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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 6 months ago

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The Prince - Chapter One

A/N: Hello! I have been working on this since the season started, so it seemed only fitting that I got the first chapter out before the finale. This fic is fully written, and will be posted every other day. (If you know me, this is unheard of, I usually post as I write.) Anyways, I hope you enjoy! This chapter is a little heavy on the world building, but I promise we get into the good stuff quickly. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.6k Synopsis: Jacaerys fell in love with the reader years ago when they first met in the Vale. Five years later, the reader comes to King's Landing and tries to deny her growing feelings.

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Arnold Arryn was imprisoned in a sky cell after trying to contest the inheritance of his cousin, Jeyne Arryn. You were young at the time, and watching your father get arrested made very little sense to you. Jeyne was fifteen, and your closest friend in the world. You didn’t understand fully what had happened to your father. One day he was there, and the next gone.

Jeyne tried to explain it to you the best she could. She was a woman, and women very rarely got the chance to rule. She needed to make an example of your father.

What you came to learn, in the years that passed, is that banishing him to a sky cell was not the only example Jeyne was setting. As part of Arnold’s punishment, he – and all his descendants – would be disinherited from the Arryn line.

A testament to your friendship, Jeyne kept you in the Eyrie, kept you by her side. She let you wear the type of gowns she wore, you ate the same decadent meals, and she made sure everyone treated you as a lady, although the title no longer belonged to you. It was the only change that you really noticed in the coming years. Your father was gone, yes, but otherwise, life went on as normal in the Vale.

Jeyne had been three when she inherited the Vale. Of course, she would not be able to rule for years. So, Lord Yorbert Royce was elected to rule in her stead, until Jeyne became of age. As Lord Protector, it was Royce’s duty to see that the Vale remained prosperous.

In the final years before he died, when Jeyne was just coming into her role as Maiden of the Vale, Royce arranged a marriage proposal for you. House Blacktyde had visited the Vale when you were thirteen, and their second eldest son, Barun, had taken a liking to you immediately. Royce informed the family that you were without title, without dowry, but Barun was not to be dissuaded. Royce crafted an arrangement that would allow you to gain a title, becoming a lady of Blacktyde, that would also result in allegiance for the Vale.

It had been a win-win.

But after Royce had passed, and Jeyne had taken on the mantle of the Vale, it crept in how wrong the arrangement was. Barun Blacktyde was your same age, but he looked ten years your senior. He had strong arms, corded with muscles, and a sheet of blonde hair that covered his wicked face. In the few times you met, his hands wandered, prodded, and bruised. He was sinister.

Now, at twenty-one years old, there was no more stalling to do. Jeyne had told the Blacktydes that she needed you at her side, that you were still too young, anything she could think of to put off the wedding. She was stalling until she could find a way out of the arrangement, but your hopes were fading as time was.

On the morning when you were to meet with your future husband and sail away to the Iron Islands, a different guest arrived in the Vale.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was sixteen the day he saved your life.

War was brewing in Westeros, all the houses knew. After the death of King Viserys, the fight between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon had ignited anger across the realm. In the Vale, Jeyne assured anyone who asked that she was devoted to the rightful ruler, Rhaenyra. Yorbert Royce had gone in Jeyne’s stead years ago, swearing fealty to the future queen.

When Jacaerys arrived in the Vale, he had arrived on a mission for his mother, coming to strengthen and call upon the alliances that Rhaenyra had gained years back.

Jeyne needed absolutely no persuading, but she took a liking to the young prince immediately. Nearly ten years younger than her, she delighted in the pride he already carried, the future heir to the throne. If he had been anyone else, she would have laughed him out of the Eyrie. But Jeyne believed that women needed to stick together, and this was Rhaenyra’s son.

She also believed in always keeping her mirth. And few things delighted Jeyne the way the prince’s affections for you delighted her. You had been at her side when the prince came to call. The way Jeyne tells it, she could have said anything to the prince, and he would have nodded his head in agreement, so enchanted by you was he.

You remember it differently.

When Jacaerys had arrived in the Vale, you were at your breaking point. Bleak was your outlook on life. But when you saw his green dragon in the sky, it felt like hope for one shining second.

You were at Jeyne’s side and listened to her discussions with the prince. You would disagree that his attention only lingered on you. He was a proper gentleman and gave Jeyne the respect due to her title, but every so often, his attention would flit back to you.

Jeyne invited him to stay in the Vale for a few days, enough time for them to discuss what aid the Vale could provide, and time for he and his dragon to rest. The prince agreed, smiling – perhaps your way, but you couldn’t be sure. You had been smiling, too, because you knew that the prince’s stay here would put off your move to the Iron Islands.

Back in her chambers, Jeyne nearly squealed when she shut the door behind the two of you. Immediately, she poured two goblets of wine, thrusting one into your hand. This was not uncommon behavior for your cousin, who enjoyed any and all delights, but what you couldn’t understand was why.

“Oh, Y/N,” she said, breaking off with a laugh, “His eyes never left you!”

“Whose eyes?”

“The prince’s, who else!”

“That is not true.”

“It is! I think I just witnessed love at first sight,” she says with a snort.

“I think I’m just the first woman he’s seen who has not been related to him,” you say, making Jeyne burst with laughter. You can’t find it in you to belly laugh the way she was now. Jacaerys had been kind to the both of you, mocking him seemed wrong.

“Are you going to send aid?” you ask, hoping to change the subject.

“I’m sure,” she says, taking a swig of her drink. “I just need to figure out what he’ll have to offer to get me to agree.”

“What more could we need here?” you ask with a shake of your head.

“What indeed,” Jeyne muses.

In his short stay, Jacaerys imbedded himself in your life. Jeyne always overslept breakfast, typically still in her cups from the night before. That first morning after his arrival, you came to the dining hall to find Jacaerys sitting with a few lesser lords of the Vale, a wide, handsome smile on his face. When he saw you, you can’t deny that a light flared in his eyes. He stood up and pulled out a chair for you, inviting you into the conversation.

Over the next few mornings, his attention strayed from the lords and focused almost solely on you. He told you stories about his dragon, Vermax, and adventures they had gotten into with his younger brother, Lucerys. He explained the training he had been going through since he was a young boy. He even confirmed the legend of how Prince Aemond lost an eye, although that one was told at a hush.

Because of his dedication to speaking with you, you knew Jeyne’s initial assumptions were correct. Although never venturing into anything uncouth, Jacaerys always found a way to compliment you, to make you laugh, to make you feel seen.

His presence was a beautiful distraction from the future that was awaiting you.

The prince didn’t know of your betrothal to Lord Barun, and both you and Jeyne were happy to keep it from him. The lord had already voiced his complaints about returning to the Islands once more without his bride, but with the prince and his dragon here, it felt like nothing could touch you.

The morning that Jacaerys was meant to leave the Vale, you come down to the dining hall to find that he wasn’t there. You pretend that you are not disappointed. Spending your mornings with him had been a welcome change of pace, but you had known they would be coming to an end.

When you stand to leave, the doors opened at the opposite end of the hall. Prince Jacaerys walks into the room, a smile on his face the moment he spots you.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” you say, curtsying to him. He studies the dining table, the maids scurrying to clean up the mess, and his smile falters a little.

“I’m sorry to have missed our last breakfast,” he says. “I am leaving shortly. I only came to say goodbye.”

“Of course,” you say. He is to fly north to Winterfell next, fulfilling his promise to his mother. “It was an honor to have you here, My Prince.” He smiles and takes your hand gently in his, pressing a soft kiss.

“I hope to see you again soon, Y/N.”

“Good luck, Your Highness.”

Once Jacaerys and Vermax had disappeared over the horizon, you made your way to Jeyne’s receiving room. You are welcomed in immediately, and find your cousin slouched over on a couch, groaning quietly to herself. She is not a morning person by any means. You are not sure you had ever even seen her up this early.

“Good morning, cousin,” you say, drawing her attention up to you. She grimaces at the light shining through her windows.

“What has you so chipper so early?” she asks.

“I’m always like this in the morning,” you say. She makes a noncommittal sound as she sits upright.

“The prince just left,” she says.

“I know. He came to say goodbye.”

“Of course he did,” Jeyne says with a smirk.

“Did the two of you come to an agreement?” you ask, pouring her a glass of water. She doesn’t answer until after she’s taken a sip and looks up at you with grateful eyes.

“Yes. He’s agreed to send a dragon to protect the Vale.” She takes another hearty drink of the water, before deciding she doesn't like the taste. She motions for the wine, and you bring it over. “He also agreed to take you on as ward once the war is over.”

“What?” you ask, your head snapping to her face.

“Well, not his ward,” she says with a laugh, “Although, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Rhaenyra will allow you into King’s Landing under her watch.”

“Why?”

“I made up some lie about learning more about the realm, so that you could become a greater aid to me. But what matters is that it will get you away from Blacktyde. With the war coming, I can keep him at bay for the length of it, assuring him that I need you here. But once it comes to an end, I want you in King’s Landing. He’ll have a harder time getting to you there.”

“Jeyne,” you begin, but she wavs a hand to silence you.

“When you get to King’s Landing, you will need to make it your chief task to marry as quickly as possible. I don’t know that he’ll ever stop,” she says quietly. You nod your head, the reality sinking over you. The single spark of hope you felt at seeing Vermax in the sky seems to light again within you.

“Thank you,” you say, crushing her into a hug she wants no business in returning.

In the coming weeks, Westeros changes, and The Vale with it. Within a year, two, the home you had grown up knowing and loving, transformed before your eyes.

No longer could you recognize the faces around you. Servants and guards you had grown up with your whole life were disappearing, either as a direct result of the war, or because of the conflict growing between families as different Houses pledged their allegiances to Rhaenyra or Aegon.

In the last year before the war ended, Jeyne ordered that you go to Gulltown. Jeyne had asked years prior in her deal with Prince Jacaerys that a dragon be sent to protect the Vale. Weeks after that agreement had been finalized, Queen Rhaenyra sent word asking that the Vale also foster her younger children, until they could be safe with her again.

Jeyne had accepted, and with their cousin, Princess Rhaena, the three youngest princes, came to live at Gulltown. She asked that you go there, as the war efforts struck closer and closer to the Eyrie. You begrudgingly agreed, because she was your Lady, but also because she didn’t often wear that look of panic in her eyes. After everything she had done for you, it was the least you could do in return.

And that was when you met Rhaena. She was just a few years younger than you and had just had a dragon of her own hatch. She had named the little pink creature Morning, and she was as beautiful as the sunrise.

Rhaena quickly became your close friend. With few friends around anymore, the two of you bonded quickly. You fantasized about the end of the war: what kind of dresses you would get to wear again, the foods you would eat, and mainly for Rhaena, seeing her family again.

The boys were her family, of course, and she doted on them as if they were her own, but she longed for her sister, for adult company. She had confided in you about her struggles to get a dragon of her own, and you knew she wanted to proudly show off her beautiful Morning.

You also dreamed of the end of the war, but for different reasons. If Queen Rhaenyra remained true to her word, you would be going to King’s Landing with Rhaena.

It seemed like the war would never end, until one day, it did.

Jeyne came to Gulltown. She was unexpected, but that wasn’t uncommon behavior for her. She often showed up and left without a warning. When she arrived, you and Rhaena were in the nursery with the younger boys, Aegon and Viserys, now seven and three. You were seated on the floor with Viserys, a dragon figurine in his hand and a horse in yours. You raced away from the dragon, but still Viserys swooped upon your figurine. You cried out playfully, making the younger boy laugh, just as Jeyne walked into the room.

“Jeyne!” you say in surprise, quickly standing. “I didn’t know you were coming to Gulltown."

“The young prince takes a liking to you,” she says with a smile. “Must run in the family.”

“Oh, aren’t you over that by now?” you ask.

“What do you mean?” Rhaena asks, turning both of your attentions.

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head, “She’s just making a bad joke.”

“I am not,” Jeyne says proudly, knocking your shoulder with a hand, “You should have seen the crown prince when he saw her.” Rhaena looks at you curiously, and for some reason it makes you feel guilty.

“Her opinion alone,” you say, tidying up around the room. Rhaena gives you a small smile, seeming to accept this explanation, and then turns back to Jeyne.

“What brings you here?” she asks.

“Good news.”

She informs you both that the war has ended, and before the two of you can run off to bag your bags, she holds you back and tells you the best news of all. Barun Blacktyde grew tired of waiting and had married another.

Jacaerys awakes with a smile on his face. He is in a strange bedroom, one he hadn’t been in since he was a little boy. The room had been his mother’s, when they had lived in the Red Keep. It had passed through owners, many of whom Jace didn’t want to think about now.

Today, all of his thoughts were to be consumed by one thought: his family returning home.

It has been years since he has been able to communicate with his brothers through any other means than letter. And since the younger boys are still little, most of his letters go to his brother, Joffrey. He will be thirteen now, and Jace can’t even imagine what the boy will look like. What the younger two, or even Rhaena will look like now.

He imagines he has changed much, too, in the last five years.

When he sees them again, time stands still. He recognizes Joffrey first, but only because he looks so much like Luke. Jace races to him first, wrapping him in a bone crushing hug. His brother hugs him back just as fierce, and when they break away, there are tears in his eyes to match his own.

“You’ve gotten big,” Joffrey jokes.

“So have you,” Jace says with a smile.

He embraces Aegon and Viserys in turn. The boys had been so young when they left, he’s not sure they recognize him. They hugged him back, but it seems more so because Joffrey did first, than anything else.

Lastly, he sees Rhaena. She has grown in the last five years and is more beautiful than he remembers. He convinces Baela to let her go for a moment and embraces her, too.

“Welcome home,” he says. She doesn’t respond other than with a sob-like sound but rubs a hand over his back. She is smiling when they break apart.

They start their day at the dragon pit, those who had gone to the Vale wanting to show off their dragons, Rhaena especially. It has been years since Jace has flown with any of his brothers, and flying with Joffrey now, he feels a weight lift off his chest.

His mother wants them close all day, and doesn’t let them stray too far. When Joffrey asks for specifics about the war, Jace has to tell him in hushed tones from the corner of Rhaenyra’s chambers.

At the end of the day, a feast has been arranged for the family, as well as a few of his mother’s trusted advisors. Jace sits next to Rhaena, across from Joffrey. Rhaena speaks animatedly with Baela about Morning, and the pride in her voice brings out his own. He remembers what it was like when Vermax first hatched, when he realized the honor he had been given, to become a dragon rider.

So lost in these thoughts, he only catches the last few words of Rhaena’s story.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Oh, just a story that Lady Jeyne told Y/N and I,” she says, as if it’s a passing thought, something completely inconsequential, and turns back to Baela. Jace stares off into nothingness, until Joffrey chuckles into his food. Jace glares at him, kicking him discreetly under the table.

“What?” Baela asks, looking between the two.

“Nothing,” Jace says firmly.

“Have you been to see her yet?” Rhaena asks, looking at Jace.

“Seen who?”

“Y/N,” she says with a shake of her head.

“No, of course not.” He knows he says it too harshly, but he is actively trying to fight off an embarrassed flush, and to figure out a way to choke Joffrey from across the table without his mother knowing.

“Oh,” Rhaena says, “Seemed like she took a liking to you.”

“Did she?” Jace asks, his heart rate accelerating.

“Well, I wasn’t there,” she says with a laugh, “But Lady Jeyne certainly thought so.”

“Ah.”

“It would be good for one of us to greet her,” Rhaenyra says, across the table. “In welcoming the children home, I fear she got lost in the commotion.”

“I’d be happy to,” Jace says. Joffrey is barely breathing across from him, holding back laughter.

“Thank you, Jace.”

When supper finally ends, Jace makes sure to grab Joffrey and hold him back while the others exit.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“What did you say to Y/N?”

“About what?” Joff asks, brushing him off. “Your eternal crush on her? Nothing.”

“Why did Rhaena make it appear otherwise?”

“Because Lady Jeyne liked to joke about it,” Joff says. “I swear, I never talked about it except with you in our letters.” Jace nods, centering himself. He ruffles Joff’s hair, frustrated with himself for badgering him when he only just got him back.

“Sorry,” he says gently.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you going to go see her?”

“I told Mother I would,” he says, straightening. Joffrey smiles at him, a little bit in jest, but also with enough encouragement that assures Jace that he can walk up the steps to your chambers.

“Good luck,” Joff says with a pat on his back.

When a knock comes from your door, one of the maids assigned to your quarters opens it. You hear her gasp in surprise but then she says, “Your Highness.” It’s the only reason you are able to connect that the man standing in your doorway is Prince Jacaerys.

You adjust your dress as you walk towards him, trying to see the boy you met so many years ago. He is taller now, maybe even broader. His hair, somehow, has gotten even curlier.

“Y/N,” he says with a smile. For some reason, the sight of it sends your stomach into a summersault.

“My Prince,” you say, curtsying to him. “What a lovely surprise.”

“It’s wonderful to see you in King’s Landing,” he says, the smile still on his face.

“It’s wonderful to be here,” you say. “I wasn’t sure I would ever get to see it.”

“Would you like to see more of it?” he asks quickly.

“What?”

“I could give you a tour, if you’d like,” he says. “The Keep is vast; it took me months to figure out all its hiding places.”

“I’m sure you have much better things to do than give me a tour,” you say abashedly. He steps forward, looking at you with kind eyes.

“You and your house safeguarded Rhaena and my brother for years. It would be my honor to show you my home,” he says. Something about the look in his eyes, the passion behind them, makes you think that this is a bad idea. But you also know, there is no way to decline your prince.

“The honor is all mine, My Prince,” you say. He smiles at you, a dimple forming in his cheek you hadn’t noticed before. You take his outstretched arm.

He guides you out of your chambers and into the hall. Outside, the sun has begun to set, casting shadows all along the airy halls.

“I apologize for not coming to welcome you sooner,” he says.

“You were reuniting with your family, there is no need to apologize, Your Highness.”

“Just Jace is fine,” he says, drawing your gaze to him. “You’ve known me long enough.”

“Have I?” you ask with a laugh. “I knew you for only a matter of days, five years ago.”

“It seems like longer, but I suppose that’s true,” he says, “And you did not know me when you saw me at your door.”

“What?” you ask in surprise.

“You didn’t recognize me.”

“Well, the prince I met five years ago was a boy,” you say, heat rushing to your cheeks for some unknown reason. “You do seem like a completely different person.”

“Maybe I am,” he says with a coy smile.

“What about me?” you ask, lifting your chin to him. He says his next words softly.

“What about you?”

“Did you recognize me?”

“Of course. The years have made you more beautiful, but you still look like Y/N,” he says. A chill passes over you at the casual way he says your name. You briefly try to make sense of what you are feeling, but more than that, you want to stay in this moment.

He turns you down a hallway, guiding you towards the great hall.

“So, what truly brings you to King’s Landing?” he asks. “Your cousin was adamant about it years ago.” Something in his expression makes you think you could tell him; makes you believe you could tell him anything.

“Jeyne is more than my cousin, she’s my best friend. She has done me a great honor by keeping me in the Eyrie. But she also knows that we are somewhat . . . sheltered there.”

“Sheltered?” he repeats.

“There’s not much more I can learn there.”

“They’ve seemed to have taught you well enough. Joffrey says you were a great sparring partner,” he says, making you laugh.

“He’s too kind. Or he’s a liar,” you say, a fluttering in your stomach when Jace smiles at you. “I was more of a dummy for him, I think.”

“He was always quick with his sword. I have a scar on my forearm from sparring with him.” He turns over his wrist, his arm still linked with yours, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal the miniscule scar. You laugh at him. Jace’s eyes are on you the whole time, alighting at the sound from your lips.

“A warrior’s scar,” you tease.

“Indeed,” he says, his smile falling.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “I didn’t mean to discount all you did in the war, Your Highness.”

“I know,” he says, a soft expression on his face.

You fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence as he leads you through the gardens.

“Is continuing your studies the only reason you have in coming to King’s Landing?” he asks.

“There are not many prospects for marriage in the Vale either,” you say, dropping your head.

“Ah,” he says stiffly, “You know, I find that hard to believe.”

“What?”

“That no one in the Vale would want to marry you,” he says, making you blush.

“Well, having absolutely nothing to offer in the way of a title, or even a dowry, I’m not the best candidate.”

“Even so,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How about here?” you ask, “And hope for me here?”

“I think so,” he says, looking at you intently.

“We shall see,” you say, casting your eyes away from him to look upon a rose, nearly as red as you feel.

