girl shit i’m sorry i didn’t know where i was going toward the end… i may do another hockey player!franco fic tho but its going to be far more centered around the actual hockey

Franco Colapinto was a force to be reckoned with. Somehow, you’d gotten tangled into his life. When your dorm was being renovated and you needed a place to stay, your roommate suggested her friend’s house—that friend being Franco. A notorious hockey player for the Golden Knights.

He was, in simple terms, agitating. Your two and a half weeks staying in his basement was something close to hell on earth. He held parties, big ones! Ones that interrupted your studying, which he’d half ass apologize for the next morning while nursing a raging hangover, right before asking you to make your signature hangover recipe while he showered.

That was your payment for staying there. You nursed his hangovers and helped him come up with various excuses as to why he was late to practice, even going as far as to go out of your way to tell his coach you’d gotten terribly sick and he had to bring you to the hospital.

Two pea’s in a lying pod. That’s what you were.

In the first week, he’d convinced you to go to the rink to help him practice. You—only ever using figure skates—had a difficult time keeping up with him. You nearly broke a tailbone trying to catch up with him.

Franco held a lopsided grin when he stopped, ice shavings flying as he turned to face you. Though, you saw the concern flash across his face as he skated back in your direction, leaning down to help you up.

“I need an ice pack—“ Your lips formed a thin line, “actually, I need wine and an excuse to get out of this hell.”

The curly haired man laughed, pulling your hand over his shoulder as his free arm looped around your waist. Holding you up, he assisted you back to the bench, setting you down carefully.

Once you shifted to get comfortable, wincing in pain, you untie the laces on your skates. “How do you do this for a living? I’m fucking miserable and we’ve done this once.”

Franco shrugs, leaning his head against the tempered glass that separated the rink from the benches. “Maybe I will just have to put you to work.” His lips threaten a smirk, “if it helps, I do prefer practicing with you than my teammates.”

That wasn’t even particularly a lie. He tried to find ways to get to know you, but you were a tough nut to crack. He tried so hard to find ways to get in your good graces, and forcing you to hang out with him was the only way he could get you to spend quality time with him.

His flirting was what annoyed you the most. You couldn’t stand it, only because it made a weird feeling erupt in your stomach. “First of all, don’t let them hear that. Second of all, I will never do this again. Ever.”

Franco was a convincer. He was good at getting people to do things, and you were unfortunately, not exempt from that. Even when you were back in your dorms, he’d convinced you to join him at the rinks.

You rarely ever practiced with him, simply opting to watch from the stands. You hated to admit it, but you’d grown to enjoy the time spent with him. When he took breaks, he’d explain the rules to you, different tactics they used, various things.

When you’d get so engrossed in conversation, he’d slip in a question about you, that you’d answer without thinking. He was good at getting to know people, but you were a difficult case. He’d found a way eventually, only getting you to talk about yourself when you were so distracted you couldn’t think long enough to stop it.

“Hockey pucks are actually frozen before games to make them move faster and glide smoothly on the ice, so they don’t bounce a lot.” Franco was rambling about different facts, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip in a question he’d been waiting to ask for weeks.

“Seriously? So they don’t just stay rubbery and lukewarm?” The last part was only slightly sarcastic, but the fact had actually surprised you.

“So.. are you seeing anyone?”

“No.” You pause, wait—what? You don’t get an opportunity to ask any further questions because he was already onto the next fact. “Franco!” You snap, interjecting his next rant.

Francos eyebrows raise slightly, “yeah?”

You narrow your eyes, licking your lips. “You just asked if I was seeing someone. Then—you know what. That doesn’t matter, what does though, is that you just slipped in a question that was not like the others you’ve slipped in.” His face contorts and you laugh, “i’m going to law school, I notice tactics like that.”

The hockey players mouth quirks, he wasn’t even slightly ashamed. “Oh, I love how smart you are.” He hums, “I was just curious. If you were, thank the lord you aren’t, but, he wouldn’t like you hanging out with me.”

“Thank the lord? Seriously?” Your eyes roll dramatically. The wooden bench beneath you feels stiff and uncomfortable the more he watched you with his stupidly smug face.

Franco nods, “hey—“ He begins untying his laces, “you should come to my game tomorrow. You haven’t come in a while.”

The topic switch was noticeable, but you ignore it. “I have a lecture late tomorrow. I’ll probably be tired.” But when Franco’s face changes into that familiar doe-eyed expression, you cave. “Fine! I’ll come! Quit looking at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Yes you are”

“No i’m not.”

“Are too!”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

“Are—what?” Your brain stops working, words failing your tongue. Excuse you? “Wait a fucking minute—“

Franco watches you carefully. “Is that a no?”

“No! I mean—“ You were still a stumbling mess. Your mouth opening and clamping shut. “It’s a-well, I mean, It’s a yes! Yes, I will! Jesus, Franco. You couldn’t have asked any smoother?”

He’s smiling, finding your stammering all too amusing… and adorable. It was very cute. “It felt fitting to me.” He shrugs casually, slipping off his skates. “After the game and a shower, the diner you like a few blocks from your dorm?”

That was most definitely something he learned during his not-so-secret questionnaires.

“That sounds perfect.” You huff, “now, can you bring me home? I think i’m developing hypothermia.”

After changing into his regular shoes, he stands, offering you his hand. You take it, though it was with an eye roll. Franco smirks at your reaction, not commenting on it as he helps you to your feet.

“Does your body not ache every time you finish?” You ask as the two of you exit the arena, making your way through the dark parking lot.

You regretted your choice of words the second they left your lips. “Don’t even—“

“I have incredible stamina, actually.” Franco cheeses, slinging his arm around you. You allow it, even leaning into his side.

“You are insufferable.” You scoff, but the twitch of your lips betrayed your feigned annoyance.

The laugh that emits from Francos mouth has a smile growing on your lips, it was a sound you’d grown to enjoy.

Franco opens the passenger door for you, which had you suppressing a smile. It was a gesture he made every trip to the arena, in fact—Franco was very much a gentleman, despite boy boyish he could be.

Only when he was the drivers seat with the engine going and heater ablaze, does Franco finally grow serious. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, I know you’re sort of a people pleaser.”

Okay, ouch?

Franco’s eyes widen, “I didn’t mean it like that!” He says quickly, stumbling for a way to fix what he said.

You’d never seen Franco have to search for words to say. He was always so smooth and, well, he was never one to falter.

“I know what you meant, and you’re right. But, when have I ever gone out of my way to people please you.” You reassure him, a gentle look on your face. “I want this.”

The rest was history. You want Franco had been going steady for months. Whenever you had enough time in your busy college schedule, you went to his games, you were his number one cheerleader and support system.

Hockey had easily become your favorite sport, you knew everything about it due to Franco’s inability to ever stop talking. Thats probably what made the two of you such a perfect pair. You were quiet, he wasn’t. He was your polar opposite, the yin to your yang. And thats what made it work.

When you didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t there to fill the silence. When he didn’t want to talk, you enjoyed each other’s silence.

You had never thought in a million years, the man who annoyed you oh so much, was the same man you would grow to love.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future franco posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @purinfelix @sakashq @hrts4havertz @spidybaby

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x y/n #franco colapinto one shot #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto au #hockey au #blurb #fluff #fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #willaims racing

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nimnia · 1 day ago

Text

𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘

pairing ── kim minji x female reader

summary ── in which she realizes how much of a lovesick fool she has become, and how needy she became because of you.

contains ── wholesome, non idol au, potter job, confession, whipped minji, reader flirt, soft make out, emotional, slight possessiveness

taglist ── @flyingcigarettes

[masterlist]

── ── ꒰ 𓎻 ꒱ ── ──

"oh."

minji mutters as she freezes by the door frame, eyes landing on you standing by the table filled with different types of fresh pottery, obviously made by you. you just place down your current one and turn to see minji blinking as she watches you.

you blink back before looking away, feigning indifference as you walk away to your seat. you sat down and wet your hands with fresh water that you prepared after finishing the last pot you made.

"morning." you greet simply, not sparing her a glance as you grab a good amount of clay before cupping your hand to gather water and pour it onto the dry clay.

minji felt awkward, walking over to the clean area where your bags are resting. she gently places down her bag, removing the headphones around her neck before shoving them into her bag.

she glances at you while removing her jacket, eyes soft as you gently move your hands onto the wet clay, forming them into your desired shape.

she averts away as she hangs her jacket before heading to another table to get her apron. as she wears them and tying the tie on her back, she brushes her wavy hair over her shoulder and rolls up her sleeves.

she walks over to the other seat next to you, sitting down as she presses her feet onto the pedal to check for speed and capability. Satisfied with the perfect result, she glances over at you once again, staring at you for a good minute before clearing her throat as she looks away with flushed cheeks.

"so..." she mumbles, tapping the clean bat as she thinks over what she should converse on. her heart was racing, and loud. she found it hard not to look at you, "uhm.. how many pots have you made so far?"

well, she tries at least. a rather good way to start the day with you, in a way not to annoy you unlike before.

your hands never stopped as you replied, "six of them." minji felt her heart flutter, cursing at herself for being so flustered around you for no particular reason.

she cleared her throat again awkwardly, "right, that's nice." she responded, eyes wandering over her set before noticed something important.

"oh.. i forgot the water." minji mutters under her breath as she takes the bowl and stands up, walking to the sink, unaware of your eyes landing on her back.

taking her time to rinse the bowl and gather water in it, and might as well wash her hands clean, she breathes to calm her nerves. she doesn't know exactly why she felt nervous around you today. she would've understood that she was a bit late today but it felt different.

it has been a year since minji had been hired into her auntie's pottery shop as a potter. the new young adult has been wanting to pay her college tuition with ease, and thankfully, her kind auntie offered her this job with a good salary that could afford her tuition and even her needs.

when she first met you, it was only you that had been working aside from her auntie. after losing some of her auntie's workers due to some personal issues or whatever, you were, basically, the only one that stayed.

minji was grateful to you for staying with her auntie, even if she doesn't know the full story of what happened. and it was obvious that her auntie doted and adored you quite a lot, when it came to minji's thoughts that you were a good person, based on her auntie's endless conversation about you.

when she tries to get to know you, however, you are a bit cold and indifferent towards her, barely sparing her any glances or sometimes take a long time to reply to her questions or talks.

although minji doesn't really mind, she felt a bit sad about being treated like this. but, as she assumed, maybe you don't like people much, aside from her auntie.

it was a long process and effort, but as time went on within a year, she was able to make long conversation with you, though it was just about the pottery, yet she doesn't really care.

it was nice to hear your voice and chat with you.

you were still like that— cold and maybe awkward, but certainly matured and collected— but you have your rare times when you suddenly become a bit clingy or a talker.

it was endearing, in minji's part.

almost adorable.

"minji?" your voice suddenly interrupts her thoughts, snapping her out and turning to you to see you staring at her with a stain of clay over your chin. minji blinks twice, and her face burns flusteredly.

she didn't notice that she had finished gathering water and washing her hands and had sat down on her chair, staring at the bat blankly until she was called by you.

she pressed the back of her wrist against her lips, looking away to hide her red face from you. "m-my bad.. sorry." she apologizes softly as she breathes to calm her nerves against her skin.

her ears turn red when she hears you hum in response, "are you going to start or what?" you say as you stop pressing your feet on the pedal, at the same time the bat stops spinning as well.

minji cleared her throat, nodding sheepishly with a pursed smile. "yeah, i'm starting." she responded, breathing to cool down her burning face and ears. her heart never stopped racing, just to be around your presence was enough to do something with her heart.

as she begins to do her business, you are staring at her with half-lidded eyes, calm in your eyes. it was obvious that minji noticed your gaze, just her eyes wandering around nervously and her hands trembling against the wet clay, she made a small mistake by her thumb pressing down too deep.

"ah-" minji sputters, blinking at the mess she had made. she clicked her tongue in embarrassment, muttering a quiet apology under her breath as she pressed down the whole clay to start over again.

it has been almost an hour before minji finally finishes with a smile. a large pot perfect for large-sized plants with a good amount of space inside the body, minji was satisfied with her work but was embarrassed to see that she took almost 30 minutes just to finish this.

"that looks nice," you suddenly said, making her look up from her work to you standing near the sink, facing her way. but minji's eyes widened to see your white polo's two bottoms were open, instantly looking away from your... uh, pretty cleavage.

her heart raced again, her thoughts were quick to turn into a storm. "c-could you cover up, please..?" she stutters as she is still looking away, heart jumping to hear you walking. she doesn't know if you're walking towards her or away.

"sorry, the clay stained my collar so i cleaned it a bit," you said calmly, wiping your wet hands with your apron, sighing as you blow away the stubborn fringes over your eyes.

minji bit her lower lips, aware of her own ears burning. "r-right.. alright," she mumbled, turning to her work instead before noticing her hair was covered with clay.

"ugh.." she grimaces, about to wipe it away when she notices her hands were completely covered with the same clay. slowly, she glances up to you through her eyelashes, already making eye-contact with you.

her cheeks turn rosy, "um.. could you.." she bit her tongue, unable to keep her trembling voice. but when she hears your footsteps approaching, you walk towards her way with your hand holding a hair tie.

she blinked when the thought, '.. did she prepare that already?' it popped into her mind, and again, her heart raced even more. the thought of you preparing the hair tie already before she says anything was so..

fuck.

she looks down on her lap, ears booming with her heart beating furiously and flushed face as you stop behind her. she couldn't see your face, and she doesn't want to, for the sake of her dignity of maintaining her cool side.

obviously, she was failing quick.

then her shoulder quivered when your fingers gently pressed around her skull, gathering her hair together and basically pressing your stomach on her back. the warmth of your body was quick to spread around minji— and exaggeratedly, around minji's soul and mind.

her breath was turning shaky, eyes clouded as she subconsciously leans back onto your stomach, finding your overall presence and everything so comforting.

behind her, you smile warmly as you gently tie her hair into a pony tail, brushing out her light fringes over her forehead with your fingers. then, you gently take out her side bangs in front of her ears and twirl them almost in a flirty way.

and you just know that minji saw it, just the way her shoulder jumps and her head bowing down with her ears reddening like an apple.

you pull away from her back, but your finger lingers lightly on her neck, your smile softening when minji presses her legs together. "...there, all done," you muttered behind her, eyes glued on her back.

minji felt her sweat dropping, her legs shaking and her ears burning. she was getting crazy and it was because of you. she was getting insane and it was because of you. really— you're turning her into a fool. a lovesick fool.

and she's not even gonna complain!

