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the-cosmic-cauldron · 24 hours ago

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🌸 Spring’s Coming: What’s Happening To You In March Based On Your Moon Sign🌸

February has passed, and now we’re welcomed into a new month: March. The month when the cold days that make us curl up under a warm blanket with a hot cup of tea begin to transform into sunnier days. The sun’s rays shine so deeply into your room that their warmth feels almost furnace-like. When you step outside, there’s still that slight chill in the breeze, but it reinvigorates your body and helps you breathe a little easier. Spring is just around the corner. March is here, and before we know it, the cherry blossoms will bloom, flowers will sprout, the grass will turn greener, and the air will remind us of all the beautiful, precious moments.

Today’s reading is a collective one, based on your moon sign, offering insights into what March holds for you in terms of love, career, and emotional well-being. It may not resonate with everyone, but there should be some truth in it that speaks to your month ahead. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day and have a blessed one.

Aries Moon: Avoidance, Loss, and Impatience

Love

In terms of love, this month feels like a time of avoidance for Aries. You are stuck, heavily reflecting on the past, and there’s a noticeable hesitance in moving forward. The main issue here is avoidance—you’re avoiding addressing the unresolved matters within your relationship that are holding you back from progression. You may feel lost when it comes to how to move forward, and that’s because communication is lacking. You are not talking to the person you care about or are interested in, and there’s a chance they may be avoiding you too.

While there’s a desire to connect, have fun, and make exciting plans with this person, you’re holding back. In order to do so, though, you’d need to open up and have a conversation. This lack of communication makes the energy feel stale and stagnant in your love life throughout March. There is a lot of potential, but without addressing these issues, progress will be difficult.

Career

For Aries in March, there may be job loss or job transition. Some of you may experience being laid off, fired, or choosing to walk away from your current position. This will not be an easy process—it will feel like the job has discarded you, leaving you in a vulnerable financial situation. However, this career setback has a silver lining. Although it may initially feel like a blow, this loss is actually designed to push you toward something better, something that aligns more with your purpose.

As you go through the struggle, there will be opportunities for growth. You’ll be motivated to look for better opportunities, perhaps in areas you hadn’t considered before. Despite the difficulty, this can ultimately open new doors for you.

Emotional Themes

March is a month where emotions are running high for Aries. You’re driven by goals and ambition, and you have a sense of urgency about achieving what you want right now. However, there’s a lack of patience and a struggle with work ethic, making it hard to execute those goals. The desire for immediate results clashes with the reality that achieving your ambitions will take time and effort. This internal conflict could lead to pessimism and frustration.

You might feel disheartened at times, as things are not moving at the pace you’d like. However, there will be a moment of emotional clarity later in the month. During this time, you’ll take a step back, introspect, and come to realize that you’ve been pushing too hard and approaching things the wrong way. This self-reflection will help you regain balance. You’ll understand that things take time, and you’ll start to approach your goals with more patience and organization. Ultimately, you’ll move toward a state of emotional fulfillment and steadiness, overcoming the negativity that may have plagued you earlier in the month.

Taurus Moon: Lucky Lover, New Money, A Break From Someone

Love

For Taurus Moons in March, the beginning of the month brings a tendency to overthink your love life. You may find yourself staying up late, preoccupying your mind with thoughts about someone, or driving yourself crazy mentally. This overthinking is excessive and not reflective of reality. It may stem from past experiences that have caused stress when it comes to approaching relationships.

Despite the mental strain, you’re on a great page with the person you’re dealing with. There’s harmony between the two of you, as you both align with each other’s desires and preferences. Communication is flowing easily, and there’s a sense of reassurance in the connection. Luck seems to be on your side this month, with positive circumstances that bring unexpected good fortune. Some things may happen that you didn’t anticipate, leaving you thinking, “How did this happen? How is this so great?”

Career

In terms of your career, Taurus Moons are likely to experience a fresh start this month. You may have been feeling unfulfilled in your current job and unable to continue with the emotional exhaustion and frustration it has brought. Now, you’re ready to move past that disappointment. March is a powerful month for you to apply for a new job or explore new career paths. You are ambitious and eager to manifest change, no longer willing to wait or take your time. You’ll actively jump on any opportunity that comes your way to make it happen. This is a month of stability and financial prosperity, as you move toward a more stable path in your career. You’re not hesitating to take on this new chapter.

Emotional Themes

Emotionally, Taurus Moons in March will start to feel incredibly capable. There’s a revitalization of confidence and a renewed sense of empowerment. Things that once seemed difficult or out of reach now feel achievable. This shift in perception will bring a total transformation in your mindset and life journey. You’ll feel not only more capable but also more aware of yourself and your surroundings.

However, there may be a falling out with someone this month, likely due to disagreements or being on different mental pages. You may find yourself questioning, “Why did this fight happen? Why did this argument take place?” While you may want to walk away from the situation without engaging in drama, the conflict could leave you reflecting on the intensity of the exchange. You might feel a bit avoidant, retreating into your own world and steering clear of further drama.

Gemini: Non-Committal, Powerful Networking, Unfulfillment

Love

For Gemini Moons in March, there is a lack of commitment in your love life. Some of you may be cheating or being dishonest, sneaking off and engaging with someone else, only to return to your partner as if nothing happened. This dishonesty is causing tension in your relationships.

Others of you may have recently gone through a breakup or will experience one this month. Even if you’re still together physically, there’s a disconnect emotionally and mentally. There’s a lack of affection and intimacy, and the bond feels weak. The relationship may feel like you’re together but not truly united. There’s no real closeness or affection, and the maturity needed to address these issues is lacking. Neither you nor your partner seem willing to resolve the situation or acknowledge the disconnect. You may be avoiding responsibility for the state of the relationship and are focused more on selfish desires, like seeking personal pleasure and indulgence, while neglecting the relational aspect.

Career

Career-wise, March looks to be an exciting and powerful month. You’re in a highly creative space, full of ideas that you can execute. You’ll be making important decisions that could have significant payoffs for your career. There are powerful moves ahead, and you’re in a position to make things happen.

Networking opportunities will also be abundant this month. You’ll meet people who could offer you the potential to level up in your career. It’s a social month in terms of your career, and you’ll be engaging with others who can help you grow. Your desire for exponential growth is strong, and you’re taking the steps necessary to turn that into reality.

Emotional Themes

Emotionally, Gemini Moons are experiencing heartache and pain in March. You’re feeling mentally exhausted and beaten down, and you may be struggling with feelings of unfulfillment. There was an opportunity that you thought would be rewarding, but it slipped away, leaving you feeling disappointed and regretful.

You’re struggling with emotional confusion and fear about the future, and you may feel emotionally stagnant. There’s a sense of shrinking away from others and even from yourself. You’re finding it hard to nurture and care for yourself in the midst of this emotional turmoil. There are a lot of mental blocks and growth obstacles that make it difficult to move forward. In March, you may feel emotionally low and overwhelmed by the challenges you’re facing.

Cancer Moon: Lingering Pain, Tension At Work, Stuck On The Past

Love

At the beginning of March, Cancer Moons will experience feelings of deep hurt. Someone may have wronged you, either by cheating or saying something that deeply affected you. You will likely feel like this is the end, and your hope for love might seem dim, especially at the start of the month. You may spend time wallowing in the pain, as it becomes a major emotional theme in March.

However, this emotional state will linger, though it won’t last indefinitely. As the month progresses, you’ll begin to go out more and engage with others. You may find yourself on dates and enjoying the company of a lover. There may be moments of fun, indulgence, and perhaps even drinking or using substances together, though it’s likely to happen in public settings surrounded by people rather than intimate, private moments.

In terms of commitment, March seems to bring a shift, and by the end of the month, there could be a solidified commitment with the person you are involved with. You may find yourselves thinking about the future and making decisions together. It’s a surprising turn, going from feeling hurt and disconnected to enjoying yourself and even receiving commitment from a partner.

Career

In February, you may have felt like you were burning out at work, overextending yourself. However, in March, you will gradually begin to recover from that burnout, finding a balance and incorporating more relaxation into your work routine. This shift will lead to positive results, and you’ll feel more confident in your career. There may also be recognition and accolades coming your way, which is likely to boost your confidence even further.

Additionally, someone at work may have developed a crush on you or is keeping an eye on you, which could add a bit of intrigue to your work environment. Despite these positive developments, you may still struggle with certain conflicts at work. You may not see eye to eye with some coworkers or have difficulty deciding how to approach specific tasks. While you’re shining in your career, the desire to do too much could lead to overextending yourself again, causing conflict and potentially burnout if you’re not careful. It’s important to balance your ambitions with self-care.

Emotional Themes

Emotionally, Cancer Moons will find themselves relying heavily on others for support, encouragement, and enthusiasm throughout the month. Your support system will be a vital source of strength, helping you navigate emotional challenges and enjoy yourself in various ways.

However, despite this support, you may still feel stuck on something from the past. There could be a mental roadblock preventing you from fully moving forward with certain emotions, making it difficult for you to process or let go of past feelings. These unresolved emotions might cause a sense of being overwhelmed, and you could feel like you’re emotionally unstable or disrupted throughout the month.

This emotional intensity may cause you to feel uprooted or unsafe emotionally, and it may take some time and effort to ground yourself. You’ll likely need to confront these destabilizing emotions and work through them in order to regain emotional equilibrium.

Leo Moon: Cutting Through The Bullshit, Taking A Break From Work, Emotionally Unstable

Love

In March, Leo Moons will experience tension in their romantic connections. There will be too much energy between you and your partner, leading to conflict. Both of you may want each other but have different desires and approaches, causing a clash. This tension will dominate the beginning of the month and could feel like a collision between your needs and expectations.

However, by the end of the month, there will be a breakthrough. The cycle of conflict you’ve been experiencing—possibly since February—will come to an end. A new phase will emerge in your romantic life, marked by change. You’ll be stepping away from old patterns and entering a period where you’re more focused on clear, mature communication. This shift will bring peace, balance, and stillness into your connection, allowing for smoother and more constructive conversations. If you’re in an existing relationship, this will significantly improve the dynamic. If you’re starting a new connection, it will feel clear, communicative, and balanced.

Career

In February, you may have been overworking and using a lot of mental energy in your career. However, in March, you will likely feel the need to take a step back. You may seek rest, take vacation, or prioritize things like early bedtimes to rejuvenate yourself. You’re no longer interested in pushing yourself too hard and want to take a break from the constant grind of work.