When you get back to your chambers, all you want to do is write to Jeyne. You promised yourself you’d wait at least a week before writing to her, but after the evening you had, you aren’t certain you can wait that long.

The prince had taken you out for nearly two hours, showing you all around the Keep, asking you questions about yourself, and completely confusing the memory you had of him.

Even five years ago, he always had a way with words. His affections were clear and sweet. They were apparent still, visible in the way he looked down at you, the tender way he held your arm to his.

But what had changed was the way his actions made you feel. Before you had blushed at his brazenness and laughed along when Jeyne made fun of it. It wasn’t funny anymore. Prince Jacaerys was a man now, and whatever feelings he had would be as grown up as he was. Even with the news of Barun’s marriage, you were still here to find a husband, quickly. That man was never going to be the prince. You vowed to yourself then that you wouldn’t see him again, unless absolutely necessary.

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foreverisntenough · 5 months ago

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 1 - Round Two | ‘Act II’

word count - 10 k

“Erm... yeah, that’s a bit of me. Big follow.” You giggled, plucking the phone out of your friend Whitney’s hand admiring an abnormally pretty boy she was showing you on the screen.

“Right?” She laughed with you spreading her two fingers on the screen to zoom in on the boy’s perfect physique. Whitney’s dad spent every day he could watching football. It was on in their house twenty four hours a day. He was an awesome dad to two girls you called your best friends but you always sensed that it pained him he couldn’t have had a son to give it a go in an international football league. He could care less about the American MLS teams but that’s a story for another time. Previously, you really hadn’t cared about your best friend’s fathers interest in the sport. Your own family was into footie, your brother, your dad, but again, you didn’t really buy in. That said, if someone asked you on the street who you supported, you’d have an answer, you knew the high level things going on in the world of football.

“Like okkkay besties! I’m into this.” You cheekily cooed. Your disinterest suddenly became a big interest when Whitney showed you a photo of two boys that played for the England international team. One was cute... pretty, in fact. You’d say he gave off a sort of a more demure vibe in comparison. Whitney was hooked; her dad was an avid Liverpool supporter and by turn Whitney was. Apparently her dad pointed Trent Alexander-Arnold out to her during a regular season match earlier. The other boy in said photo, well, that was a bit of you.

“They’re so pretty.” Whitney sighed, taking a longer look at Trent’s face. “Hello. Earth to Y/N.” She called for you after your eyes began to glaze over wishing your thumb hovering over his happy trail was able to actually feel the muscular abs you’d been actually drooling over beneath it.

“Sorry but he’s so hot.” You laughed with a shake of the head trying to snap out of your lustful haze. Whitney hadn’t even said their names but frankly, you didn’t care. You just might support England in this tournament. Your brother and dad would kill you but you’d do it for a man that looked like this. You were French, that would arguably be seen as treason in your household but he was so good looking they’d have to understand. Your dad would tell you you were French the same way Whitney’s dad would tell her she was British. You both were not born in your respective native lands but your dads were from, you had dual citizenships but no accents. That said, you did speak the language. Your family had actually lived in Paris for a few years before you went to university and met Whitney.

“I know I figured I’d share.” Whitney smiled at you with a bob of the head happy with her recent Instagram follow as she grabbed her phone back from you.

“Thank you Mr. Smith. Who knew he had such good taste in men.” You teased taking her phone back once more to actually look at the instagram handle above the photo that had you in such a trance. ‘Jude Bellingham’ you read the name in your head in a silly British accent that probably wasn’t all that accurate. You didn’t know a thing about him. You hadn’t heard either of the boys even speak but he just gave off such British vibes and it made you laugh a little.

“Man of many talents, l suppose.” Whitney snatched her phone back and went back to Trent’s Instagram, scrolling through photos she’d seen at least a hundred times by now but she wanted to see them one hundred more.

Flash forward a couple years, a lot of drinks, a blossomed relationship for Whitney, and unfortunately a few more tears than you would’ve hoped later and you found yourself in a Greecian club on a holiday with the two English footballers and their friends. How? You wondered the same thing but Whitney seemed to have fate on her side. Although, she didn’t seem to want to share any because a night ago you could have used some when you fucked her now boyfriend, Trent’s brother, so it didn’t really come as welcomed news when you found out the lustful torch you carried for your instagram crush, Jude, was in front of you in real life now burning. It had been a long couple of hours navigating the waters of two men in a confined space.

“I like this…” Jude cooed, slipping his fingers under the strap of your red dress. “Would look better on my floor though.” He whispered a line you’d heard too many times in your ear despite the loud thump of the bass in the club. It should’ve put you off. It should’ve been an eye roll moment except it wasn’t. There was something about the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you. All night he had you in a trance. It made you feel attended to in the least cheesy and cliche way. You’d flirted earlier in the evening when you’d been introduced after dinner but you were proper close now and the game had begun. You were not an easy lay… well it depended on the day and how bad you wanted to have sex. Regardless, you liked the game with boys. It was fun. You knew you were attractive and you knew that came with many perks like lines of men interested in you and the only way to make it slightly more entertaining and fun and maybe sift out the trash, although some always managed to seep through, you’d test them. Play games, flirt mercilessly and then leave high and dry, you’d make them buy your drinks while you played with their hearts and their hands dragging them up and down your figure.

“You can’t put a dress like this on the floor, Jude.” You quipped back, placing your hand over his and guiding it down your body and the sheer beaded fishnet fabric. It was a gorgeous Roberta Einer mini dress that you’d been itching to wear somewhere but the way the lights were reflecting off it now and your newly tanned skin barely hidden under it, you knew tonight was the perfect debut for it.

“Alright, I’ll hang it up just for you.” He gently whispered into your ear. He wasn’t offering to do you some sort of grand favor but the way he said it made it sound like you were meant to be grateful and you didn’t like that he had made such a subtle move to take the upper hand. So you cut the line.

“Okay, thank you.” You brushed him off with a short smile as if he had handed you a coffee over a counter.

“No problem. As long as it’s still coming off.” Jude was persistent though. He was sweet and smooth. His scent was encircling you and keeping you hostage. His woody musk built walls around you, caging you in. His big soft hands on your exposed skin acting as shackles. You were trapped.

“We shouldn’t.” You muttered haphazardly as he ducked his face to be in front of yours. He gently guided you to step back against a wall in a corridor of the club. You thought you’d get some air and free yourself from the thick tension being near Jude but he followed you. You two were like magnets. There was something there and you weren’t sure why it felt a little more dangerous than just lust. He placed his massive hand on your waist, squeezing you just a little before letting his hand drop down to your hip.

“But we could.” He cooed with the cheekiest smile you might have ever seen in your life and arguably the prettiest too. You couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your lips. You hated that he had you like this. He moved closer and dragged his lips down your neck, kiss after kiss, running his tongue along your warm skin. It was like he was a live wire jump starting your whole system. The tension was palpable and you wanted more of it but not that easily, of course. You knew who Jude was. You were shown his instagram obviously by Whitney and if the millions of Instagram followers weren’t enough of an indicator it was his insistent presence in the media. A ad campaign, a dramatized story in the Daily Mail, a shirtless instagram post, you would’ve loved to say you did notice it all but you were very aware and embarrassingly you welcomed his ever presence on your phone when you were miles apart. Right now though you weren’t sure there was even a centimeter separating you. Despite knowing what you knew, you were not going to be complacent to the great Jude Bellingham. Tonight was meant to be a level playing field.

“Your first night out?” You questioned him. Honestly, the only reason you were asking this is because Whitney had made a point before you’d even left for this holiday that you not ruin it all making a rash hook up night one… except you already had. You slept with her boyfriend’s brother which in both his and your defense was good sex. It was fun, rough, drunk, orgasmic and unattached just the way you liked it. He wasn’t exactly off the table though in your mind. He was cute, you had control of the situation and his room was next to yours at the villa you were staying in. Like you said, it was good sex. Although you weren’t going to say no if Jude pushed and you hoped he did but you weren’t exactly closing off other options either. You were on holiday. No one would get hurt, they were twenty some year old men in Greece, you couldn’t imagine commitment was on anyone’s minds. You didn’t kiss Jude in the corridor even though it was the only thought populating in your mind. Jude hated that your game of teasing drew him in more. He liked to be in charge. He liked to run the show and he knew he was losing ground when you moved past him to get back to the ropped off private area in the club with everyone else. Jude was slick as you made your way back and moved quickly in front of you to sit down first. He pulled you down to sit on his lap and you faked an eye roll as if Jude’s persistence was unwelcomed but it was anything but. As the night rolled on you got drunker and his touches got more courageous. In the dim light of the nightclub, the bass thrummed like a heartbeat in the air, creating a pulsing rhythm that matched the intoxicating sway of the crowd. The atmosphere was thick with a heady mix of laughter, music, and the sweet scent of bottles and bottles of Don Julio 1942. You stayed settled on his lap, warmth enveloped you, igniting a spark that sent shivers down your spine. His strong hands rested gently on your hips, grounding you while the world around you blurred into a swirling tapestry of colors. With each sip of your drink, the world grew more vivid, the laughter more melodic, and the closeness between you more electric. Your heart raced, not just from the alcohol but from the magnetic pull of his gaze.

“Just want to pull this right up and…” He leaned in closer, his breath a tantalizing whisper against your ear, sending tiny jolts of excitement through you. The rich timbre of his voice wrapped around you like velvet, drawing you deeper into this intoxicating moment, letting his hand on your thigh go higher and higher pulling the hem of your dress with it. His pinky finger able to ghost over your panty clad pussy.

“Stop…” You giggled, meaning exactly the opposite, grabbing his hand to halt any further movement. This was a dangerous game. You were both on the verge of blacking out. As the night wore on, the music wrapped you both in its seductive embrace, and every glance he stole felt like a secret promise. You found yourself laughing freely, each sound mingling with the pulsating rhythm, feeling utterly alive under the spell of his charm. The lights danced across Jude’s features, enhancing the sharp lines of his jaw and the smirk that hinted at playful mischief. The more you drank, the more you adored him—the way he held you, the way he listened with rapt attention, as if you were the only person in the room. You could feel the warmth of connection building like the crescendo of a song, enveloping you in a cocoon of desire and vulnerability. The laughter faded into a soft hum, and in that moment, you knew you were falling—not just into drunken bliss but into something deeper, something intoxicatingly real. Time slipped away, lost in the rhythm of the night, and as you rested your head against his shoulder, a tender smile graced your lips. Similarly a boyish, lopsided grin plastered to his face. A darkness flooded your mind. You. blacked. out. You thought you had a pretty okay tolerance but maybe your stature didn’t exactly match the 6’2 man you were trying to keep up with shot for shot. 42 was starting to taste like water and you were pretty sure no one had an accent anymore.

You had a blurry memory of his lips brushing against yours, gentle yet urgent, igniting a fire that danced within you. As the vibrant strobe lights cast fleeting shadows across his face, you felt a magnetic pull, drawing you closer into a world that existed solely for the two of you. Each brush of his lips sent shivers racing through your body, igniting every nerve ending in a delicious wave of ecstasy. The heat of his body pressed against you, a tantalizing reminder of the summer night outside, while his hands tangled in your hair and traced the curve of your back, urging you deeper into his embrace. The music swelled around you, a backdrop of heavy bass that mirrored the pounding of your heart, creating a bubble of exhilaration and desire. Time seemed to dissolve as the world outside faded, leaving only the taste of his kiss—sweet and intoxicating, mingling with the warm summer air that danced around you. Your bodies moved in sync, a rhythm as intoxicating as the melody that surrounded you. With each kiss, the world blurred into soft hues of color, a vivid painting of passion and spontaneity. The tender urgency of your connection deepened, exploring uncharted territories as hands explored, pulling each other closer, savoring the moment as if time itself stood still. It was a wild, breathless escape, filled with promises whispered between breaths, where the pulse of the music became the heartbeat of your desires, leaving you both breathless, alive, and utterly entwined.

The morning light peeked through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the disheveled bed. You stirred, feeling the weight of a night filled with laughter and passion settle heavily on your limbs. A dull throb pulsed in your temples, each beat a reminder of the revelry that had unfolded the night before. As your eyes fluttered open, they fell upon the figure beside you… Jude. His chiseled silhouette half-hidden beneath rumpled sheets, radiating an effortless charm even in the quiet aftermath of the night. The scent of his skin lingered in the air, a rich, intoxicating mix of cologne and the faint hint of warmth from your shared adventures. As you attempted to piece together the fragments of last night, the tableau before you sent a rush of sensations coursing through you. There he was, tangled in the sheets, sunkissed skin glistening slightly in the morning light, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. You could have sworn he looked like a work of art, perfectly imperfect in a way that made your heart flutter unexpectedly.

“I have to get to my room.” You whispered to Jude with a pounding headache, not entirely sure what happened but you were sore and naked so you had a good idea. Your heart was racing praying to see some remnant or clue that protection was used. The world around you felt hazy, your thoughts muddled from too much tequila and laughter, yet the sight of him brought warmth and a flicker of exhilaration to your chest. You shifted slightly, the crisp sheets whispering against your skin, and he stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours—a lazy, sultry gaze that ignited memories of stolen kisses and whispered secrets shared in low-lit corners of the nightclub.

“Good morning to you to." He laughed tiredly. "What’d you say?” His voice was low and smooth, like velvet draping over your senses, both teasing and inviting. A smile crept across his lips, illuminating his features and crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your heart race. You couldn’t help but mirror his expression, feeling the pull of a connection that thrummed between you, more potent than the remnants of your hangover.

“I said, I have to get to my room.” You smiled as you tentatively lifted your hand to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, the soft rustle of sheets surrounded you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that felt deliciously intoxicating. There was an unspoken understanding in the air, an acknowledgment of last night's escapades, layered with the thrill of unexpected mornings. In that moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in warmth and longing, a beautiful aftermath that felt fleeting yet infinitely precious.

“Why…” Jude groaned, letting his eyes close again. With every heartbeat, it became clear: the night had woven your lives together, if only for an ephemeral moment. And though uncertainty lingered like a sweet aftertaste, the promise of the unknown shimmered in the air.

“Everyone can’t know I slept in here.” You whispered again with some urgency. Image was important to you. Sleep with whoever you want, absolutely. Let people know that? Absolutely not.

“Whyyy…” Jude kept on his childish theatrics with another groan. He outstretched his arm and draped it around your waist as insurance you wouldn’t leave. This was not a rare indulgence for you but it would cling to you like the sheets twisted around your body currently were, all day if you didn’t get out of there. The lavish villa room was stunning and an opulent blend of modern luxury and understated, but it did little to distract from Jude. His hair messy in a way he’d hate yet it formed a careless halo on the pillow beneath him.

“I’ll see you later.” You giggled pulling down the sheet and slapping his ass trying to make light of you not being able to remember anything and remind him you were waking up naked in case he didn’t either. You moved in a way that was calculated after that, you’d done this before. You have a good night, a great night in fact, great sex, although usually you prefer to remember a semblance of it… god damnit where is a condom wrapper… literally anything! But you’d done this before and you knew you had to move quickly as if your very presence in Jude’s room might unravel the meticulously crafted image you’d built. The mesh of your mini dress, now crumpled on the foot of the bed, tells the story of a night you could barely recall. You did recall Jude saying he’d hang the dress up but that went out the window and evidently so did your morality when it came to safe sex. It was a night you both dreaded and longed to remember.

“Ow fuck, Y/N.” Jude complained reaching lazily to pull the covers back up to cover himself. You laughed a little at his poor morning attitude but got distracted when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It reflected a woman who was both powerful and vulnerable, your usual poise slightly fractured. You couldn’t even attempt to restore any dignity to your appearance. This was simply the job for a real shower.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt?” You mocked him a little, coming and kissing near Jude’s ear softly with a hum.

“Yeah, fuck.” He complained, burying his face in a pillow.

“Aw, I’ll remember that when I’m laying concealer over your bite marks before breakfast.” You teased running your hand over a bruise you could clearly make out on your collarbone. There was no use trying to restore your usual pristine facade. There’s no hiding the telltale signs: the smudged mascara around your eyes, the bruised lips, the scent of him lingering on your skin. “It was good though.” You sympathetically smiled at him. You felt bad. Why did you suddenly feel a tinge of guilt and softness towards him? No idea. You weren’t sure. You snapped your eyes off him to hopefully help break the emotions you were starting to feel.

“Yeah? What you had wanted?” Jude opened his eyes again and smiled sleepily at you. You glanced back at his chiseled features softened in the haze of his tiredness. A part of you felt so drawn to him. So you took a seat on the side of the bed running your hands over his warm skin.

“Erm… don’t know, I might need one more go just to make sure it was as good as I remember.” You lied. Why did you lie? You weren’t sure. What had this boy done to you? You were having a hell of a hangover and you were starting to wonder if the tequila from last night somehow disregulated or fucked with the limbic system in your brain.

“Mmmm C’mere.” Jude pulled you down into a kiss and you let him. It was warm, soft, slow, and sleepy and yet it had you trying not to moan into his mouth it was turning you on so much.

“I have to go.” You sympathetically pulled away with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah but you’ve got me hard now.” Jude flashed you a conniving grin hoping that his pretty face could convince you to stay. It almost worked. Unfortunately his face didn’t outweigh your fear of being caught out. Two men in three or so days wasn’t a fact you’d be broadcasting but you weren’t exactly complaining either.

“That sounds like a you problem.” You gave him an annoyingly cheeky grin. Jude was upset that he still managed to find it cute despite him being painfully hard now. He sighed and grabbed your arm before you could get far. You looked at him innocently not sure what he needed because you weren’t going to stay. He kissed your knuckles and then rolled over in the bed. That was it. You weren’t sure what to make of it so you just smiled with a hum stepping away, leaving behind a world of temptation and chaos as you quietly gathered the remnants of your dignity and fragments of your outfit from last night. You grabbed Jude’s shirt of the floor and pulled it over you. You weren’t about to put back on your dress from last night. You were missing an earring as well but you’d find it later. It wasn’t a proud moment as you slipped out the door cautiously and tiptoed to your bedroom, heels in hand, your bare feet peeling off the marble floors of the villa, wincing at the noise with every step, terrified someone might see you. You went to the en suite of your room and took off his shirt. You looked at it and smiled until you caught yourself in the mirror smiling like an idiot at it. There was a slight smudge of your lipstick color on the collar. It smelt like him and you just wanted to put it back on and go to bed but instead you turned on the shower. In a state of delusion and a hangover haze you held the shirt in your hand and cheekily took a nude in the mirror sending it to Jude.

‘To help with your problem. xx’

Jude threw his head back on his pillow with another groan as he opened the message. He sorted himself out after that thanks to your photos assistance and memories of last night before he went back to sleep. You smiled when you saw he responded after your shower… until you read it.

‘You’re unreal, angel. Liked it better when I was cumming inside you though and not just to the thought of you. Maybe later? xx.’

“Oh my god!” You gasped out loud dropping your phone. It fell on your toe and you thought you were going to cry. It hurt so bad. You grabbed your phone and wrapped your towel around you a bit tighter and ran to your bed and fell face first. “I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid.” You repeated over and over again. You were haunted by the memory of last night you couldn’t remember, and the man down the hall, clinging to you like a whisper you couldn’t quite shake, a reminder that even the most perfect facades have cracks.

“I need to talk to you immediately.” You hushly but harshly whispered to Whitney in the kitchen later that morning gripping her arm so tight she might have a bruise later. She was sitting on Trent’s lap who gave you a curious yet concerned face. You just smiled and yanked Whitney off him pulling her all the way down the hall to your room. “Look at me…” You snapped peeling your shirt off to reveal the remnants of your night with Jude. Her eyes went wide and a cheeky grin began to pull on her face.

“Can you give me a little more context because I need to know if I should be applauding someone’s handiwork or if something happened because you look like someone attacked you.” Whitney kept her smile knowing it wasn’t the later.

“Whit… I don’t even remember it and I think he does. I lied and said I did and then I was a fucking idiot and sent him a nude this morning because I apparently willingly opt for chaos and he jerked off to it and said he…” You picked your arms up to air quote. “‘Liked it better when he was cumming inside me’ so that’s fucking insane.” Whitney’s jaw dropped at your confessional.

“Okay.. erm it’s fine. Sit down, sit down, sit down.” She beckoned you over and you sat next to her on your bed letting your body fall limp into her lap. “It’s fine. Honestly, we’ll sort it. A few questions for you. Erm… one, who are we talking about?” She asked you gently, running her hand over your head. That question alone made you feel dumb. To Whitney’s credit, it was a fair question.