"t..thanks," minji mumbled, trying to keep her voice normal and her heart calm, but she was failing miserably. her voice cracked in-between, breathing became heavy and her hearing was just filled with her beating heart.

it was so ridiculous.

"mhm," you hum in response, your smile vanishes as you walk away, tending to your drying pots, leaving minji in her overstimulated state. inside her head was full of cursing towards herself, for being so weird around you.

'aah.. shit, i want to confess. i want to say how i feel to her-' she sobbed internally, biting onto her lower lips to stop her eyes from tearing up in frustration. she doesn't know why she's holding back.

maybe it's because of the rejection that you'll give her? or maybe because of fear that you'll think of her as a weird person who likes women? but she only likes you!

no— she loves you. she wants to tell you her feelings. she wants to say that she has never liked a woman but you, she wants to say that you are her first love, she wants to say everything to you.

but it was so difficult, the fear of getting rejected by you would feel so much worse than having a physical injury.

but minji was determined. she will confess. it has been a year ever since her feelings grew so much bigger than she had initially expected, and it was time to release her feelings to you.

she could only pray that you wouldn't hate her after..

─────

minji waited for the day to finish, eyes staring at the sun setting down, replacing with the awaiting white moon. it has been a long day, time consumed just making new different types of pots and bowls, all used for human resources.

although it was fun in most parts, it's tiring mentally and physically. constant thinking on how to detail out the creation, how to shape it perfectly, how to size it, how to make a function on it and others.

however, it's a good part. it's a good thing, really. minji has become more creative and more observant than she has ever wondered of herself. with countless ideas for the clay to be created into a new type of creation, it was certainly satisfying to make it just with your hands and mind.

minji doesn't regret taking this job.

footsteps caught her attention, making her turn to see you standing beside her by the window. with your hands on your side and your tired eyes staring at the beautiful moon, the light shines through the glass and makes your features even more beautiful.

finding herself staring at you like an idiot, she shakes her head to shake away the flustered redness on her face. then she hears a soft inhale next to her, causing her to look at you.

she blinks slowly, eyebrows subconsciously furrowing as she watches you. "is something wrong?" minji asks softly, her voice mixed with curiosity and concern. you were careful to turn to her, eyes meeting each other and it felt like the world was moving too slowly.

minji couldn't turn away from your glistening eyes.

"minji," you begin quietly, barely above a whisper but enough for the same aged girl to hear it clearly. the room was silent, except with the oven humming lowly with the pots warming inside the machine.

she hums in response, eyes turning solemn at the sight of the hidden emotion inside your beautiful eyes. what made you look so sad? she wanted to ask, but in fear of being turned away because she was stepping into your line, she stopped herself.

but what you said next stopped her whole world, eyes staring into her eyes and your voice only entering her ears.

"i like you," you mumble, a small melancholy smile forming on your face. your voice sounded so weak, small and vulnerable. you sounded so afraid, fearful yet longing at the same time. yearning for something.

"i like you, minji." you repeat softly, breathing slowly. "so much so, i could barely try to calm my heart from racing like a maniac." your soft smile quivered, the tone in your voice struck something in minji's chest.

your eyes were soft, and yet your voice held something different. full of warmth and cold— the confidence and the fright. those words are things minji has been wanting to hear in a year, words that she has been longing to hear from you, from your lips.

and the moment she finally got it, tears fell onto her cheeks and her eyes never stopped looking into your eyes.

you didn't move, smiling at her like she was the only one in this world, the only person you have ever seen in your entire life. the feeling of your cold hand slowly and shyly intertwining with hers fluttered her heart and stomach with butterflies.

too much butterflies.

"...say something," her teary eyes widened slightly at the sight of your eyes wavering, the fear and nerves were so visible. it clenched her heart into something. her mouth moved, but she couldn't release any words nor sounds.

her lower lips twitched, teary eyes turning clouded before she pulls you into her arms and buries her face onto your neck, embracing you so tight and securely— almost as if she doesn't want anything to take you away from her.

a soft choke from you was enough for her to tighten her grip around you, heart thumping hard against her chest as you embraced her back. burying your face on her shoulder, hands clawing her back and bodies pressed together felt so whole.

the smell of the clay on you was so entrancing, she oddly felt so welcomed and accepted in a way she doesn't understand how a single weird smell was making her feel.

"...i like you too," minji muttered against your neck.

she could hear your heart beating the same rate as hers, rapid and loud. it sounds like you share and hold the same feelings as hers, the same emotions as hers. it felt so surreal.

"i like you a lot— i... i love you, y/n." her words came out shaky, affection, fear, nerves and love in her voice was so loud to you. her arms around you tightened more, her face pressed up to your neck even more and she has you against the wall.

your heart thumped, the sight of feminine tall body hovering over yours. you felt small yet safe in her arms, warm like a home and warm blanket around you.

the world felt cold, but in her arms, it felt so warm.

you breathe softly, eyes closed as you take in her warm embrace and the feelings she was trying to express with her whole body and her words. the wall against your back felt rough, but her body was soft and fit with yours.

your hands clawed onto her back, nose against her hair and her scent was masking over you. it felt so good, it felt so overwhelming. it felt so safe.

"i love you, i love you." minji chants as she pressed her lips against your neck, hands gripping onto your shoulder and waist possessively yet securely. she wants you in her arms, only you.

you gently push her away, softly smiling at her crying face. you cup her cheeks, and brushes your lips with hers. "i love you too, minji," you mumbled back, eyes soft and half-lidded with an overwhelming love in your eyes.

her heart beats so loud in her ears. your eyes that were once so cold and indifferent had turned softer than a cloud, and truer than the truth. you're more than sincere, and that genuine was making her fall in love with you even more.

how could a lovely person like you ever exist?

where have you been all her life?

you pressed your lips on her lips, softly rubbing your thumbs against her wet cheeks as she melts onto your lovely lips. her ever-so-tight grip around you loosened, finally gripping you with gentleness and affection.

the soft movement of both your lips paces up, lips finding and craving for each other. minji, who felt more impatient than ever, sticks out her tongue and slid them between your lips.

your breath hitched before parting your lips, allowing her to slide her tongue in and explore the warmth. tongues dancing gracefully with each other, head tilting to each side, teeth softly clanking onto each other and bodies even more pressed with each other.

you and minji were just so into each other, the world had completely stopped spinning.

she pressed you against the wall more, chasing your lips greedily and melts into you like melted butter. you tasted so nice, good and wonderful. you smell so good, beautiful and enchanting.

everything about you captures her whole attention, and she would gladly kneel down onto your feet and worship you

those hands that were carving and shaping the clay so gently had turned needy and clawing onto her back, desperate to pull her closer and devour her mouth like a hungry maniac.

the soft moans you erupt sent down hot shivers down her spine, causing her to grow possessive and desperate to claim you as her own. but you're still you— you who would share thousands of parts of you with her, you who would gladly give yourself to her.

for her to love you unconditionally, you would do that.

and unbeknownst to you, minji would do it more than that.

── ── ꒰ end ꒱ ── ──

#newjeans #뉴진스 #newjeans minji #kim minji #minji #kim minji x reader #kim minji x you #female reader #fluff

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wandaslovey · 1 day ago

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𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝓈𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹?

➺ pastors!wife!wanda x fem!reader

wc ~ 3.8k

a/n: part 2 of my “when two wrongs make a right” series. it’s based around their first time meeting. fair warning my lovey’s - this part of the series may seem a little slow in the beginning. i really wanted to build a little background for both the reader and wanda. let me know what sort of things you’d like to see from these two cuties and i’ll try and incorporate them in the coming parts :)

*not proofread*

cw: mentions of an unspecified religion, religious homophobia as well as a bit of internalized homophobia, light undertones of infidelity/cheating, specified age gap (r=20, w=32), smoking cigarettes, reader being a bit of a stalker, wanda being a massive, shameless flirt and bold with a capital B.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ୨♡୧ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

it had been over a month since you moved with your parents to a small town in georgia. they said it was on account of a “fresh start” but you had a gut feeling it was really just because your mother wanted to officially separate your father from mrs. stacey—your old neighbor. your dad never came clean about his affair, but it didn’t matter because your mom wasn’t stupid. mrs. stacey and your father weren’t exactly good at keeping things secretive. whatever. you didn’t care. as far as you were concerned, neither of your parents truly cared about much, including their marriage and including you. they were obsessed with their image, wanting to be the perfect cookie cutter, church-going family. it was all about pretenses. it didn’t matter what was going on behind the mirror because the perfectly angled reflection was all people saw of them.

you had planned for things to be different for yourself once you moved here. for one thing, you didn’t want to be a “church-going girl” anymore. after all, everything that was said only made you have more questions. on top of that, you were supposedly a sinner on account of not being attracted to boys. why would you wanna be some place where people wouldn’t accept you if they knew?

your plans turned to squash when the first sunday you tried to tell your parents, it ended up being an enormous deal—your mom sobbing crying that you were trying to “sever your relationship with god.” you tried to console her for a few minutes, but the more you pushed not to go to the church service, the more upset the both of your parents became. to keep the peace and to quit hearing your mother’s nonsense, you bit the bullet and decided to go.

the whole way to the chapel, you planned in your head exactly what you would say the next time this conversation came up. you were 20 years old. you weren’t going to let your parents dictate whether you wanted to participate in religion or not.

as the three of you arrived to the church, you filed in with the rest of the congregation. you kept your head down, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself. it wasn’t until the pastor began his sermon and invited his wife onto the stand that the fake conversation going on with your parents in your head came to an abrupt stop.

holy sh— you thought to yourself.

you see her for the first time. mrs. maximoff. wanda. you’d learned her name once she’d announced it over the pulpit. she radiated an air of confidence and a surety in herself. you tried to commit every detail of her to memory. her southern accent, the way she spoke, her laugh, her hair, her eyes, her lips, her pretty figure, her well-manicured hands that you could see even from your spot down in the congregation..

from then on, you were infatuated with the pastors wife. there was something about her. something that went beyond her stunning outward appearance. you couldn’t put your finger on what it was, but you didn’t mind observing her for however long was necessary to figure it out. you had a penchant for observation after all.

•

five weeks had gone by, this sunday being the sixth time you get to obsess over wanda in person. your thoughts about the pastors wife had you feeling a little nervous, your tummy filling with butterflies as you think about her. technically, it was wrong to think of another woman this way—right? that’s what you’ve been told your whole life. and on top of that, she was married.

oh to hell with it. it’s not like anything would come of it.

as you stand in the mirror, fussing with your sunday dress, you can’t help but look over yourself once, twice, three times before you finally turn away from your own reflection. the longer you looked, the more flaws seemed to appear, so instead, you take a cigarette out of its hiding place—under the floorboards at the end of your bed—and begin your typical “smoking secretly out the window” ritual.

you needed something to help calm your nerves before you headed to church. especially because today they were doing something called a “linger longer” after the service. it was meant for people to take the opportunity to socialize and eat some finger food after being “spiritually fed.” you didn’t know what that meant, but all you cared about was getting more time to observe the beautiful mrs. maximoff. you very quickly noticed she was quite popular within the church community. she talked with everyone. she was always so spritely and positive—you wondered if it was as genuine as it seemed. not that you would know any time soon. you always left before she could make the rounds to talk to you.

you quickly put your cigarette out in the ash tray and stow it back in its hiding place before looking yourself over one more time and then heading to the church service.

•

wanda noticed you the very first sunday you sat in the pews. she never missed a new couple or family coming in to join their congregation. it was her duty as the pastors wife to get to know everyone. she didn’t mind it either. like a true extrovert, she thrived off of interacting with other people—so to say she was a tad disappointed when she noticed you duck out right after the service before she could introduce herself to you—was an understatement. she met your parents of course who seemed nice enough, but she wanted to meet the pretty girl whom she caught staring at her quite a few times.

every sunday from then on was much the same, she’d catch you staring at her off and on throughout the service. each time she couldn’t help but smirk to herself, wondering what you were thinking in that head of yours. she was instantly intrigued by your behavior and even more so intrigued by the draw she seemed to have to you. without meaning to, she started trying to draw a picture in her head of what type of woman you might be. you seemed reserved yet polite, sweet yet stubborn and bold yet sometimes bashful, especially when she caught you looking at her. you were deliciously difficult for her to figure out and that’s why this sunday, she had made up her mind she was going to pin you down at the linger longer.