Despite this desire to rest, there will still be some blockages in your career growth. You may struggle with feeling grounded and finding your flow, and there may be difficulty flourishing in your work. You will find it challenging to invest your energy into your career in March, and this struggle could lead to tension. You might be torn between withdrawing and needing to do more, pushing yourself hard at times, and not realizing how this might negatively affect your well-being.

This tension between rest and work could create emotional instability in your professional life. You may feel like you’re not seeing things clearly or might overcommit again without realizing it, falling back into old habits of overwork. It’s important to find a balance between nurturing yourself and your career.

Emotional Themes

March will be an emotionally unstable month for Leo Moons. You may feel like you have little control over your emotions, and there might be a desire to withdraw from others. You won’t be as open about your feelings or experiences, preferring to keep things to yourself. This could be a time where you’re focused on deepening your emotional understanding and following your intuition, but it’s possible that your emotions will come up suddenly and strongly, prompting you to act on them without fully processing or considering the consequences.

There could also be difficulty connecting with others—whether with friends, family, or romantic partners. You may feel disappointed or isolated emotionally, leading to moments of acting impulsively based on your emotions. Instead of taking time to reflect, you may make decisions on the fly, which could lead to feelings of regret or frustration later.

Virgo Moon: Emotional Coldness, Unstable Work, Nostalgic

Love

In March, Virgo Moons will experience some emotional coldness in their romantic connections. There’s a lack of nurturance in the bond between you and your partner, which is causing a sense of disconnection. Your focus is still on the relationship, but you’re trying to avoid being overwhelmed by emotional tensions, particularly as you work to balance your personal life and responsibilities.

While you may desire a passionate and sexually charged connection with your partner, it seems that you are suppressing these desires in favor of focusing on the practical aspects of life. You’re trying to see if this emotional distance will pass, while also managing other aspects of your life, including work.

Career

March will bring instability in your career. There are blocks in your progress, and goals may not be completed as expected. Procrastination, lack of organization, and a general lack of creativity may hinder your work performance. You might not feel enthusiastic or engaged with your job, and this lack of motivation will have an emotional impact, leaving you disappointed and dissatisfied with your work life.

However, by the end of the month, you may make an effort to turn things around. There will be roadblocks and challenges, but you’ll likely try to implement changes and take actions to achieve your goals, despite the obstacles.

Emotional Landscape

In March, Virgo Moons will feel nostalgic and may want to reconnect with their childlike self. You’ll crave freedom and a break from responsibilities, wanting to spend time in nature, around children, or engaging in creative activities like drawing or coloring. You may find yourself longing for a sense of playfulness and lightheartedness during this time.

Despite the challenges, March will bring moments of pride and confidence. Something will go well for you emotionally, making you feel free and on top of the world. There are blessings and emotional growth on the horizon, which will lift your spirits.

However, you may also struggle with a sense of laziness, not wanting to do much, and a tendency to be swept away by strong emotions—even if those emotions are positive. This may lead to emotional immaturity, as you might have difficulty grounding yourself and might get caught up in your emotional states. This could result in moments where your feelings take over, preventing you from staying grounded.

Libra Moon:Breakthroughs,Difficult Communication,Disconnected

Love

In the month of March, Libra Moons will experience a breakdown in their love life before a breakthrough occurs. There’s a sense of pettiness and immaturity in the communication between you and your partner. Conversations seem to repeat, and there’s a lack of resolution, with no clear solutions being found. It feels as if one or both partners are more focused on their own interests, making it hard to have a meaningful conversation—one where both are talking to each other, rather than just at each other.

For a period of time, the arguments and mental conflicts will persist. However, a shift occurs, and the energy moves from mental disagreements to an emotional breakthrough. Eventually, there will be a conversation that focuses less on the logical and mental aspects of the relationship, and more on expressing emotions. This emotional revitalization will bring a new beginning, allowing you both to reconnect emotionally and build a deeper bond.

Career

In your career, confusion and lack of clarity will persist throughout March. You may feel uncertain about what steps to take next, possibly due to an aversion to confrontation. There’s a sense of things being left unsaid, leading to a buildup of unspoken tensions. Your fears and overthinking might cause difficulties in communication at work, leading to misunderstandings or heated arguments during conversations. This could destabilize the work environment, making it less exciting and leaving you feeling dissatisfied with your job.

Despite these challenges, by the end of the month, there will be a shift towards more balance and clarity. While there will be moments of emotional confusion and chaos, you will gradually begin to focus on restoring harmony in your work life. You’ll approach work with a more mature mindset, seeking to manage relationships and work dynamics with greater stability. By the end of the month, after navigating through some initial difficulties, you will find a clearer path forward and regain balance in your career.

Emotional Landscape

Emotionally, Libra Moons may experience some coldness and a sense of disconnection in March. You may not feel fully nurtured or aligned with others, leading you to take more time for yourself. There’s a need for introspection as you seek clarity about your next move. You may feel unsure about what direction to take and will likely focus on grounding yourself.

Rather than becoming overwhelmed by emotions, you’ll focus on balancing them by reflecting and spending time alone. This will allow you to restore emotional equilibrium and prepare for a more stable emotional state moving forward, particularly as you approach April. It’s a time of self-reflection as you seek to understand what’s truly important and how to regain emotional stability.

Scorpio Moon: Break From Your Lover, Balancing Work, Standing Your Ground

Love

In February, you were deeply focused on your person, trying to communicate and resolve issues. However, it seems that your efforts were not as successful as you’d hoped. As a result, you’re taking a step back from this person in March. This break is necessary because the situation became mentally exhausting, and you didn’t want to continue putting yourself through that.

However, this break is also causing some instability and powerlessness in your life, as you likely wanted to keep moving forward with this person instead of taking a break. Despite the discomfort, this time apart will be helpful in shifting your mindset. You were overburdened by the situation, and the space is allowing you to start unpacking the mental distress and relieving yourself from the negative thoughts that had been weighing on you. By the end of March, you will begin to feel freer mentally, as the break gives you the space to reflect and reset.

Career

In your career, things will start to ease up in March. You’re no longer feeling as overwhelmed, and you’ll find it easier to delegate responsibilities and tasks. This shift will bring relief, especially considering the stress you’ve been under at work. You’ll find yourself operating at a more manageable pace, and you will have time to breathe, reflect, and even daydream—an unexpected but welcome change.

That said, the beginning of March will still be busy and full of challenges in your work environment. There will be a lot to juggle, and you may experience some frustration due to the demanding nature of your job. However, you will persevere through these challenges, and by the end of the month, you’ll achieve the balance you’ve been seeking in your work life.

Emotional Landscape

Emotionally, Scorpio Moons will be in a place where you’re not willing to tolerate much this month. If someone tries to push your emotions, you will stand your ground and assert your boundaries. This is a sign of emotional growth, as you’re no longer willing to be passive in emotional situations. You’re now firmly standing up for what you believe is right and for the emotional strength you’ve developed.

However, before this emotional empowerment takes place, you’ll go through a period of emotional pain, feeling bogged down by negative emotions. In the early part of March, you may experience pessimism, emotional exhaustion, and hurt. This is compounded by a sense of betrayal and a struggle with trusting others in the future. After this period of emotional difficulty, you will rise stronger, implement your boundaries, and stand up for yourself in a way that reflects the emotional growth you’ve undergone.

Sagittarius Moon: Ice Cold Heart, Locked In, Facades

Love

In March, it seems like you’re feeling unfulfilled in your love life. You desire someone who truly cares for you, nurtures you, and gives to you, but you’re not receiving that from your partner. There’s a feeling of coldness and neglect from the person you’re involved with, which is painful and deeply hurtful. Your heart is feeling heavy, and you’re experiencing significant emotional pain. You’re emotionally upset, and it’s difficult to focus on the situation because you’re overwhelmed by the demands in other areas of your life.

However, despite the emotional turmoil, the end of March brings a new beginning. There’s a shift in your love life, and you may meet someone new, or you may experience a fresh opportunity in your current relationship that can help you break free from the emotional slump you’ve been in. This shift will bring spontaneity and adventurous energy into your romantic life, whether you’re single or in a relationship. The energy of spring brings exciting and positive changes, creating a more exciting and fulfilling dynamic in your love life.

Career

In your career, March is a time for serious focus. You are determined to improve and make great strides in your professional life. Everything you do at work is aligned with your long-term goals. You are highly invested in self-improvement and are dedicated to advancing in your career, whether that’s through a promotion, a new position, or enhancing your skills. You may even be taking courses or going back to school to aid your career growth.

While you’re focused and committed to success, the month will be busy and demanding. You’ll face non-stop action and back-to-back tasks, making it difficult to catch a break. However, the hard work will pay off, as you are likely to see financial rewards. March will be a month where you’re serious about your career and putting in the effort to build stability for your future. Though the workload may be overwhelming, you’re taking the necessary steps to reach your goals, even if you’re struggling at times to handle everything on your own.

Emotional Landscape

Emotionally, you’re going through a lot in March. On the outside, you may be projecting an image of strength and success, showing the world that you have everything together. However, internally, you’re struggling. One of the biggest emotional challenges is your tendency to ruminate on past situations, which has become unhealthy. You know it’s not good for you, but it’s hard to stop.

You’ve spent a lot of time processing your emotions and trying to make sense of everything, but you’re hesitant to admit that you need time to yourself. Instead, you try to act like everything is fine, even though you’re not truly okay. There’s a sense of emotional exhaustion, and at times, you may feel like giving up. You may even entertain the thought of just walking away from it all, but deep down, you know you need to keep going. Despite the emotional obstacles, you are trying to gather yourself and put on a strong front, showing others that you’re fine, even though you’re still dealing with a lot behind the scenes.

Capricorn Moon: Unfinished Business, Blessings, Analytical

Love

For Capricorn Moons, March brings some significant shifts in love. There may be something that has been left unspoken or unresolved in your relationship, and it’s starting to affect the connection. It feels like there’s an unspoken awareness that the connection is fizzling out, but no one is taking responsibility or acknowledging it. For some of you, this might result in a breakup, or simply the relationship slowly losing its spark.

Both you and your partner might have been passive for some time, but things are about to change. Someone is going to step up and finally address everything that has been left unsaid, asserting their feelings and desires. It could be a moment of clarity, where the relationship either ends or moves toward resolution. If there has been a period of disconnect or a break, this month marks a turning point.