“Jude… I woke up with Jude this morning.” You whined covering your face with your hands embarrassed to admit it.

“Y/N, its okay. Second question, you wanted to right? Like you’re not upset because he… you know. Like this was consensual?” She sheepishly asked you. You softly smiled at her with a shake of the head. Whitney was always so mindful and gentle. She did this with everything. She needed to make sure everything was okay so she could properly help. She wanted to make sure you were okay and she was probably the only person in your life that when she asked that, you knew she meant it and honestly wanted to listen. She really was the sweetest and had good intentions but consent wasn’t an issue here. “Okay, as long as you’re fine in that regard. Well, you should ask Jude like if he actually did finish inside and we’ll go from there. I mean… we’ve handled this before.” She giggled a little recalling many of antics between the pair of you from university to date. “The nude is whatever. Don’t worry. He’s seen you naked. It's not exactly like you have a body anyone would be ashamed of either. The photo won’t go anywhere and if you liked him or the sex, I mean it’s not a bad person to add to your body count.” She cheekily smiled at you. You couldn’t help but smile back. Her smile was infectious and it made you feel better just seeing it. “Jude is nicer than you’d think so just talk to him. You two can just have a pretty person conversation.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Do you want to get your joke in now or will you give me the morning?” You laughed, running your hands over your face again. Your relationship with Whitney was like any good friendship it was filled with love and support, a lot of laughter and amazing memories, but humor was a pillar for you two. When things got hard if you didn’t laugh about it you’d cry.

“Eh… When you least expect it. Today though.” She laughed. “To be fair, you looked really good last night. I didn’t think you’d be going to sleep alone.” Whitney cooed as you sat up. You picked up your phone and opened your messages with Jude and deleted them for your own sanity. You couldn’t have your mistakes just sitting there. “You’re supposed to say ‘yeah, Whit you looked good last night too, did you go home with anyone?” She teased bumping her shoulder against yours drawing you out of your moment of embarrassment rereading Jude’s message.

“Yes, yes, Whitney. You’re gorgeous and Trent loves you. You guys probably fucked four times yesterday so forgive me if I didn’t add to Trent’s chorus of chants of how beautiful you are.” You teased her dropping your cheek to rest on her shoulder. Whitney deserved Trent’s high praise. She was stunning, you just were a little caught out over your mistakes.

“It’ll be fine. I promise. Honest. Just talk to him, okay?” Whitney snapped back to a moment of seriousness and reassurance wrapping her arms around you tight. You don’t know what you’d do without her. She’d had this conversation with you more times than you cared to admit.

“Hey… Can I talk to you?” You embarrassingly asked Jude, coming up sheepishly beside him.

“Yeah, course but only if you help me with suncream.” He cheekily answered you, handing you the bottle. His tanned muscular physique in front of you had you momentarily forget what you even were coming to ask him. You hated that it all made your heart falter but in all seriousness, you needed to find out what happened so you took the bottle from him and squeezed it into the palm of your hand.

“Erm… so this is embarrassing, like I’m actually so embarrassed to say this but I don’t exactly remember the latter half of our night so can you just.. Ugh.. like… did you actually cum inside me?” You muttered out the words letting your face fall against his bicep. The sunscreen just waiting in your palms. You pressed your forehead against his arm muscle mortified unable to do anything else. You couldn’t look at him. Your words were quiet and mumbled.

“You were that drunk, Y/N!? That’s so bad. Fuck…” Jude was shocked. He pulled you off and held you by your shoulders in front of him looking directly into your eyes. “Okay, erm, first off I did.” He confirmed and your face dropped when he told you the fact you were hoping he was going to say wasn’t true. “Y/N… Y/N… hold on. I mean.” Jude started to laugh and your eyes widened in confusion and terror. “I mean, you don’t have to worry. I… or it was in your ass so you can’t get pregnant from that if that’s what your worried about, yeah?” Jude flashed you a devastatingly handsome and equally cheeky smile.

“Oh… my god. Are you serious right now?” If you weren’t embarrassed before you certainly were now. You wanted to just disappear.

“Yeah but I’m not really concerned about that. Are you serious you don’t remember? I feel awful that I was having fun last night with you now.” Jude admitted to you with no an unintentionally cute pout. His mind was racing panicking that he had somehow done something wrong but you didn’t think that at all. You were in your own head about how self-conscious you currently felt but also a little bit by how sweet he was.

“You had fun last night?” You asked him more reserved than you would’ve wanted to. You wanted to be confident in front of this person who felt almost larger than life but you couldn’t help but feel a little smitten by him, a shyness washing over you you didn’t often feel. You tried to move last night's antics into the back of your mind. Both he and your ‘cool’ facades were crumbling. You both clearly cared.

“Y/N, you're fit. Of course, I had fun. It was amazing. I just feel horrible you don’t remember because visuals aside it was just a fun night in general. Honest, it was great. If you’re interested, I can give you a refresh?” Jude cooed, running his hands up and down the sides of your arms in a way that somehow managed to be both comforting and sensual. His cheeky smile returning. You did as he asked and helped him with the suncream and both of you were plagued with memories of last night. “Am I wrong for thinking we have to pack condoms for the boat?” Jude whispered to you as you applied the lotion on so that no one else could hear. You wanted to laugh but you bit your lip and rolled your eyes instead.

“Yes, yes you are.” You spoke at a normal volume as you turned around to look directly at him. Funny he was asking to use condoms now considering you couldn't find any in the bedroom this morning.

“Oh, okay so you want to do round two, just do what we did last night, yeah?” Jude gave you a smug smile and slyly squeezed at your waist. Your jaw slacked at his cheek. No, you definitely weren't planning on anymore anal sex on this trip. That was a drunk indiscretion you typically preferred to save for a serious boyfriend, if that.

"No! We’re just not fucking on the boat. Full stop.” You smiled at him really having a hard time trying not to laugh but you managed spinning on your heel away from him and jetting off to find Whitney and your sexiest bikini just to really rub it in his face you weren’t fucking him on this boat. Although a part of you kind of wanted to but you'd hold your ground.

For the rest of the day though, suncream became your secret way to touch each other all day. The sun was already climbing high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the shimmering waters of Greece. The yacht bobbed gently in the marina, waiting for its passengers to board. You stood on the deck, holding a bottle of sunscreen, watching the sunlight dance on the sea’s surface. You could feel the excitement of the day ahead—a day spent out on the open water with Jude, a day of freedom and escape. Jude emerged from below deck, a grin on his face, wearing a pair of dark Prada sunglasses and Bottega swim trunks. His skin was already kissed by the sun from the days you’d spent together here, but there was something about the way the light hit him now, that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, you got that suncream?” Jude called out as he approached you. He took the bottle from your hand, your fingers brushing just slightly, sending a small jolt through you.

“Course” you replied with a playful smile. “Don’t want you getting any sun damage out here. You know, we wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.” You teased.

“I don’t know, I think it could be a good look for me. Adds a little rugged charm.” Jude chuckled, shaking his head. He squeezed some sunscreen into his hand, rubbing it over his chest and arms in quick, careless strokes. You raised an eyebrow.

“I think you missed a few spots,” you teased, stepping closer to him. Your hand lightly grazed his back as you took the bottle from him. “Let me help.” Jude smirked, enjoying the attention.

“Only if it means getting your hands on me,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, adding a teasing tone.

“Oh, stop,” you said with a laugh, trying to sound casual as your hands spread sunscreen across his back. Your fingers moved slowly, deliberately, feeling the muscles tense slightly under your touch. “You’re lucky I’m nice enough to do this for you.”

“Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Jude replied, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the feeling of your hands on his skin. “I’ve got the best view and the best company. And now, a free suncream application. What more could a guy ask for?”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” You warned softly with a giggle, your hands moving to his shoulders, your touch more lingering now. “I still have to get my own back, you know.”

“I’d be more than happy to return the favor,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “In fact, I insist.” Jude turned his head slightly, peering over his shoulder at you. You felt a flutter in your chest but kept your expression playful. Jude took the suncream and poured some into his hands, stepping behind you. His hands were warm as they gently spread the lotion across your shoulders, his touch firm yet tender. You closed your eyes, feeling a shiver run down your spine despite the warmth of the sun. “Are you sure you trust me?” Jude murmured close to your ear, his breath hot against her skin.

“I don’t know,” you replied, your voice slightly breathless. “But I guess I’ll have to find out.” Jude’s hands moved down your back, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your knees feel weak. You could feel his breath on your neck, the closeness of him making your head spin.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you,” Jude whispered, his hands still working the sunscreen into your skin but moving slower, more deliberately. “You know that, right?”You nodded, your eyes still closed, leaning back slightly into his touch.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. Jude’s hands finally reached the small of your back, lingering there for a moment before he let out a deep breath and stepped away, breaking the spell. “Alright, I think you’re all set,” he said, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the warmth in his voice. You turned to face him, your cheeks slightly flushed but smiling.

As the yacht continued to glide smoothly over the azure waters of the Mediterranean, everyone gathered around a large table for lunch. The sun was high, warming the deck, and the soft sound of waves provided a calming background melody. Plates of fresh seafood, salads, and cold drinks were spread out, and the air was filled with the scent of the sea. You were seated directly across from Jude, your little yellow Louis Vuitton bikini doing little to cover your sun-kissed skin. Every time you moved, the sunlight would catch on you, making you glow in a way that Jude found impossibly distracting. He tried to focus on his plate, spearing a piece of grilled octopus, but his eyes kept drifting back to you. You caught him looking more than once, your lips curving into a coy smile every time your eyes met.

“So, Jude,” you said suddenly, drawing his attention fully to you. You were leaning back in your chair, stretching in a way that made your body arch just slightly. “You enjoying yourself?” Your tone was light, but there was a playful glint in your eyes that didn’t go unnoticed. Jude swallowed hard, feeling the heat creep up the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m having a great time,” he replied, trying to sound casual. But his voice betrayed him with a slight huskiness. “How about you?” Your smile widened at his question, your fingers toyed with the rim of your wine glass.

“Oh, I’m having a wonderful time,” you said, your voice soft and teasing. “The company’s great… and the view’s not bad either.” Trent and Whitney exchanged a knowing glance but continued eating, choosing not to interrupt the obvious tension building between Jude and you. Whitney smirked, clearly amused by the situation though. Jude shifted in his seat, trying to keep his cool.

“Glad you’re enjoying the view,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes betrayed the way his pulse quickened every time you moved. You lifted a piece of fruit to your lips, biting into it slowly. You licked a drop of juice from your lower lip, watching Jude intently.

“I could say the same to you,” you murmured, your voice low and flirtatious. Jude’s grip tightened around his fork. It was becoming harder to focus on anything but you but he was annoyed by your cheek. Annoyed that he felt like he was loosing this conversation.

“Yeah, well,” he began, attempting to match your lighthearted tone, “it’s hard not to when you keep… putting on a show.” Jude quipped trying to regain ground. You feigned innocence, your eyes going wide.

“A show?” You repeated, your tone laced with playful mockery. “I’m just eating my lunch, Jude. What show?” You asked. Whitney lightly elbowed Trent, a small laugh escaping her.

“Maybe Jude’s just not used to being distracted during a meal,” she added, winking at you. You laughed softly, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jude. Am I distracting you?” You purred, leaning forward slightly so your bikini dipped a little lower, tits out. Jude’s throat felt dry, and he took a sip of his drink to steady himself all he could think about was you in his bed last night and getting that stupid bikini off you now.

“Just a little,” he muttered, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining his composure. “But I’m managing.” You raised an eyebrow, your smile teasing.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to suffer,” you said, drawing out the last word. “Maybe I should… cover up?” You smirked. All the boys sans Trent at the table shifted in their seats. Not keen about your suggestion. Jude quickly shook his head, a bit too fast, doing what they all wanted to.

“Nah, nah, nah, you’re fine,” he blurted out, then cursed inwardly at how desperate he sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again, “I mean, it’s a boat. You’re supposed to be comfortable.” He rectified. Your laugh was soft and melodic as you leaned back, clearly pleased with yourself.

“Good,” You said simply, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “Because I’m perfectly comfortable.” Jude could only nod, his eyes locked on hers. He felt a mixture of frustration and amusement at how effortlessly you could make him lose his cool. He knew you were doing it on purpose, and yet, he found he didn’t really mind. There was something thrilling about this game you played, a tension that made every glance, every word feel charged with electricity. As they continued eating, the conversation flowed around them, but Jude and you remained locked in your private dance of flirtation and teasing, each word, each look a step closer to something inevitable.

The villa was silent, the only sound being the soft hum of the waves outside. It was late, and everyone had already gone to bed after another lively night out at a Grecian club. The moonlight spilled into the hallway, casting gentle shadows on the whitewashed walls as you quietly padded towards Jude's room. Your heart raced, not just from the couple too many of drinks you had earlier, but from the anticipation of seeing Jude again. The whole day had been a tease-sly glances, lingering touches, and stolen moments of whispered words that had you on edge. You reached his door and paused, biting your lip, starting to second guess yourself. You could feel the fluttering in your stomach, a mixture of nerves and excitement. Gently, you turned the knob and slipped inside. The room was dimly lit by the moon, enough to make out Jude's form lying in bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You tiptoed over to his bed, your bare feet barely making a sound on the cool floor.

“Jude…” you whispered as you slipped under the covers, pressing your body against his. Jude stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open in the darkness. He turned his head to see you, a lazy smile tugging at his lips even in his half-awake state

“Y/N." He mumbled, his voice husky from sleep. "You alright?” He smiled and you felt relief weigh over you. It was unsaid but Jude was welcome in your room and you were welcome in his. Although tonight you had gone your separate ways both trying to make it seem like you weren’t dying to sleep with the other. You were the first to cave.

"I'm cold.” You lied, shivering dramatically. You knew it was a poor excuse, especially considering the warm summer night, but you didn't care, you knew he wouldn’t care. All you wanted was to be close to him.

“Cold, huh?” Jude teased with a soft chuckle, his arm reaching out to pull you closer to him. His voice was still thick with sleep but laced with amusement. "You're always cold." You pouted, though the darkness hid your playful expression.

“I am," you insisted, snuggling closer, pressing your body into his. You could feel the heat of his skin and it sent a shiver down your spine-this one was real. Jude's arms wrapped around you, his touch gentle but firm. He pulled you even closer, your bodies now pressed tightly together under the covers.

"Better?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"Much," you breathed, letting your hands rest on his chest. You could feel his heart beating steadily beneath your palm, and it made you feel safe, like this was exactly where you were supposed to be. For a few moments, you laid there in comfortable silence, the only sound the faint rustle of the sheets as you shifted slightly against each other. Your fingers traced light patterns on Jude's chest, your touch soft and exploratory. You could feel his muscles tense slightly under your touch, a silent acknowledgment of the effect you were having on him.

"Y/N," Jude murmured, his voice a little tighter now. "What are you doing?" He smirked at you.

"Nothing," you whispered back, your fingers continuing their slow journey over his skin. "Just…feeling you." Jude let out a low breath, a mix between a sigh and a groan.

"You're not making it easy to try to go back to sleep , you know.” Jude’s tone dropped. You’re breath began to increase.

"Who said anything about going back to sleep?" You shot back playfully, your voice hushed but teasing. You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes catching the moonlight just enough for him to see the mischievous glint in them. Jude chuckled again, but there was a strain in his voice now, a tension that was unmistakable.

"You're trouble," he muttered, his hand sliding down your back, resting just above your waist. "You know that?" His eyes lit up as they looked at you. You smiled, your lips brushing against his jawline as you leaned in closer.

"Only for you," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. Jude's grip on you tightened instinctively, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He rolled slightly onto his back, pulling you with him so you were half-draped over his chest. Your faces were close, the heat between you palpable. His hand slipped under your shirt, fingertips grazing your spine, causing you to shiver again-but this time, not from the cold.

"Still cold?" Jude asked, his voice low, almost a growl. His eyes were dark with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. You didn't answer with words. Instead, you pressed your lips to his, a soft, tentative kiss that quickly deepened as Jude responded. His hand moved up your back, pulling you even closer, while the other hand found its way into your hair, tangling in it. Your kiss grew hungrier, more insistent, as if all the teasing and flirting throughout the day had led to this inevitable moment. Your fingers slid up Jude's chest to his neck, holding him close, not wanting to let go. You could feel the heat of his body beneath you, the way his muscles moved under your touch, and it made your head spin. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. “I want you to remember this time.” His voice thick with emotion. You nodded, your hands moving to the back of his neck, pulling yourself down towards him.

"I've never been more sure," you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with certainty. Jude leaned foreward, capturing your lips again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The tension that had been building between you all day finally snapped, and you gave in to the desire that had been simmering just below the surface. His hands roamed over your body, memorizing every curve and line, while your hands explored his, feeling the strength and warmth of him against you. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you tangled together under the moonlight, loosing clothing items by the second, lost in each other, and in the heat of the moment. His tongue slipped past your lips, causing you to moan. Judes hand slowly drifted down towards your core. The sounds you were making in desperation were driving him crazy. The soft moans like music. You could feel your pussy aching and dripping begging for him to move faster. You wiggled your body closer into his. He gripped your thigh squeezing you as he moved closer. You were so fixated on his hands so painfully close to your pussy you hadn’t noticed one of his hand coming to grip your chin. He moved your head to look directly at him. His deep brown eyes stared back into yours. His thumb grazed over your lips as he smirked at you. He slid his finger over your plump lips a few times before pressing it into your mouth. You took it desperately, swirling your tongue around his thumb.

“So impatient, angel. What? You want me to touch you?” He asked you with such smugness you wanted to tell him to shut up but you couldn't. The only thing on your mind was his massive hard dick beneath you. He began to kiss down your jawline to your neck and you whimpered. You didn’t get to feel this last time or at least you hadn’t remembered it but god you wish you did. You tilted your head back to give him more space. He let his lips graze your warm soft skin before you started to leave little bites and nips, marking you again. You bit your lip in an attempt to muffle your moans. Jude knew exactly what he was doing and he was playing you. He now had you distracted by his lips on your neck you failed to remember his other hand, wet with your spit sliding through your folds, quick to place his thumb onto your clit and tease your entrance with his finger. He pushed one finger inside of you. He hit your sweet spot out the gate. Jude smirked in a devilishly handsome way. You couldn’t help but clench around the singular digit. He began to speed up whilst pushing in another finger. A loud, squelching sound filled the room as he played with you. “Good girl.” Jude praised you as your eyes began to roll back and the pace of his fingers sped up. His thumb keeping up its motions on your clit. Involuntarily, your hips grind on his hand as you quickly grow addicted to the feeling of him. Your back arched as he kept at it for ages until you were cumming all over his finger. You covered them in your slick as he brought you to your first high of the night.

“Jude. Please, I want more.” You begged him with a whimper as he slowly removed his fingers from your pussy. You were practically shaking and the only thing you wanted was more of him. He brought his slick covered fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan. While he attempted to tease you, you had had enough. You made quick work and wrapped your hand around his massive length beginning to pump his cock in your hand as you let some of your spit drip onto it. Jude let his head drop back into the pillow behind him not anticipating your eagerness. You loved the way he reacted to you. You moved your other hand to take his balls into it, eliciting more groans from him. You wish you remembered the first time better because his cock looked so fucking good it had your mouth watering as it began to leak precum. The prevalent vein running along the underside had you swallowing to keep yourself from drooling. Jude grabbed your hips and moved you. He pinned you beneath him now, pushing your legs further apart, settling himself in between them. He took his cock in his hand and slapped the tip softly against your wet pussy.

“I’ll give you more, baby. Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?” Jude roughly asked you dragging his cock through your folds. You nodded desperately reaching for him and pulling him into you. You gripped his muscular arms, digging your nails into his skin as he lined himself up with your entrance. He slowly stretched you out as he pushed inside, your walls already clenching around him, squeezing his cock. “Tell me, Y/N. Tell me you want me.”

“Please. Please. I need you to fuck me. I want your cock so bad.” You whined. You couldn’t believe this man had you begging like that. You bite into his lip, causing him to laugh. When he leans back, your eyes are almost closed. You moan, arching your back, and he pushes completely into you. He begins to thrust his hips and the discomfort from his massive size slips into pure pleasure. He moves in a hypnotic rhythmic pace, loving the feeling of your tight pussy squeeze him in the dead of the night.