•

today was the first time you listened to a sermon and wished it stretched on a little longer. mrs. maximoff was speaking, preaching about the importance of charity. you didn’t disagree with her of course, but it wasn’t so much what she was saying, it was how she said it. you quickly became partial with how she spoke. it was like her tone indicated that everything she said was factual and not up for debate. you admired that quality in her—her ability to speak so profoundly.

she wrapped up her speech and then took her place to sing in the choir for the closing song. your eyes remained on her the whole time. while you couldn’t exactly pick out her individual voice from the bunch, you were sure her singing was the best.

as people filed out of the chapel and out onto the vast lawn that surrounded the church building, you take a moment to admire your surroundings. georgia really was beautiful—very humid, but still beautiful. the lawn was littered with white folding chairs and circular tables with some pink, orange and yellow wildflowers as the center pieces. the colors contrasted beautifully against the long, overgrown green grass and the brilliant blue sky above.

you quickly made your way over to the long rectangle table with food. if there was one thing you learned from being an observant person, it’s that you looked less awkward not socializing if you had a small plate of food in your hand. it wasn’t that you were necessarily anti-social or hated interacting with others, you just didn’t like talking with people who were typically on their moral high-horses.

you exchange pleasantries with a small family who, like you, made a beeline for the food table. you don’t pay much attention to what you put on your flimsy paper plate; some sort of meat kabob, fresh fruit and boiled peanuts. you’d never had boiled peanuts before, but apparently it was one of the food staples of georgia.

turning away from the table, you scan the small groups of people and notice how a lot of them don’t even bother to take a seat at the tables. most people choose to stand in the more open part of the field and chat. you didn’t have to look through the herds of people for long before your eyes land on wanda. she had her head thrown back, laughing at something one of the ladies from the choir had said. her laughter carried through the light breeze that was currently blowing. the sound instantly became one of your favorites to hear.

god, what was wrong with you? you had never become so quickly obsessed with someone before. not even close. the closest thing you could think of was that massive crush you had on sally miller in the 9th grade. still.. that didn’t compare to this.

you begin walking through the cluster of tables, your eyes glancing from her to looking at where you’re walking and then back to her again.

the next 30 minutes was much the same. you briefly sat down at a table, but once more people came to sit with you, you quickly offered your seat up to the last member of a larger family so nobody had to be separated.

no matter where you sat, stood, or walked, your eyes never strayed far from wanda. that was until a kind, middle aged woman came over to talk with you. she was kind enough, asking questions about you and your parents. she seemed genuinely interested in your life, and for that you were happy to talk with her. you learned she had been married for 10 years and her and her husband had been trying for a baby for awhile now, but had run into so many complications. you sympathized with her, understanding that it must be very difficult for something you want so badly to be so painstaking to achieve.

it wasn’t until you exchanged farewells and she moved onto the next person to talk to, that you noticed wanda no longer stood where she was before. in fact, she wasn’t anywhere in the several crowds of people you skimmed through. did she leave? you squint your eyes, focusing in on any short blonde hair you could see in front of you from the place you stood.

“hi there.” you hear drawled out from behind you.

oh my god.

you slowly turn, your eyes falling on none other than mrs. maximoff. you quickly compose the brief surprise that passed over your face.

“mrs. maximoff.” you swallow and tuck some hair behind your ear, offering her a polite smile to mask the squinty expression you had before. had she realized you were looking for her? you hope not..

“oh please, calling me mrs. maximoff makes me feel so old! call me wanda.” she outstretches her arm to shake your hand which you take only after a moments hesitance.

“wanda,” you repeat, your smile growing as you feel her gently squeeze your hand before letting go.

“this is usually the part where you tell me your name, honey.” she smiles amusedly, already thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

“i’m… (y/n), (y/n) (y/l/n).”

“lovely to finally meet you, miss (y/n).” she appraises you, looking you up and down in your cute floral patterned dress. your stomach flutters as you notice her eyes lingering on your figure.

“i met your parents a few weeks ago, but i never got the chance to say hi to you. anyway, i’m real glad we’re finally getting to talk now.” her eyes subtly scan over your features, taking in your pretty eyes, cute nose and full pouty lips. she even noticed the light spackle of freckles across your cheeks and bridge of your nose. she wondered if those freckles were there year round or just for the summer.

“yeah, i um.. i’m not usually one for socializing.” you admit, clasping your hands together in front of you. one of your fingers fiddle with the ring on your left thumb, twisting it around.

“so, (y/n), i have a confession to make.” she blurts, the implication behind her pronouncement making your more on alert. she runs her hand through her perfectly kempt hair before resting it on her hip, trying to appear more casual—though this conversation was rapidly feeling less so.

“oh?” you ask curiously.

“well, it’s just that i’ve noticed you looking at me a fair amount on sunday’s—when i’m at the microphone, singing in the choir, sitting in the pews…but then you never come and talk to me. am i so frightenin’?”

your eyes widen in surprise. you knew you weren’t exactly subtle with your spared “glances,” but was it that obvious?

“what? no, no, no, it’s not that. not that at all. it’s just—well i..” the way she asks has you stumbling over your words. you never meant to offend her. it wasn’t that she was frightening, you just had no idea what to say to her.

she makes an attempt to mask her amusement but can’t help it with your stuttered response. a smile eventually breaks across her face and she chuckles lightly at your trying to explain, finding it endearing.

“oh, i’m just messing with you, sweet thing. no need to get all tongue tied.” her smile was amused and her eyes twinkle with playfulness as she reaches out to touch your shoulder. the action was meant to be placating, but it did nothing more than make you feel more flustered.

“tell me more about yourself.” she says it more as a command than a question, changing the subject and sparing you further embarrassment. you’re grateful for the change in tone regardless of its abruptness.

you shrug, unsure where to begin exactly, but you quickly found yourself wanting to tell this woman everything about you. “well, what would you like to know?”

“what does a cute thing like you get up to?what’re some of your hobbies?” her what appeared to be shameless flirting, surprised you. you mentally kick yourself, thinking she couldn’t possibly be flirting. it was probably just a southern thing they did here…

it was against “god’s plan” to have same sex relations of any kind. that included flirting, didn’t it? and she was married to the pastor for christ’s sake.

although.. at church you did notice that the two of them never seemed to be near to each other at all.. no. you were reading into things. this was just her being polite.

“umm, well, i guess i like to read? mostly fantasy. i’m kind of a closet nerd. i like doing things that are creative, so i’ve been teaching myself to paint and i also make string bracelets or anklets sometimes.. you know, it terms of creative things, um..” you trail off, your hand rubbing the back of your head as you draw a blank. why couldn’t you remember your own hobbies? you weren’t normally so easily flustered or stuttering over your words, but wanda’s confidence and boldness brought out a bashfulness in you that you didn’t even know existed.

she listens intently to your response, nodding encouragingly and she remains silent in your pause to find your words. she wanted to know you better and she could be as patient as was necessary.

“i also like to write.. poetry mostly. i don’t often sit down to do it, but i always enjoy when i do. um, i also love going on walks, listening to music… oh! i love rollercoasters. rollercoasters are probably one of my favorites things.” the longer you talked about what you enjoyed, the looser, less nervous you felt. wanda could see your soft shyness dissipating the more you shared. you light up in a way when you speak, your passion for your interests shining through with your facial expressions and hand movements.

“oh my—rollercoasters? you’re just a little adrenaline junkie, aren’t you?” she teases with a warm smile, her nose scrunching in the most adorable way.

“i wouldn’t go that far, but i do enjoy a good thrill,” you keep your tone light-hearted, mirroring her tone and her smile. her gentle teasing and close attention to you was beginning to make you feel light headed with giddiness.

“what about you, wanda? what do you like to do?” you take a step closer to her, your arm reaching across your chest to grab the other as you continue to feel at ease in her presence.

“anything, really. i like to change things up, keep life interesting. if there’s something new i want to partake in, i seldom hold back from trying it out.” her eyes shine with something you can’t quite put your finger on. you couldn’t help but feel there might be a double meaning to her words, but you could also just be reading into things again. hard to know for sure as you notice her eyes flick up and down your body for the second time since this conversation started.

the two of you continue talking for what only felt like minutes. you barely notice the other people around beginning to clean up food, tables and chairs. it wasn’t until most things had been cleared away that you realize just how long you’ve been standing here talking—nearly a half hour.

“well, i guess i should be letting you get back to the rest of your day,” she sighs, her shoulder raising and lowering with the action. you frown slightly, not wanting your time with her to come to an end. wanda notices of course because just like you were with her, she was paying an awful lot of attention to you.

“yeah.. yeah i guess so.” you nod in agreement, but feel anything but a desire to part from her in this moment.

“hey,” her hand reaches up and gently squeezes your shoulder, her hand lingering there. you feel your heart begin to beat faster, a warmth spreading in your chest.

“can you sing?” she asks randomly. you clear your throat, the sudden question taking you off guard.

“umm.. i’m sorry?” you ask stupidly.

“sing - can you sing?” she reiterates.

“well.. yeah a little, but w-“ she cuts you off.

“perfect! it’s settled then. you’ll join our choir!” her voice is cheery sounding, but the suggestion she made to join didn’t leave much room for discussion.

“i will?” you look at her in slight disbelief, though a smile was also tugging at the corner of your lips.

“mhmm, i don’t see why not. you want to spend more time with me, don’t you?” her boldness was astonishing. you couldn’t decide if you found it endearing, intimidating or sexy.. possibly a combo of the three. she had to be flirting. you finally decided.

“if i say yes, then..?” you trail off, neither confirming nor denying her claim.

“if you say yes then you’ll be nothin’ but honest, and you wanna be honest with me, don’t you (y/n)?” she raises her brows inquisitively, the hand that was still lingering at your upper arm squeezing again.

“that’s very bold of you to assume.” you challenge, your normal wit finally coming out to play. you couldn’t help it. her insistence on being so unabashed and teasing was rubbing off on you.

“well i have eyes, don’t i? believe it or not, i put ‘em to good use.” she drops her hand from your arm and crosses her arms over her chest.

“i noticed.” you purse your lips, your eyes dancing with playfulness as you hint at the fact you’ve caught her looking you up and down a couple times.

she smiles wide at your matching her energy, but she couldn’t help but want the upper hand back, no matter how much she was enjoying this new side of yourself.

“i won’t apologize for gawking at a pretty, young thing like you.” she smiles triumphantly when she notices your dignified posture slump slightly, the most delicate blush coloring your cheeks.

“you don’t have to apologize,” you say quietly, your words surprising you as you say them aloud instead of just in your mind. you look down and off to the side, wanting to hide the heat spreading across your cheeks.

“well we should both get goin’, but choir practice is every tuesday and thursday at 7pm. i wanna see you there, (y/n).” she reaches up presses her palm against your cheek so you’re looking at her again. she locks eyes with you with an edge of what appears to be sternness.

you nod slowly, captivating in her stare. she smiles, pleased and then drops her hand from your face.

“great, i’ll see you then, sweetheart.” she taps your nose affectionately, before turning on her heel and walking away. you watch her figure retreat to the parking lot, your head spinning a bit as your interaction played through your head.

•

as you arrive home late that afternoon, you can’t fight the smile that kept spreading across your face or the butterflies that never seemed to stop fluttering around in your stomach.

when you lay in bed at night to go to sleep, your conversation with wanda kept going through your head. you wondered what it all meant. she had to be flirting—but it was that very fact that had you confused. didn’t she herself subscribe to the belief that being gay was a sin? did she feel it was as wrong as the people in the church say it is? what would her husband think? what would he do if he found out about your conversation today?

the more you thought about it, the more unsettled you felt. before you could truly start to spiral though, you remember wanda’s smile and her contagious laughter. you think to yourself how good it felt to be with her, how warm you felt inside and how at ease she made you feel after a short while.

how could something something so bad, feel so good?

#when two wrongs make a right: series #w2wmar #southern wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you

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glitterymarshmellowfem · 1 day ago

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Your young niece came to stay for a couple of weeks. You never really liked her. She was such a goody-goody and soooo religious. Well you owed your sister a favor, so you said okay, besides you thought it would give you a time to remold her.

The first night was nauseating, her always quoting scripture, refusing a glass of wine and wearing those frumpy clothes. You smoked around her constantly, but she was a xtian and she just said she'd pray for you. The second day you started to spike her food with booze. She never noticed, and even enjoyed the food. The third day for dinner you prepared a spicy dish and she kept drinking glass after glass of vodka spiked punch. Poor girl was so drunk, by the end of the meal she was consuming a glass of wine, saying she enjoyed it. From there on out every dinner had wine and not water and she would ask for a refill.

The fourth night you prepared a big dinner and then retired to watch a racy old flick where everyone smoked. and the women drank wine. As you both drank wine she asked if she could have a cigarette. You gave it to her, she lit it, coughed but got used to it. You kept small bowls of cigarettes in every room and you noticed her helping herself. By the sixth day, you both lingered at the kitchen table smoking and you asked her if she wanted an after dinner drink other than wine. You gave her some cognac. She thought it was good.and took her third glass into the tv room where you watched an old flick that had an anti-religious message. She excused herself and took her drink to her bedroom where she smoked and drank.You thought, well the religion's going to be a bit harder. On your way to bed, you peeked into her room and she was passed out with a bottle in her hand and a full ashtray. You covered her and let her sleep. She didn't come down to breakfast until late. She apologized for being late. She no longer made much attempt to cover up, just wearing her full coverage bra and panties with a cigarette in her hand. You mentioned how she needed a new bra, which she did, so you suggested you go lingerie shopping your treat. She jumped at the idea. You went to Victoria Secrets and bought her lovely racy demi-bras with matching panties, some of them thongs and some really soft sexy baby dolls. She liked it all going out wearing a set.

You suggested lunch at a tavern and as you ate, you noticed her eyeing men. You made comments about each one and she would agree or disagree. As you sat finishing off your bourbons, you noticed her chain smoking and discreetly playing with herself. You excused yourself to go to the restroom. On the way, you paid a handsome man to go flirt with her. You were gone for twenty minutes and upon your return, you saw him sitting close to her with his arm around her shoulders and both smoking and laughing. They had several empty glasses in front of them. The man got up to leave and gave you back your money saying it was his pleasure, besides she gave him her phone number.

As you walked down the street she passed a woman's fashion shop stopping to look at a mannequin in a short skirt and tight top. You both went in and she came outwearing the outfit with a pair of long black boots and her old clothes in the garbage can. That night after dinner you watched a soft porn flick.