An ex or someone with unfinished business in your life might return. This person will re-enter your life with a positive and mature energy, bringing blessings rather than negativity. The connection could feel fated, as if they came back at just the right time. They’ve become clearer and more assertive, and they’ll likely be bold, excited, and passionate when they approach you. This person might even exude a strong sexual energy and be very attractive. Whether you’re open to them or not, expect some unresolved matters to come back into focus.

Career

March is a blessed month for Capricorn Moons in terms of career and finances. Whether you’re starting a new job, getting a promotion, or launching a business, there’s a financial blessing in store for you. You’ve been putting in the hard work, and it’s starting to pay off.

Capricorns are always known for their diligence, but this month, you’re particularly focused. You’re being very intentional with your efforts and working hard to improve your career. There’s a lot of self-control at play, and you’re making sure that everything you do is aligned with your long-term goals. You’re fully committed to your work and not wasting any energy, ensuring that the effort you’re putting in this month will bring significant rewards.

Emotional Landscape

In March, you may feel like you’re experiencing a creative block or lack of inspiration. This is reflected in your career as well, where you’re more focused on practical tasks and routine rather than creative pursuits. Your energy is being directed toward getting things done, which leaves little room for inspiration or excitement in other areas of your life.

Emotionally, you may not be deeply immersed in your feelings. Instead, you’re relying more on logic and practicality. When it comes to expressing yourself emotionally, you’re doing so in a calm, analytical way, rather than from a place of emotional vulnerability. You may even set boundaries this month, with a need to stand your ground and let others know they can’t mess with you. You might find yourself having to assertively tell someone off, making it clear that they cannot sway you emotionally. You’re showing that you won’t tolerate emotional manipulation and will take control of your emotional space.

Aquarius Moon: Toxic Love, Job Dissatisfaction, Indecision

Love

In March, Aquarius Moons may experience disappointment in their love life. It seems that someone is leaving a sour taste in your mouth, causing you to feel like pulling away or walking away from them. This person’s behavior may have left you feeling drained and uncertain about continuing the relationship. As a result, you’re beginning to realize that focusing on yourself is necessary.

It seems you’re dealing with a toxic partner. This person might say things that aren’t true or fail to follow through on their promises. Despite the toxicity, there’s an undeniable attraction—possibly good sex or engaging conversations that keep drawing you back. However, you feel the need to take breaks to regain emotional stability and prevent being consumed by their energy.

Even when you take these breaks and manage to stabilize yourself, this person remains on your mind. You might find yourself feeling stuck on them, unable to move on. It’s possible this person is generally a good and consistent person, but the relationship dynamic has become toxic. The connection may sometimes feel overwhelming, leading to some hot-and-cold behavior—moments when you want them, followed by moments of pulling away to regain balance.

Career

March brings some challenges in the career realm. For Aquarius Moons, it looks like you’ve been dealing with a toxic workplace that hasn’t been a place of peace. There may have been a job loss or the realization that your current job isn’t fulfilling or promising for the future. As you begin to prioritize yourself and your well-being, you’re actively seeking out new opportunities.

You might be feeling disappointed and sad about the current or past job situation, and the job search process may feel discouraging. However, don’t lose hope—March holds a blessing for you. A great job opportunity is on the horizon, whether through a promotion that moves you out of the toxic environment or a financial blessing to help alleviate some of the strain. If you’re jobless, this financial support could be crucial, so stay optimistic and keep pushing forward.

Emotional Landscape

Emotionally, March might bring a creative block for Aquarius Moons. You may not feel as inspired or energetic, which could affect your ability to engage in the things you love. It’s a time when you may feel a little indecisive and unclear about what you want to do next. This can leave you feeling somewhat disconnected from your emotions and uncertain about the direction of your life.

Despite the lack of inspiration, you may find yourself crushing on someone or feeling an emotional pull toward love. This could bring some warmth to your heart, even though you’re still feeling a bit distant from your usual energetic self.

There’s a sense that you’re feeling like a failure or unsure about your progress in life. You may be grappling with the feeling that you’re repeating patterns you’d rather not repeat, leaving you disappointed and unsure of your next steps. This emotional fog is causing some doubt in your ability to make decisions, leaving you with a general sense of lack of direction or uncertainty.

Pisces Moon: Sudden Shifts, Risk Taking, Clarity

Love

At the start of March, some of you are in no contact or are avoiding the person you care about. The lack of communication can feel frustrating, and there may be more arguments than resolutions. This leads to feelings of disappointment and loss of hope, making you question the future of the relationship.

Mid-month, there’s a sudden shift. What started as no communication or distance turns into frequent contact. You may find yourselves spending more time together, having deep conversations, or even going on outings. There’s a noticeable change in the dynamic, going from tense to relaxed and positive. You might even share moments on social media, enjoying each other’s company, taking photos, and having fun in public settings.

This change can feel sudden and almost jarring, but it brings positivity and excitement after a period of emotional lows. It’s as if the situation shifts overnight, going from feeling stuck to enjoying each other’s presence with renewed energy.

Career

The first part of the month may bring dissatisfaction and emotional discouragement about your job. You might feel disconnected from coworkers or unsure about your position, leading to inner turmoil. You may even fear losing your job or feel a lack of stability.

Despite the early challenges, there’s a significant shift in your career by the end of the month. Some of you will take a risk—whether that’s pursuing a new opportunity, shifting positions, or making a bold career move. This risk will pay off, bringing a sense of fulfillment and success. If you decide to leave your current job, you could find better opportunities elsewhere, which will feel like a major accomplishment. Others who take a calculated risk within the job will also see positive results, feeling validated and empowered by the outcome.

Emotional Landscape

Emotionally, March begins with inner conflict and dissatisfaction. You might feel disconnected, disappointed, and unsure of the direction your life is heading in. There’s a sense of emotional imbalance, leaving you feeling unfulfilled and uncertain.

As the month progresses, this emotional turmoil starts to subside. By the end of March, you’ll feel a newfound sense of balance, maturity, and emotional control. The chaos of earlier in the month will give way to clarity, as you find peace within yourself. You will emerge from the month feeling more assured and emotionally stable, having navigated the emotional highs and lows successfully.

#astro notes #astro observations #astroblr #astrology #astro placements #astro community #cancer #capricorn #aries #gemini #astro posts #astro rants #taurus #leo ♌️#virgo #aquarius #pisces

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lacy-oh-lacy · 2 days ago

Note

If requests are open: Shy softy GN!R having a surprisingly good and easy time asking out and dating their crush Jennifer Check.

ᥫ᭡. 𝑱𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒌 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑨 𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒊𝒆

-You'd think someone like Jennifer would prey on someone like you, sink her teeth into your weaker personality and leave you in tatters, but she's actually so casual with you.

-She appreciates your more thoughtful personality unlike all the douchebags in your god-forsaken town and she doesn't want to scare you off, especially since she knows she’s losing her grip on Needy.

-It could almost be seen as self-growth, but Jennifer knows better. She knows that there's just something about you that has her on her best behaviour.

-Whatever preconceived notions you had about her, you soon realize that when Jennifer Check likes you she's easy to get along with, she's charming, playful, outgoing enough for the both of you…

-Before long you have inside jokes with her and find she's been steadily coaxing you out of your shell.

-You're basically already together, she drags you on so many outings that may as well be called dates, and then on sleepovers where you spend the night in her bed.

-It’s just a matter of building up the courage to say the quiet part out loud.

-Little do you know, Jennifer agonizes over that very thing, much to her frustration since she knows that she should be brave enough to confess. She's hot stuff!

-Her jaw actually drops when you beat her to the punch.

-You know the risk you’re taking, that you could crash and burn horribly and then she'd never wanna talk to you again, but you trust Jennifer, she makes you feel safe… Almost invincible.

-And Jennifer, well she knows how shy you are, how sensitive, so seeing you overcome that for her… she's never been so flattered.

-She feels the rush of power and pride she always gets when she knows someone's into her but she also feels heat rise to her cheeks. She smirks coyly, face hot, “You must really like me, huh?”

-You really, really do.

-Jennifer can easily date someone and still be an asshole to them, but when she's falling in love she's almost a simp.

-She's just giddy to be with you, cheesy and romantic like no one’s ever seen her.

-She's a very clingy girlfriend too, lots of PDA, lots of texts, and if she has to go even a day without seeing you she gets so pouty.

-And she's great to have around, Jennifer balances out your weaknesses so well, bringing more excitement into your life, standing up for you, soothing you when you're flustered and so on.

-Amazingly she rarely hurts your feelings, not that she'd do that intentionally but her jokes can often edge into taunts and if you didn't have a good humor about them they could sting. Luckily you appreciate your girlfriend for the comedic legend she is.

-When she does upset you her first instinct is to get defensive but she always comes around with apology gifts and words of affirmation to soothe over the hurtful ones.

-When someone else upsets you… well, they're only gonna make that mistake once. Jennifer can be cruel and vindictive for the pettiest of reasons, for you? She'll go full scorched earth on their asses.

-She loves how sweet you are but she still rolls her eyes when she thinks you're being too nice, and she lives for the rare occasions when you talk shit about someone, she tells you you've never been hotter.

-Which is debatable, you're always smoking hot in her opinion. It kind of makes her glad you're so shy, otherwise she knows you’d attract more of the wrong kind of attention.

-And yeah, that’s partially toxic possessiveness, but it's also protectiveness. She's received plenty of that attention and she knows how debasing and dehumanizing it can be, she wants to keep you safe from that.

-The same way you saved her from it by not treating her like a piece of meat. By making her believe that someone could love Jennifer, not just her body.

-All in all you're both lucky to have each other and can only bring out the best in one another.

#jennifer's body #jennifer check #jennifer check x reader #jennifer check imagine #slashers x reader

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 7 hours ago

Note

you wrote a fanfic the other day about Sebastian gaining some weight but I’d love to see a fanfic where MC gains some weight + Sebastian’s reassurance <3

Pool Side | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Anon! I want to apologize for the very long wait (like... two months...) for this fic! It has been a WIP since you submitted this request but the story took on a life of its own and it took a hot minute for me to finish. I hope it was worth the wait!

Also I promised some more fluff/smut on the blog so enjoy everyone💚

Words: ~16,100

Tags: Smut, Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, Plus Sized MC, No Y/N, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Actually Unrequited Love, Romance

Beta: @newdreamlove95 💚

The coastline stretched before you, the sea a glimmering expanse of blue beneath the midday sun. White limestone cliffs loomed in the distance, dramatic and weathered by time, framing the golden sand of Durdle Door Beach. It was the kind of place people romanticized—secluded, picturesque, the perfect setting for a group of old friends to escape their busy lives for a single, carefree afternoon.