“Fuck. This pussy’s so good, angel. Just for me, yeah?” Jude mumbled leaning down to press his lips to yours. You nodded and absentmindedly smiled at his words but were unable to get any words out as his thrusts began to get harder and faster. You moan and your eyes shut tight when he repeatedly hits your g spot. Jude’s cock is throbbing. He can barely focus. He was probably too drunk the first to really relish in how fucking good this felt. The coil in your stomach was tightening with every stroke of his cock. Your orgasm was imminent but when he slipped his hand in between your bodies to play with your clit your whined digging your nails into him further. Your mouth dropped open as you could feel your slick drip down your thighs and all over him. “Good girl—just like that– fuck. Cum f’me.” Jude groaned, moving his hips with skill. His cock glistening with your arousal. Your body is on fire, and neither of you does anything to dampen the flame, only adding gasoline to it.

“Jude.. Jude.. wait.” You whined as another climax began to blended into the one you were struggling to come down from.

“Cum f’me angel. Cum with me this time. Gimme one more. Be a good girl f’me.” Jude whispered into your ear nibbling on it and simultaneously you spasmed around his length once more clenching tightly around him. “Fuck!” He growled, nudging his face in the nape of your neck as his warmth began to fill you up. He pushes his cum deep into your pussy, fucking you through your orgasm. His thrusts began to slow and then still. Jude held himself up with one hand while his dominant one came to caress your cheek. He softly swiped some stray stands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ear. He kissed you softly with a hum. “That was the best reason I’ve ever been woken up in the middle of the night.” He smiled at you as he flopped over dramatically to your side.

“Yeah?” You questioned him with a breathy giggle now exhausted. He pulled you tight into his side.

“Hmm. You should’ve just stayed with me to begin with. This could’ve been round two.” He whispered pressing kisses to your temple.

“You want round two?” You cheekily asked running your hands over his bare chest, his skin warm and slick with a sheen of sweat. He was impossibly sexy.

“Yeah, gimme a bit more of you.” He cooed and dragged your body on top of his. You obliged happily and in the end didn’t get much sleep till the morning. And as that morning’s sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden light across the room, the rest of the house was still asleep. The quiet hush of dawn wrapping everything in a gentle cocoon. The early light painted Jude’s features in a warm glow, making him look almost ethereal, like a dream made flesh. There was something intoxicating about seeing him like this—unguarded, vulnerable, bathed in the morning light. Jude stirred slightly, his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer as he murmured something soft and unintelligible in his sleep. You smiled against his skin, your fingers tracing light patterns across his back, a silent promise of affection and comfort. For a moment, you simply lay there, wrapped in the stillness of the morning, your breaths syncing in a quiet, intimate dance. The world outside the room felt distant, irrelevant, as if nothing else mattered but the feel of his body against your, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. As the minutes passed, Jude began to wake, his body slowly coming alive under your touch. He shifted, his hand finding its way into your hair as he pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of your head. You looked up at him, meeting his half-lidded gaze, and the sleepy smile he gave you was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“Morning,” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with a quiet joy that only these secret, stolen moments could bring.

“Morning,” you whispered back, your voice just as soft. You shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing against the stubble that shadowed his skin. Jude sighed, contentment settling over him like a warm blanket as he pulled you even closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly. You stayed like that, entwined in the early morning light, the world outside forgotten as you indulged in the simple pleasure of being together, of holding each other close. In that quiet, tender moment, nothing else mattered. Last night was sex you would always remember and you were starting to realize it may be hard to forget it and even harder to forget Jude.

•

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 2 - Wine & Tequila xx

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham smut

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basset-babe · 8 months ago

Text

five times: the third.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, drinking, anger, disgust, hurtful words, self-doubt / sabotage

word count: 5.1k+

a/n: honestly felt like i bit more off than i can chew but i do relish a challenge! also, my apologies for the prolonged delay of my postings, dearests. life has been life-ing recently lol anywho, here is the ever-challenging third! opening with a whistledown aND y'all know what we do when gossip arrives, we gossip! ciao amo! (dates included do not mean anything nor is accurate to any timeline)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth. at last.

trees and skies banner from @cottage-writings, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

March 25, 18XX

Dearest readers,

The season is in full swing, and the social whirl is abuzz with the latest happenings. None have captured our collective curiosity quite like the endless stream of callers at the Y/L/N residence, all vying for the favor of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. With suitors from the finest families presenting gifts and performances, it is no surprise that Miss Y/L/N has been the object of much admiration.

However, keen observers might have noted a particular favorite among the throng. Yes, dear readers, the second Bridgerton son, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, has made a notable impression on the lovely Miss Y/N. Their promenades and conversations have not gone unnoticed, with many speculating that he holds a special place in her affections. However, as ever in the delicate dance of courtship, it is not without its complications.

Whispers have reached this author's ears that Mr. Bridgerton has been seen in the company of Lady Tilley Arnold—a widow of the late Lord Arnold and esteemed patroness of the sciences. Their encounters, whispered about in the most fashionable circles, suggest more than mere friendship.

Do hold your gasps, for the intrigue does not end there. No, for as Lady Arnold bid adieu to the shadows and prepared to depart, a most shocking revelation transpired. Witnesses, whose lips dare not speak aloud but whose eyes betray their secrets, observed a clandestine exchange between the widow and Mr. Bridgerton— a kiss, dear readers, of the most scandalous variety! The timing, dear readers, is most curious as Lady Arnold was on the verge of departing London, which only adds to the enigma of this nocturnal visit.

What, pray tell, does this clandestine encounter signify, one might wonder? Is there more to the attention of Mr. Bridgerton, that his affections may be wavering, or has Lady Arnold, with her enigmatic charm, ensnared him in her web of intrigue? Such a late-night rendezvous, particularly with a lady of Lady Arnold's standing, is certain to raise eyebrows and incite much speculation.

The ton will surely surmise whether this encounter was a fleeting indiscretion or the beginning of a more complicated entanglement. What could this mean for Mr. Bridgerton and Miss Y/N? Will their courtship withstand the weight of this scandal, or will it crumble under the pressure of whispered gossip and innuendo? Can Miss Y/N overlook this transgression and hold fast to her affection for Mr. Bridgerton, or will she be swayed by the lure of a less tarnished suitor?

One thing is certain, dear reader: the social season has become infinitely more intriguing with this latest development. Rest assured, I will be watching with keen interest as the drama unfolds.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

third time.

"Good afternoon, sister," Benedict greeted Eloise, who was standing in the middle of the house's foyer with her hands conspicuously behind her back.

"Ah! Brother, afternoon," Eloise replied cautiously, attempting to hide the gossip sheet behind her gown skirts. "Where were you?" she asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.

"Nowhere of particular interest. What are you reading?" Benedict inquired, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to her hidden arm.

"Nothing," Eloise replied hastily, but Benedict knew better. He raised an eyebrow and extended his hand, motioning for her to hand over whatever she was concealing.

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly produced the crumpled gossip sheet from behind her back, placing it in Benedict's outstretched hand. "Whistledown," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "You are mentioned."

Benedict unfolded the paper and began to read. His typically affable expression turning stoic as he saw his own name linked with both Miss Y/N and Lady Tilley Arnold. His jaw tightened, and he placed the scandal sheet on the table. Eloise cleared her throat and asked. "How are you?"

"Quite the scandal, it seems," he remarked, his tone betraying a hint of indifference. "And here I thought I could keep my affairs private. What truly vexes me is not the content concerning myself, it's how she drags in the names of Miss Y/N and Lady Arnold, implying something as if curious but ruinous as she almost did you last season. Heavens be damned, if I ever discover her true identity, I will ensure it is her life that is ruined."

"The lady has declined visits... for today, Sir. I ask... kindly, that you leave the premises," the lady's maid informed as Benedict sat astride his horse, a sketchpad clutched tightly in his hand.

His heart sank at the lady's maid's words, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He had ridden with fervent determination, his thoughts consumed by the desire to see Y/N, to seek solace in her presence after the scandalous sheet had been released. But now, faced with the reality of her refusal, he felt an overwhelming sense of restlessness wash over him.

He had hoped to find refuge in her company this late afternoon, to find comfort in the warmth of her smile and the gentleness of her touch. Yet, it seemed that even she was now beyond his reach, her doors closed to him in the wake of the damning gossip that had tainted his name.

"Could you try again, please?" Benedict implored, desperation lacing his words. "I just need to speak to her, to explain myself."

But the maid remained resolute, her expression unyielding, her features softened by a touch of sympathy for Benedict's plight. "I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated, her voice a gentle murmur, "but the lady's wishes are clear. I cannot go against her instructions."

Feeling the weight of disappointment settle upon him like a heavy cloak, Benedict offered a resigned nod to the maid, acknowledging her adherence to propriety even as his heart ached with longing. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the imposing facade of Y/N's residence, his footsteps heavy with the burden of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As he urged the horse forward, the rhythmic beat of hoofbeats echoed through the quiet streets of London, a steady cadence that mirrored the tumultuous thoughts racing through Benedict's mind. With each passing moment, he felt the weight of the recent scandal pressing down upon him, its suffocating grip tightening with each breath he took. People who walked the pathways murmuring as he passed them. Almost as if they'd point and had been meaning to ask of the truth in the latest Whistledown.

But Benedict was not one to be deterred by adversity, nor to allow his spirits to be dampened by the trials of the heart. With a determined set to his jaw and a fire burning in his eyes, he urged his horse onward, his destination clear in his mind.

Arriving at the gentlemen's club, Benedict dismounted his horse with practiced grace, the cool night air stirring the tendrils of his hair as he strode purposefully towards the grand entrance. The club stood as a bastion of camaraderie and respite amidst the chaos of London society, its hallowed halls a sanctuary for men of wit and refinement.

He'd rode to the club where his brothers were spending the early evening. The ambiance was one of refined indulgence, with the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm hue over the rich mahogany furnishings and plush velvet upholstery. He found Anthony and Colin lounging in a corner, their laughter echoing through the room like the lively notes of a well-played sonata.

"Well, if it isn't our solemn Benedict," Anthony teased, clapping him on the back as he approached. His voice carried the joviality of a man accustomed to commanding attention, resonating amidst the club's genteel chatter.

Benedict managed a half-hearted chuckle, sinking into a nearby chair. His usually composed demeanor was tinged with a hint of melancholy, though he tried to play off his turmoil with a forced smile that did little to mask the weight of his troubles.

Colin, with his mischievous blue eyes and rakish grin, raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Drama? Pray, do tell. Have you found yourself embroiled in a scandalous Whistledown-written affair, dear brother?" His tone was light, yet there lingered a genuine curiosity, as if he relished the prospect of a juicy tale.

Benedict rolled his eyes, though a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. "Nothing so melodramatic, I assure you," he quipped, his voice a melodious baritone that resonated with the refined elegance befitting a man of his stature. "Just a bit of trouble with a certain someone who shall remain nameless."

Anthony leaned forward, his interest piqued like a hound on the scent of a tantalizing mystery. "Ah, a mystery woman! Do tell us more. Is she a diamond of the first water? A rose amongst thorns? A season's paragon?" His knowing words were infused with a playful charm, his aristocratic features softened by the warmth of his smile.

Benedict couldn't help but laugh at his brother's theatrics, the sound echoing through the room like the pealing of church bells on a crisp autumn morning. "More like a thorn stuck on my rose, if you ask me," he replied wryly, his lips quirking into a rueful smile. "But alas, the sheet seems to have taken interest in me. Thus, I've offended the lady at my latest misstep."

Colin exchanged a knowing glance with Anthony, their eyes sparkling with mischief like stars in the night sky. "Ah, love can be a treacherous game, my dear brother," he remarked with a wistful sigh, his voice tinged with the bittersweet nostalgia of past dalliances.

With a resigned sigh, Benedict brough out the paper, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he unfolded it to reveal the damning headlines. His eyes scanned the page again, each word striking like a blow to his already wounded pride.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Anthony quipped, leaning in to peer over Benedict's shoulder with a devilish grin. "It seems our dear Benedict has captured the attention of Lady Whistledown herself. Tell me, is there any truth to this gossip?"

Benedict felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck as he struggled to find the words to explain himself, "There is a sliver of truth. Lady Arnold did visit, and yes, there was a kiss. But it was far from the scandalous affair Whistledown implies. We aren't anything but naught, I tell you." He answered at almost a whisper. Benedict knew that the contents of the scandal sheet would be the subject of much speculation and gossip, his reputation hanging precariously in the balance.

"And what of Miss Y/L/N, whom you are so ardently courting? How does she figure into this little drama?" Anthony asked, concerned of his brother's standing.

Benedict sighed, his concern evident as he expressed his worries to his brothers. "That is precisely my concern. I have been nothing but sincerity in my courtship of Miss Y/L/N. She deserves better than to be dragged into this mess."

Colin leaned forward, sensing the gravity of the situation. "So, what will you do? Surely you cannot let Whistledown's prattle jeopardize your relationship with Miss Y/N."

Benedict's expression phased into determination. "I intend to speak with Miss Y/N directly. She deserves to hear the truth from me, not the twisted version Whistledown has concocted. That if she allows an audience with me. And as for Lady Arnold, I shall ensure our interactions are far more circumspect if not, naught in all aspects she may bring up on me, when she does return and does whatever near."

Anthony nodded in agreement, his gaze softening with genuine affection as he clapped Benedict on the back. "Let us not dwell on the past now, brother, but instead focus on the future—on what you can do. Whatever Lady Whistledown may have to say, we shall weather the storm together, as we always have."

Colin, then, raised his glass, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he played along with his brother's jest. "To no longer saving face, my dear Colin! For love, for honor, and for the sake of our brother's bruised ego!" His words were punctuated by a hearty laugh that resonated through the room like the rumble of thunder on a stormy night. This is going to be quite the arduous courtship.

The grand lobby of the Londinium Opera House was a scene of opulence and refinement, an exquisite embodiment of sophistication. As the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow through the tall, arched windows, the room seemed to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting evening ahead. The marble floors gleamed underfoot, polished to such perfection that they reflected the twinkling crystal chandeliers overhead. These chandeliers, with their countless prisms, scattered light like a thousand tiny stars, illuminating the elegant assembly below.

The air was a heady blend of perfumes and colognes, mingling with the faint, tantalizing scent of fresh flowers arranged in lavish bouquets atop mahogany tables. The flowers, a riot of colors and species, were chosen to reflect the season, adding a touch of nature’s beauty to the man-made splendor of the opera house.

"This is definitely too stuffy for my nose." Eloise brushed her finger by her nose as she and Benedict passed through a sea of dressed up ton amidst tonight's opera.

As the two navigated through the ton at the opera's lobby, their steps softened by the plush carpeting beneath them, Eloise couldn't help but wrinkle her nose discreetly once more. "I agree," Benedict murmured to Eloise, his voice barely audible over the gentle murmur of conversations and the distant strains of prelude music.

"It's like drowning in a sea of perfume and pomposity. How long will the show take?" Eloise asks.

Benedict chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the crowd with a bemused expression. "Indeed, it seems we've stumbled into a gathering of the city's most refined noses and airs. But I fear, it'd be almost four more hours but there must be a few souls yearning for a breath of fresh air."

Eloise grinned, her spirits lifting at Benedict's playful remark. "That'd probably be us, brother," she replied, her gaze sweeping the room in search of kindred spirits amidst the sea of finery. "But until then, I'd die of ennui from this whole bonanza of a show."

"Not if I escape it," Benedict remarked in jest as he wiggled his eyebrows at Eloise. "But, of course, I'm taking you with me."

"You are absolutely my favorite brother." And the two, laughing at their antics, sneaked out of the opera house where their carriage is waiting to flee the night.

The carriage ride through the moonlit streets of London was a serene affair, with only the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the soft creaking of the carriage wheels breaking the stillness of the night. Benedict sat in quiet contemplation, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window where the city's twinkling lights danced like distant stars against the dark canvas of the night sky. He had set upon to spend the night on the invite of a fellow painter, Lord Granville. The address card nestled in his pockets.

He knocked on the carriage roof and said, "We are to drop off Eloise at home first." Eloise shot her brother with a knowing look, "So, you do have plans for the night, Ben. Interesting." She nodded teasingly.

"What? Can't I spend my night on my own concurs?" He said, feigning defense on whatever his sister may be implying. The carriage stops and the footman opens the door. Eloise turns to her brother as she went down the carriage steps and says, "Amidst your Whistledown scrape, you seem to be taking this very light. Oh, to be a man this easy!"

Benedict shakes his head as he laughs at his sister's comment. He has been taking this all seriously, has he? It's not like he hasn't been doing amends. The gossip sheet only had been spread this morning. Surely, damages are still reversible? As the carriage turned out their street, Benedict's thoughts turned to the ramble of his mind. All his thoughts are loud of Y/N, her voice ringing in his head. He'd imagined their time in her garden. How she simply tells stories and facts of botany; or the time she'd nestled by the tree, her cheeks flushed with the lingering laughs they'd shared moments ago, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of her. And as quickly as the smile drew on, it dissipated recalling that she had not allowed him audience this morning.

The carriage came to a gentle halt in front of a townhouse's doorstep, and Benedict stepped out onto the cobblestone path of 5th avenue, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. He turned to the carriage driver, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before the driver urged the horses forward once more, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Benedict delicately clutched the card bearing Lord Granville's prestigious name, ensuring he stood before the correct abode. With an air of refined assurance, he gently rapped the door knocker twice, whereupon Lord Granville himself promptly emerged to greet him.

Lord Granville, sporting a relaxed ensemble, greeted Benedict with a gracious nod, his demeanor exuding an aura of aristocratic charm. "Ah, Mr. Bridgerton, how delightful of you to join us," he intoned, his voice carrying a hint of cultured refinement. "Please, do come in. The evening promises to be most engaging."

With a gracious gesture, Lord Granville ushered Benedict into the dimly lit foyer, where the scent of beeswax candles mingled with the earthy aroma of oil paints. The sound of lively conversation and the occasional strumming of a lute drifted through the air, creating an atmosphere of artistic fervor.

As Benedict crossed the threshold, he felt a sense of excitement building within him, eager to immerse himself in the vibrant energy of the bohemian salon and the company of fellow artists and free spirits. Tonight promised to be a celebration of creativity and expression, a refuge from the stifling conventions of society, and Benedict couldn't wait to grasp his wash in of it.

The house was a riot of color and creativity, with tapestries adorned with vibrant hues lining the walls and eclectic artwork displayed on every available surface. Easels dotted the room, each showcasing works in progress, while clusters of artists and poets engaged in spirited discussions about philosophy, politics, and the latest artistic movements.

Benedict found himself swept up in the lively atmosphere, drawn to a group of painters huddled on their own canvases, their brushes dancing across the surface with frenetic energy. Where in the middle, nude women posed as muses and artist drew of their perspectives. Nearby, a poet recited verses of love and longing, his words weaving a tapestry of emotion that hung heavy in the air. Lord Granville now swept in his own circle.

In a secluded corner of the salon, hidden away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Benedict stumbled upon a private room adorned with tapestries of rich, jewel-toned hues and plush velvet cushions strewn about in haphazard arrangements. The flickering glow of candlelight cast dancing shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and secrecy.

There, amidst the opulent surroundings, Benedict spotted Y/N, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the soft hum of conversation. She sat perched on a velvet chaise, a paintbrush in hand, her eyes alight with passion as she leaned over a canvas, her movements fluid and graceful.

Surrounded by fellow artists, including Lady Granville and Genevieve Delacroix, the ton's most favored seamstress, Y/N appeared completely at ease, her quick wit and sharp intellect evident as she engaged in spirited conversation, her laughter mingling with the clink of glasses and the rustle of paintbrushes.

As Benedict watched from the doorway, a pang of longing pierced his heart, the sight of Y/N's radiant smile and infectious energy stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. He yearned to join her, to bask in her warmth and revel in the shared joy of creation, but the weight of their unresolved conflict hung heavy between them like a barrier, casting a shadow over their once vibrant connection.

Summoning his courage, Benedict stepped forward, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floorboards. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could say another word, Lady Granville intercepted him, her gaze cold and calculating.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Madame Delacroix greeted with a disdainful tilt of her chin, her French slurred tone laced with thinly veiled contempt. "What brings you to our little gathering? Surely you don't expect to find yourself welcome here after what Whistledown's latest sheet has revealed."

Benedict's heart sank at the mention of Lady Whistledown's scandalous gossip, the weight of the accusations pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. "Y/N, please," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation, but Lady Granville merely raised an imperious eyebrow, her disdain palpable.