On day nine she came down in her shortie baby doll, with the matching thong panty. First thing she did was reach for a smoke, but just had coffee for breakfast. She was scrolling on her phone and you noticed she was looking at dating sites. Her phone rang and it was the guy from the tavern. They made a date for tomorrow night. You brought out a hairstyles mag and she interestedly looked at the pics. She asked if you had a fave salon cause she wanted to get her brunette hair colored. You made an appointment and paid for her dye job and mani-pedi with one inch nails. That night when you went into the tv room she saw the DVD case of a hard core porn flick and she said she'd want to watch it. You agreed, but first you needed some toys. You brought out two dongs and she thought that would be fun. By midway through the movie both you ladies had thoroughly soaked dongs in your pussies. When a lesbian scene came on she started hitting on you. You never made it to the end of the movie as you were both up in your bed eating each other out. You brought out your harness and pegged her virgin ass. After initial discomfort she enjoyed it.

Day 11, she spent working on her ass with two other dongs. That night she changed into her boots, short skirt and open blouse, Her date picked her up. They had dinner, went barhopping and she ended up in his bed, getting both her ass and pussy fucked. You thought you could skip going back to that ant-religious flick for two reasons it was Sunday morning by the time she came home and never mentioned church and you found her bible in the trash can.

Day 12 you did more clothes shopping and she chose some really slutty fashions she said for another date, but this time with the first guy's friend. She didn't come home until day 13 at 10:00am. And you asked how the date with the guy went. She sat down at the table after poring herself two shots of whiskey and lighting a smoke and corrected you; she said guys. Turned out out this guy had three roommates and when propositioned to take all four she said yes. She said she was soooo proud of herself for satisfying all four of them as she was gang banged. You finished day 13 in your bed pleasuring each other.

Day14 started and you said goodbye to your now slutty niece in a tight leather outfit and boots you bought her with her tits greatly exposed. You felt so proud of yourself as you watched the slut walk away with her ass tightly outlined wearing her stilletto boots with a cigarette in hand. You invited her back anytime.

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abbysimsfun · 2 days ago

Text

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 92 (Conrad's First Love)

cw: Conrad getting pretty spicy 🌶️🌶️🌶️ and not with Heather; references to human and drug trafficking (not depicted).

Follows the events of this post.

As she passed him to put away her gloves, a stunning redhead at Pappy Murphy's Boxing Gym caught Conrad's eye. Though he'd been deep in another bout of anger and self-pity over the death of his mother years earlier, he stopped his workout. Every inch of his being compelled him to talk to her.

She turned with a smile before he could stammer a single word. "Hi, handsome. Did you want a better look?"

He nervously introduced himself and she told him her name. "Ximena." The word floated from her lips like a song. He was instantly smitten.

"Ximena, could I buy you a drink?"

They spent the day in a local pub. He told her everything about his mother's death and his distance from his father in the years since. She listened, but she had a lot less to say about herself. "I live here with my brother. I'm a student, and I'm the only caretaker he has. Our parents aren't around anymore, and it's been just Rafa and me for years."

He could hear an accent when she spoke, and most people in Britechester weren't locals, so he made an assumption. "How long since you moved from Selvadorada?"

Surprised by his guess, she turned defensive. "I don't talk about Selva."

He liked her too much to press and push her away, so they spent the rest of the day flirting and discussing their interests until Ximena invited him back to her place. "You make me laugh, Conrad Gordon. My brother's still at school and I want to get to know you better without all this noise. I hate the music they play in here."

Once Conrad followed her out of the bar and back to the small home she shared with her kid brother, Rafa, he started following her everywhere.

He lost his virginity to her a week after they met. That night, she told him why she left Selvadorada.

"I was going to die or they were going to kill me. I wouldn't let them sell me to anyone anymore, so I made a plan and left with my brother in the middle of the night to come here."

She showed him the scars left by the cartel, and a resolve to keep her safe coloured his already steadfast affection. He let her cut his hair when she said she wanted to show him how freeing it felt to change his look. "It's nice not to recognize the person in the mirror, sometimes," she said.

She told him she was a student, often meeting him at Larry's Lagoon to study but usually distracting him into other activities. One afternoon, she introduced him to an old friend, Jimmy Stefano. "Can you help him out around campus? You're in the same major."

Something about Jimmy Stefano rubbed Conrad the wrong way, but he assumed it was jealousy. Despite this, he would already do anything for Ximena and agreed to take Jimmy under his wing.

He called his father to say he planned to stay at school for Spring Break. "Sorry, I know I said I'd come home to see you."

Stephen Gordon laughed him off, but masked slight disappointment. He had no idea whether his son was flourishing or floundering at college, unsure how he'd been coping so far from home. "Don't worry, son. I'm just glad you sound happy. You're making me and your mother proud."

He skipped classes to spend time with Ximena, but made no mention of this to his father, of course. He spent time with Rafa when Ximena said she had late-night classes, taking him to the park to play pirate captain versus sea monster, and talking endlessly with him about video games.

Rafa wanted to become a pirate captain in Sulani or a game tester in San Myshuno. He had almost no memory of life in Selva before his sister left, but he knew it was "the bad place." He liked spending time with Conrad because he said his sister was too strict. "She just loves you," Conrad assured him. "Parents have to set rules, and she can't just be your sister. She has to care for you like a parent, too."

He realized then how important it was to be a model for Rafa, who needed guidance as much as anyone his age. Conrad had always had his father, but who did Rafa have besides Ximena?

Conrad discovered how she paid for an entire house for her and her brother by accident, stumbling on an argument between her and Jimmy Stefano near the campus fountain. "The deal was thirty pounds for three grand."

"They said if I didn't have five grand they'd only give me fifteen. They had guns, Ximena."

"They all have guns! Knives, too. Get your own and figure out how to use it. Watcher, please, don't screw this deal up for me, Jimmy."

"Who has guns?"

"The cartel," said Jimmy, so nonchalant, yet it still hit Conrad like a missile. His stomach turned as he read Ximena's expression. Every lie she'd told him unravelled with a look.

"Are you really a student here, Ximena?"

"No. They're my customers."

He'd had his suspicions, but he'd always told himself he was wrong. Ximena was supposed to be perfect. Hoping against hope, he still tried to play the fool. "What do you mean?"

She dragged him back home to tell him the truth - how she'd bargained with the cartel to escape a life of servitude to the men who ran product all over Simlandia. She refused to serve them, but her way out was to join them instead.

Conrad was angry, but he couldn't stay mad at her for long. As they lay in bed that night, she asked, "Are you going to break up with me because of what I do?"

"Not a chance. I love you."

"I love you, too." She smiled, resting her head on his chest as he ran a hand through her newly blonde hair. "You look nice without glasses, Conrad."

"You already gave me a haircut, Xime. You don't like glasses?"

"Conrad, you're very sexy. But you hide it and it's silly."

"If you're going to give me a makeover, what should I get you?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Ximena, I want to give you everything you could ever want."

She blushed. "I want you, Conrad. But since I already have you, maybe...jewelry? Like a ring."

"You don't wear any rings."

"Because none are special enough, Conrad."

He smiled. "Alright, that's one idea. But say I wanted to surprise you, what else did you want?"

"You could join me running product for the cartel. Our lives would be made, and we'd always be together."

"I don't want to run product for the cartel, Ximena. But I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be there for you. Rafa, too."

"Right, but what if I go? Rafa loves you, Conrad, almost as much as me. But what if the cartel moved me somewhere else? Would you come with me? Maybe you could be, like, my security. No running, just keeping me safe. Always with me and Rafa."

He'd do anything to protect her, but he didn't answer her that day, refocusing on his studies until he returned to San Myshuno at the end of the semester.

He'd missed his father more than he expected, and they went for walks in warm sunshine by the Spice Market. They talked about school, and Conrad talked about Ximena - leaving out details of her career and focusing instead on her relationship with her brother. Conrad rarely asked his father about work, but Stephen hinted he was inching closer to retirement. "Chester's daughter Nancy is ready to take over the company, but Chester's not quite ready to retire. I think she's plotting a coup, but you didn't hear that from me."

"What happens to you if she pushes out her own father?"

"Hopefully, a retirement package. Chester may not be ready, but I think I am."

On one of their walks, they passed a jewelry store, and Conrad made a beeline for the ring counter. A confident salesman smiled as the Gordon men walked inside. "Welcome. What are we shopping for today?"

"I'm just looking," Conrad said. "What rings do you have?"

The salesman beamed. "Are we thinking of an engagement?"

Stephen eyed his son carefully, but Conrad shook his head. "Not right now. Just like, for an accessory."

"I don't know, son. A ring says you're ready for forever."

Conrad took his father's words to heart, considering what forever with Ximena might look like. He wanted to be with her, but he wasn't ready for a ring. He left that day with a nice bracelet for her, instead.

"Even leaving with a bracelet as nice as that one...she must mean something. I'd love to meet her."

Conrad nodded. "She might be able to visit this summer, if she's not too busy with work," he said.

Stephen smiled and the Gordon men continued their walk, strengthening the bond nearly severed by grief before Conrad returned to Britechester for another semester. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOT FUN FACT: Conrad got crab lice from Ximena when they slept together for the first time, which is gross but also fitting I guess. And yet I didn't make it canon because it didn't quite fit the vibe. Plus, he wasn't supposed to find out that early on that Ximena was problematic.

WCIF Poses Used? Various from packs Old Souls Love Differently by @simmireen (when Ximena is blonde), Our First Time by @eclypt0sims (redhead), The Kiss by @simmerberlin (black hair) and Nights Like These by @sakurasims-world (also redhead).

WCIF Jewelry Store? Jewelry Store by Guinifere on the Sims 4 Gallery. Very elegant interior and comes with crafting tables, a vault, charging stations - very nice lot! Needs dressing up with completed jewelry on the counters and in displays to look really spectacular (and I of course went the lazy route), but I wouldn't if I was playing a retail career, and this is a great lot for someone who wants to be a jeweler!

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #flashback #britechester #san myshuno

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joydoesathing · 21 hours ago

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do you have any fun facts abt michael and wilma’s romance?? i rly like them

well, i can give you the exact dynamic they have going on XD

from the beginning of their romantic relationship, michael would be the one who is always visibly smitten by wil. he would flirt with her whenever he gets the chance, give her daily words of affirmation and so on so forth. and wil on the other hand would be all stone-faced, nonchalant or give witty or snide remarks to these acts, most people would wonder if they're really engaged or not

(because seeing mike being seemingly constantly ignored/put down by wil when he's being all lovey-dovey is really painful to watch, but mike swears it's fine)

basically the straightwoman and her idiot partner

but when michael stops being flirty and noisy and genuinely not in a good mood, that's when wil would start to worry. what makes her worry even more is if mike doesn't feel like talking to her

you see, she's complete ass at reassuring and comforting people, so when michael goes moody, she has little to no idea what to do and she knows that if mike's in a foul mood, it can last a while.

of course, nothing can make mike more happy than seeing his fiancee being so endearingly pathetic and helpless towards him, since most of the time their dynamic is him being the idiot and her being the pragmatic one.

actually, the reason why he even puts up with wil's constant ignoring and sarcastic remarks to his flirty advances, is related to that "gratification" he gets of making wil lose her general composure. tearing down that stoic and arrogant disposition she always has to reveal a utterly helpless side to his fiancee-

OK, that's enough horny intrusive thoughts from Michael

#ask stuff #that's not my neighbor #genderbend #au stuff #mia stone #dr. w. afton #thats not my neighbor

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a8arkives · 3 days ago

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Giiiiirl, your fave pazzi moments and photos!! Spill

hmm, there’s so many that it’s so hard to choose 🙉

• the first one has to be Barclays Centre Pazzi™ — there was just so much excitement because, at the time, it was a question of whether A and P were even going to attend, considering that they both had been attending so many events at that point.. but alas, our girls showed up and showed out 🙂‍↕️

it was the source of one of my favourite photos and moments of them, as well as one of my favourite princess outfits:

not to mention, the amount of people who came out and said that, even across the court from each other, they couldn’t stop looking at one another — this was so reminiscent of Mystics Game Pazzi™ — and then came their post-game interactions

• this leads me to Mystics Game Pazzi™, imma just insert this tiktok because it sums up that entire interaction well

them making faces at each other from across the court? a non-fan clocking them? and then, again, their post game interactions? azzi had absolute heart eyes during that interview

• their sue’s place interview and the blatant eye flirting 😭 it was so cute how it almost seemed as if they were the only two people in that room at that moment… nothing is gonna do it more for me than some intense eye contact

• “and azzi fudd, of course, wearing a paige bueckers jersey”

• ✨The 2024 WNBA Draft✨

the entire draft was A Moment™ that i cannot miss from this list — i don’t really have much else to say about it except that it was “A Moment™” and that, as far as pazzi moments go, this one is so very dear to me 😂

• last one for the sake of keeping this quite short and sweet, but their hugs 🥹 it’s something about them being in each other’s arms and seeing that look of contentment on their faces that makes me melt.. i mean, look at them and look at these! so, so cute and precious

there are so many other moments including their entire summer shenanigans (because i simply cannot choose one singular moment from that era), and etc., but because i’m limited to ten photos per post, imma leave it here for now

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi

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literaryvein-reblogs · 9 hours ago

Text

Writing Notes: The Master Fiction Plot

Lester Dent's "Master Fiction Plot", often referred to as the "Lester Dent Formula" is a widely circulated guide to writing a saleable 6,000-word pulp story.

This is a formula, a master plot, for any 6000-word pulp story.

It has worked on adventure, detective, western and war-air. It tells exactly where to put everything.

It shows definitely just what must happen in each successive thousand words.

The business of building stories seems not much different from the business of building anything else.

Here's how it starts:

A DIFFERENT MURDER METHOD FOR VILLAIN TO USE

A DIFFERENT THING FOR VILLAIN TO BE SEEKING

A DIFFERENT LOCALE

A MENACE WHICH IS TO HANG LIKE A CLOUD OVER HERO

One of these DIFFERENT things would be nice, two better, three swell. It may help if they are fully in mind before tackling the rest.