Except, you hadn’t felt carefree all day.

The sound of crashing waves filled the spaces between laughter, between playful shouts and splashes as your friends waded deeper into the water. The air smelled of sea salt and sunscreen, the sand warm and fine beneath your towel. It should have felt perfect. But as you sat beneath the wide shade of your umbrella, the book in your hands barely touched, all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

Time had shaped all of you in its own way—careers, travels, lessons learned, heartbreaks and triumphs, all of it leaving its mark. Garreth had finally cut his hair, and his once-boyish face was now set with sharper features. Imelda had somehow managed to look even more athletic than she had in school, toned and lean, her features even more fierce. Natty had grown taller, even more poised, carrying herself with quiet confidence. Even Ominis, who you’d always considered the most put-together of the group, had softened somewhat, the weight of his family name no longer pressing so heavily on his shoulders.

And Sebastian—He wasn’t the same as he had been at eighteen, either.

You let your gaze drift toward him, tracking him where he stood near the water’s edge, talking with Ominis. His once-boyish face had sharpened, the angles of his jawline more pronounced, the shadow of scruff darkening his face where smooth skin had once been. Even his curls had changed—longer now, though the wind still toyed with them the same way it always had.

And his body—

He had always been strong, lean from Quidditch and dueling, but now he had filled out, broader in the shoulders, thicker in the arms and chest. Not as sharply cut as he had been at eighteen, no longer carved from restless youth and constant training, but something better—something balanced, something solid—not chiseled, not sculpted, just strong, in a way that felt effortless. Comfortable.

Yet while everyone had changed, you had changed the most.

You adjusted the loose cover-up draped over your shoulders, tugging it down to make sure it hid as much of you as possible. Not that anyone in this group would say anything—but that didn’t mean they hadn’t noticed. Because people always noticed. In fact, people commented. Not cruelly, not always, but enough. Enough that when you saw someone again for the first time in years, you had learned to brace yourself, waiting for the inevitable remark, whether it was an aunt’s offhanded, Oh, you were always such a slip of a thing before! or the faux-concerned, Are you taking care of yourself?

The world never let you forget that you used to be different, better.

At least, that’s how it felt.

You had been confident in your teenage years, running through the halls of Hogwarts with reckless energy, sharp-tongued and sharp-witted, always ready to challenge someone in a duel or throw yourself into something new without hesitation. Back then, your body had never been something you thought about—it had just been yours.

You weren’t sure when that had changed.

Somewhere along the way, your body had shifted, weight settling onto you in ways you couldn’t ignore, in ways other people refused to ignore. It didn’t matter that you were still you, still clever and kind and capable—it was as if the world had collectively decided that none of that mattered as much as the shape of you.

It wasn’t fair, but fairness had never been a rule the world followed. So even though your friends never said anything, you knew they had noticed. How could they not?

The weight of your thoughts pressed down heavier than the sun, hotter than the sand beneath your towel.

You felt guilty.

This weekend had been planned for months—a rare break in everyone’s busy schedules, a chance to reconnect without the distractions of work, responsibilities, or the sheer exhaustion of adulthood. It had taken forever to arrange, largely because of them.

Imelda and Natty were impossible to pin down.

Imelda, who had thrown herself headfirst into professional Quidditch after Hogwarts, had spent the last several years building a name for herself as one of the fiercest Beaters in the league.

And Natty—Natty had never stayed still. She had left the Ministry years ago for international work, teaching and training young witches and wizards abroad. If she wasn’t in Africa, she was in Asia, and if she wasn’t in Asia, she was in Australia.

Getting both of them in the same place at the same time, on holiday no less, had been a miracle.

You should have been thrilled. You were thrilled.

And yet all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

You had tried to prepare. You had tried.

Dieting. Exercising. Starving yourself. Hyping yourself up by buying a new bikini, thinking that maybe—maybe—if it was flattering enough, if you just forced yourself into the right mindset, you’d be okay.

But stepping into it today had made you feel sick.

You had stood in front of the mirror in the beach house bathroom that morning, stomach churning, as you studied the reflection that didn’t match the version of yourself in your memories.

You had stared at your body, turning slightly, tugging at the waistband of the bottoms, at the straps over your shoulders. No matter how you adjusted them, you still looked like this.

So, instead of running into the water, instead of being the girl you wanted to be, the girl used to be, you had thrown on your cover-up and settled under the umbrella, staying there like an anchor while the others ran free.

You watched as Imelda and Poppy tossed a beach ball back and forth, their laughter carrying over the sound of the waves. Imelda, ever the athlete, barely had to move to intercept each pass, her sharp reflexes making it look effortless. Poppy, for all her gentleness, was surprisingly competitive, her playful smirk clear even from where you sat under the umbrella.

A little farther out, Natty floated on her back, arms stretched, face tilted toward the sky. She looked serene, perfectly at ease in the water, her dark braids fanning out around her like a halo.

A little closer to shore, Garreth waded through the shallows, carrying a handful of bottles, the brown glass glinting in the sunlight. He trudged toward Ominis and Sebastian, where they stood in the the surf, the waves lapping lazily at their calves.

Sebastian popped off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips without a care, his other hand raking through his hair. The sunlight made the water droplets on his skin glisten, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the long stretch of his back where his swim trunks sat low on his hips. You hated how easy it was to look at him, how easy it had always been.

You wrenched your gaze away, but you heard Garreth open his own bottle with a sharp hiss before sighing dramatically.

“Merlin’s balls,” he laughed. “I forgot to tell you. I finally took Eloise out last weekend.”

Sebastian, already a few swallows into his drink, raised a brow. “That sounds promising. Do tell.”

"It went brilliantly," Garreth continued. "Dinner, drinks, and by the end of the night—" He took a swig of his beer, then grinned wolfishly. "Let’s just say I made quite the impression."

"Spare us the details, Weasley," Ominis huffed, tipping his head back.

"Oh, come on, mate. Don’t pretend you’re not interested."

"I assure you, I am not."

Garreth rolled his eyes before continuing anyway. "She’s gorgeous. You know, tall, really fit, amazing legs. I mean she plays for the Falcons, and bloody hell, you can tell." He whistled low, shaking his head in admiration.

Sebastian made a knowing sound, half a chuckle, half a sigh. “Of course. Tall, leggy, tiny waist. Garreth Weasley’s classic type.”

“Right, well, can you blame me? She's something else,” Garreth pointed at him with his bottle.

Sebastian hummed appreciatively. “I get it. Hard to argue with a body like that.”

Garreth nodded firmly. “Of course you get it, you're a man of taste.”

Your grip on your book tightened, the pages bending beneath your fingers. Of course, Sebastian understood. Of course, he got it.

Because women like that were meant to be wanted.

Women like Poppy, who was soft in the way that was delicate, the kind of pretty that made people want to protect her.

Women like Natty, who carried herself with effortless grace, whose body was carved from strength and discipline.

Women like Imelda, who was lean, fit, sharp-edged and powerful.

Women, apparently, like Eloise, whose body was a gift, something to be admired, appreciated, worshiped.

It made sense. Of course it made sense. But it didn’t stop the ache that settled deep in your ribs, the quiet, sinking certainty that you would never be the kind of woman men spoke about like that.

And then—

“Well,” Ominis drawled, tipping his bottle toward Garreth, “not all of us are so visually inclined, I suppose.”

Garreth snorted. “Are you calling me shallow?”

Sebastian let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Knowing what you like isn’t shallow.”

“Perhaps,” Ominis allowed, tilting his head. “But I still think I have better taste.”

Garreth groaned. “Here we go.”

Ominis smirked, lazy and self-assured. “Forgive me for thinking there’s more to a woman than her legs, Garreth.”

Sebastian snorted. “Alright, we get it, you’re enlightened.”

Ominis only hummed, amused. “It’s just that I, personally, prefer someone with a bit of substance—quite literally.” He tapped his own ribs lightly with a knowing smirk. “I’ve already got enough bone for the both of us. A bit of cushion is good for a man.”

You froze.

Ominis' words hung in the air, settling between the easy laughter and the rhythmic pull of the tide.

On one hand, it was almost comforting in a way, hearing Ominis brush aside such narrow ideals. At least someone—someone you respected, someone you trusted—didn’t think a woman’s worth was measured by how well she fit into a neat little mold.

But at the same time his words didn’t fix anything. Not really. Because it wasn’t him you needed reassurance from.

It was Sebastian.

Garreth laughed, raising his bottle. “Well, cheers to that, then,” he said, clearly unbothered. “Honestly, better for both of us. I’d rather not compete with you, mate. If I had to go up against you and your good looks? I’d be doomed.”

Ominis rolled his eyes but clinked his bottle against Garreth’s all the same.

Sebastian made a sound—low, amused, noncommittal.

And that was it.

No teasing rebuttal. No agreement, but no disagreement either. Just a simple, easy acknowledgment that meant nothing.

Or maybe it meant everything.

Because Sebastian had spoken up earlier, when he’d defended Garreth’s tastes. But now? Now, he said nothing.

He didn’t joke with Ominis. Didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. He just let the conversation move on, unbothered, unthinking.

And that was your answer. The truth you had known somewhere deep down but had tried so hard to ignore.

Sebastian got it. Sebastian agreed. Because of course he did. Because why wouldn’t he?

Hard to argue with a body like that.

A sudden burst of splashing pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

You blinked up just in time to see Natty emerging from the water, droplets rolling down her sun-warmed skin as she pushed her braids back from her face. She was beaming, looking as effortlessly radiant as ever, and you felt a twinge of guilt when your first instinct was to shrink further into the shade.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling toward the shore. "I am going for ice cream. Who’s coming?"

The response was instant.

“Ooh, absolutely,” Poppy chirped, catching the beach ball Imelda had just tossed her before jogging toward Natty.

“I could go for something,” Imelda agreed, squeezing the seawater from her ponytail. “Haven’t had a proper cone in ages.”

Sebastian tipped his beer back for a final sip, then turned to Ominis. "You coming?"

Ominis scoffed. "Do you even have to ask?"

You didn’t have time to react before the whole group was moving, heading toward the shore in a mess of dripping bodies and sun-warmed skin, shaking the saltwater from their limbs as they made their way toward you.

"That book must be fascinating if you’re still at it," Garreth teased as he approached your umbrella.

You forced a smile, gripping the novel a little tighter. "Riveting."