"Ladies, could you please give us the room," Y/N interjected firmly, her voice carrying a steely edge that brooked no argument. Madame Delacroix shot her a questioning look, to which the lady nodded reluctantly. With a series of subtle glances directed at Benedict, the women filed out of the room, their gazes lingering on him with thinly veiled curiosity.

As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence settled over the room, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Y/N turned to face Benedict, her features hardened with a mixture of anger and hurt.

As Benedict and Y/N unexpectedly found themselves face to face amidst the opulent surroundings of the Granville party, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Y/N's eyes, usually warm and inviting, now bore a glint of guarded skepticism as she regarded Benedict, her gaze piercing through the facade of polite decorum.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the murmurs of conversation fading into a distant hum as they stood locked in a silent standoff, each grappling with their own tumultuous thoughts and feelings. The flickering glow of candlelight cast eerie shadows across their features, adding to the sense of unease that hung between them like a tangible force.

"Benedict," Y/N's voice broke through the suffocating silence, her tone edged with a hint of surprise and resentment, "What brings you here? I didn't expect to see you at this gathering."

Benedict's features tightened with unease, his eyes darting nervously as he struggled to find the right words. The grandeur of the room seemed to mock his discomfort, its lavish decor serving as a stark reminder of the gaping divide that had grown between them.

"I...I could ask you the same," Benedict replied tentatively, his voice betraying his inner turmoil. The weight of Y/N's gaze bore down on him like a heavy burden, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

Y/N's lips formed a thin line, a flicker of frustration flashing in her eyes as she absorbed Benedict's response. The tension between them crackled in the air, suffusing the room with an almost palpable energy as they stood locked in a silent standoff.

"I am here with friends," Y/N explained tersely, her tone tinged with defensiveness. "I didn't anticipate running into...you."

Benedict felt a pang of remorse at the coldness in her tone, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. The warmth of the room seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a chilling emptiness that mirrored the growing distance between them.

"Y/N," he implored, his tone tinged with worry. "There's something I need to ask you. Why did you deny me an audience earlier this morning? I sought you out, but I was turned away without explanation. Please, Y/N, I need to understand."

Y/N paused in her tracks, her hand hovering over the couch arm as she hesitated. The weight of Benedict's words hung heavy in the air between them, the tension palpable as they stood on the precipice of an unspoken truth.

Slowly, Y/N turned to face him, her expression guarded as she met his gaze with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I couldn't face anyone— even you, Benedict," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not after... Whistledown that's happened. I needed time to gather my thoughts, to come to terms with the depth of my pain and my reputation."

Benedict's heart sank at her words, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. "Y/N, I had no idea," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "If I had known, I would have respected your wishes. I never meant to add to your suffering."

"I know, Benedict," she firmly said, but her voice betraying her, tinged with sadness. "But some wounds run deeper than others, and time alone cannot heal them. I need space, time to find my own path forward."

"Y/N, please," Benedict pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation, "Let me explain. I never meant to—"

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger, her frustration boiling over as she confronted him with the pain he had caused. "Explain what, Benedict?" she demanded, her voice rising with each word. "Your absence? Your silence? Or perhaps the fact that I'm possibly nothing more than mere amusement to you, a prim and proper distraction from your rakish pursuits?"

Benedict recoiled at her words, the sting of her accusations piercing through his defenses like a dagger to his heart. "No, Y/N, you know that's not true," he protested, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"Do I?" she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "How can I be sure of anything when you've left me to face the whispers and the gossip alone? When you've abandoned me to doubt and humiliation?" Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as she spoke, the pain of betrayal etched deeply into her features.

Benedict felt the weight of her accusations like a sword to his heart, his chest tightening with the agony of her words. "Y/N, please, you must understand," he implored, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never intended for any of this to happen. My absence, my silence—it was never a reflection of how I feel about you. I've been grappling with my own inner turmoil, responsibilities and fears that have nothing to do with you."

Benedict's admission hung heavy in the air between them, his confession like a dagger to Y/N's heart. Her anger, fueled by betrayal and hurt, threatened to consume her as she struggled to process his words.

Y/N's eyes blazed with fury, her anger fueling her resolve as she confronted him head-on. "And what of the whispers about you and Lady Arnold?" she challenged, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you telling me you had no part in fueling those rumors? That you never kissed her?"

Benedict recoiled at the accusation, the shame of his actions burning like a branding iron against his conscience. "No, Y/N, I swear it wasn't like that," he admitted, his voice laced with desperation. "There was a moment…" He paused, contemplating confession and it's consequences. He closed his eyes wincing at what he's about to say, "We did kiss, but it meant nothing. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that I deeply regret."

"A mistake?" she repeated incredulously, her voice tinged with disbelief. "A lapse in judgment? Do you expect me to believe that, Benedict? Do you expect me to simply forgive and forget?"

Benedict's eyes pleaded with her, his desperation palpable as he reached out to grasp her hand. "Y/N, please, I know I've made a terrible mistake," he implored, his voice trembling with remorse. "But I swear to you, it meant nothing. I assure you, it was inconsequential. You are the one I am committed to, the one I wish to be with. Lady Arnold made advances, and I rejected them. It was a momentary lapse in which I failed to uphold my commitment to you."

Y/N's shoulders slumped with the weight of Benedict's words, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his confession. She sank down onto a nearby chair, her breath hitching as tears welled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks in silent rivulets. With trembling hands, she buried her face in her palms, the anguish of betrayal and heartache washing over her in relentless waves.

The room seemed to blur around her, the vibrant colors of the decor fading into a haze as she struggled to come to terms with the devastation of Benedict's admission. His words echoed in her mind, each syllable a painful reminder of the trust that had been shattered beyond repair.

How could she believe him? How could she trust that his words held any semblance of truth when his actions had spoken so loudly against him? The image of Benedict with Lady Arnold haunted her, a specter of doubt and uncertainty that threatened to consume her from within.

But amidst the turmoil of her emotions, a glimmer of resolve flickered deep within Y/N's heart. She may have been broken, battered by the storm of betrayal, but she refused to let Benedict's actions define her worth. With a steadying breath, she lifted her head, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the soft glow of candlelight.

"I thought you were different, Benedict," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I... I don't know if I can forgive you. The pain you've caused runs deep, and I fear that trust may never be fully restored."

Benedict's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's tears, his own anguish mirrored in her sorrowful expression. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees beside her, his hand reaching out tentatively to brush against her trembling shoulder.

"Y/N, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand if you can't forgive me, if you can't find it in your heart to trust me again. But I swear to you, with every fiber of my being, I love you. I would give anything to make things right between us, to earn back your trust and your love."

His words hung in the air, a fragile plea borne of remorse and desperation. He longed to take her in his arms, to hold her close and shield her from the pain he had caused. But he knew that he had to respect her boundaries, to give her the space she needed to process her emotions and come to her own decision.

Y/N's shoulders trembled beneath his touch, her tears flowing unabated as she struggled to find the strength to meet his gaze. The weight of his words pressed down upon her, a bittersweet reminder of the love they had shared and the trust that had been so brutally betrayed.

For a moment, it seemed as though Y/N might succumb to Benedict's heartfelt plea. Her eyes softened, her resolve wavering in the face of his earnest confession. But then, with a trembling breath, she pulled away from his touch, her tears still glistening in the dim light of the room.

"I... I need some air," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. Without another word, she stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor in a jarring echo of their fractured connection.

With a determined tilt of her chin, Y/N lifted the glass to her lips, downing the remaining contents in one swift motion. The bitter taste of the alcohol burned her throat, a sharp contrast to the ache in her heart as she turned away from Benedict, her steps heavy with the weight of her decision.

Benedict watched helplessly as she made her way to the door, his heart breaking with each retreating footfall. He longed to call out to her, to beg her to stay, but he knew that it was futile. The damage had been done, the rift between them too deep to bridge in a single moment of remorse.

As Y/N disappeared through the doorway, leaving him alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship, Benedict felt a hollow emptiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had lost her, perhaps forever, condemned to a lifetime of regret for the pain he had inflicted upon the woman he loved. And as he sank to the chair, his heart heavy with sorrow, he prayed for a chance at redemption, a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of their once bright future.

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iamquiantrelle · 11 days ago

Text

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 3)────── iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

⌗taglist: @trentswrld, @trentpov @judesvirtual @sailurmewn @football-and-fanfics @eriks-girl @preetykookie @4ngryssgf @endlessmuse @noturbabe22, @sucredreamer @bbgkoo @hollablkgrl @notzara @chrisoppar

Losing to Spurs was one thing. Getting subbed on at half-time just to watch Son curl one into the top corner? That was another level of violation. The gaffer's words still rang in his ears - "need more energy," "push the line higher," all that chat.

Trent slouched in his seat on the team bus, hood pulled up, trying to ignore the quiet murmur of conversations around him. Virgil was giving some interview over the phone about "maintaining perspective" and "focusing on the next match." Easy to say when you'd played the full ninety, wasn't it?

His phone buzzed - probably his mum again, ready with another "head up love" message. Or Tyler wanting to dissect his minutes like they did after every match these days. Or maybe-

April: Nice cameo. At least your legs looked good in those shorts.

His stomach did that weird flip thing again. They hadn't properly talked since that night at Baltic Market, just the occasional message taking the piss out of each other. But every notification from her had him feeling like a kid checking if his crush had texted back.

Trent: Watching me play now are you?

April: Had to see what I'm working with for the shoot next week. April: Though after that performance… might need to rethink the concept. April: Maybe we focus on your face instead 😘

Cheeky. Even after a loss, she was out here trying to wind him up. And the worst part? It was working.

Trent: Getting brave behind that phone aren't you?

April: Always brave baby. You're the one who bottled it at Baltic.

His cheeks heated at the memory. The way she'd mugged him off, leaving him standing there like a sap after he'd suggested going home together. Those curls bouncing as she walked away, that jumpsuit doing criminal things to his imagination. He'd barely slept that night, replaying every moment in his head like some lovesick teenager.

Trent: Didn't bottle anything. You're the one who ran away.

April: That what you think? April: Interesting theory. April: Still thinking about those curls though?

Fuck. Am I that obvious?

The bus hit a pothole, jolting him out of his April-induced trance. Robbo was giving him a weird look from across the aisle, probably wondering why he was grinning at his phone after a loss like that.

"You alright mate? Looking flushed."

"Just tired," Trent muttered, turning back to his phone. But his mind was racing. Had she been playing him this whole time? Testing him maybe? That night at Baltic, the way she'd challenged him about everything - his accent, his image, his career. Like she was trying to see what he was made of.

April: Maker's Studio. Tuesday. 2pm. April: Don't be late.

His brain immediately went places it shouldn't. Especially not on a team bus after a loss, with Robbo's suspicious eyes still on him.

Trent: Still trying to get me naked?

April: Please. April: When I want you naked, you'll know. April: Besides, thought you were scared of my camera?

Christ. The way she could switch from professional to pure trouble in the space of one message. Had him twisted up inside.

The rest of the journey passed in a blur of April's messages and his increasingly frustrated attempts to keep his mind out of the gutter. By the time they pulled into Melwood, he was wound up, thinking about Tuesday and whatever she had planned.

"Trent!" Robbo's voice cut through his thoughts. "You coming or what? Some of us have families to get home to."

"Yeah yeah, give me a minute."

Around him, the lads were gathering their bags, some already heading for their cars. Virgil had finished his interview and was now deep in conversation with Joe about some tactical thing Trent should probably be paying attention to, but his eyes were glued to his screen as three dots appeared.

April: Sweet dreams pretty boy. Try not to think about me too much. April: Though those marks have probably faded by now… April: Shame. Might need to refresh them soon.

His collar suddenly felt too tight. Those hickeys had finally disappeared, but he swore he could still feel where they'd been, like she'd marked him.

"Trent!" Robbo again, now standing over him. "What's got you so distracted? Better not be that OnlyFans girl Ty was warning us about–"

"Shut up," Trent laughed, finally standing up. But his mind was racing. Tuesday couldn't come fast enough.

Back in his car, he sat for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Fuck it.

Trent: Only if you promise to aim lower this time.

April: Is that a challenge, Alexander-Arnold? April: Because you should know by now… April: I never back down from those.

Too late for that whole 'not thinking about her' thing, wasn't it?

The drive home was a blur of streetlights and his mind wandering to dangerous places. Whatever she had planned, whatever game she was playing… he was all in.

His phone buzzed one last time as he pulled into his driveway.

April: PS - Wear pants that fit you well. April: Since that's all I'm letting you keep on.

Fucking hell.

Even the loss to Spurs didn't sting as much anymore. How could it, when all he could think about was Tuesday and whatever chaos April had in store for him?

He was starting to live for that chaos. Starting to crave it, even. The way she kept him on his toes, never knowing if she was going to build him up or tear him down.

Maybe Tyler had been right. Maybe he did need someone who didn't treat him like TAA, Liverpool's golden boy. Someone who saw past all that and still wanted to take the piss.

Or maybe he was just twisted. Either way, Tuesday couldn't come soon enough.

Nothing like a 4-0 against Accrington Stanley to get your head right. Trent's goal was still playing on repeat in his mind - caught it sweet from outside the box, right into the top bins. Even had the Kop singing his name again.

The rental space April had found was fancy, all modern art on exposed brick walls and windows bigger than his first flat. Tyler had been in his ear all week about their "creative direction" or whatever, but Trent wasn't worried about all that. He was more focused on April's texts that had been driving him insane - little digs about oiling him up for the camera, asking if he'd been doing his crunches.

When he walked in, she was bent over her camera setup, wearing ripped jeans that should've been illegal and some massive Rolling Stones jumper that kept slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was trying to escape its bun, curls going everywhere like they had a mind of their own.

"Look who finally showed up," she said without looking up. "Heard you had yourself a game yesterday."

"Scored an absolute worldie, didn't I?"

"Against Accrington Stanley." Now she did look up, that smirk playing at her lips. "My nan could score against them."

There was a clothes rack in the corner - nothing fancy, just basic stuff. No designer labels or statement pieces. Dead simple, like she was trying to strip away all the flash.

"Strip," she said, still fiddling with her camera.

"What?"

"Just your shirt, you idiot. Unless…" She looked up now, those eyes dancing with mischief. "You still bricking it?"

"Not scared of anything, me." He pulled his shirt off, trying to act casual while her eyes did a slow crawl over his chest that had his skin burning.

"Shame about the locs though," she said suddenly, tilting her head. "Why'd you cut them?"

The question caught him off guard. No one ever asked that - they just assumed he was "cleaning up his image" or whatever other bullshit the papers came up with.

"Just fancied a change," he shrugged, but April's eyes narrowed.

"Nah, there's more to it. The way your jaw just tensed? Dead giveaway."

He sighed, running a hand over his shorter hair. "Just got tired of the comments. 'Bit urban for Liverpool's golden boy' and all that shit."

"Ah." Her face softened slightly. "The classic microaggressions. Get that a lot myself in this industry. 'You're so well-spoken' and all that."

"Yeah well… get enough of that without the locs. Too black for some, not black enough for others. Proper mad how everyone's got an opinion on what you should be when you're mixed."

"'Are you black or like… black black?'" April mimicked, rolling her eyes. "Or my personal favorite - 'you must get your creativity from your white side.'"

Trent snorted. "Mad how they think being mixed means you can't be fully anything. Like my mum being white somehow cancels out everything else."

"Society's fucked, isn't it?" April picked up her camera. "But at least you've got good bone structure. Now turn left a bit - need to catch that jawline properly."

Just like that, she was back to business. But something had shifted slightly. Like they'd recognized something in each other, some shared experience that went beyond the flirting and banter.

"These aren't going to be too artistic, are they?" he asked as she adjusted his pose. "Don't fancy seeing my face in some gallery."

"Nah, just clean shots. Show the real you, not what everyone expects Liverpool's golden boy to be."

The way she said it - mocking but understanding at the same time. Like she got it. Got him.

Maybe that's why it was so easy to relax around her, even half-naked in front of her camera. She saw past all the labels, all the expectations. Saw him as just… Trent.

"Hold that pose," April said, then paused. "Isn't your dad's Jamaican?"

"Yeah, family's in Kingston. Why?"

Her grin widened. "Wag wan then, bredrin?"

"Yuh dun know," Trent laughed, genuinely surprised. "Your people yard too?"

"Mum's family's from Portmore. Small world, huh?" She snapped a few more shots. "No wonder you can handle the spice. Though that accent's proper scouse."

The shoot wrapped quicker than he expected, April's efficiency matching her chat. She gestured him over to her laptop, flicking through the raw shots.

"Need some editing obviously, but…"

"Nah these are sick." And they were - nothing pretentious or artsy, just him looking… real. Natural.

"Could be better if you'd gotten naked though."

Trent's head snapped up, but she was already packing away her gear, that mischievous smirk playing at her lips.

"Still on about that?"

"Always." She turned, properly looking at him now. "You trying to get in my pants too, Alexander-Arnold?"

"Maybe."

"Bold. I'm a wild girl though." Her voice dropped lower, all that playful energy suddenly gone. This wasn't April the photographer anymore, or even April taking the piss. This was something else entirely - a warning and an invitation all at once.

"I'm a wild boy."

She actually laughed at that, but it wasn't her usual take-the-piss laugh. This was darker, like she knew something he didn't. "Please. You couldn't handle me."

"Try me."

The words came out more confident than he felt, but fuck it. Something about the way she was looking at him - like a cat that had cornered its prey but was deciding whether to play with it first.

"Okay," she shrugged, but those eyes were pure danger now. "I warned you though. Free this weekend?"

His heart actually skipped. Proper teenage behavior. "Yeah."

"I'll text you then." She shouldered her bag, that predatory smile still playing at her lips. Every movement calculated, like she knew exactly what she was doing to his head. "Try not to think about me too much until then."

Too late for that, wasn't it?

He watched her walk away, remembering how she'd left him hanging at Baltic Market. But this time felt different. This time she wasn't testing him - she was hunting him.

And fuck him if he didn't want to be caught.

The address April sent him was in some dodgy part of London he'd never been to before. Like proper sketch - the kind of place his Range Rover looked well out of place. No restaurants nearby, no posh shops, just warehouses and old buildings with blacked-out windows.

23B Blackwall Lane.

No sign. No queue. Just a massive guy in black standing outside a door that looked like it hadn't been opened since the 80s.

"ID," the guard grunted. Then, after checking it: "Arms up."

"You taking the piss?"

But no, man actually started patting him down like he was going through customs. Christ. What had April gotten him into?

"Miss Goodplenty's guest?" A woman appeared, all long hair and red lipstick. Looked out of place against the grimy walls.

"Yeah."

She handed him a tablet. "Sign these."

"What am I signing?"

"Non-disclosure agreement. And a waiver stating the club isn't responsible for any... injuries."

Any what now?

His eyes scanned the document. Words like "consensual" and "physical activity" and "binding agreement" jumped out at him.

Fucking hell.

But he'd already come this far, hadn't he? And something about the way April had added cheeky emojis when she sent the address... like she knew exactly what she was doing to his head.

He signed.

The door opened to darkness and bass so heavy he could feel it in his chest. As his eyes adjusted, he realized where he was.

Oh.

OH.

Real sus that April hadn't mentioned this was a sex club.

Bodies everywhere - some clothed, some... definitely not. Red lights casting shadows that left just enough to the imagination. Private rooms with heavy curtains. A dance floor that looked more like an orgy waiting to happen.

His phone buzzed.

April: Third floor. Room 7.

April: Don't keep me waiting.

April: And don't look so scared, pretty boy. Nobody bites.

April: Unless you ask nicely 😘

Christ.

Trent's designer shirt and jeans felt about as subtle as a police siren in this place. Everyone else was either half-naked or dressed in leather. Some woman walked past in what looked like actual diamonds and not much else. Just walking around tits and pussy out like this was just another Saturday.

A waitress appeared at his elbow - a pin-up model type in lingerie and a garter belt that left nothing to the imagination. "Drink?"

"Uh..." Real smooth, that.

"First time?" She smiled knowingly, adjusting stockings. "Don't worry love, everyone's nervous their first night."

Another waitress drifted past balancing a tray of champagne, wearing what had to be vintage Agent Provocateur and heels that could probably kill a man. The whole place was like some mad fever dream - all red velvet and gold accents and women who looked like they'd stepped out of a 1950s Playboy.

His phone buzzed again.