A different murder method could be--different.

Thinking of shooting, knifing, hydrocyanic, garroting, poison needles, scorpions, a few others, and writing them on paper gets them where they may suggest something.

Scorpions and their poison bite?

Maybe mosquitos or flies treated with deadly germs?

If the victims are killed by ordinary methods, but found under strange and identical circumstances each time, it might serve, the reader of course not knowing until the end, that the method of murder is ordinary.

Scribes who have their villain's victims found with butterflies, spiders or bats stamped on them could conceivably be flirting with this gag.

Probably it won't do a lot of good to be too odd, fanciful or grotesque with murder methods.

The different thing for the villain to be after might be something other than jewels, the stolen bank loot, the pearls, or some other old ones.

Here, again one might get too bizarre.

Unique locale? Easy.

Selecting one that fits in with the murder method and the treasure--thing that villain wants--makes it simpler, and it's also nice to use a familiar one, a place where you've lived or worked.

So many pulpateers don't. It sometimes saves embarrassment to know nearly as much about the locale as the editor, or enough to fool him.

Here's a nifty much used in faking local color.

For a story laid in Egypt, say, author finds a book titled "Conversational Egyptian Easily Learned," or something like that.

He wants a character to ask in Egyptian, "What's the matter?"

He looks in the book and finds, "El khabar, eyh?"

To keep the reader from getting dizzy, it's perhaps wise to make it clear in some fashion, just what that means.

Occasionally the text will tell this, or someone can repeat it in English.

But it's a doubtful move to stop and tell the reader in so many words the English translation.

The writer learns they have palm trees in Egypt.

He looks in the book, finds the Egyptian for palm trees, and uses that.

This kids editors and readers into thinking he knows something about Egypt.

Here's the second installment of the master plot.

Divide the 6000 word yarn into four 1500 word parts. In each 1500 word part, put the following:

FIRST 1500 WORDS

First line, or as near thereto as possible, introduce the hero and swat him with a fistful of trouble. Hint at a mystery, a menace or a problem to be solved--something the hero has to cope with.

The hero pitches in to cope with his fistful of trouble. (He tries to fathom the mystery, defeat the menace, or solve the problem.)

Introduce ALL the other characters as soon as possible. Bring them on in action.

Hero's endevours land him in an actual physical conflict near the end of the first 1500 words.

Near the end of first 1500 words, there is a complete surprise twist in the plot development.

SO FAR:

Does it have SUSPENSE?

Is there a MENACE to the hero?

Does everything happen logically?

At this point, it might help to recall that action should do something besides advance the hero over the scenery.

Suppose the hero has learned the dastards of villains have seized somebody named Eloise, who can explain the secret of what is behind all these sinister events.

The hero corners villains, they fight, and villains get away. Not so hot.

Hero should accomplish something with his tearing around, if only to rescue Eloise, and surprise! Eloise is a ring-tailed monkey.

The hero counts the rings on Eloise's tail, if nothing better comes to mind.

They're not real. The rings are painted there. Why?

SECOND 1500 WORDS

Shovel more grief onto the hero.

Hero, being heroic, struggles, and his struggles lead up to:

Another physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist to end the 1500 words.

NOW:

Does second part have SUSPENSE?

Does the MENACE grow like a black cloud?

Is the hero getting it in the neck?

Is the second part logical?

DON'T TELL ABOUT IT***Show how the thing looked.

This is one of the secrets of writing; never tell the reader--show him.

(He trembles, roving eyes, slackened jaw, and such.)

MAKE THE READER SEE HIM.

When writing, it helps to get at least one minor surprise to the printed page.

It is reasonable to to expect these minor surprises to sort of inveigle the reader into keeping on.

They need not be such profound efforts.

One method of accomplishing one now and then is to be gently misleading.

Hero is examining the murder room.

The door behind him begins slowly to open.

He does not see it.

He conducts his examination blissfully.

Door eases open, wider and wider, until--surprise!

The glass pane falls out of the big window across the room.

It must have fallen slowly, and air blowing into the room caused the door to open.

Then what the heck made the pane fall so slowly?

More mystery.

Characterizing a story actor consists of giving him some things which make him stick in the reader's mind. TAG HIM.

BUILD YOUR PLOTS SO THAT ACTION CAN BE CONTINUOUS.

THIRD 1500 WORDS

Shovel the grief onto the hero.

Hero makes some headway, and corners the villain or somebody in:

A physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist, in which the hero preferably gets it in the neck bad, to end the 1500 words.

DOES:

It still have SUSPENSE?

The MENACE getting blacker?

The hero finds himself in a hell of a fix?

It all happens logically?

These outlines or master formulas are only something to make you certain of inserting some physical conflict, and some genuine plot twists, with a little suspense and menace thrown in. Without them, there is no pulp story.

These physical conflicts in each part might be DIFFERENT, too.

If one fight is with fists, that can take care of the pugilism until next the next yarn.

Same for poison gas and swords.

There may, naturally, be exceptions.

A hero with a peculiar punch, or a quick draw, might use it more than once.

The idea is to avoid monotony.

ACTION:

Vivid, swift, no words wasted.

Create suspense, make the reader see and feel the action.

ATMOSPHERE:

Hear, smell, see, feel and taste.

DESCRIPTION:

Trees, wind, scenery and water.

THE SECRET OF ALL WRITING IS TO MAKE EVERY WORD COUNT.

FOURTH 1500 WORDS

Shovel the difficulties more thickly upon the hero.

Get the hero almost buried in his troubles. (Figuratively, the villain has him prisoner and has him framed for a murder rap; the girl is presumably dead, everything is lost, and the DIFFERENT murder method is about to dispose of the suffering protagonist.)

The hero extricates himself using HIS OWN SKILL, training or brawn.

The mysteries remaining--one big one held over to this point will help grip interest--are cleared up in course of final conflict as hero takes the situation in hand.

Final twist, a big surprise, (This can be the villain turning out to be the unexpected person, having the "Treasure" be a dud, etc.)

The snapper, the punch line to end it.

HAS:

The SUSPENSE held out to the last line?

The MENACE held out to the last?

Everything been explained?

It all happen logically?

Is the Punch Line enough to leave the reader with that WARM FEELING?

Did God kill the villain? Or the hero?

Excerpts from Marilyn Cannaday's biography of Lester Dent, "Bigger than Life: the Creator of Doc Savage" (Bowling Green State University Popular Press, c1990), transcribed by Jason A. Wolcott, 1995.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding

#plot #lester dent #writeblr #writing reference #spilled ink #on writing #dark academia #fiction #writing inspiration #writing ideas #creative writing #writing advice #writing prompt #literature #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetry #writing resources

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foreverisntenough · 10 hours ago

Text

‘Movie Night’

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

Index:

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

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

Disclaimer: No one is crazy about him atm, me included, so this is strictly for my readers and my readers only. I don’t condone his behavior at all -Just let me finish out this fic please. Don’t come for me. I’m only a girl with a google doc whose spent hours upon hours and days on end on this fic

Chapter 10 - So Different | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.4k

Trent laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a storm he couldn’t quiet. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound jolting him momentarily out of his haze. Jack’s name lit up the screen, but Trent didn’t move to answer it. He couldn’t. The guilt was suffocating. Every time Jack called, every time Trent saw his name flash across his phone, it felt like a knife twisting deeper into his chest. He couldn’t face him. Couldn’t lie to him. Couldn’t explain to his best friend that the reason he’d been distant wasn’t some random funk but the unbearable heartbreak of losing you. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. He was coming to realize, you were his person, his peace, the one he went to when everything else felt like too much. And now, you were gone, and Trent didn’t know how to function without you. Since that night, he’d gone completely off the grid. He showed up for training, went through the motions, and then went straight home. He couldn’t bring himself to see anyone, to pretend he was okay when he wasn’t. His chest ached constantly, a dull, throbbing pain that he didn’t know how to soothe. He thought about you constantly. The way you’d cried, the way your voice broke. The look in your eyes. It haunted him. He replayed it over and over, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Was it the secrecy? The guilt? The fear of what Jack and the others would think?

You hadn’t said, ‘Why don’t we just tell them?’ And so, he hadn’t. He’d been too afraid, too consumed by the what-ifs. But now, lying there in the quiet of his room, he wondered if things could have been different if he’d just had the courage to say, I love her. I don’t care what anyone thinks. His phone buzzed again, and he turned his head to look at it. Jack was calling again, and for a fleeting moment, Trent considered answering. But what would he say? How could he explain that he was grieving the loss of you, the girl he was never supposed to fall for but couldn’t help loving? He turned his face into the pillow, the tears coming unbidden. He missed you so much it hurt. He missed your laugh, your smile, the way you made him feel like the best version of himself. He missed the way you fit perfectly in his arms, the way your lips felt against his. He missed you. But he couldn’t have you. He’d made his choice that night, torn between his desire to console you, to pull you into his arms and make you stop crying, and the guilt and fear of Jack finding out. He’d walked away, and now, he was paying the price. Trent closed his eyes, his chest tightening with the weight of it all. He felt like he was losing both of you—you and Jack. He couldn’t talk to his best friend about it, couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t even pick up the phone. He was trapped in his own guilt and heartbreak, unable to see a way out. Day in and day out, he lay there, caught in a trance, replaying every moment, every word, every touch. He didn’t know how to move forward without you, didn’t know if he even wanted to. All he knew was that he’d never felt this way before, and he wasn’t sure if he ever would again.

You weren’t fairing all that well yourself. You curled up on your bed, muffling your sobs into the pillow, hoping the sound wouldn’t carry through the walls. But Jack had already noticed. He’d been noticing for days—the way you avoided him, the lack of your usual energy, the way your eyes always looked on the verge of tears. Jack wasn’t one to pry, but this time, he couldn’t stay silent. You heard the knock at your door, a quiet but firm tap, tap, tap.

“Y/N?” Jack’s voice was soft, cautious. “Can I come in?” You froze, wiping your face quickly, though you knew it was pointless.

“Yeah,” you croaked, your voice betraying you. The door creaked open, and Jack stepped inside. His expression shifted instantly when he saw you, eyes red and swollen, clutching your pillow like a lifeline. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, taking it in.

“Come here, what’s gotten into you?” he asked finally, his voice gentle as he opened his arms. You hesitated, guilt twisting in your stomach, but the look on his face broke you. Slowly, you got up and walked into his embrace. The moment his arms wrapped around you, the tears came again, harder this time, like a dam breaking.Jack held you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back. “Hey, you’re okay,” he murmured. “Just breathe for me, yeah?” You tried to, but the sobs kept coming. After a long moment, Jack pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he searched your face. “What’s going on, Y/N? Talk to me. Who’s got ya like this? Is fucking Josh again?” The question hit you like a truck. Who. Not what. He already knew this wasn’t about work or anything trivial. He knew it was someone. You shook your head, pulling away from his touch, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled. “I’m fine. Really.” Jack’s brows furrowed, his concern deepening.

“Y/N, don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. I’m your brother. Just… tell me who it is, and I’ll sort them out.” He cooed with a sympathetic smik. You laughed weakly through the tears, the irony of his words hitting you. If only he knew.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Jack stepped closer, his hands gentle on your arms.

“Why not? You know I’d do anything for you, right? Just tell me, and we’ll fix it together.” You shook your head more forcefully this time, the guilt washing over you in waves. You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him. Not when it was Trent. Not when it was his best friend. Not when it would ruin everything. Not when you had betrayed him.

“I just can’t, Jack,” you said once over, your voice cracking as fresh tears streamed down your face. “I’ve already lost so much over this. You’ll be mad and I can’t lose you too.” Jack’s face softened, but he still looked confused, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle without all the pieces.

“Y/N, you’re not gonna lose me,” he said firmly. “You can tell me anything, you know that.” But you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk it. Jack was all you had left, and if he knew the truth, you weren’t sure you’d survive the fallout.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, stepping back toward the bed. “I just… I need to figure this out on my own.” Jack looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he sighed and nodded, his hands falling to his sides.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But if you change your mind, I’m here, alright? Always.” You nodded, biting your lip to keep from breaking down again. When he finally left the room, closing the door behind him, the silence felt deafening. You sank back onto the bed, your heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. You made a decision then. You couldn’t keep doing this—to yourself, to Trent, to Jack. The guilt was eating you alive, and the secrecy was tearing everything apart. It was time to end it. For good.

The week of silence was unbearable. Days stretched into nights, with every moment consumed by guilt, longing, and the reality of what you had both built under Jack’s unsuspecting gaze. For so long, you’d tried to ignore the weight of it all, but now the cracks were too wide, the guilt too heavy. You couldn’t breathe. When you finally stood on Trent’s doorstep, your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. You hadn’t texted or called; you’d just shown up, your emotions too raw for words. Trent opened the door, his brows furrowing in surprise when he saw you standing there. His hair was still damp from a shower, his face soft and unguarded.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice laced with concern. “What are you—”

“We can’t do it anymore,” you interrupted, your voice trembling, already on the verge of tears. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” The words hit him like a blow to the chest. For a moment, he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Just..” He couldn’t even talk before he instinctively reached for you, pulling you into his arms. You collapsed against him, the weight of your words crashing down as sobs racked your body. His strong arms held you tightly, his hand cradling the back of your head as if he could shield you from the pain you were feeling. “Don’t say that,” he murmured into your hair, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t say that.” But you couldn’t stop.

“I can’t keep lying to Jack,” you whispered against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt. “I can’t keep lying to myself. This… this isn’t right, T. It’s not right.” Desperation flickered in his eyes as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears.