Sebastian was right behind him, running a hand through his damp curls as he reached for the towel he’d left beside his bag. "What’s it about?"

You hesitated. You had no idea. You hadn’t read a single word in—how long had it even been?

"It's romance-mystery-crossover," you lied offhandedly, hoping the vague genre mashup would be enough to satisfy him.

Sebastian gave you a slow, amused look, clearly unconvinced. "Sounds made up."

"Of course it is, it's a fiction novel, Sebastian," you countered, flipping the book closed and setting it aside, hoping the conversation would move on.

It did.

Garreth reached for his t-shirt, shaking off the sand before pulling it over his head. "You going to join us in the water after we get ice cream?"

You hesitated.

The question was casual, easy, but you could feel the weight of expectation behind it. Not just from Garreth, but from the others too. Poppy was already looking at you with hopeful anticipation, Natty giving you a small, encouraging nod.

They wanted you to say yes.

And for a second, you wanted to say it too. To be the girl you used to be, the one who wouldn’t have thought twice before running headfirst into the waves, salt-stung and laughing, sand stuck to her legs and hair damp with seawater.

But that wasn’t you anymore.

So you mustered up a small, apologetic smile and said, “Maybe later.”

Garreth groaned. “Oh, come on. You said that last time."

But before he could complain further, Natty had already tossed on her sunhat and pulled her dress over her swimsuit, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. She didn’t waste time waiting for further debate.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder, already walking down the beach toward the path leading up to the ice cream stand. "Before the ice cream all melts."

That was enough to get the others moving.

Poppy hurried after her, still wringing the seawater from the ends of her hair, Imelda not far behind. Garreth quickly followed, dragging Ominis along with him, still grumbling about how one day you’d actually keep your word and join them in the water.

And then, just like that, they were gone.

You could have followed. You should have followed. But you didn’t.

You stayed put beneath the shade of your umbrella, hands clenched in your lap, your book abandoned beside you.

Because you didn’t need ice cream. You certainly didn’t need the extra sugar, nor the extra calories.

Then a shadow fell over you. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Sebastian.

His presence was unmistakable—always had been. Something about him was too big, too bold, to ignore.

For a few beats, he didn’t say anything. Just stood there. And then—

"You’re not coming?"

His voice was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes fixed on the page in front of you as if that would be enough to make him move on. "I’m not really in the mood for ice cream."

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave. Didn’t let the conversation drop like you needed him to.

"You were in the mood for it last summer," he pointed out. "And the summer before that. And the one before that. And before that."

"Well, people change, Sebastian."

You hoped that would be enough. That he’d just let it go. But you’d been friends with Sebastian Sallow for over a decade, and Sebastian Sallow never let anything go. Not when it came to you. He would poke and prod, just like he always did, the way he had when you were fifteen, sixteen, eighteen—always tugging at you, always unraveling you.

You heard a heavy sigh, followed by the soft sound of shifting sand as he sat down beside you, uninvited but entirely unsurprising.

His skin was warm from the sun, his shoulders still glistening from the water. He didn’t crowd you, but he was close, the scent of salt and sun-bleached fabric clinging to him as he leaned back on his hands, his gaze now trained fully on you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, brows pulling together slightly, head tilting the way it always did when he was trying to figure something out.

"Are you okay?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Sebastian hummed, tilting his head toward the horizon, pretending—pretending—like he wasn’t watching you carefully, like he wasn’t studying you the way he always did when he knew you were lying.

"You’ve been avoiding the water all day," he mused. "Didn’t eat much at lunch." He nodded toward your book. "And I’d bet my wand you haven’t actually read a single page of that."

You gritted your teeth. "What’s your point?"

Sebastian turned his head then, looking at you fully. "My point is that you’re clearly not okay," he said, voice steady, measured.

"Sebastian," you sighed, voice tired, "just drop it."

For a second, he actually looked like he might. But then his gaze flickered, his expression shifting with realization.

"Is it because of what Garreth said? I know how much you hate when guys objectify—"

“No.” The word left you quickly, too quickly, your chest lurching at the assumption—not because it was wrong, but because it was almost right.

Because Garreth’s words did matter. Just not in the way Sebastian thought.

He assumed you were bothered on principle, that this was about your usual distaste for men reducing women to their bodies. Because that was who you were to him—sharp-tongued, quick-witted, never one to let careless words slide.

And in a way, it felt good that he saw you like that. It meant he wasn’t thinking about your body. It meant that, in Sebastian’s mind, at least, you weren’t standing on the outside of their conversation, trying to pretend the words didn’t sting.

That was… a relief.

But it didn’t loosen the tight, twisting knot in your stomach, because even though Sebastian hadn’t thought of it that way—you had.

And it wasn’t about Garreth having a type. It wasn’t even about Eloise specifically. You didn’t care who Garreth found attractive—everyone had their preferences.

It was Sebastian. Because he had agreed with Garreth.

And it was stupid, really, that it should hurt at all. You had no claim to Sebastian. No right to expect him to think of you that way. He had never given you any reason to believe he did. The only person who had spent the last ten years hopelessly in love with an idea—with him—was you.

But it still hurt.

"I'm sure you overheard him," Sebastian continued, "I know you like to eavesdrop," he added teasingly.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, please. I wasn’t eavesdropping. You lot were talking loud enough for the entire beach to hear."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, but it lacked any real amusement. “Fair enough. But for the record, I don’t think Garreth meant anything by what he said.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I know that.”

And you did know. Garreth didn't have a single mean-spirited bone in his body.

Sebastian was still watching you carefully. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong."

“Right,” he said, stretching the word out and leaning back on his hands. “So you’re sitting here, sulking under this umbrella, avoiding the water, avoiding ice cream, barely speaking to anyone—all because nothing is wrong?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Sebastian—”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the book, your nails pressing into the cover. “You are wrong.”

Sebastian let out a dry, knowing laugh. “Yeah, no, see—that’s the thing about lying. You’re shit at it. Always have been.”

Your jaw clenched. “I swear to Merlin—”

“What?” He turned to you fully, one eyebrow raised. “You’ll hex me? Go on, then. Should be entertaining for the rest of the beach.”

You exhaled harshly, fingers flexing against the cover of your book. “Look, Sebastian, it—” You shook your head, forcing out a small, humorless laugh. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian made a sound in the back of his throat—somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. "You’re not even arguing properly.”

That made you glance at him, brow furrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sebastian gave you a pointed look. “It means when you actually don’t care about something, you normally fight back with something biting, something clever. You roll your eyes, you call me an idiot, you tell me to piss off.” His gaze flickered over your face, sharp and assessing. “You’re not doing that now.”

Your stomach twisted. Damn him. Damn him for knowing you this well.

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. "Just tell me the truth."

You clenched your jaw, looking out at the waves instead of at him. "Sebastian—"

"No, really." His voice was steady, firm. "What’s the point of this? Of going around in circles when we both know I won’t let up?" He gave you a pointed look, eyes sharp. "You’re wasting your breath trying to lie to me. I see right through it, and you know I do. I’ve got a decade of experience, love."

His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear the weight beneath it. The concern. The care.

And maybe that was what did it. Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

Because you were so tired. Tired of pretending, of swallowing things down, of trying to act like it didn’t hurt.

So you turned to him, something bitter curling in your chest.

“Sebastian, you know why I don’t want to go in the water. Why I don’t want to eat in front of everyone. Why I haven’t taken off my cover-up. Why I don’t want ice cream.”

Your breath was heavy, uneven, your fingers curling into the fabric draped over your shoulders.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

So you shook your head, voice quieter but no less raw.

"You know." Your chest tightened. "And I know that you know, because you have eyes."

Sebastian just stared at you. It seemed, for once, you had managed to stun him into silence. A difficult feat. And yet, here you were.

The weight of his gaze pressed into you like an iron brand, unrelenting, burning. His lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Hurt. Frustration. Anger.

“That’s what this is about?” His voice was lower now, but no less intense. “That’s what it’s been about this whole time?”

And when he said this whole time, you knew he didn’t just mean today. He meant the past few years.

The slow retreat. The way you had pulled away, little by little, until the girl he had grown up with—the one who had been fearless, the one who had laughed loudly and took up space without hesitation—had hidden herself away.

His jaw clenched.

“Who?” His voice was rough, barely more than a growl. “Who made you feel like this?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Who?” You shook your head, gripping the edge of your towel like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Everyone, Sebastian.” Your voice wavered, bitter and exhausted. “The whole fucking world.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his whole body tense like he was barely holding something back. And then his voice came low, simmering with something dangerous.

“Just give me names.”

You let out a shaky laugh, running a hand over your face. “And what, exactly, are you going to do?”

Sebastian’s jaw was tight, his entire body radiating tension. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, voice clipped. “But I’d very much like the opportunity to find out.”

Your stomach twisted, a mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle. You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “It’s not just one person, Sebastian. It’s in the looks, the comments, the offhand remarks. It’s in the way people notice, the way they always notice, the way they feel entitled to remind you, like maybe you hadn’t already noticed yourself.” Your breath hitched, throat closing up. “It’s in the way people talk about women like me—if they even bother talking about us at all.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, dragging it down to his mouth like he needed to physically stop himself from doing something. "Merlin, you—why have you never said anything?"

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. "And say what, exactly?" Your voice wavered, edged with exhaustion and bitterness. "That every time I see someone after a long time, I can feel them sizing me up, silently comparing me to who I used to be? That I can’t eat in front of people without obsessing over every bite?" A humorless scoff escaped you. "Or maybe I should’ve told you that whenever people talk about a ‘real woman,’ it never seems to include someone like me—because to them, we’re always just a consolation prize?"

Sebastian stood abruptly, sending a small spray of sand scattering as he pushed to his feet. The suddenness of it startled you, your breath still uneven in your chest, your body tense from the weight of the conversation that had just unraveled between you.

"Come on."

"...What?"

He rolled his eyes, but there was something determined in his stance, something resolute in the way he held his hand out to you.

"Don’t ask questions. Just get up."

You hesitated, glancing from his open palm to his face—his stubborn, determined face, the one you knew far too well. The one that meant arguing would be pointless.

Still, you narrowed your eyes, skepticism thick in your voice. "Sebastian—"

He exhaled sharply, already exasperated, and before you could pull away, he reached down, grasping your wrist with a careful but firm grip. His fingers were warm, rough from years of dueling, calloused in that way you knew too well.

"Just come with me," he murmured, voice softer now, quieter.