April: You look proper lost down there 😂

April: Still waiting...

April: Unless you're too scared?

Cheeky girl was watching him. He looked up, trying to spot her, but the upper floors were all shadows and private booths.

A couple stumbled past him, giggling, clothes disheveled. What was April playing at, bringing him here?

His phone lit up one more time.

April: Tick tock, Alexander-Arnold.

April: Or should I find someone else to play with?

That got his feet moving. Third floor. Room 7.

What kind of posh sex club didn't have lifts? The staircase was all Victorian gothic, wrought iron railings and dim lighting that cast weird shadows on the walls. Some couple was going at it against the wall between the first and second floor, and Trent had to squeeze past them like it was normal. Could hear all sorts through the doors he passed - moans and music and what sounded like... was that a whip?

His legs were burning by the second floor. Each step revealed more sounds he'd rather not think about. Weird how normal everyone seemed about it all - like they were at some dinner party instead of... whatever this was.

Room 7 had a fancy door, all dark wood and gold numbers. His knuckles had barely touched it when it swung open.

"Wow- I- April..." His brain short-circuited completely.

The leather outfit she wore gave him a clear view of the tops of her breasts and had various cutouts throughout that showed glimpses of her skin. Her curls were wilder than usual, framing her face like some kind of dark halo.

"It's Madam here," she said curtly, stepping aside to let him in.

Madam?

The room was nothing like he'd expected. Luxe with some BDSM type stuff hanging on the wall, a chaise in a corner, and massive windows overlooking the club below. A small dining table was set up in one corner, complete with fancy china and champagne on ice.

"Sit," she gestured to the chair near the window. "How are you feeling?"

"Bit shocked if I'm honest." He could see the dance floor below, bodies moving in the dim light.

That laugh again - the same one from their first meeting, breaking through her stern façade. "Told you I was a wild girl, didn't I?" She moved closer, her voice dropping low enough to make his skin tingle. "Still think you're a wild boy?"

For once in his life, Trent Alexander-Arnold was speechless.

"You're just green," she smiled, something softer in her eyes now. "When we get started on some things, you'll be fine." His eyes must've gone wide because she laughed again. "Not tonight obviously." She settled into the chair opposite him. "Tonight we talk, have dinner. Very vanilla. I'll tell you all the dirty things I like, you tell me yours. And then if you want to keep it going, we can."

"And if I don't?" His voice came out steadier than he felt.

"Then you leave," she shrugged. "We never have to bring it up again. Just continue on with our work relationship."

Simple as that. Except nothing about April had ever been simple, had it?

"So how'd you get into all this?" Trent asked, watching as April poured them both some champagne.

"Photography or the other stuff?" Her eyes glinted mischievously.

"You know which one."

"Same way anyone finds their thing, I suppose." She settled in her chair. "Tried it, loved it, kept going. Speaking of..." She tilted her head, studying him. "Those marks I left on you. How'd that make you feel?"

The champagne suddenly felt thick in his throat. "I... liked them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Proper liked them actually."

"Mmm." She took a slow sip of champagne. "Tell me how you usually are then. In bed."

"I take charge mostly," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Do the leading and that."

"So you do the bending?" She smirked over her glass.

"Yeah."

"But does that satisfy you? Like for real?" Her foot found his leg under the table, sliding up slowly. "Does it feel amazing you taking all of the control or..." she paused, watching his reaction, "do you need someone to be in charge sometimes?"

He laughed nervously, hand tightening around his glass. "Never thought about it before. I mean I do like little choke while I stroke but nothing like..." he gestured around the room.

"Okay so this can be your last visit here."

"You'll do that?" The words came out before he could stop them.

"Yeah," she said softly, something genuine breaking through her dominant persona. "It's about your pleasure too, Trent."

Mother of Christ.

"I should probably tell you what I'm into," April continued, leaning forward slightly. "I'm a dom - that means I like control. All of it."

"Like what you did with the..." Trent gestured to his neck.

"Marking you up? That's just the start. I like restraints, commands, proper domination." She studied his face. "You said you like choking?"

"Yeah," he admitted, feeling his face heat. "Gets me proper going."

"What else?"

"I dunno... never really explored much. Been curious though."

"About?"

"Just... different things. Being told what to do maybe." He couldn't believe he was saying this out loud.

"Good," she smiled. "Because I'm not a switch."

"A what?"

"Someone who goes back and forth between dom and sub. When we're in the bedroom, I'm in charge. Simple as that."

His mouth felt dry. "And if I wanted to try..."

"We start slow. Build trust. But first," she leaned back, "you need to get checked."

"What?"

"Full panel. I don't do condoms."

His eyes went wide. "Raw? That's..." Risky. Mental. Completely hot. "Actually one of my fantasies."

"Of course it is," she laughed. "You're such a boy. But yes - once we're both cleared, no barriers between us."

His brain was already going places it shouldn't.

"You're thinking about it now, aren't you?" That predatory smile was back.

"Maybe."

"Good. Keep thinking about it. But remember..." she stood up, moving behind his chair. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

A knock at the door made Trent jump slightly. April just smirked, crossing the room with that confident stride that had his eyes following her every move.

The same pin-up waitress from downstairs wheeled in a proper feast - some posh looking steak for him, seafood linguine for April.

"You ordered for me?"

"I do that sometimes." She settled back in her chair. "Part of the whole control thing. Problem?"

He cut into the steak - perfectly medium rare, exactly how he liked it. "Nah, this is actually mad good."

"Course it is. Already figured out what you like, haven't I?"

Something about the way she said it made his stomach flip. She had been watching him, hadn't she? Learning his habits, his preferences. Even that first night at the party, she'd known exactly how to push his buttons.

"So what else you got figured out about me then?"

"Plenty." She twirled pasta around her fork. "Like how you pretend to be this proper confident footballer, but really..." her foot found his leg again, "you're curious about giving up that control."

His breath caught. Mad how she could read him like that.

"Tell me more about what you're into," he said, trying to regain some composure. "Like, what should I expect?"

"Already thinking ahead?" That devilish smile was back. "Well, I told you - I'm a dom. I like control, discipline, watching someone submit to me completely."

The way she said it - like she was discussing the weather - had his head spinning.

"But it's not just about the physical stuff," she continued. "It's about trust. Power exchange. Like how you trusted me to order your food. Small things building up to bigger ones."

"What kind of bigger ones?"

"Patience," she smirked. "We'll get there. But first..." She leaned forward, those eyes locked on his. "Tell me more about these fantasies of yours. The raw thing got you excited."

"Just... yeah." He felt his face heat up. "Something about it being bare. More intimate like."

"Mmm. And the choking? You said you've done that before?"

"Bit of it, yeah. Nothing major though."

"And how'd that make you feel?"

"Good, I guess?" He paused, thinking. "But sometimes... sometimes I wonder what it'd be like–"

"Having someone control you?" Her voice dropped lower. "Tell you what to do? When you can move, when you can speak... when you can cum?"

Fucking hell.

"We'd start slow," she added, watching his reaction. "Build up to things. I'm not about to throw you in the deep end."

"What would we start with then?"

"Simple commands. Teaching you how to follow orders. Maybe some light bondage if you're good." She said it so casual, like she was planning a training session instead of... whatever this was.

"And if I'm not good?"

That predatory smile was back. "Then you get punished."

My Lord in heaven.

"You're thinking about it again," she observed, sliding her foot higher up his leg. "I can see it in your eyes. The way you're gripping that fork."

He hadn't even realized how tense he was.

"Finish your food," she commanded softly. "We've got more to discuss."

And fuck him if his body didn't respond immediately to that tone. Like it already knew who was in charge.

"Yes..." he hesitated.

"Madam," she supplied, eyes glinting. "Better get used to saying that."

"Yes, Madam."

Something in her expression shifted - pleased, almost proud. Made his chest do weird things.

"Good boy."

Those two words shouldn't have affected him like that. But here he was, squirming in his chair from just her voice and praise. Did he also have a thing for that too?

"I think," she said, watching him eat, "we're going to have a lot of fun together. Once you're checked and cleared, of course."

"How long's that usually take?"

"Eager, are we?" She laughed. "Few days for the results. Then..." her foot reached his thigh and his dick hardened, "we can properly begin."

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of loaded looks and subtle touches. April kept dropping little hints about what she had planned, each one making his head spin more than the last.

By the time they finished eating, Trent felt like he was burning up from the inside. Everything felt heightened - the brush of her hand as she reached for the champagne, the way her lips curved around each word, how her eyes never left him even when the waitress came to clear their plates.

"Time for you to go," she said finally, standing up. "Got an early meeting tomorrow."

"That's it?"

"For now." She moved closer, close enough that he could smell that spiced vanilla again. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No," he said quickly. Maybe too quickly, based on her knowing smile.

"Good. I'll text you the details for getting checked. And Trent?"

"Yeah?"

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear: "Don't touch yourself tonight. That's your first command."

His whole body went hot. "And if I do?"

"Then I'll know." She pulled back, those eyes dancing with mischief. "And the punishment will be... memorable."

Fucking hell.

What had he gotten himself into?

But as he made his way back down those stairs, past all the sounds and sights that had shocked him earlier, Trent couldn't stop grinning.

Whatever this was - whatever April had planned for him - he was all in.

Even if it ruined him in the end.

…………..tbd

#quainwritings #trent alexander arnold #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold fanfiction #trent alexander arnold x reader #taa x black oc #taa x reader #liverpool fc fics #quain’s masterlist

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judes-hoe · 8 months ago

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Miss him ~ TAA66

Parrings ~ Trent Alexander Arnold x reader

Summary ~ comforting Trent during the last match with klopp.

Warnings ~ sad trent, comforting, fluffy

A/N ~ watching him cry made me cry. Also sorry this is so late. Also sorry I know it’s not long:(

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the final whistle blew, you were in tears yourself. Hugging Trent’s brothers and kissing little baby Arua.

You and Trent’s brothers make your way down to the tunnel waiting until family was allowed.

When families were allowed on the field you and Trent’s brothers immediately walk out there. You find Trent and immediately pull him in a hug.

The tears in his eyes break your heart, he’s only had klopp as a coach. Next season is gonna be very different. You pull away from the hug and wipe his tears with a soft smile. “I love you.” You whisper to him. “Love you too.” He mumbles back before tucking his head in your neck.

You gently rub his back to try and sooth him. You then feel a tap on your shoulder and see klopp when you turn your head. You let go of Trent and hug klopp.

You and Trent have been together a few months before he was called up to the senior team by klopp. It was exciting, and as the years went on klopp and Trent built this father-son like connection. You also looked up to klopp a little, you seen him like almost every weekend.

As your hugging klopp you feel another pair of arms, Trent. The three of you hugging, it was the end of an era. “You know…I seen you two almost as my own kids.” Klopp spoke up. “We know.” Trent mumbled and I nodded my head. “Good.” Klopp said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at home wasn’t any different. You practically had to drag Trent into the car. He tried to go home with klopp! You drove home because Trent was in no state to drive.

When you got home you tell to take a shower to help him relax a little bit and you’ll be waiting in bed for him.

Well his shower didn’t last very long. Maybe like 15 minutes max. He just needed you to relax. Changed into some boxers and sweats over top. Climbing into bed with you and snuggling right next to you. Head on your chest, hand on your stomach under your shirt softly tracing shapes.

You grounded him, you comforted him, your everything to him. He doesn’t need anything else to calm him down besides you.

“It’ll be ok baby, I know klopp meant everything to you.” You whisper as you hand finds way to play with his curls. He closes his eyes and hums when you start playing with his hair a little.

“I know next year’s change might not be the easiest, but I believe in you.” You tell him. You know he understands what’s your saying when he gives a little nudge with his head.

You laid like that for the rest of the night. Just comforting your boyfriend, telling him it’ll be ok. It’s what he needs…

#judes-hoe😚#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander x you #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold blurb #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent aa #trent alexander imagines

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moneyisthebestlawyerinh3ll · 1 year ago

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Okay so I recently watched jingle all the way and it’s my new favorite movie but now I can’t stop thinking about if it was Sebastian as Arnold Schwarzenegger and ciel as his son and so enjoy this

#the jingle all the way kuro au is my new favorite thing #its all I’ve been thinking about today #if u haven’t seen this movie pls do its so funny #kuroshitsuji fanart #black butler #black butler ciel #black butler sebastian #kuroshitsuji #Dadbastian #mombastian #kuroshitpost #kuroshitsuji fandom #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #ciel #o ciel #my art

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formulalfc · 1 year ago

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trent alexander arnold blurbs masterlist

quickie with trent in the supply closet 18+

trent teasing you when you're out 18+

trent teasing you at home 18+

you and trent slow dancing to lover

trent comes home after the game 18+

trent and you trending on twitter

trent being extra clingy when you come home from a trip

trent being all protective and jealous

reassuring trent that you love him no matter what the media says

trent with his baby girl

trent thinking about starting a family with you

trent being nervous for your first date

trent taking you away for a relaxing weekend

trent taking care of you when you're sick

sex tape with trent 18+

trent cooking dinner for you

you and trent holding hands on ur way home

teasing trent when his ass is trending on twitter 18+

trent reading your favourite book

you and trent are worried about jude's new girlfriend

shopping with trent

jude interrupts date night

you and trent at winter wonderland

pregnancy sex w trent 18+

shy first kiss with trent

trents daughter will be a liverpool fan

trent quite likes watching you work out 18+

threesomes with trent and dom 18+

trent looks after you when your ill

trent laughing at your baby being milk drunk

trent finding you learning how to do your daughters hair

threesomes with jude and trent 18+

trent an domi hard launching your relationship

your first christmas with trent

you fly to liverpool to watch trent play

you give birth to your baby boy

trent and your baby boy getting ready for your birthday

trent cleans you up after you get hit by a bike

trent being obsessed with you

trent's sex playlist 18+

trent and his sweater paws

the evolution of your relationship with trent

making trent dance with you at a family event

trent surprising you with cornrows

trent buying you jewellery

face sitting with trent and domi 18+

trent's reaction to your choking kink 18+

making trent flustered

waking up with trent

trent's lock screen helps get rid of girls on a night out

making trent show you how he would react to a girl approaching him in the club

you and trent hide your relationship from your dad (klopp)

trent being horny for you while he's away 18+

using your dildo while trent is at training 18+

taking trent to sephora

going to see trent after he get's injured

you and trent try sex chocolate 18+

you and trent reveal your relationship a bit sooner than you hoped you would

trent using the captain's armband on you during sex 18+

your long distance relationship is harder than it seems

a condom falls out of his pocket in front of your family

you and trent at the ballan d'or

trent has missed you while you're away at uni

you and trent at milan fashion week

you guys make a tiktok that's on the sexier side 18+

you and trent make a cute tik tok together

you call football the wrong thing and trent is not happy with you

you and trent are private about your relationship but your loved ones love posting pics and videos of you both

celebratory sex after trent wins the league 18+

you and trent watch saltburn together

the little things trent buys you because he knows you don't like the expensive stuff

looking after trent when he's sick

you tell you situationship trent that you're pregnant

surprising trent and your family and friends that you're pregnant

telling trent and your son that you're pregnant with a baby girl

trent's obsessed with you calling him your husband

you and trent have a date night at home

comforting trent after you find out klopp is leaving

you cut your hair to surprise trent

calling trent daddy for the first time 18+

trent asks you to be his valentine

trent loves taking pictures of you

you get trent some coupons for valentines day

trent's brother loves having you as his big sis

trent loves slapping your ass 18+

neck kisses with trent

you're quite shy around trent's friends but he appreciates you trying for him

trent fingering you for the first time and leaving you an absolute mess

trent and jude helping you relax after a long day

trent making sure you have everything you need while you're on your period

trent organises an at-home spa day for you after a stressful week

sitting with trent's brothers in the stands at his game

trent fucking you with his chain on 18+

trent's back gets you all flustered 18+

you're sick so trent takes your daughter to an interview with him

telling trent how much you miss him over facetime

trent loves all your curves

celebrating that cup win with trent and trying to make him feel better for missing out

putting your head on trent's tummy

comforting trent after a loss

#blurbs with shan ;)#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold blurb #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold smau #trent aa #taa x reader #taa66 #taa #liverpool fc #liverpool football club #lfc #liverpool #liverpool football club x reader #liverpool fc x reader #lfc x reader #lfc players #formulalfc

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watchilove · 5 months ago

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Geneva Watch Days 2024: Aventurine, Purple and Favourites

#Arnold & Son #Bovet #Bvlgari #Czapek #Czapek & Cie Antarctique #Daniel Roth #Geneva Watch Days 2024 #Greubel Forsey #GWD #GWD 2024 #H. Moser & Cie.#HYT #Laurent Ferrier #Lederer Central Impulse Chronometer #Ming

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nuevosrelojes · 1 year ago

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#relojes #watches #montres #reloj #orologi #watch #wristwatch #menswear #menstyle #mensfashion #luxury #luxury watch #luxury lifestyle #luxury watches #arnold and son

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buginateacup · 7 months ago

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A list of things that have delighted me thus far in My Lady Jane

- Genuinely hysterical

- It's literally Tudor animorphs

- The leads have fantastic chemistry

- The entire sound track seems to be pop punk girl group covers of classic rock songs

- Carolyn Bingley (Anna Chancellor) having the time of her life as a scheming Tudor noble

- Dominic Cooper's arse

- King Edward giving his entire court the double bird and telling them to bugger off

- Gorgeous costumes

- All of the side characters feel like they came out of a Discworld novel

- Geriactric gout-ridden creepy old husband murdering baby sisters

- Queen Mary's Tudor dominatrix outfit

- Dominic Cooper's arse (part 2)

- The Narrator giving exposition and poking fun at the English inability to communicate emotional vulnerability in the plummy tones of who I assumed was Arnold J Rimmer until I looked it up

- Princess Bess being played by literally the most beautiful woman, I am entranced every time she is on screen

- No really a bunch of people can turn into animals, it's a whole thing and you'd have no idea from the trailer

- Rob Brydon as another scheming Tudor noble who I spent a solid half episode thinking was James Miller

- Court slapfight

- Urchin kicking milf chasing himbos

- Have I mentioned the costumes are great?

- Actual chemises

- Father-son bonding moment over choosing codpieces

- Arranged marriage where the characters actually talk to one another (and have highly charged snogs after moments of danger)

- Anna Chancellor biting into that pear after her youngest daughter used it to suffocate that old man

- "You married me for my brain!" (Actual romance)

- "That's not a knife, this is a knife" Tudor edition

Anyway watch it, it's great, I'm having the best time

#my lady jane #my lady jane spoilers

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justinspoliticalcorner · 4 months ago

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LATROBE, Pa. — When fascism finally went mainstream in America, it came hawking a $60 made-in-China Bible and shadowed by a 50-foot American flag braced by construction cranes — and it opened with a story about Arnold Palmer’s private parts. I’d driven nearly five hours into and under the Allegheny ridges of Western Pennsylvania — up and down slopes that got steeper each mile with the volume of Donald Trump flags and yard signs that proclaimed “I’m Voting for the Convict 2024″ — out of a sense that the decline and fall of American civilization has reached a depth that I needed to personally bear witness. It was a fever dream — maybe I could find words that have eluded everyone else. Just six days earlier, Trump came to the Philly suburbs and turned a supposed town hall into a 39-minute dance party as his deeply confused crowd watched a once and wannabe future U.S. president sway awkwardly to Sinead O’Connor and Luciano Pavarotti or look utterly frozen in the bubble of his 78-year-old head. And yet when the alarm goes off the next morning, it’s still Groundhog Day in America, an election with a 50% chance of the music-trance guy winning. Something both incredibly momentous and weird is happening at the same time. Now, the sun was nearly setting over the runway at Arnold Palmer Regional Airport. With the most consequential U.S. presidential election since 1860 just 17 days away, about 3,000 to 4,000 of the most die-hard MAGA Trump fans who weren’t exhausted by the campaign and the GOP candidate’s frequent visits to Steelers’ country had been waiting for hours on a sunbaked tarmac. They’d let out the obligatory whoop for the obligatory flyover of Trump Force One, and then finally the man tasked with bringing their country back was on the podium, filtered by bulletproof glass. Donald Trump’s red meat of mass-deportation camps and R-rated attacks on his opponents would have to wait. Monday’s DJ was now Saturday night’s comedian, with his cult as captive audience. What started out as an obligatory shout-out to Latrobe’s famous native son — Palmer, the late great golfer who brought the sport to your TV screens in the 1960s — went on for five minutes, then 10, then 12. What started as a nice but meandering tale about Palmer’s working-class roots grew into a stone silence during long detours into stuff like types of golf club shafts as the tale grew increasingly instead about Trump — about how his own power and wealth allowed him to claim friendship with this great man. You are standing in the twilight wondering if this could get any stranger when of course it did. The man who bragged in his first campaign that he could shoot somebody on Fifth Avenue and people would still vote for him now wants America to know he can tell a penis joke with the cameras rolling and still get elected as the 47th president. [...] So I came to Latrobe to try and write the 72-point headline that the Times editors can’t — “PHALLUS-JOKE MAN AND DANCING FOOL COULD LEAD THE FREE WORLD AGAIN” — and to scream at the top of my lungs from the bluffs overlooking this tiny airport that this would-be emperor telling the shower story is actually wearing no clothes. Who will shout that Trump’s “closing argument” is the melding of his increasingly public breakdown with how that might lead to an all-too-real domestic war of midnight raids and armored personnel carriers against the fiction of an “Occupied America”? Ironically, Trump’s endless Arnold Palmer bit seemed part of an effort Saturday night to prove that the rambling candidate is not “exhausted,” something that his own aides reportedly said after several recent interviews were canceled. But the Republican nominee — kind of like Madonna’s “Sex” phase and shock photos when her 1980s were ending — also appeared to sense that he needs to get more and more outrageous to get attention, after numbing America to his Hitlerian language that immigrants “will cut your throat.”