“I know,” he admitted softly, his voice filled with sorrow. “I know it’s not fair to you. Or to him. But…” He trailed off, his words faltering under the weight of his emotions. The silence between you was heavy, the tension palpable. And then, as if drawn together by some unseen force, his lips found yours. The kiss was desperate, full of unspoken words and heartbreak. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, your fingers tangling in his hair as you poured everything you couldn’t say into that moment. Before you knew it, the two of you were in his room, tangled in his sheets, your bodies pressed together as if trying to erase the distance that had grown between you. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a last-ditch effort to hold onto something slipping away. When it was over, the silence returned, heavier than before. You lay in his arms, your cheek pressed against his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. He pressed a kiss to your hair, a soft hum escaping him. The tenderness in that simple gesture broke something inside you. You sniffled, tears slipping down your cheeks once more.

“This has to be it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Okay?” You whimpered.

“Okay,” he replied, his voice low and full of sadness. He tightened his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple. “But Y/N… can you just stay though? Just for tonight?” He meekly asked you, his tone desperate. Your breath hitched as his words hit you.

“Trent…” You cautioned him already struggling to will your body away from his.

“I didn’t know it’d be our last night,” he continued, his voice trembling. “And I just… I just want to remember it right.” You nodded silently, your tears soaking into his skin. You didn’t have the strength to say no, not when he held you like that, not when you could feel his heart breaking beneath your hand.

“This isn’t right,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible. But Trent didn’t respond. He couldn’t. All he could do was hold you tighter, his silence speaking volumes. The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of goodbye hanging heavy in the air. You knew this was the end, but for now, in this fleeting moment, you allowed yourselves to pretend that it wasn’t.

The morning was heavy with unspoken words as you pulled your clothes on, trying to keep your composure. The air between you and Trent was thick, weighted with everything that had gone wrong and everything that still felt so heartbreakingly right. As you made your way toward the door, Trent followed, his steps slow and hesitant, like he was trying to draw out the moment.

“Y/N, Stay,” he said quietly, his voice cracking just enough to break your resolve. “We can figure this out. Please.” You paused, your hand resting on the doorknob, your back turned to him. Tears threatened to spill again, but you fought to keep them at bay. You didn’t want to cry anymore. You didn’t want to feel this ache that had embedded itself so deeply into your chest.

“Please don’t make this harder,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you turned to face him. The look on his face nearly destroyed you—his eyes filled with a mix of desperation and heartbreak, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides.

“I’m not trying to make it harder,” he said, taking a step closer. “I just—this, us—it means something to me. You mean something to me. I can’t…” His voice faltered, and he exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. “I can’t let you go like this.” You shook your head, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“You’re saying that because we’re behind closed doors, T… but that’s not the problem.” He shut his eyes, his jaw tightening as if the words physically hurt him. You knew he wanted to say something, to fight back, to convince you that it didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together. But deep down, he knew you were right. As you reached for your bag, something poked you in the side, reminding you of what you’d brought with you. A lump formed in your throat as you pulled it out, the tattered book of poems looking smaller in your hands than it had when you first tucked it away.

“I forgot…” you started, your voice barely audible. “I want you to have this.” You extended the book toward him, and he hesitated for a moment before taking it from you, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch sent a jolt through your body, one final reminder of what you were about to lose. “I’m sorry for what I said the other night,” you said, your voice breaking as fresh tears began to blur your vision. “You are the furthest thing from nothing to me. You are everything, in fact. You are it all, T.” His hands shook slightly as he took the book.

“Please don’t do this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. When he looked up at you, his eyes were filled with a pain so raw it made your chest tighten. “Don’t go. I’m begging you.” You couldn’t stop the tears now, and they fell freely as you took a step back, creating the distance you knew you needed to survive this.

“I have to,” you choked out. His hand clenched around the book, holding it close to his chest like it was the only piece of you he’d have left. Trent’s fingers trembled as he turned the fragile pages of the book, the faint scent of aged paper filling the air. It didn’t take long until he started to notice the black ink penned in a handwriting he’d only seen a number of times in birthday cards. His head was almost hurting because he couldn’t place it. It wasn’t yours. His eyes scanned the handwritten notes in the margins, each word was a delicate imprint of your mum’s love and care, left behind like breadcrumbs leading back to her. The book flopped open on it’s own by its worn seam to a page you’d pressed the flower he’d given you the other week. His heart hurt more than his head at that moment. And then he saw it—why you’d marked the page - a line your mum had circled and underlined, her handwriting curling beside it with a note that seemed to reach through time:

'Even though we never said it to each other - We knew'

'Always reminds me of you and TAA—tell him one day, okay?'

His breath caught, his chest tightening as though the air had been stolen from the room. His grip on the book wavered, his fingers brushing against the daisy you had carefully pressed between the pages, a small but profound reminder of the park, of the simple, unguarded moments you shared. The lump in his throat was unbearable as he felt the weight of everything—the love, the grief, the guilt—all crashing down at once.

“I know this didn’t work, but…” You stood there, knowing he’d read it, barely holding it together, your voice breaking as you forced yourself to speak.

“Stop,” Trent cut you off, his voice shaky but insistent, the emotion barely contained. His movements were deliberate as he placed the book down on the counter, as if it were sacred. Then, with no hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, like letting go would shatter him completely. “We’re not doing this,” he murmured against your hair, his voice breaking. “We’re not nothing. I know we’re not. You know we’re not… She knew we weren’t. Y/N please.” The conviction in his words only made the ache in your chest swell. You buried your face in his chest, tears spilling freely now, soaking into his shirt.

“I’m so scared, Trent,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You felt like in a way you’d disappoint your mum in giving up this but it was terrifying to love him. He was no longer a school boy, he was larger than life. “I’m so scared I’m just the girl of the season to you. That I’ll lose you, Jack, everyone. I can’t do this again. I can’t…” You confessed amidst your tears. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, his hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you even closer.

“You’re not,” he whispered fiercely, the words shaking with emotion. “You’re not the girl of the season. You’ve been the girl of every season. My only season. You’ve been every single one.” His words cracked something deep inside you, but they didn’t erase the fear. You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, your tears making the world blur around you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice breaking on every syllable. “I don’t know how to keep everyone happy and not lose you at the same time. I feel like I’m losing everything.” His hands came to rest on either side of your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as his forehead gently touched yours. His voice softened, but it carried an unshakable strength.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, his words wrapping around you like a lifeline. “We don’t have to have all the answers now. Just stay with me, baby. We can sort this.” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you shook your head, the weight of the situation suffocating you.

“This isn’t right,” you whimpered, your voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “None of this is right.”

“Stay,” he begged softly, his voice raw and unguarded. “Please don’t leave me like this.” You sobbed into his chest, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you in the storm of your emotions. His grip on you tightened, his own tears threatening to spill as he pressed a desperate kiss to your hair. You nodded through your sobs, too broken to speak, your hands clutching at him like he was your last tether to hope. But even as you let yourself sink into the safety of his arms, the doubts lingered, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on both of you. The unsaid love was there, undeniable and unrelenting, but so was the pain, and neither of you knew how to make it stop. Trent looked at the book carefully, his fingers trembling as he reached towards it with one hand. a centimeter of the daisy still delicately pressed inside sticking out. His eyes lingered on it for a moment before turning to you, his gaze steady despite the rawness between you both. “Keep this,” he said, his voice soft but resolute as he picked it up. “She left more in there than an annotation about me.” He smiled sympathetically at you. He’d glanced at the pages before his name appeared, and although it was brief he understood your mum purposefully left this book for you. It was a way for her to communicate with you, to support you through situations you might face after she was gone. “You keep all the other stuff. I don’t need any more if I know she was on board because I’m not going anywhere… that’s all I needed to know.” His certainty was like a balm against the ache in your chest, but the weight of everything still loomed heavy in your mind. You shook your head slightly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But if this doesn’t work… T, I can’t” you started, the fear in your words palpable. Trent stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, catching a stray tear.

“Then I’ll still be here,” he told you firmly, his voice tinged with quiet determination. “I just told you. I'm not leaving.” His words wrapped around your heart, pulling at every fragile piece of you.

“But how can you be so sure?” you whispered, your voice breaking as you searched his eyes for answers. “I didn’t mean for this to be a guilt trip. I just wanted you to know…” You babbled as your tears ran down your cheeks. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice steady and calm.

“It’s not… And… I know… because you’re it for me. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ll try, yeah?” You nodded sheepishly, your heart warring with your fears, but his certainty felt like a light in the darkness. “Gonna give it a try, hmm?” he asked softly, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a tender kiss. This time, your nod was more sure, a small smile breaking through the tears.

“Okay,” you murmured. And in that moment, with the weight of the book in his hands and the promise hanging between you, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward.

The next morning, the doorbell rang, pulling you out of your thoughts. Jack had already left for work, leaving you to shuffle to the door, still in your pajamas. You opened it to find not one but four massive flower arrangements towering in front of you. You blinked, confused, as the delivery man smiled politely and gestured for you to sign.

“Someone really likes you,” he remarked, handing you a small card after you’d awkwardly squeezed the arrangements inside. The arrangements were stunning—each one so different. One was a soft white and cream, delicate and elegant. Another burned bright with orangey-red hues, vibrant and warm. The third was lush with deep greens, earthy and grounding, and the last shimmered in an unexpected blue, rare and calming. You stood there for a moment, staring at the kaleidoscope of colors, trying to piece it together. Then you opened the card.

'To the girl I’ve let wait too many seasons—will you please let me take you out for a proper date?'

You laughed through your tears, the emotions of the past weeks bubbling over at once. The note continued, listing specific details about when and where he wanted to meet you, but you could barely read through the happy blur in your eyes. It was so him, so thoughtful, and yet so immediate—like he couldn’t stand another second without making his words from the night before a reality. The concept of girl of the season really was about his football season but the fact that flowers went beyond that. It was one for each season of the year; spring, summer, autumn, and winter. All there to signify, you were more than just a football season to him and he wanted you to know that. You held the card to your chest, tears still slipping down your cheeks as giggles broke through. He had acted quickly, proving he meant every word, every promise. Trent was asking, not waiting. Not hiding. This time, he was yours, out loud, in full color. And all you could think was… finally.

When Trent typed your address into his phone to send the delivery, his chest tightened with a familiar pang of guilt. It wasn’t just your address—it was Jack’s too. That nagging feeling of betrayal washed over him as his thumb hovered above the screen, memories from years ago creeping back unbidden. He could still hear Jack’s voice, clear as day, as if it were happening all over again. They were in Jack’s room, sprawled out after school, the usual banter bouncing around the group. A newer guy to their circle, loud and brash, had just moved to town and had made an offhand remark about you after seeing a picture on Jack’s phone.

“Is this your sister, mate? Fuck off! She’s well fit,” the guy had said, smirking. It wasn’t even a serious comment, but Jack’s reaction was immediate and sharp.

“Oi, Off-limits,” Jack had snapped, his tone firm and brooking no argument. He glanced around the room then, making sure everyone understood. “If that wasn’t already clear, no one moves to Y/N.” There was a beat of awkward silence before Noah, always the one to push a joke too far, broke it.

“Come on, mate! What if she likes us? Girls move to me! What if she moves to me, huh?” He teased. Jack didn’t even crack a smile.

“Nah. If she has feelings for ya, too bad.” Trent had sat quietly on the edge of the bed, his face carefully neutral, but the way Jack’s eyes flickered toward him didn’t go unnoticed. It was subtle, just a moment, but it lingered. Jack’s expression softened briefly before he looked away.

“Maybe…” Jack muttered under his breath, something unsaid hanging heavy in the room. But then, just as quickly, he turned back to Noah, snapping back into his usual banter. “But she’s not interested in you, mate. You’re a charity case.” The rest of the room burst into laughter, and the moment was gone, buried under their usual teasing. But Trent hadn’t laughed. He had felt something then, a pang of disappointment mixed with the quiet realization that Jack knew. Maybe Jack didn’t know the extent of it, but he’d always known there was something unspoken between you and Trent. And now here Trent was, years later, actively crossing the line Jack had drawn so clearly. He wasn’t a clueless teenager anymore, and the weight of what he was doing—and who he was risking—felt heavier than ever. But then his thoughts shifted to you. The way you’d looked at him the night before, your voice shaking as you’d told him he was everything, even when you thought you were losing him. That was enough to push the guilt aside, if only for a moment.

You called Layla that morning from your bedroom, your voice still thick with emotion but tinged with something lighter-relief, excitement, maybe even disbelief.

"When I tell you I was sobbing," you started, gripping the the edge of your dresser as you tried to steady your voice. "I was a mess, Layla. But then —he literally sent me flowers today. Like four arrangements. Four!" You explained. Layla didn't even pause before diving in, her tone pitched halfway between glee and exasperation.

"Finally! I've been screaming 'about time' since the first time you finally hooked up! That man's been fucking you for ages and he's just now asking you on a date?" She fell into giggles. You couldn't help but laugh, your cheeks heating even as you rolled your eyes.

"Layla! Can we not put it like that?" You tried to fight back a laugh.

"But I'm right!" she shot back. "It's been this whole dramatic saga of hiding and sneaking and you ending up crying at all hours because he's scared. And finally, he's putting it out there. I'm sorry, but I'm thrilled." You sighed, glancing at the arrangements.

"It feels... so different this time. He said he wants to do it right. He called me the girl of every season." Your voice cracked on the last few words, the weight of everything hitting you all over again. Layla softened instantly.

"Oh, babe. That's what you've wanted to hear, yeah? That he's sure. That he's not just scared of what Jack and the boys think but ready to fight for you." She cooed. You nodded even though she couldn't see you, tears pooling in your eyes.

"It's just...so much. I feel like I'm still holding my breath. Like, what if it's too good to be true?" You asked her sheepishly.

"Then let him prove it's not," Layla said firmly. "You've already been through the worst of it. Let him show you he's ready for the best of it." You sniffled, wiping at your eyes.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but...l think he is. Is that bad?” You asked her hesitantly hoping she’d almost lie to you if she felt otherwise. But Layla answered honestly, always.