You let out a sharp breath but after a long, weighted pause—you let him pull you to your feet.

Sebastian's grip remained steady as he led you away—away from the crashing waves, away from the shade of your umbrella, away from the book you had never actually been reading. Away from the water that had once felt like freedom but now felt like something else entirely.

Instead, he walked you back toward the beach house your group had rented, his pace unrelenting.

You followed reluctantly, the damp sand clinging to your feet as the distant sounds of laughter and crashing waves softened behind you, replaced by the rustling of palm fronds and the creak of wooden steps as the two of you moved past the deck.

"Seriously—what are we doing?"

"Patience."

You scowled. "You’re not exactly known for patience."

"Yeah, well, I’m trying something new," he muttered.

The two of you rounded the deck, past the side gate, until you stepped onto the lush grass of the backyard to where the pool remained untouched.

Because why would anyone use the pool when the ocean was right there? When the horizon stretched endlessly, inviting and vast?

But Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He walked straight to the edge, dropping his towel onto a chair before turning back to you and he reaching for the hem of his shirt.

Your brain barely had time to catch up before he pulled the fabric over his head, revealing his sun-warmed skin, broad shoulders, and sun kissed freckles.

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

"...What are you doing?"

"Getting in the pool."

"Why?"

Sebastian shot you a flat look. "Because you won’t go in the ocean. And if you don’t want to swim in front of the whole world—fine. But you’re not allowed to hide from me."

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head. "Sebastian—"

"You love swimming." His said, low and steady, like he was stating an irrefutable truth. "I know you do. And back here, it's just me and you."

You swallowed, your throat tightening.

"Sebastian, it’s not that simple—"

"Why not?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling the words clog in your throat. Because I don’t want you to look at me like everyone else does.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to keep your gaze locked on his. "Because it just isn’t."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was barely holding something back.

"That’s not an answer."

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "It’s the only one I’ve got."

For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes dark, searching, unreadable. Then, before you could react, before you could argue or stop him, he stepped closer, reaching for your wrist again.

"Could you, for once in your life, not argue with me?"

He said it with his usual teasing tone, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You sighed.

"Fine."

Sebastian blinked, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree.

You barely expected it yourself.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence between you stretching taut.

Then slowly, reluctantly, he let go before finally turning toward the pool and lowering himself into it. The water lapped around his waist as he submerged himself, stretching his arms out with a satisfied sigh.

"The temperature is perfect," he announced. "Trust me, you’re going to love it."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, stomach churning as you reached for the tie at your waist.

This was a mistake.

Your fingers fumbled with the knot, hesitating. Your pulse pounded in your ears. You regretted this already. The bikini—the one you had somehow convinced yourself was a good idea when you bought it—was bright fucking yellow.

Unmissable. Unavoidable. A beacon of self-inflicted torment.

What the hell had you been thinking?

You should have picked something darker, something less obnoxious, something that wouldn’t make you feel like every single part of you was on display.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, floating lazily on his back, watching you. "You’re thinking too hard again."

You clenched your jaw. Your fingers curled around the fabric, tight, hesitant. This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.

But he was watching you. Not impatiently. Not expectantly.

Just waiting.

And that was the only reason you finally, finally pulled at the knot.

The cover-up slipped from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. Immediately, your stomach flipped, your arms twitching with the immediate urge to cover yourself, to retreat, to run—

But then, slowly, deliberately, Sebastian let his feet drop beneath him, standing fully in the water. His gaze dragged over you. Slow. Lingering.

"Sebastian—"

"Yellow."

"What?"

His lips curled slightly, tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your swimsuit. It’s yellow."

Your face burned. "No shit."

Sebastian hummed, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. "It suits you."

Your breath caught.

"Are you coming in or what?" he murmured.

Your throat felt tight.

"Yes."

You forced your legs to move, stepping toward the pool’s edge as if you were approaching a cliff, bracing for the drop.

Every sensation was amplified—the way your thighs brushed together, the curve of your stomach, the stretch marks etched across it. The way your skin dimpled, the way your body moved, the way there was no concealing any of it.

Sebastian was still watching. You felt the weight of his gaze, and it took everything in you not to cross your arms over yourself as you stepped onto the first stair.

The cool water lapped at your ankles. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move faster, descending step by step, letting the water claim you inch by inch.

By the time it reached your waist, you exhaled, relief flooding through you.

Safe. At least partially.

Sebastian had shifted slightly, leaning back against the edge of the pool, elbows braced along the tiled rim.

"See?" he drawled, tilting his head slightly. "Not so bad, is it?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the water instead of the fact that you were sitting in a bright fucking yellow bikini with Sebastian watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Easy for you to say," you muttered. "You’re not the one out here feeling like a goddamn highlighter."

Sebastian’s laugh was quiet, warm. "I don’t know," he mused. "I think you make a pretty good highlighter."

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck. "Shut up."

"I’m serious."

"You’re messing with me," you muttered, dragging your fingers through the water, watching as the ripples lapped against his arm.

"I’m not," he said, and something about the quiet certainty in his voice made you hesitate.

Your breath hitched as you lifted your gaze to his.

The teasing was gone. His expression was steady, unreadable, but there was something beneath it—something weighty, something real.

Heat crept up your neck, prickling despite the cool water surrounding you. The moment felt too heavy, too close, pressing in on you in a way you weren’t ready for. So, you did what you always did when you felt yourself slipping—deflected.

"Stop looking at me like that," you scoffed.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. His gaze was steady, focused in a way that made your stomach twist.

Then, finally, he asked, “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“About... feeling like a consolation prize?”

Your stomach lurched. “Sebastian—”

“Did you mean it?”

You let out a breath, gaze flicking away as you trailed your fingertips absently through the water. “It’s not exactly something I pulled out of thin air.”

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening where his arms braced along the pool's edge.

“So that’s a yes."

You glanced back at him, at the tight set of his jaw, at the way his fingers flexed against the tiles, like he was reining something in.

“Why does it matter?” you asked.

Sebastian let out a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair before tipping his head back against the pool's rim. “Because it’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian huffed, shaking his head, his eyes sliding back to yours, darker now. “I mean, do you honestly think no one looks at you like... like you're all they bloody want?”

You frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Sebastian—”

“I’m serious.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “You think no one’s wanted you? No one’s looked at you and thought about what it’d be like to have you under them, or against them, or—”

“Sebastian!” Your face burned, heat spreading like wildfire from your chest to the very tips of your ears.

It wasn’t like you and Sebastian had never talked about sex before—you’d been best friends for over ten years. You’d sat beside him while he’d swapped crude jokes with Garreth, rolled your eyes at his commentary when Imelda complained about whatever hopeless bloke she was entertaining that week, even endured drunken late-night conversations about past flings and failed dates when the two of you had stayed out too long at the pub.

But never—not once—had you talked about it so blatantly.

Because discussing sex in general was one thing. Listening to Sebastian drunkenly mock some disastrous one-night stand was one thing. But this—this was him, talking about you, saying your name in the same breath as under them, against them—

The thought too much, too impossible, too close to something you’d spent the last decade trying to bury so deep it could never surface.

It was unbearable. Unthinkable. Because you knew if you let yourself really hear him, if you let yourself linger on those words, on that voice murmuring them so low and rough, then you would—

You would implode.

So instead, you reacted, your body moving on instinct, on sheer mortified desperation.

Your hand shot forward, cutting through the water as you splashed hard in his direction, your heart slamming against your ribs as you tried to drown out the image of Sebastian's mouth, the sound of his voice, the way he had said it—

The water hit him square in the face, droplets clinging to his dark hair, his skin glistening beneath the late afternoon sun.

Sebastian blinked, expression shifting from intense to something unreadable as he wiped a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“What the hell was that?”

Your breath came out shaky, your skin too hot, your arms twitching with the urge to cover yourself, to disappear.

“You can’t—you can’t just say shit like that!” you managed, your voice bordering on frantic, your pulse hammering so violently you thought it might shake you apart.

Sebastian’s brows lifted, his face still dripping. “Why not?”

“Because!"

“Look, ’m just saying,” he said, voice rougher now, lower, “that you might want to reconsider your stance.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, because Sebastian wasn't done.

“I hear the things guys say about you.” His gaze flickered over your face, then lower—just for a moment, just enough to make your stomach flip. “I hear the things they want to say to you all the fucking time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you were sinking despite being fully buoyant in the water.

“...What are you talking about?”

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. "At work. When we go out. The pubs, the shops, wherever we are. Doesn’t matter." His gaze flickered over you, something simmering behind it. "I hear it."

Your pulse spiked.

“The only reason you don’t hear the shit they say about you is either because they know better,” he said, voice almost bitter. “Because they know you’d hex them into next week if they ever let you hear it. Or—”

Sebastian let out another low laugh, shaking his head.

“Because I scare them off.”

“You... what?”

Sebastian gave you a look, like it was obvious. “I scare them off.”

You just stared at him.

“You think it’s a coincidence no one approaches you when we go out?”

You felt your breath falter, your hands balling into fists at your side. "You’re making that up."

"I promise you," he asked, tipping his head slightly. " I’m not."

You swallowed thickly, your pulse hammering. “That can't be true—”

Sebastian’s jaw ticked. "I know it for a fact. And I can tell you exactly what they say, if you really want to know.”

You clenched your jaw, pressing your lips together, but it didn’t matter—because Sebastian kept going.

“They talk about your ass, how it moves when you walk, how they’d kill to get their hands on it, the kind marks they'd leave if they got the chance.”

You felt burning heat creep up your spine.

“They talk about your tits,” he went on, his eyes flickering over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “How full they are, how they sit just right, how fucking soft they look, how they’d kill to watch them move if you rode them."

His voice dipped lower, rougher. “They talk about the way your stomach curves when you sit, how they know you’d feel so fucking good under their hands, under their weight.” His jaw ticked, his fists tightening until his knuckles went white. “How they’d bury their face between your legs and press their hands against your waist and feel all of you.”

You felt your pulse hammering, your entire body caught somewhere between stunned disbelief and mortification.

“And your mouth,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Merlin, they talk about your mouth—that sharp fucking wit of yours that makes them either want to win you or get on their knees for you.”

You made a strangled noise in the back of your throat. Your arms twitched with the immediate, desperate urge to cover yourself, to run, to deny, deny, deny—

“I know the world is fucked,” he admitted. “And it sure as hell isn’t fair to women like you. But just because you’re not plastered across a fucking Quidditch magazine doesn’t mean you’re not wanted.” His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “Doesn’t mean men don’t look at you and think about fucking you senseless."