Will Bunch at The Philadelphia Inquirer on Donald Trump's Latrobe rally (10.20.2024)

Will Bunch wrote in The Philadelphia Inquirer about Donald Trump’s fascist insultfest in Latrobe, PA in which he infamously obsessed about Arnold Palmer.

#Will Bunch #Donald Trump #Arnold Palmer #2024 Presidential Election #2024 Elections #Opinion #The Philadelphia Inquirer #Trump Rallies #Latrobe Pennsylvania #Pennsylvania

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pdriesta · 12 hours ago

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CHAPTER SEVEN

baby, i'm talkin' crazy, i need you right in my space"

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

warnings — sexual tension, toxic relationships, mature themes (minors dni)

word count — 8k

summary — y/n, a rising r&b star, is stuck in toxic situationships, with tabloids constantly overshadowing her music. to fix her image, her team pushes her into a fake relationship with liverpool’s trent alexander-arnold. both reluctant, they soon realize keeping things strictly business isn't so simple. will pretending to be in love stay a game, or turn into something real?

an — i am sorry for the late update! i've been ill :( stream all of AAA and how does it feel by flo!!

masterlist

trent’s text had been annoyingly vague.

trent: come over. we need to talk.

y/n hadn’t expected much. she figured it would be another tense conversation about keeping up appearances or whatever trent decided was his priority of the day. but as she stepped through the door of his house, she was hit with an overwhelming wave of chatter, laughter, and the smell of home-cooked food that wrapped around her like a familiar hug.

his whole family was there.

“y/n!” trent’s mom was the first to greet her, pulling her into a warm hug, her arms squeezing just tight enough to make y/n forget to breathe for a second. she pulled back, eyes warm and scanning y/n with the kind of softness that made her heart clench.

“finally! trent’s told us so much about you.”

“oh, has he?” y/n raised a brow, her voice laced with humor as she glanced at trent, who stood behind her looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

“mum, don’t start,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“oh, hush, trent.” his mom waved him off, her full attention returning to y/n. “you’re even prettier than i imagined,” she said, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “and your music! it’s so good. we’ve all been listening.”

y/n’s eyes widened in surprise. “really?”

“absolutely. you’re incredibly talented, love. you should be so proud of yourself.” trent’s mom reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “and i’m proud of you. it’s not easy doing what you do, but you’ve done it with such grace. you’re strong, and you’re good for my son.”

the words hit y/n like a punch to the chest, knocking the air right out of her. she felt her throat tighten as she tried to swallow the sudden wave of emotion. the absence of her mother, felt so stark in that moment, it was suffocating. she hadn’t heard words like that in so long—words filled with love, warmth, and pride.

she blinked quickly, forcing herself to breathe, to pull it together. she couldn’t break down here, not in front of trent’s family.

but trent noticed. of course, he did.

from his place beside her, he watched the way her lips pressed into a thin line, how her eyes dropped to the floor for just a second too long. he saw the way she tried to cover the rawness in her expression with a small, polite smile.

“mum,” trent said, his voice softer now, stepping in before y/n could crumble under the weight of her own emotions. “don’t overwhelm her, yeah?”

his mom chuckled, clearly oblivious to the storm brewing inside y/n. “oh, nonsense. she’s family now.”

trent placed a hand on y/n’s back, grounding her. his thumb traced slow, soothing circles as he leaned down, voice low enough for only her to hear. “you okay?”

she nodded, blinking up at him with a grateful smile. “yeah. i’m good.”

but he knew better. and so, he kept his hand there, steady and reassuring, while his mom continued to talk, her voice soft and filled with love.

before y/n could process much else, a younger alexander-arnold siblin—who had to be marcel—rushed over, his eyes wide with excitement. “y/n! oh my days, i can’t believe you’re actually here.”

she laughed, taken aback by his energy. “hi, and you must be marcel?”

“yeah, yeah, that’s me. okay, i have to say it—you’re, like, my celebrity crush. this is mad.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she grinned, playing it off. “well, thank you. that’s very sweet.”

“marcel, chill,” trent groaned, pulling his brother back by the collar of his shirt. “you’re gonna scare her off.”

“what? i’m just being honest!” marcel protested, his voice cracking slightly as he looked at y/n. “you’re even prettier in person, by the way.”

“okay, that’s enough,” trent cut in, giving marcel a pointed look. “go help dad or something.”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, especially when marcel shot her an exaggerated wink before walking off.

for the rest of the night, trent didn’t take his eyes off her. he watched how she slowly relaxed again, how she laughed with marcel, how she charmed his sister-in-law and mum. and though she was still a little quieter than usual, she never let her guard slip again.

but trent had seen it—the way her walls had cracked for just a second, leaving a glimpse of something tender and broken underneath.

and he couldn’t shake it.

the hours passed in a blur of laughter, food, and playful teasing. y/n found herself easing into the warmth of the alexander-arnold family, who welcomed her like one of their own. but the real chaos started during an intense game of uno, with everyone shouting and accusing each other of cheating before they began to trickle home, leaving y/n, trent and the youngest alexander-arnold sibling (who his mum mocked for "thirdwheeling").

“you’re so bad at this game,” y/n teased trent, placing down a draw four card with a triumphant grin.

“you’re cheating,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

“sounds like someone’s a sore loser,” she quipped, earning laughs from his siblings.

marcel, ever the instigator, suddenly leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “now that you’re basically part of the family, y/n, i’ve got to ask you something.”

she raised a brow, intrigued. “what’s that?”

“your exes,” he said bluntly, making everyone pause.

trent groaned loudly, his head falling back against the couch. “marcel, don’t.”

“no, no, i gotta know,” marcel insisted, ignoring his brother’s protests. “what’s real and what’s fake? i mean, with all the articles and stuff… i’m curious.”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “seems like everyone’s interested in that topic lately.”

marcel pulled out his phone, opening an article from The Sun. “okay, let’s start with the obvious—jadon.”

y/n’s cheeks flushed, and she shyly nodded. “yeah… that one’s true.”

trent scoffed immediately, sitting up straighter. “not anymore,” he muttered under his breath, earning a pointed look from y/n.

marcel grinned, clearly enjoying the tension. “alright, what about central cee?”

y/n scrunched her nose in visible disgust. “nope. we have a song together, sure. but people handled that. i think we’ve said maybe three words to each other. that’s it.”

trent couldn’t hide his smile at her answer, which only annoyed her more.

“okay, next—damson idris.”

y/n sighed dramatically, a dreamy look crossing her face. “i wish.”

trent immediately stiffened, his jaw tightening. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

marcel, catching his brother’s reaction, smirked. “y/n’s got a type, and it’s definitely not you.”

trent shot him a glare, but y/n, sensing an opportunity to tease him, leaned closer with a sly smile. “you’re still my best boyfriend, though… unless damson calls me. then i’m out the door.”

trent rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “no one would be able to deal with your attitude anyway.”

the banter continued until marcel brought up one more name. “what about tee higgins?”

y/n’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “yes,” she admitted quietly.

marcel’s eyes lit up. “oh, an american football player? now this is interesting.”

trent frowned, his gaze snapping to y/n. “what’s that about?”

she shrugged nonchalantly, trying to downplay it. “i was in america for a show, and he came out. we hung out a bit, and that was it.”

trent’s frown deepened, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. “i don’t like it.”

y/n raised a brow, clearly amused. “well, good thing it’s not up to you.”

“i’m the only footballer you need,” he said firmly, his tone possessive.

y/n, ever the instigator herself, leaned closer with a teasing smile. “oh, but tee was such a pretty boy. just my type.”

trent didn’t say anything at first, but the twitch in his jaw and the fire in his eyes said enough. without warning, he reached over and pulled her onto his lap, his fingers digging into her sides as he started tickling her mercilessly.

“take it back,” he demanded, a rare smile breaking through his usual seriousness.

“never!” y/n squealed, squirming in his grasp as she laughed uncontrollably.

marcel, watching the chaos unfold, smirked. “mission accomplished.” he stood up, stretching lazily. “i’ll leave you two to it. try not to kill each other.”

as soon as marcel left the room, trent loosened his grip, letting y/n catch her breath. she stayed on his lap, her face flushed from laughter, and looked at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“you’re ridiculous, you know that?” she said, still breathless.

“and you’re annoying,” he shot back, though his tone was far softer than usual.

they stayed like that for a moment longer, the playful tension between them giving way to something quieter, something almost tender. but neither of them said a word about it, both too stubborn to acknowledge whatever was brewing beneath the surface.

lately, things between them had shifted—soft, almost imperceptible at first, but unmistakable now. more outings. more moments that felt like stolen pieces of something bigger. trent was the type to just tell her to be ready, showing up at her door with no explanation, sweeping her away to hidden corners of the city like it was her own personal fairytale.

but it wasn’t really a fairytale. it was them, caught somewhere between friends and something dangerously close to more.

tonight was no different.

the restaurant hummed with quiet conversation, the faint clinking of silverware against plates filling the air. they sat tucked into a cozy corner booth, the warm amber light casting a soft glow over their table. the night felt easy, their laughter and conversation flowing as naturally as ever. it was a date, but not really. just another outing that blurred the lines of what they were supposed to be. yet, trent couldn’t help but think it felt all too real.

she looked beautiful tonight—oversized blazer, mini skirt, heels that showed off her legs, and that barely-there gloss on her lips that caught the light just right. his eyes kept drifting back to her even as she scrolled through the menu, her brows furrowing in thought as she decided what to order.

“i can feel you staring,” she teased without looking up, her lips curling into a playful smile.

trent leaned back, unbothered. “can you blame me?”

she shook her head with a laugh, but a blush crept up her neck anyway.

moments like this were dangerous. they tiptoed on the edge of something unspoken, both of them too stubborn—or too afraid—to admit how much they liked it here, caught in their own grey area.

he couldn’t say it aloud, but this was starting to feel like more than just fun, more than just convenience. he didn’t just like her company—he wanted it. craved it.

and the way her eyes lit up every time he showed up at her door, no questions asked, told him she felt it too.

but neither of them dared to say it. not yet.

his leg bounced nervously under the table, the question he’d been trying to ask sitting heavy on his chest. he wasn’t usually like this—hesitant, unsure—but something about asking her felt… different.

“so, what are you thinking of getting?” she asked, glancing up at him, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“uh, haven’t decided yet,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. his nerves were getting the better of him. the words were right there, on the tip of his tongue, but every time he opened his mouth, they refused to come out.

y/n tilted her head at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “you okay? you’ve been weirdly quiet all night.”

“yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” he said quickly, shaking his head as if to clear it. “just… thinkin’.”

she didn’t push, simply nodding and turning her attention back to the menu, but trent knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. he needed to ask before he lost his nerve completely.

“hey,” he said suddenly, making her look up again.

“what?” she asked, her voice curious.

he hesitated, running a hand over his jaw. “so… england’s playing at wembley next week,” he started, trying to sound casual. “and, uh, i was wondering if you’d want to come. you know, to… match.”

her face softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. “of course,” she said easily. “i mean, it’s a public outing, right? gotta play the part of the supportive girlfriend.”

her words were lighthearted, teasing, but they still made his chest tighten. because that’s all it was supposed to be—playing a part. but lately, it didn’t feel like pretending anymore.

“yeah,” he said, forcing a grin. “exactly.”

the conversation moved on, and they ordered their food, but the comfortable rhythm of their night was broken when y/n suddenly cleared her throat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.

“trent?”

“hm?” he glanced up from his plate, his brows lifting in curiosity.

she hesitated, her eyes darting to his before quickly looking away. “i, um… i wanted to ask you something.”

“yeah? what’s up?”

she bit her lip, clearly nervous, and it made his stomach twist. whatever she was about to say, it was important.

“zaia and cash’s wedding is coming up,” she started, her voice quieter than usual. “and… i was wondering if you’d be my date.”

the words hung in the air between them, heavier than he expected.

trent blinked, taken aback. he knew how close she was to zaia—her best friend since childhood. this wasn’t just any wedding. it was a big deal, and she was asking him.

his thoughts spiraled. was this just another part of their arrangement? was she asking because it made sense, because they were supposed to be seen together? or did it mean something more?

but then he looked at her—at the way her hands nervously played with her napkin, the way she avoided his gaze, her cheeks faintly pink. there was something shy and vulnerable about her in that moment, something that tugged at a part of him he couldn’t quite name.

“it’s just… you know, it’s a big deal,” she rambled, her fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. “they’re my family—like, real family, not just close friends—and everyone’s gonna be there. my best friends, my mom, everyone.” she paused, taking a breath. “i usually just go to these things solo and handle it fine. i’m okay flying solo most of the time, actually, but—”

her words tumbled out so fast that she barely had time to breathe between them, her voice rising slightly as nerves took over. she glanced up at him, her cheeks warm, feeling a little ridiculous for putting so much weight on this. “i don’t usually… ask anyone to stuff like this. but it feels right, asking you. so… yeah.”

trent’s chest tightened as her words settled over him. she was trying to sound casual, but this wasn’t casual at all. not for her.

she didn’t just bring anyone into that world—into something as sacred as family.

her family was private. important. untouchable.

and here she was, asking him to be a part of it.

“y/n,” he said, his voice softer than he intended, eyes searching hers.

she shifted under his gaze, suddenly regretting everything. “you don’t have to say yes, by the way,” she added quickly, trying to backtrack. “it’s totally fine if you’re busy or if it’s too much, i’ll just—”

“i’d love to,” trent interrupted, his lips curving into a slow smile.

her breath caught. “really?”

“yeah,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes holding hers with a warmth that made her feel like maybe she hadn’t just made a fool of herself. “i’m honored you even asked. it’s not just a wedding—it’s your family’s wedding.” he paused, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. “that means a lot.”

she smiled back at him, the tension in her shoulders easing. “good,” she said softly, her voice steadying. “i’m glad you’ll be there.”

trent couldn’t stop thinking about how big this was. being her date meant something. being seen with her at something so personal, so intimate—she was letting him into a world she didn’t share with just anyone.

and he didn’t take that lightly.

the air in the stands was electric as fans filtered out of the stadium, still buzzing from england’s triumphant match. y/n was caught up in it all, her excitement evident in the way she practically glowed as she spoke to trent’s family about the game. she couldn’t stop smiling, her phone clutched tightly in her hands, still warm from snapping pictures throughout the match.

she hadn’t expected trent to come up to them so soon after the final whistle, but when she spotted him climbing the steps toward their section, her breath caught. his medal glinted under the stadium lights, the man of the match trophy in his hands as his gaze landed on her almost instantly.

he greeted his family first, sharing hugs and quick words of gratitude, but then he turned to her, his grin softening into something almost shy.

“you played incredible,” she said before he could say anything, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

“yeah?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching hers, as if her opinion mattered more than anyone else’s.

“you know you did.”

without a word, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, the gesture so quick and fleeting it almost felt imagined. her heart skipped at the contact, but she told herself it was just for the cameras. there were plenty of phones around, after all, and a player celebrating with someone in the stands was always a headline. she convinced herself it meant nothing as he handed her the trophy and slid into the seat between her and marcel.

“here,” he said, nodding toward the gleaming silver in her hands. “you should hold it.”

“what?” she blinked at him, cradling the trophy like it was fragile. “you’re seriously letting me hold this?

“why not?” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “looks better in your hands anyway.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. her fingers traced over the engraving as she admired it up close, the weight of it grounding her excitement.

“pose with it,” trent said, pulling out his phone

“pose?” she laughed, glancing around nervously. “for what?”

“for appearances, of course,” he teased, his tone light but his eyes warm.

y/n gave him a mock glare but shifted the trophy slightly, holding it up as she puckered her lips in a playful air kiss. trent snapped a few photos, his grin widening with each click. when she lowered the trophy, she caught him staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen as he uploaded one to his story.

“what?” she asked, raising a brow.

“nothing,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. but the way his smile lingered told her everything she needed to know.

as the conversation around them flowed, trent leaned closer, his attention fully on her now. “so,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “how’d you like the match?”

“oh, i loved it!” she said, her face lighting up. she unlocked her phone, scrolling quickly before turning the screen toward him. “look, i got some great pictures. see this one? and this? oh, and this!”

she flipped through shot after shot, her excitement spilling over with every frame. trent didn’t say much, just watched her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. pride, maybe? or something else entirely?

“you’re really into this, huh?” he asked, his voice soft.

“of course!” she said, glancing at him briefly before focusing back on her phone. “how could i not be? you were amazing out there, trent. seriously.”

he smiled at that, his chest swelling at the sincerity in her voice. “thanks,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before he turned back to the ongoing conversation, though his attention never fully left her.

she was wearing his shirt, holding his trophy, sitting with his family. it felt… right. and he didn’t want to let the moment go.

she was still scrolling through her phone, her excitement making her words tumble over each other as she recounted her favorite moments of the match. “and this one—look at how sharp you look here. oh, and this one’s from the free kick! the angle is perfect. i’m telling you, trent, you looked—”

he couldn’t help it anymore. the way her eyes sparkled when she talked, the way she was so genuinely proud of him, it made his chest ache in the best way. she was buzzing, glowing with excitement, and trent was captivated.

“y/n,” he said softly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“what?” she asked, glancing up at him, her brows furrowing slightly.

before she could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off completely. it wasn’t hurried or forceful, just deliberate, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment. her lips were soft, warm, and he could taste the faint sweetness of whatever lip balm she was wearing.

she froze for a second, her phone slipping slightly in her hands as the kiss caught her off guard. her heart was pounding, and when he finally pulled back, just enough to look her in the eye, her cheeks burned.

“what was that for?,” she breathed, her voice quiet and unsure.

“just cause,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering.

her lips parted, but no words came out. y/n, who always had something clever to say, was speechless for once, her thoughts racing faster than she could process.

“you—you can’t just do that,” she finally managed, her voice a mix of shyness and disbelief.

he chuckled softly, his hand brushing against hers as he leaned back slightly. “why not?”

“because…” she trailed off, her cheeks still flushed.

“because?” he prompted, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

she shook her head, unable to form a coherent response. instead, she turned back to her phone, pretending to focus on the screen even though she couldn’t stop glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

but trent didn’t stop watching her, his expression soft and full of something she couldn’t quite name. she felt it in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. and as much as she wanted to brush it off, she couldn’t shake the way her chest tightened every time he looked at her like that.

the studio always felt like a different world to trent. a little sanctuary tucked away from everything, with dim lighting, soundproof walls, and the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. it was hers—every detail, every piece of equipment, every soft hum of music that filled the space—it all belonged to y/n in a way nothing else did. he could see it in the way she moved, the way her shoulders dropped in relief as soon as she crossed the threshold.

he liked being here. maybe a little too much.

his eyes drifted to her across the room as she adjusted a mic stand, her braids falling over her shoulder, lips slightly pursed in concentration. she had that effortless kind of beauty, the kind that hit him harder when she wasn’t even trying. no cameras, no crowds—just her, in her element.

he wanted to tell her how good she looked. how proud he was every time she let him listen to a new track. how his chest felt lighter just being near her. but he couldn’t. not really. not without risking the quiet thing they had, this unspoken closeness that felt too fragile to push.

because y/n was quick to pull away. always had been. she had a way of retreating whenever things got too heavy, too real. trent learned to read the signs: the slight shift in her tone, the way her smile would falter for a second before she’d brush it off with a joke. she’d never say it outright, but he knew her well enough to know when she was putting up walls.

so he stayed quiet. kept it light. he’d rather sit here and be a part of her world in whatever way she’d let him than risk saying something that would make her push him out.