"No. This is good, Y/N, I can feel it," she said. "I''m so happy for you. Now we just let him sweep you off your feet properly. And wear something hot. You deserve to make him sweat." She told you very matter of fact and your mind began to work in overdrive after that imagining what you possibly had in your wardrobe that was fit for the occasion of all occasions; your first proper date with your brother’s best friend.

When the evening came, getting ready for the date felt surreal. You’d spent so long imagining this moment, and now that it was happening, the weight of it settled over you like a heavy, fluttering blanket. The mirror reflected your carefully chosen outfit, but your nerves made you question everything—was it too much? Not enough? Layla’s voice echoed in your head: Make him sweat. When the doorbell rang, your heart lurched. Trent was at your house. For a date. You opened the door with a shy smile, and Trent’s reaction stole whatever breath you had left.

Trent had stepped out of the car, his heart already thudding in his chest as he approached the front door. For a split second, he hesitated, the weight of everything—Jack, the years of denying his feelings, the risks—hitting him all at once. This was your house, but it was also Jack’s house, and the lines between those roles had always blurred in his mind. You weren’t supposed to be this person for him. You weren’t supposed to be his. But when the door opened, and you stepped out to greet him, all of that disappeared. Everything—Jack, the past, the unspoken boundaries—faded into nothing. All that was left was you. And you were breathtaking. He blinked, stunned, as his eyes drank you in. You were wearing a black Saint Laurent mini dress that clung to your figure in all the right ways, the fabric draping elegantly across your body. The deep V neckline hinted at so much but revealed just enough to keep it tasteful, leaving him completely undone. The simplicity of the dress only heightened how stunning you looked, and Trent couldn’t believe this was the same girl he used to see in oversized jumpers and trainers, lounging on Jack’s sofa. You didn’t look like Jack’s sister anymore. You didn’t even look like the girl he’d been secretly pining for all this time. You looked like his.

“Wow,” he finally managed, his voice low and a little hoarse. He shook his head, clearly taken aback as his eyes swept over you slowly. He couldn’t stop staring, his gaze trailing from your perfectly styled hair down to the way the dress skimmed your thighs, then back up to meet your eyes. “You look…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if trying to find the right words. He didn’t even finish the thought, just stepped closer and brushed a hand down your arm as if grounding himself.

“I look…?” Your nerves melted a little at his touch, and you dared to tease him. He smiled, leaning in to kiss your temple.

“You look perfect. Unreal…” He cooed. A shy smile crept across your lips as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, feeling the intensity of his gaze. Trent took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he reached for you.

“You don’t look like…” He stopped himself, realizing how ridiculous it would sound to say, you don’t look like Jack’s sister right now. Instead, he smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned in closer. “You look like you. But more. If that makes sense.” Your smile widened, your cheeks flushing.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, trying to ease the tension that was crackling between you. But Trent didn’t laugh. He couldn’t. His eyes were too busy tracing the way the soft lighting from the porch framed your face, making your features glow. You weren’t just beautiful—you were magnetic. “Let’s go,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something more than affection—something closer to awe.

“Hold my hand.” His words were so simple, but the warmth in them settled your nerves as you slipped your hand into his. His fingers gently brushing yours before intertwining, his grip reassuring. He gently tugged on your hand, pulling you toward him as he bent down to kiss your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. And as he led you to the car, his heart racing and his mind whirling, all Trent could think was how wrong he’d been to ever believe you were off limits. You weren’t just something he wanted anymore. You were something he couldn’t imagine letting go. As you walked toward the car waiting outside, the weight of the situation loomed again. You hesitated, beginning to voice your lingering fear. Your anxiety if you should even be holding his hand here in front of the house skyrocketing.

“Are you…?” You began to speak but Trent didn’t let you finish.

“Yeah, I’m really sure.” His voice was steady, his gaze unwavering as he glanced down at you. He traced his thumb along the back of your hand, his certainty radiating through his touch. The tension in your chest loosened, and you let out a soft hum of approval.

“Okay.” You leaned in, kissing his shoulder as the two of you reached the car. Trent smiled down at you, opening the door with care. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something real.

The restaurant’s ambiance was a perfect blend of understated elegance and intimacy. The flickering candlelight reflected off the polished wood of your table, casting soft shadows that danced across Trent’s face. The low hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter from other diners barely registered; your world felt narrowed to the man sitting across from you. Trent was watching you intently, his eyes never straying far from yours. It was as though he was memorizing every detail, every expression, and every shift in your mood. You took a sip of your wine, savoring the moment, but before you could set your glass down, Trent leaned forward. His thumb gently brushed the corner of your mouth, catching a droplet of the deep red, his touch light but deliberate.

“Got you,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. His thumb lingered for a few seconds longer. You blinked, caught off guard by the tender gesture.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible as your cheeks heated. You ducked your head slightly, shy under his steady gaze. But Trent wasn’t about to let you retreat into yourself. He leaned across the table a little more, his hand moved to hold for your chin. His fingers tilted your face toward him, his touch as soft as his voice.

“Look at me, baby,” he said gently, and when you lifted your eyes to meet his, he gave you a small, reassuring smile. Then, before you could overthink it, he closed the gap between you. His lips brushed against yours in a kiss so light it felt like a question, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in, your heart racing as the kiss deepened for just a moment before you pulled back with a nervous giggle.

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip. “That was… woah, you had me…. That was a lot...” You laughed shaking your head. You weren’t sure what planet you were on. He had pulled you into this world tonight that felt so surreal. He’d never done that to you before, kissed you in public, flirted with you at right while you sat across a table from him, it was all so confusing, and yet, he looked calm as ever. His movements were slow and deliberate. But then Trent chuckled, leaning back in his seat, but his hand stayed on yours, his thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“Was it now?” he teased, his grin playful. You smirked, trying to compose yourself.

“How many girls have you done that to?” you asked, your tone light but with a touch of curiosity beneath the joke. Trent raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended.

“What kind of question is that?” He asked you. His smile now sickened handsome and taunting.

“An important one,” you shot back, your grin widening. He held up his hand, palm out like he was swearing an oath.

“Hand on heart, I have never wiped someone’s face. Not like that.” He told you. You narrowed your eyes at him, skeptical.

“Sure,” you drawled, the sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“I swear,” he said, leaning forward with a laugh. “You can ask anyone. I’ve never done that before.” You shook your head, trying to hide the way his words made your heart flutter.

“Right,” you muttered, looking down at your plate to avoid his gaze. The restaurant around you felt like a cocoon. The warm lighting and muted colors created a sense of privacy, even though you knew other people were dining nearby. It was hard to tell if his choice in restaurants that felt hidden was intentional or if it was just your perception, but either way, it was okay. The world outside might as well not exist you were so transfixed on him tonight. You had recently got to spend a lot of time with Trent but really getting his undivided attention at a dinner had your head spinning. And apparently that internal chaos was something he could feel.

“Stop overthinking,” Trent said suddenly, his voice breaking through your thoughts. You looked up at him, startled.

“I’m not.” You smiled softly trying to just act normal but you couldn’t.

“You are.” He smirked, his fingers sliding across the table to intertwine with yours. “I can see it all over your face.” You sighed, letting your thumb trace over his hand in return.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted. “This just… it feels surreal.”

“Surreal good or surreal bad?” he asked, his tone soft but his expression serious.

“Surreal good,” you said quickly, meeting his eyes. “Definitely good.” He smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Good,” he said simply, squeezing your hand. The rest of the evening unfolded in a blur of easy conversation and quiet laughter. Trent kept finding ways to touch you—his hand brushing against yours, his knee bumping yours under the table, his fingers trailing lightly over your wrist when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Each touch felt deliberate, like he was grounding himself in the moment. By the time dessert arrived, you’d forgotten about everything outside of this little bubble you’d created together. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t worried about what came next. You were just… happy.

Just as the waiter placed dessert on the table, your eyes drifted across the restaurant, scanning the room out of habit. That’s when you saw him—a player from Manchester United, someone you vaguely recognized. It took a moment to place him, but when you did, your stomach dropped. He wasn’t just another footballer. He was someone who was friends with Josh. And worse, he also knew Trent. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table as a wave of anxiety crashed over you. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but it didn’t matter. The possibility that he might put two and two together made your throat tighten. Your heart raced as your mind spun through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“Everything okay?” Trent’s voice cut through the fog. He’d been reaching for his fork, but now his full attention was on you, concern flickering in his eyes. You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual. Trent didn’t buy it. His hand reached across the table, covering yours.

“What’s wrong, baby. Is this not what you wanted?” He asked. You weren’t sure if he meant the dessert you just ordered or tonight in general, and while you thought you wanted both before now… you weren’t sure. You hesitated, glancing back toward the other player, who was now laughing with his group, blissfully unaware of your presence.

“It’s nothing,” you said, your voice quieter.

“Y/N,” Trent said firmly, his hand squeezing yours. “Talk to me.” You looked back at him, his steady gaze grounding you for a moment, but the weight in your chest didn’t lift.

“Someone we know is here..” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Who?” Trent’s brows furrowed, his body tensing slightly as his protective instincts kicked in.

“Some lad on Man United… I think you know him,” you said, your eyes darting nervously toward the man again. “But he knows Josh… and he knows you.” Trent’s jaw tightened, and his grip on your hand shifted, his thumb stroking over your knuckles in a soothing motion.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “And?”

“And he might recognize me,” you blurted out. “Us. Together.” Trent leaned back slightly, his expression softening as he pieced together your anxiety.

“You’re worried about people finding out.” He cooed softly empathizing with your fear. This was a big change to go from stolen kisses in the kitchen to sitting out in public together. You nodded, your stomach twisting.

“This whole night has been amazing, but… I don’t know if I’m ready for this. For being public. For the questions, the stares, the judgment. I mean, what if Jack—” you began to babble, faster more panicked.

“Stop, pretty girl.” Trent interrupted gently but firmly. “Breathe for a second.” You took a shaky breath, but your chest still felt tight. “Look at me,” he said, his tone steady. When your eyes met his, he leaned forward, his expression open and earnest. “I get it. I do. This is… a lot. And if you’re not ready, we can figure it out. But right now, it’s just us. No one else matters.” He told you in a tone that Trent reserved solely god you. It was commanding but incredibly weak all at once. You swallowed hard, his words calming you slightly, but doubt still lingered.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

“You won’t,” he said, his tone firm. “I won’t let you.” The conviction in his voice made you want to believe him, but the weight of everything—your past, your ex, Jack, the scrutiny that would inevitably come—still sat heavy on your chest.

“I just…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

“Baby... please. Just be here with me ,” Trent said with a small smile. “I’m here with you. That’s all that matters right now. And if it's really too much, just say the word. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work but for right now.. Just try.” He cooed gently. You stared at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes.

“You’re being too nice.” You giggled nervously. Trent had always been unreasonably patient and kind with you and that clearly wasn’t about to change. “I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

“Yes, you do,” he said without hesitation, his voice so sure it made your chest tighten even more. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that you could do this, that you could be brave enough to let this relationship exist outside of the shadows. But as you glanced back at the other boy across the room, your stomach churned with doubt. Trent’s hand on yours pulled your attention back to him. “Hey,” he said softly. “baby, I'm serious, if you’re not ready, we can leave. No pressure.” Trent meant what he said but he'd be lying if a part of him wasn't aching for you just to try with him. To really commit to him, to this, to trying- it hurt. You hesitated for a moment before shaking your head. The dinner had been perfect so far—Trent’s soft smiles, the way his fingers occasionally grazed yours on the table, and the playful, teasing lilt of his voice when he spoke. But your nerves had made it hard to focus entirely on him. You were too aware of your surroundings, glancing discreetly across the restaurant, noting every unfamiliar face. And then him. Josh’s friend. Maybe his name was Devon, you couldn't remember. And while he hadn’t said a word to you or Trent, his presence alone had unsettled you, pulling your mind into a spiral of what ifs. You felt like you were holding your breath, waiting for something to go wrong. You looked at Trent, his concern breaking through the wall of anxiety building in your chest. Trent was being so gentle, so patient, and it hit you—he deserved all of your attention tonight. It wasn’t fair to let the past shadow this moment.

“I’m okay, baby. Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm here." you said, smiling as you squeezed his hand. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to let go of the tension in your shoulders, and allowed yourself to fall back into the bubble he created. With each passing minute, it became easier to focus solely on him. His laughter was infectious, the way he leaned in closer to you when you spoke made your stomach flutter. You’d forgotten how safe it felt to be wrapped up in someone like this, where the rest of the world melted away. But while you were blissfully unaware, Josh’s friend wasn’t. From his seat across the restaurant, he stared, squinting as recognition settled in. First, he caught sight of Trent—someone he knew well from the pitch, a rival he loved to hate. Then, his gaze shifted to you, seated across from him, clearly on a date. It was all too good. You, the ex of his best mate, now smiling, laughing, leaning into the guy who had made headlines time and again for his assists. He reached for his phone, holding it low as he snapped a photo of you both, capturing the intimacy of the moment. Trent’s hand resting on yours, your head tilted slightly as you laughed at something he’d just said. He smirked, tucking the phone away, already composing the perfect explanation to Josh when they inevitably debriefed. Meanwhile, you and Trent remained nonchalant, completely unaware of the brewing storm outside your little world. It didn’t matter, though—not right now. Your focus was on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, on how his foot brushed against yours under the table. For that moment, it was just the two of you—soft beginnings and unspoken promises, blissfully unaware of the chaos looming on the horizon.

As the car rolled down Trent’s driveway, the engine cut and he turned to you, his hand still loosely holding yours. “I’m off tomorrow,” he said, his voice soft but hopeful. “You’ll stay with me tonight?” He asked. You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away.