Your breath came out uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs as Sebastian’s words settled around you like something heavy, something undeniable.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You refused to believe it.

You shook your head, forcing your voice to come out.

“You’re just—” You exhaled sharply. “You’re just trying to make a point.”

“A point?”

“Yes,” you insisted shakily. “Because you’re frustrated with me, and you hate when I don’t believe you, so you’re just—” You shook your head, your throat tightening. “You’re making a point!"

Sebastian’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring slightly. “You really think I’d make all this up?”

You swallowed thickly, your stomach twisting into itself. “Okay, maybe you’re not making it up entirely,” you admitted, voice quieter now, unsure, searching. “Maybe they do say those things, but that doesn’t mean I’m what they want.”

Sebastian frowned, his brows drawing together like he couldn’t believe you were still pushing this.

“I’m what they go for when what they really want isn’t available,” you pressed, voice bitter, thick with something sharp and worn down. “I’m the one they settle for.”

Sebastian stilled. The air changed. His expression darkened, a muscle jumping in his jaw as something sharp flashed behind his eyes. Then he moved—

Closer. Slow. Deliberate.

The water shifted around you, rippling, the cool contrast of it doing nothing to temper the heat pressing into the space between you, heat that came from him.

He loomed, his shadow blocking out the sun, his presence so much heavier now.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice low, tight. “You want to argue? Let's argue."

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, intent, his focus sharp, almost cutting. “If that were true,” he continued, voice rough, firm, “if guys were only settling for you, then why have I spent years scaring them off?”

“You—” You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding, forcing yourself to lift your chin, to meet his stare head-on. “Because you’re... territorial.”

Sebastian snorted, something dark and frustrated flickering across his face. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” you shot back, shaking your head, like that explained everything. “Because you're you!”

Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If you really think that’s all it is,” he muttered, voice thick with exasperation, “that it's because I'm your friend, then you’re fucking delusional.”

Your stomach flipped, something deep in your ribs twisting, recoiling.

“Then maybe it’s because you don’t trust them,” you argued, voice more desperate now, more pleading. “Men can be pricks, Sebastian, you know that.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, they can,” he agreed, his voice rougher now. “But that’s not why.”

“Sebastian—”

“You really think I’d waste my time running off blokes if I thought they weren’t serious?” His voice was incredulous now, like he was talking to someone being insufferable. “For Merlin's sake, I know the things they say about you, and I know they fucking mean it because I’ve said the same shit!”

The world tilted. Your heart stopped. Something in your chest lurched, your breath coming out too shallow, too thin, like your lungs had forgotten how to work, like your ribs had locked up, trapping something inside of you that was too big, too impossible to comprehend.

Sebastian just looked at you. Unwavering. Unshaken. Like he hadn’t just ripped open the very fabric of your reality and upended a decade’s worth of carefully constructed walls, of every defense mechanism you had ever built to keep this exact thing from happening.

“No.”

The word was instant, instinctive, ripped from you like it had been lodged in your throat, an immediate act of defense, of self-preservation.

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly.

“No?” he repeated, his voice edged with something that almost sounded offended.

Your head shook before you could even stop it, panic rising fast, too fast, crashing through you like a wave you hadn’t braced for.

“No,” you repeated, voice higher, tighter, desperate. “That’s not true, it can't be true, you—”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath, his jaw tight, his nostrils flaring slightly as he shook his head. Then he laughed—a short, humorless sound that didn’t reach his eyes, a huff of sheer disbelief as stared down at you.

“Do you really think I would say this if it weren’t true?”

His voice was low, unwavering—something dangerous simmering beneath the surface, something unyielding, something that said enough.

You could see it in the way his fingers curled into fists beneath the water, in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his throat bobbed like he was forcing the words out, pushing past something that had been buried for too long.

“You’re just—” You swallowed. “You’re just saying that—”

"—No. I have always wanted you."

Sebastian’s voice was rough, edged with something aching, something raw, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth, like he couldn’t believe you were making him say this.

"For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, "I was in love with you at sixteen, and I have been every damn day since.”

Your breath came out uneven, barely a whisper. “Sebastian—”

"I don’t know where you got it in your head that you’re supposed to look like you did when we were kids, but yeah," His jaw clenched. "We’ve changed. And I, as you so aptly pointed out, have eyes—so yeah, you’re right." His brown eyes flickered over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I do see it. I know you don’t weigh 130 fucking pounds anymore," he continued, voice rougher now, firmer. "And I am fucking thrilled."

You stiffened. Your chest felt too tight, like your ribs had shrunk around your lungs.

"Do you want to know why?" His voice dropped lower, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

Your mouth was too dry to answer, but it didn’t matter. Because he kept going.

"Because every single thing you seem to hate about yourself ruins me," he bit out, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was physically restraining himself. "You have no fucking idea how many nights I’ve spent thinking about this," he admitted, voice rough. "Thinking about you."

You were so hot now it felt like you were burning alive, fire coursing through your veins and settling low in your stomach, thick and dangerous.

“I’ve thought about your thighs around my waist.” Sebastian's voice was lower now, almost reverent. “How you’d taste when I spread them apart. How you’d feel pressed against me.”

Your legs clenched instinctively beneath the water.

“I’ve thought about your ass in my hands.” Sebastian shifted, his brown eyes flickering lower, dark and intense. “How it’d feel to have you in my lap, to make you ride me until you forget your own fucking name.”

“And your tits.” He licked his lips, tiling his head back slightly. “They fucking kill me. I mean, god, you were pretty before, but now? Now, they’re full and heavy and fucking perfect, and all I’ve ever wanted is to get my mouth on them."

Your breath came out shaky, your arms twitching like you needed to hold yourself together.

“Merlin, I have spent years trying to behave,” His voice turned almost gritted, like the words were physically pulling something out of him. Hhe muttered, his voice lower now, darker. “But you—fuck, you have no idea how hard it is when you’re standing here looking like this—”

His gaze dragged over you, hungry, slow, like he was devouring every inch of exposed skin, every soft curve, every part of you, like he had spent years looking and wanting, and now that the words were out in the open, he refused to hold back.

“Trust me, I’ve tried,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher. “I’ve really fucking tried to keep this in. To pretend I don’t notice, to keep my mouth shut, to respect that you don’t see me that way, that you don’t want me that way.”

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, dark and certain. “But now I find out that you won’t even step in the water because you think you don’t look good enough?” His voice was sharper now, like the words were physically pulled out of him. “That you think you need to hide?! When you look this fucking good?! It's a crime."

The world wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Not when Sebastian was standing there, saying these things. Not when the same voice you had spent years aching over, pining for, was suddenly confessing all the things you had only ever dared to dream about in your weakest, most hopeless moments.

It was impossible. It was wrong. Not because you didn’t want it to be true, but because it couldn’t be. Because you had spent years overhearing men talk about other women like this.

Women they wanted. Women who fit the mold of desirable, women they admired, lusted after, fantasized about.

You had listened to Garreth wax poetic about Quidditch players, about girls with long legs and sharp features. You had heard Imelda talk about the men who trailed after her, about how they couldn’t help themselves, about how they looked at her like she was something worth having.

But never you. Never you.

So hearing it now—like this, in Sebastian’s voice, in Sebastian’s gaze, in the way his words hit you like a blow straight to the chest—

You felt dizzy, lightheaded, the words pressing against you, into you, wrapping around your ribs, curling low in your stomach, twisting and knotting and refusing to let go.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his voice hoarse, desperate in a way you had never heard before. “Say something,” he muttered, “Please."

You couldn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out, your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your lungs squeezing tight as your mind raced, as your body fought to catch up to what was happening.

How could you accept that the same boy who had haunted your every dream, every stupid little fantasy, every sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling with want pressed into your bones— How could you accept that he had been living through the same thing?

Sebastian let out another low, frustrated breath.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice gritted, dark. “Let me make this absolutely clear.”

Then, suddenly, he moved, fast. Aand deliberate.

The water swelled around you as he closed the distance in an instant, surging forward with a force that sent ripples crashing against your skin. Before you could react, his hands were on you—gripping your waist, anchoring you in place. His fingers pressed firm and unyielding against the soft curve of your sides, holding you steady, pulling you closer until there was nothing left between you.

Every inch of him was flush against you—solid, warm, inescapable. You could feel the tension in his body, the quiet strength beneath the water, the way his fingers dug in, pressing, gripping—possessive in a way that stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Sebastian’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling hard against yours. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle feathering beneath his skin, and when he spoke, his voice was nothing but gravel and heat.

“You feel that?”

"Feel wha—oh."

Oh.

Heat flooded your face, your pulse hammering, your skin burning. Because fuck, he was hard. Right there—there—pressed against your stomach, undeniable proof that every word he had just said wasn’t just frustration, wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment reassurance, wasn’t just a desperate attempt to make you see.

It was real.

It was so fucking real.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, strained. “That.”

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out. Your thoughts tangled, scrambled, lost somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, deeper—something that made your fingers twitch against his shoulders, your breath come quicker, your body suddenly hyperaware of every single point where you touched.

But then he went rigid. And suddenly—too suddenly—his hands dropped from your waist.

The moment he stepped back, the absence of him was like a shock to your system, your body instantly missing the heat, the weight, the certainty of him pressed against you.

Sebastian ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, his jaw clenching.

"I—fuck. I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh, but it sounded frustrated, almost self-loathing, his expression twisting like he was kicking himself for losing control.

“That was—” He exhaled harshly, shaking his head again. “That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

Your pulse pounded, your skin still burning where he had touched you, still hyperaware of every place your bodies had been pressed together.

He was still so close. You could still feel the ghost of him. But Sebastian wouldn’t look at you.

His brown eyes flickered away, somewhere over your shoulder, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for you again but was physically forcing himself not to.

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he said, his voice gritted, like he was forcing the words out despite the fact that they physically hurt him. “I know you never have.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, but he kept going.

“I mean, how could you?” His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for you again. “It’s been ten years, for fuck’s sake. You’ve never—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to just, just change your mind.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your mind was reeling. Because what the fuck was he talking about?

You didn’t feel the same? You had never felt the same?

It was so absurd, so absolutely mad, that you actually laughed—a short, startled sound of pure disbelief, because he could not be serious.

Sebastian’s head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing, his entire body going tense. "What?"