“you sure you’re not bored?” y/n asked, turning to him with a raised brow, her eyes catching the soft light from the corner of the room.

“nah,” he said easily, leaning back in his chair, his lips curling into a small smile. “i like watching you work.”

she rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched at the edges, trying not to smile back. “you say that now. wait until i start obsessing over one line for twenty minutes.”

trent chuckled, his gaze never leaving her. “i’ll survive.”

for y/n, it was strange having him here. this place had always been hers—a space where she could be messy, raw, vulnerable. no one ever stayed long enough to see what it meant to her. but trent was different.

he didn’t ask too many questions. didn’t hover or try to take control. he just… fit. like he belonged here without even trying.

she glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she fiddled with the controls. it felt good, having him here. warm, steady, grounding. almost dangerous, how easily she had gotten used to his presence.

y/n stood in the booth, her voice filling the studio with a sultry richness that had everyone’s attention, but none more so than trent’s. he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing in the room. she had this magnetic pull, something about her that made everything else disappear when she sang.

the track rolled into the second verse, and y/n’s voice dropped lower, almost like a secret, smooth and dripping with confidence. it curled around the words like they were meant to tease, to challenge.

"i bet you feel like that man when you next to me, just as you should. i know that you like your hands up on my body, toss me, it’s good..."

trent’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as her words wrapped around him. the way she sang that—playful, almost daring—made his chest feel tight. he knew this was just music, knew she wasn’t supposed to be singing to him. but damn if it didn’t feel like she was. every line sent a jolt through him, her voice steady, deliberate.

"but you better play your position, don’t let it slip, better not fold. need loyalty, ‘cause i’m royalty with this grip, treat it like gold..."

his fingers tapped restlessly on his knee, his mind spiraling. this grip, treat it like gold... it wasn’t a stretch to imagine y/n writing those lines with him in mind. the thought made his stomach twist—half with pride, half with something much deeper. she was always guarded, never giving too much away, but this... this felt like a glimpse into the parts of her she kept locked up.

he wondered what it would be like if this wasn’t just a song. if they weren’t just flirting around the edges of something real. if he could actually claim her—not just in private moments but out there, for everyone to see. trent alexander-arnold, dating the biggest r&b talent in the game. the image burned itself into his brain, filling him with a dangerous kind of pride.

y/n finished the verse, stepping out of the booth with that casual confidence she always carried. she grabbed a bottle of water from the counter, taking a long sip, avoiding his gaze—like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“you wrote that?” trent asked finally, his voice low and rough.

she glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “yeah. it’s just a song.”

just a song, but his heart was still racing.

“that might be my new favorite,” he said, his hand finding her knee, thumb brushing over the fabric of her sweats. “seriously... loved it.”

her lips curved slightly, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—something vulnerable. “really?” she asked softly. she felt a warmth creep up her neck, her heart speeding up for reasons she couldn’t admit. the song was about him—every line, every note. but she’d never say that out loud.

“yeah,” trent said, his gaze holding hers. “i’ve listened to all your music. thought mad at me was the one, but this takes the cake.

y/n smiled softly as she let trent’s words sink in, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t used to. the quiet between them felt tender, almost fragile, like neither of them wanted to break it. she was about to say something, maybe even thank him again, when the engineer called her name, asking her to head back into the booth to re-record a section.

trent frowned immediately, his brows pulling together. "what? that was perfect," he said, his hand still resting on her knee as if to keep her in place. his voice held a mix of disbelief and protectiveness, like he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to change a single thing.

y/n laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his wrist. "it’s just how it works," she teased, her voice light as she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "don’t look so offended."

his frown eased slightly, but he still didn’t seem convinced. "nah, seriously, they don’t know what they’re doing. it’s already a hit."

she shook her head, laughing again as she stood, adjusting her hoodie. "you’re biased," she said, giving him a playful look. "but thanks."

he leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms as he watched her. "so how long are you gonna be in there this time?"

she glanced over her shoulder as she reached the booth door. "could be a while," she admitted, shrugging. "if you wanna head out, it’s cool."

trent scoffed, sitting up straighter. "and leave you here? nah, i’m good."

her lips curved into a warm smile, something soft flickering in her chest. "okay," she said, her voice quieter this time.

as she stepped into the booth, she could still feel his gaze on her, steady and reassuring. even as the door closed behind her and the music started up again, she couldn’t help the way her cheeks burned from the memory of his words, his touch, and that quiet, tender moment that had left her feeling more seen than she ever had before.

trent’s living room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the television casting shadows across the room. fifa commentary droned in the background, but trent wasn’t paying attention anymore. his eyes flicked between the game and y/n, who was curled up against him, scrolling through tiktok with a lazy ease. her head rested on his chest, braids spilling over his arm as she chuckled softly at a video.

“look at this one,” she said, turning the phone toward him. “this trend is everywhere.”

he glanced at it briefly, smirking. “why do i feel like you’re about to make me do one of those with you?”

“because i am,” she teased, poking his side. “you’d look cute doing it.”

“not happening,” trent shot back, shaking his head with a laugh. “you’re not embarrassing me on the internet.”

she rolled her eyes dramatically and returned to scrolling, her body relaxed against his. it was comfortable. easy. the kind of easy that snuck up on you and made you forget that there were rules to whatever this was supposed to be.

but then his phone buzzed beside him, the screen lighting up with a notification. he glanced at it instinctively, his jaw tightening when he saw the name.

jadon.

his grip on the controller tightened, and for a moment, he debated saying nothing. but it ate at him too quickly. too loudly.

“you still talking to him?”

y/n blinked, caught off guard. she sat up slightly, her brows furrowed. “what?”

“jadon,” he repeated, nodding toward his phone. “you still talking to him?”

“oh.” her face softened. “i mean... not really. he just checks in sometimes. sees how i’m doing, you know?”

trent’s gaze didn’t waver. “and you’re sure that’s all it is?”

she shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “yeah, it’s innocent. it’s not like he’s—” she paused, catching herself. “it’s not like you’re my boyfriend or anything.”

the words hit harder than she probably intended, their weight settling heavily between them. she wasn’t wrong—they weren’t together. not really. but hearing her say it out loud made something twist in his chest, a dull ache that caught him off guard.

y/n didn’t notice his shift. she leaned back into him, her focus already back on her phone as if nothing had changed. but for trent, everything had.

he clenched his jaw, the silence growing thicker, pressing in on him. “so you just let him check in? whenever he wants?”

her head shot up, eyes narrowing at the edge in his voice. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

trent leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his back no longer relaxed against the couch. “just seems like he still thinks he has a shot. that’s all i’m saying.”

y/n blinked, processing his sudden change in tone. “and so what if he does? why do you care?”

the question was soft, casual even, but it cut through the tension like a knife.

trent leaned back into the couch, jaw still tight as he watched her, tension crackling between them. the air felt thick, suffocating in the silence that followed. his eyes flicked toward his phone again, and something about the way her name lit up the screen on jadon’s message gnawed at him. his voice dropped lower, a little too sharp.

“you always let him back in, huh? just like before. always putting yourself in another mess.”

y/n froze. her fingers tightened around her phone, her face carefully blank even as her heart lurched at his words. she blinked, processing them, the sting more potent than she expected.

“another mess?” she echoed softly, voice calm but edged with something dangerous. “like this one?”

trent’s breath caught in his throat, his regret immediate. he opened his mouth to take it back, to soften the blow, but the damage was already done.

she sat up straighter, her gaze locking onto his now, eyes shining with something between disbelief and hurt. “if that’s how you see it, trent, then what the hell are we even doing?”

he rubbed a hand over his face, tension rolling off him in waves. “that’s not what I meant—”

“then what did you mean?” she pressed, folding her arms across her chest, her voice cracking slightly at the end. “because it sure sounds like you think this—me, you—was just some kind of mistake.”

trent hated himself for the flicker of pain in her eyes, for how vulnerable she looked in that moment. for how real it felt. he stood up, closing the space between them, his frustration melting into something softer.

“y/n, no,” he said, his voice gentler now. “you’re not a mistake. i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then why would you say it?” her voice dropped to a whisper, her walls cracking just enough for him to see the truth—the doubt she’d been hiding.

she stood anyway, brushing imaginary lint off her leggings. “it’s not a good idea for me to stay.” she paused, her voice quieter this time. “we can’t forget what this is.”

y/n stared at him, her heart in her throat, torn between every instinct screaming at her to protect herself and the pull of his words, his touch. she opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

trent’s voice was barely above a whisper. “don’t go.”

her words felt more like a reminder to herself than him, her eyes refusing to meet his as she grabbed her phone.

“y/n,” trent said, standing too. his hand brushed against hers, lingering for a second too long. “you don’t have to go.”

she shook her head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “i do.”

he wanted to argue, wanted to pull her back down onto the couch and make her stay until the tension eased and they could go back to laughing at tiktoks. but the look in her eyes stopped him—something fragile and uncertain, something he wasn’t sure he could fix in that moment.

and just like that, she slipped out the door, leaving him standing there, the words he couldn’t say caught in his throat.

trent sat back down, running a hand through his curls, his fifa game still paused on the screen. he hated how much her absence suddenly filled the room, how the air felt heavier without her in it.

and all he could think about was the way she said, we can’t forget what this is—because the truth was, trent wasn’t sure what this was anymore. but whatever it was, it mattered. more than he was ready to admit.

the bridal shop smelled like fresh fabric and lavender candles, soft afrobeats playing faintly in the background. racks of flowing gowns lined the walls, glittering under the warm lights. y/n hadn’t been to a fitting like this in forever, surrounded by zaia and her cousins, laughter spilling from every corner of the shop. it felt easy, familiar, and for a moment, she forgot how much she’d missed this—how lonely things had felt lately, despite how much she loved trent’s company.

she loved being around him, craved it even, but the lines were getting blurry. dangerous.

as she disappeared behind the curtain, the air shifted, quieter, almost intimate. the fabric of the emerald green gown was soft beneath her fingertips, heavy and rich, embroidered with gold and glittering stones that caught the light every time she moved. y/n adjusted it carefully, catching her reflection in the mirror. for a second, a fleeting thought crossed her mind—if she ever had a wedding of her own, would it look like this? would she wear something this stunning?

but no man came to mind. not really.

her brain whispered a name, low and familiar, but she shook it off. it wasn’t trent. it couldn’t be.

“god, this dress is heavy,” y/n called out, brushing the thought away as she adjusted the fabric on her shoulder.

“beauty is pain, babe,” one of zaia’s cousins teased, laughing from the other side of the curtain.

zaia’s voice was calm, steady. “is it fitting okay?”

“yeah,” y/n said softly, smoothing the front one last time before glancing at herself again. for a second, she let herself admire the way it clung to her curves, the way it made her feel like royalty. the matching fan rested on a stool nearby, waiting to complete the look.

behind the curtain, she hesitated, glancing at zaia. “you really think it’s okay if i bring trent to the wedding?” her voice was softer now, a little unsure.

zaia arched a brow, leaning forward on the cushioned bench. “why wouldn’t it be okay?”

y/n shrugged, fingers brushing the delicate stones on her dress. “i don’t know. it’s just… complicated.”

zaia tilted her head, her tone casual, but there was something in her eyes—something sharp. “complicated how? y/n, you’ve been spending all your time with him lately. it’s cute, but… girl, you know you’re gonna have to tell that boy you like him eventually, right?”

y/n peeked at zaia, eyes wide. “it’s not like that,” she muttered, though her pulse picked up at the words.

zaia smirked. “oh, it’s not? babe, it’s like watching a slow-motion car wreck. you both like each other, and it’s so obvious it hurts. just do something about it before we all go insane.”

y/n’s laugh was soft, almost nervous. “you’re dramatic.”

“you’re in denial,” zaia shot back, grinning.

before y/n could respond, she took a breath, pushed back the curtain, and stepped out. every conversation in the room stopped, all eyes snapping to her as she walked into the light, the gown shimmering with every step.

“y/n…” zaia whispered, standing slowly. “you look… beautiful.”

y/n spun in front of the mirror, her lips curving into a small smile. “you think? i feel like a princess or something.”

“a queen,” zaia corrected, her eyes warm. “green is definitely your color.”

the cousins agreed, pulling out their phones to snap pictures, laughter filling the space again as one of them adjusted y/n’s gele, making sure it sat perfectly.

but then, just as everything settled, zaia’s expression shifted—her lips parting slightly, her eyes suddenly glassy.

y/n froze, her heart thudding. “zaia, are you… crying?”

zaia laughed through her tears, wiping her face quickly. “sorry, i’ve just been… emotional lately. it’s ridiculous.”

concern flickered across y/n’s face. “are you okay? should i call cash?” she asked, already reaching for her phone.

zaia grabbed her wrist gently, shaking her head. “no, no—don’t call him. actually, there’s… something we were going to tell you together today, but…” her voice cracked. “i can’t wait. i need you to know now.”

y/n’s breath caught. “zaia, what is it?”

zaia hesitated for just a moment before the words tumbled out in a rush. “i’m pregnant.” her voice shook as she spoke, a soft sob escaping her lips. “you’re the first person i’ve told.”

the world tilted slightly, y/n’s mind struggling to catch up. her eyes welled up instantly, her hand flying to her mouth. “zaia… are you serious?”

zaia nodded, tears streaming down her face. “i’ve been dying to tell you. cash and i were going to do it together, but… i couldn’t wait. i needed you to know.”

y/n almost buckled at the weight of it, rushing forward to wrap zaia in a tight hug, their bodies trembling together as tears fell freely.

“oh my god,” y/n whispered against her shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “i’m so happy for you. you’re going to be the most amazing mom. i can’t believe this.”

zaia laughed through her sobs, clutching y/n tighter. “thank you. i was so nervous, but… hearing you say that makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.”

y/n pulled back just enough to cup zaia’s face, wiping her tears gently. her own tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t care. “it is going to be okay. more than okay. and i’ll be here with you every step of the way, you hear me?”

zaia nodded, sniffling. “i hear you.”

a beat of silence passed, warm and steady, before y/n laughed softly, shaking her head. “i’m gonna be the best aunt.”

zaia’s smile brightened, her eyes sparkling. “god mother. we want you to be the baby’s godmother.”

the words hung in the air for a second, heavy and beautiful.

y/n’s mouth fell open, her hand flying to her chest. “zaia… are you serious?”

“of course,” zaia said, her voice cracking again. “there’s no one else it could be.”

the tears returned full force, and y/n hugged her again, clutching her tightly. “i love you so much,” she whispered.

“i love you too,” zaia said softly.

and as they stood there, wrapped in their own little world, y/n knew this moment would stay with her forever—a reminder that love came in all forms, steady and unwavering, right when you needed it most.

y/n pulled into trent’s driveway, the car’s headlights casting long shadows on the driveway. her pulse quickened, but it wasn’t just from the excitement of seeing him again. she had needed to be near him, to escape the overwhelming sense of closeness she had felt at the fitting. the laughter, the hugs, the anticipation of her best friend’s wedding... it had all left her with a bittersweet ache in her chest. she had been happy, but it only highlighted how much she longed for something deeper, more intimate, something to anchor her in the midst of the swirling love and joy.

when the door opened, trent stood there, casual in a hoodie and sweatpants, looking effortlessly perfect. his eyes immediately locked onto hers, searching her face with that familiar intensity.

“have you been crying?” his voice softened, the concern obvious in his eyes.

y/n gave a half-smile, blinking rapidly to hold back any more tears. “happy tears,” she said, but there was a lingering tremor in her voice. “it was a good day. zaia’s wedding is really coming together.”

trent didn't look convinced. he reached for her hand, pulling her into the warmth of the house without saying another word. the house was quiet, cozy, and comforting in a way only trent’s home could be.

“you sure you’re okay?” trent asked again, his voice low and calm as he led her to the living room. “you’ve got that look.”

“i’m fine,” y/n insisted, brushing it off as she sat down beside him on the couch. “i just didn’t feel like being alone after everything. thought i’d come here, you know?”

trent settled beside her, his arm easily wrapping around her, pulling her closer. they both sank into the couch, the soft fabric of the cushions embracing them like a cocoon. y/n rested her head on his chest, and for a moment, all she could hear was the steady thud of his heartbeat, a calming rhythm she found herself syncing with.

there was something comforting about the way trent always seemed to know when she needed him. the way he held her without question, without hesitation. it made her feel like she belonged, even if it was only for this moment. he gently stroked her back, a slow, soothing motion that made her feel safe.

“you looked really beautiful tonight, you know?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “something about you in that dress—it was like you were glowing. i could see it. i mean, i always think you look good, but tonight was... different.”

y/n chuckled softly, her lips brushing against his chest. “i wasn’t even planning to go, but i’m glad i did. you’re sweet for saying that.”

they sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the crackle of the fire in the corner of the room and the soft music playing in the background. but after a while, y/n shifted, her thoughts swirling again. her mind wandered to the wedding, to the love in the room, to the future that seemed so certain for her friends and family... and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty that clung to her heart.

“do you ever think about getting married?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost hesitant as she gazed up at him, her face just inches from his.

trent’s eyebrows knitted together in surprise, his hand pausing mid-motion on her back. “where did that come from?”

y/n shrugged, forcing a lighthearted smile. “well, not to me, not like that,” she joked quickly, but there was an edge of something deeper to her words. “i mean, in general, you know?”

he leaned back, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to read something between the lines. after a moment of hesitation, he nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “yeah, i’ve thought about it. when the right person comes along, i guess.”

there was a slight pause, a quiet moment where they both seemed to be waiting for something unspoken. trent’s eyes softened as he considered the idea, his mind drifting.

y/n waited, but when he didn’t speak, she tilted her head, looking up at him curiously. “what? no ‘you’ in there?” she teased lightly.

“well...” he paused again, as if the thought had just occurred to him. and yet, as he imagined the life he might want, he couldn’t picture it with anyone but her. it was as if she had always been there in the background of his mind, the one constant he never truly acknowledged until now.

he imagined waking up beside her on lazy mornings, the sound of her laughter filling their shared home as they made breakfast together. he saw the two of them walking hand in hand through a park on a crisp autumn afternoon, with the warmth of their connection tangible, unshakable. he imagined late nights in their living room, surrounded by books, papers, and random ideas, sharing thoughts, dreams, and fears.

he imagined them growing old together—her smile still as bright, her laugh still as contagious, but the lines of age marking their faces, evidence of a life well-lived. he couldn’t picture a future without her, without the way she made him feel: grounded, loved, understood.

“i can only picture you, y/n,” he wanted to say quietly, his voice filled with a raw sincerity that surprised him. “when i think about spending my life with someone... it’s you. i can’t see anyone else. maybe that sounds crazy, but it’s just the truth.”

“yeah,” he settled on, his voice softer now. “when the right person comes along, i guess.”

y/n felt a rush of warmth in her chest, her heart swelling in a way she hadn’t expected. “i used to think it wasn’t in the cards for me,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of his shirt absentmindedly. “like maybe love and marriage... it wasn’t for me. i thought i wasn’t lovable enough for something like that.”

trent’s heart ached at her words, and without thinking, he pulled her closer, brushing his lips against her forehead. “you’re more than enough, y/n. you’re everything. never think you’re anything less than that.”

her breath caught again, the tears threatening to return. but she fought them back, focusing on his words, on the warmth of his arms around her.

“i don’t know,” she whispered. “maybe marriage is possible. maybe... maybe it’s something i can see for myself now. maybe with the right person.”

trent’s hand cupped her face gently, lifting her gaze to meet his. “you’re never going to be alone, y/n. not with me.”

the sincerity in his voice was almost too much, and y/n swallowed hard, feeling overwhelmed by everything. but it felt right. being here with him, in his arms, feeling safe, feeling loved.

she smiled softly. “thanks for always being here for me.”

“always,” trent whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead again.

they sat there in silence, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air, but there was something peaceful in it, too. for the first time in a long time, y/n felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in the world. maybe, just maybe, she was meant for more than she had ever believed.

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