“Obviously,” you teased with a giggle.

“C’mon,” he said with a smirk, stepping out of the car and coming around to open your door, his hand extended to help you out. As you walked to his front door, he hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his tone quieter.

“I know this might sound stupid, but… I feel like I don’t sleep as well when you’re not here.” Your heart clenched at his honesty, and you turned to look at him, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Aw, I’m sorry,” you said, teasing but still genuine. “Guess you’ll just have to invite me over more often.” You smiled at him.

“Yeah?” He smiled down at you, his eyes soft in the dim light.

“Yeah,” you said confidently, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.” Trent unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you in first.

“That’s all the time.” As you walked past him, he murmured under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it. You stopped just inside the doorway and turned to look at him, your expression softening.

“Hmm?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, a bashful smile tugging at his lips. But you weren’t letting him off that easy.

“No, say it again. You said something,” you cooed, stepping closer to him, your curiosity piqued. He hesitated, running a hand over his hair, before finally meeting your eyes.

“I said that’s all the time. I need you all the time.” He repeated himself feeling a little embarrassed. For a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken but deeply felt. You stepped closer, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek.

“You’re such a closeted melt, you know that?” you teased, your voice trembling slightly with emotion.

“Yeah, well,” he said, his voice softening as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. “You bring it out of me.” You leaned into him, your forehead resting against his, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just you and Trent, tangled up in each other, finding solace in the quiet honesty of the moment.

The moment you stepped into Trent’s ensuite that night, a wave of peace swept over you, so profound it nearly took your breath away. You paused in the doorway, your hand resting on the frame as your eyes scanned the room. It was large but not overly ornate, it felt like him—clean, understated, yet warm. Your toothbrush stood beside his on the sink, its placement deliberate and thoughtful. A small bottle of your favorite cleanser sat next to his cologne, nestled naturally as if it had always belonged there. A claw clip of yours rested near the edge of the counter, a quiet, unspoken reminder of the nights you’d spent here. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to undo you. You felt a tightness in your chest, not from anxiety or pain, but from an overwhelming sense of being seen. In the past, you’d been in rooms like this before. You’d picked up a bobby pin that didn’t belong to you, brushed past an earring left by someone else, and each time, it stung like a fresh wound, proof that you were just one of many. But here? Here, there were no ghosts of anyone else. Only you. It was all you tucked neatly beside only him. You took a step forward, letting your fingers trail along the edge of the counter. The thought of it—Trent deliberately making room for you, keeping your things here like they were as much a part of his space as his own—made your heart swell. It was such a simple thing, yet it felt monumental.

The sound of his footsteps behind you pulled you from your thoughts. You turned slightly to see him walk in, peeling his T-shirt off over his head in one easy motion. His body, lean and strong, caught the soft light of the room. He tossed the shirt onto the hamper carelessly before his eyes found yours in the mirror. A small, easy smile played on his lips as he crossed the room toward you, his movements unhurried. When he reached you, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you gently into him. His warmth seeped into your back as he pressed his chin against your shoulder, meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, full of sincerity. You turned your head to look at him directly, but before you could speak, he tilted his head down, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, and the simple touch sent a shiver through you. “I mean it,” he murmured into the curve of your shoulder, his voice muffled but no less sure. “I can’t sleep without you sometimes, baby.” His confession made your breath hitch. Your chest rose and fell, your heart racing, but not from nerves. This was so different, quieter, yet somehow so much deeper. You turned fully into his embrace, letting your hands rest on his forearms, your fingers tracing the lean muscles there. His lips trailed across your skin, pressing soft, unhurried kisses along your neck and shoulder. He wasn’t rushing; he was savoring, as if every touch of his lips was a silent reassurance, a promise he didn’t yet know how to put into words. You let your eyes flutter shut, leaning back into him as he tightened his hold on you. His hands slid beneath your shirt, his fingers finding their place on your bare stomach. He rubbed slow, languid circles there, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “You look so good like this,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and reverent. A quiet hum escaped your lips as you leaned into him even more, your head resting against his shoulder. It wasn’t just his touch that made you feel this way; it was the way he held you, like you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

“This,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “This feels… perfect.” You told him.

“It does,” he replied, his voice equally soft but certain. For a while, you stayed there, wrapped in each other, letting the stillness of the moment settle over you. The air between you was charged yet calming, full of unspoken truths and quiet reassurances. As his hands continued their soothing motion on your stomach, you felt it—a profound sense of belonging. This wasn’t just a room, or a night, or even a fleeting moment. This was what you’d been searching for, what you hadn’t known you needed until now.

“You really like when I stay with you?” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly with emotion.

“I really do,” he promised, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. His words weren’t just for the moment; they felt like a vow, one you believed with your whole heart. And as you stood there, his arms around you, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet comfort of something that finally felt like home. Your moment of bliss was split when his phone rang. It was late, no one but someone important would call this late so you nodded for him to take it. He placed a couple more kisses onto your shoulder and your neck before dragging his hands off of you.

"Come to bed when you’re ready," he murmured nodding you on to finish getting ready for bed whilst he answered a phone call that ended up being from his agent.

As you stepped out of the en-suite, Trent was already lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard, his dark eyes fixed on you. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow over his chiseled features. He looked god-esque, his tanned skin glistening in the soft light, and his brown eyes sparkling with desire. You could feel a rush of excitement as you noticed the bulge in his sweatpants, a clear indication of his arousal. Smiling shyly, you approach the bed, your heart racing. Setting your phone down on the nightstand, you climbed onto the bed, your eyes never leaving his. Trent's gaze traveled down your body, taking in every curve, his eyes lingering on your tits, now partially exposed in your little silk pajama set.

"You look beautiful," he says, his voice deep and husky. "I love seeing you like this, at home with me… getting into bed with me.” He told you and though you agreed with loving his domestic this all felt you really liked the undertone of lust. You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of pleasure at the way he was able to make you feel desired.

"Yeah?” you replied, your voice a little breathless. "I like how you look at me when I get into your bed.” You smirked. Trent chuckled, a low, seductive sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"I can't help it, baby. You're so fucking sexy." He reached out and ran his fingers along your jawline, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. "I've been thinking about this all day. About having you here, back in my bed, doing all the things I've been dreaming of." Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You'd been dreaming of this moment too, of being with Trent, of a night like tonight exploring the passion and desire you'd both kept hidden for so long now bringing it out in public. Yet, in the bedroom, in private, was where you most wanted to be. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as his thumb brushed over your lower lip. "I want to make you feel good, Y/N," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "I want to touch you, taste you, make you say my name." He cooed gently with a purr. Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. You always knew Trent was a confident and dominant guy, but hearing him express his desires so openly sends a thrill through your body every time. You wanted to please him, to submit to his every whim, and the thought excited you beyond measure.

"Yes, please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I want that now, baby." Trent's eyes darkened with a fierce intensity, and he pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, a gentle tease that left you craving more.

"I'm going to take care of you, baby," he murmurs between kisses. As his lips captured yours, you melted into the kiss, your body molding perfectly to his. His tongue danced with yours, exploring, tasting, and claiming. You can taste the mint from your toothpaste on his tongue, a refreshing contrast to the heat building between you. His kiss was demanding, possessive, and it sent a clear message—he wants you, and he's going to have you. Your hands began to roam over his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his freshly clean shirt he’d just put on. You tugged at the fabric, eager to feel his skin against yours. Trent broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he helped you lift his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted torso. The sight of his bare chest took your breath away. His skin was smooth and tanned, with a light dusting of hair that trails down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his joggers.

"Fuck, you're so hot, T," you whispered, running your fingers over his pecs, feeling the rigid definition of his muscles. Trent's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at your words. He leaned back, pulling you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist. The position giving you a delicious sense of power. You took a moment to admire the sight of his strong body beneath you.

"Y/N," he growled your name, his hands gripping your thighs. "Show me how much you want me." He commanded you. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of boldness as you reached down grasping the waistband of his joggers. With slow, deliberate movements, you slid them down his hips, revealing his thick, erect cock, straining against his boxer briefs. You let out a soft gasp at the sight, your body throbbing with need, your fingers tracing the length of his shaft through the thin fabric. Trent's breath hitched as your fingers teased him, he bucked his hips, seeking more contact. "Fuck, baby," he groans. "Take what you want. Show me.” You didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift motion, you hooked your thumbs under the elastic of his underwear and pulled them down, freeing his hard length. His cock sprung free, thick and heavy, the head glistening with pre-cum. You lean down, your breath ghosting over the sensitive skin, making him shudder. "Suck my cock, pretty girl," he commanded smugly, his hands gently dragging up your arm, to your shoulder, before moving to push some of your hair back. You obliged with a smile and a hum, lowering your head and taking the tip of his cock into your warm mouth. Trent let out a guttural moan as you swirled your tongue around the head, tasting the salty sweetness of him. You sucked gently, taking him deeper, inch by inch, until you could feel his hands in your hair, encouraging you to take more. "That's it, good girl," he grunted, his hips thrusting gently, fucking your mouth. And you took him well, minute after minute. "You wanna make me cum, baby? Suck me nice and slow, feel how hard you make me." You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending him over the edge. Trent's hands tighten in your hair, holding you in place as he empties his load down your throat. You swallow, relishing the taste of him, the evidence of his pleasure. He pulled you up, his lips seeking yours, sharing a deep, passionate kiss. "You're incredible," he breathed, his hands stroking your back. "I can't get enough of you." You smiled against his lips, feeling empowered by his words.

"I want to feel you inside me, T," you whispered, your hands roaming down his body, eager for more of him. He grinned, his eyes alight with anticipation.

“Mmmm, good, cause I plan to be inside you all night, baby." With that, he rolled you onto your back, his body covering yours, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands slide under your top, caressing your skin, making you squirm with delight. "Let me take this off," he murmurs, his fingers deftly pulling up your silk tank top. You lifted your arms, allowing him to remove the garment, baring your tits to his hungry gaze. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your tits, your nipples already taut and begging for attention. "So fucking gorgeous," he growled, lowering his head to take a tight peak into his mouth. His tongue teased and suckled, drawing a moan from deep within you. You arched into his touch, your hands threading through his hair, holding him to you as he lavished attention on your sensitive flesh. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, squeezing, and caressing, making you feel alive and desired in a way you never had. "So good f’me, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin as he moves to the other boob, giving it the same attentive treatment. You're lost in a haze of pleasure, your body humming with desire. Trent's hands travel down your body, playing with the waistband of your shorts before sliding them down your legs, leaving you clad only in your lacy panties. He took a moment to admire your naked form, his eyes burning with appreciation. "You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N," he says, his voice thick with admiration. "I’ve wanted this for so long. Every time feels like dream. Just want to worship every inch of you." His words sent a thrill through your body, almost as if he cast a spell with them causing your legs to magically spread in silent invitation, eager for more of his touch. Trent knelt between your thighs, his eyes fixed on your core, now covered only by a thin layer of silk. "Gonna let me taste you, baby?” he asked tauntingly but his voice hoarse with need.

“Mhhhmm. Please, T.” You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps as he hooked his fingers under the elastic of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs. He took his time, his eyes never leaving your exposed heat, drinking in the sight of your glistening folds.

"So wet just for me," he murmurs, his fingers gently parting your lips, exposing your clit. You let out a soft cry as his finger brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Trent leaned down, his breath hot against your swollen flesh, and then he replaced his finger with his mouth, his tongue flicking and lapping at your clit.

"Oh God, T, fuck," you moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as he feasted on your pussy, his tongue delving deep, tasting your essence. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you closer to the edge. His fingers joined his tongue, sliding into your wet heat, stretching and filling you as he suckled your clit. Your body coiled tighter with each stroke, each flick of his tongue, until you were teetering on the precipice of release.

"Cum for me, baby," he urges, his voice muffled against your sex. "Let me feel you come on my tongue." His words pushed you over the edge, and you cried out, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure rippling through you. Trent didn’t let up though, his tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, drawing out your orgasm until you were left trembling and sated. He moved up your body, his lips finding yours, sharing the taste of your climax. "So good f’me, baby," he breathes, his eyes filled with adoration. "I love making you feel good. Love making you cum." You tiredly smiled, your heart full as you pull him close, feeling the deep connection between you.

"I love cumming for you, T," you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his face. Both of you were using the orgasm as a front. Hiding behind the physical sensations to mask the very deep emotional connection developing. Neither of you really cared about that specific orgasm, no matter how good it was - you just were so clearly in love with each other and needed to say something but this wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. "I've never felt this way before." You sheepishly told him. He kissed you softly, his lips brushing yours in a tender caress.

"I know, baby. I feel it too. This is just the beginning. Promise" Trent cooed. He was talking about sex tonight but he was also talking about your relationship, your feelings. As his words began to sink in, you realized this night was just the start of something much bigger. The rest of the evening was spent in every position possible. Each orgasm hacking away at your restraint. You were falling weaker and weaker to him literally and figuratively, terrified you’d let those three little words slip. But after round five and orgasm seven you said no more, clinging to Trent, exhausted and spent, your eyes fluttering closed as he held you securely rubbing his hands up and down your body gently. He hummed in agreement kissing your glistening skin. He cleaned you up but you barely remember it as you were focused on nothing else but not letting your tired mind and body mutter how truly in love with him you really were. You successfully fell to sleep with no slip ups but Trent could feel the tension. He almost wished you had said it so he could finally admit it to you but that wasn't the case. And so that night, he held you tighter to him than he ever had before as he dozed off, unable to leave any space for the words you both longed to say. He was struggling to bite back the feelings looking at you asleep in his arms, the words so desperate to come out now. You looked so different now. Different than you did on the porch and you felt different too. You felt like you were his. But it wasn't just you, it all felt different, so different. Things had changed. You two had changed and there was no turning back now.

•

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

Next part - Chapter 11 xx

#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 #Movie Night Fic

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