You shook your head, still breathless, still dizzy, heat and disbelief and something else—something sharp—twisting in your chest.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you demanded, voice thin, incredulous. “You think I don’t want you back?!”

Sebastian stiffened then rolled his eyes, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were even trying to argue this. “Oh, come on.”

“No—no, you come on,” you shot back, your hands lifting out of the water, gesturing sharply. “Do you hear yourself right now? Do you actually believe that? You think I—” You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Merlin’s sake, Sebastian, are you insane?”

Sebastian’s nostrils flared, frustration flashing across his face. “I don’t know, am I? Because for years, you—”

“For years, I have been in love with you, you dolt,” you snapped, cutting him off.

The words rang between you, loud and final.

Sebastian froze. His breath stopped. His brown eyes went wide.

For a long, weighted beat, neither of you moved. The only sound was the water lapping gently around you, the distant crash of the waves against the shore, the sharp thud of your pulse in your ears.

Sebastian’s mouth parted slightly, his breath coming out uneven. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse. “...are you serious?”

With a surge of boldness that felt almost foreign, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. Your hands found his waist, fingers curling tight, anchoring him in place as if daring him to move, to run, to deny what was right in front of him.

You tilted your chin up, locking onto his gaze, refusing to let him look away.

“Sebastian, for ten fucking years, I have been in love with you.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging in, grasping, clinging, and Sebastian let out a low, desperate sound against your lips. His grip shifted, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing against your bare skin, holding you there, anchoring you to him.

And the other—fuck.

His fingers skimmed down your hip, tracing the soft curve of your side before sliding lower, gripping your ass with a reverence that made your stomach flip. Like he wanted to memorize every inch of you beneath his hands. Like he had dreamed of this—fantasized about this—but never allowed himself to take it.

A quiet, breathless whimper slipped from your lips, and the moment it reached him, Sebastian groaned into your mouth. His hands tightened, his hold possessive, his body pressing against yours, solid and burning and real. You could feel everything—the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his body, the tension coiling beneath every touch, every breath.

He was shaking. Like he was barely holding himself together. Like he was one second away from losing control.

And honestly—

So were you.

Your fingers slid into his wet hair, tangling, tugging just slightly, and Sebastian moaned. His grip flexed, his breath hitched—and then he moved.

In one swift motion, his hands pressed against the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly as he backed you against the edge of the pool, pinning you there, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild as he hovered over you.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, rough, like it had been dragged over gravel.

Those dark, hungry brown eyes locked onto yours, burning with something thick and dangerous, something that sent heat licking up your spine and pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers flexed against your skin.

“Do you want to get out of this bloody pool?”

Your breath hitched. The weight of the question slammed into you, wrapping tight around your ribs and squeezing. Because this wasn’t about getting out of the water. This was about what came next.

Sebastian knew exactly what he was asking. And, Merlin help you, you knew exactly what you were answering.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering, fingers twitching against the bare skin of his shoulders.

“Yes,” you murmured.

Sebastian inhaled sharply. His grip tightened. And then he was lifting you, strong hands braced beneath your thighs, guiding you up onto the ledge. The water sluiced off your skin, the cool air shocking against the heat burning through you.

You blinked down at him, chest rising and falling, heart slamming against your ribs.

He stayed in the water, hands still on you, grip firm, unwavering.

His gaze roamed.

You knew exactly what he saw.

Your thighs, still slick from the water, parted where he had positioned you. Droplets clung to the soft curve of your stomach, catching in the dimming sunlight, tracing slow, deliberate paths down to the plush flesh of your hips, slipping lower—between your legs. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the thin, taut fabric of your bikini stretching over the swell of your breasts, highlighting every dip, every line, every part of you he had spent years trying not to look at.

His hands left your thighs for only a second. Just long enough for him to hoist himself out of the water in one fluid motion, muscles flexing, skin dripping, water cascading down his chest and stomach—catching on the waistband of his swim trunks, pooling at his feet.

And fuck, he was beautiful.

You barely had time to process before he was reaching for you again—one hand extended, palm open, waiting.

You placed your hand in his and then he pulled. Not gentle. Not soft. Claiming.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled forward, but before you could find your footing, his grip shifted, and before you could think, before you could question, he was dragging you across the deck—his grip firm, his pace unforgiving. Like he had already decided. Like nothing—not a single fucking thing—was going to get in his way.

Your heart pounded as he led you straight to the lounge chairs, his breathing heavy, uneven.

Your thighs hit the edge of the lounge, and suddenly, there was nowhere left to go. Nowhere but down.

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse hammered. Because—fuck—this was happening.

You sank onto the chair. Sebastian followed. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No pause to let you catch up.

He just moved.

Climbing over you. Caging you in. Settling between your legs, his hands braced on either side of you, thighs pressing against yours—the weight of him hovering just above, heavy, consuming.

Dripping water.

Dripping heat.

Dripping desperation.

His gaze dropped, drinking you in—your parted lips, your heaving chest, your bare stomach, the mess of your thighs spread open beneath him, the fabric of your bikini clinging to wet skin.

"Tell me you want this." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, his fingers pressing into your waist, grounding himself in you. "Because if you don’t, if I’m wrong, I need to fucking stop before I—"

"You’re not wrong," you interrupted, breathless. "You have never been more right about anything in your entire life."

Sebastian huffed a laugh, and in the next breath, his lips crashed against yours, claiming, taking, devouring. It was rough, messy, all instinct. All heat.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers flying up to his hair, tangling in the damp curls, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more. Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, shifting his weight, pressing against you, forcing you to sink further into the lounge chair.

His hands were everywhere, hot and demanding, tracing the dips and curves of your body like he was mapping them out after years of pretending they weren’t his to touch. His fingers pressed into your waist, sliding over the soft curve of your stomach, his grip firm, reverent, like he needed to feel every inch of you beneath him.

“God,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, strained. “You feel so fucking good.”

You let out a quiet, desperate sound, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging slightly, and Sebastian growled, low and wrecked, pressing his hips harder against you, grinding down just enough to let you feel exactly what you were doing to him.

Your head tipped back, a gasp breaking free, and Sebastian wasted no time, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, hot and wet.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice dark. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your stomach clenched, your entire body burning, too hot, too much, and you didn’t even realize you were saying his name until his teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath your ear and you whimpered it, breathless and wanting.

Sebastian groaned, his hands flying to your thighs, gripping tight, spreading them wider beneath him, pressing himself between them, flush against you. His lips dragged lower, down the slope of your shoulder, his hands skimming higher, fingers teasing at the strings of your bikini top.

"Please," he muttered, voice thick, unsteady. "Let me see you."

You nodded.

Sebastian sat back on his knees. His breath came out heavy, uneven, as his eyes dragged over you—taking in the way you looked beneath him, sprawled out, wet, wanting.

His jaw tensed, and then slowly, carefully, his fingers found the ties of your bikini top.

Your breath hitched as he tugged at the strings, the knot loosening, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly for a moment before slipping, before baring you completely to him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his throat working, his hands freezing where they had been resting against your ribs.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked.

And—Merlin help you—the way he looked at you was like you were something to be worshiped. Like he couldn’t believe you were real, that you were here, that you were his.

His hands twitched.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words had been ripped straight from his chest.

Heat flooded your face, your entire body burning beneath his gaze. “Sebastian—”

But then his hands were on you, and you couldn’t breathe.

Fingertips, warm and reverent, traced over the breadth of newly exposed skin, slow, unhurried. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, featherlight, teasing, making your breath stutter, making heat coil low in your stomach, before he pressed more insistently, fingers disappearing into the plushness of your breasts.

Sebastian exhaled hard, his pupils blown wide, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he was barely holding himself back.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You’re so soft."

Sebastian cursed again, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper, rougher, his hips pressing into yours, his hands gripping, exploring, memorizing.

Your mind was spinning, your pulse erratic, heat licking at every inch of your body, and fuck, this was happening. This was really happening.

Sebastian’s hands trailed lower, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, gripping them tight before sliding to the ties of your bottoms. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled at them, loosening the fabric with each tug.

They clung stubbornly to your skin for a second before he slid it away, baring you completely beneath him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

His eyes traced the soft curve of your stomach, the way the dimming sunlight caught the droplets still clinging to your skin, rolling in slow, lazy paths over your navel, down to the plushness of your hips, the swell of your thighs, settling lower, lower—

His throat bobbed, a sharp inhale shuddering through him as his gaze caught between your legs, at the glistening wet heat of you, already slick, already open for him.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice strained, thick with want. His grip on your thighs flexed, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, kneading, his eyes locked onto you, staring like he was witnessing something divine.

Then, finally, finally, he tilted his head up, his brown eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re soaked,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

"Whose fault is that?" you murmured, gazing up at his though half-lidded eyes.

Sebastian let out a low, strangled sound—somewhere between a groan and a curse—his grip sliding up to your hips, tightening, his fingers flexing against soft flesh like he was grounding himself, steadying himself.

"Mine," he muttered, almost to himself, almost reverent. "All mine."

And then he moved lower.

His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate, his breath hot against your damp skin. His hands, one on your hip, one on your breast, pressed, kneading, gripping, holding you in place as he trailed his mouth along the sensitive skin.

Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching at your sides, instinct begging you to reach for him, to pull him closer, to demand more.

Sebastian hummed against your thigh, slow and pleased, his lips curling against your skin. “You’ve always had such a sharp mouth,” he murmured, voice like gravel, teasing. “But now? Now, you’re going to be too busy moaning my name to run that pretty mouth.”

And before you could even react, before you could do anything but shudder beneath him, Sebastian’s mouth was on you.

A sharp, breathless sound broke from your lips as his tongue pressed against the slick heat of you, slow and thorough, licking through your folds like he wanted to savor you, consume you.

Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, his fingers digging into your thighs as he buried himself between them, licking, sucking, devouring like he was a man starved—like he had been waiting for this for years.

Your fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the strands, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more.

He shuddered, his tongue flicking against your clit, slow and deliberate, before dragging lower, teasing and pressing inside.

A whimper spilled from your lips, your thighs twitching around his head, your entire body trembling at the heat of him, of what he was doing to you.

“You taste so fucking good.” Sebastian muttered, his fingers flexing, holding you open for him, his mouth moving with precision, slow and intentional, like he was mapping you out, memorizing every reaction, every sound, every tiny movement that told him exactly what you liked.

Your hips bucked, your fingers tightening in his curls, and Sebastian let out a sound that was nothing short of filthy, his grip on your thighs tightening before his tongue stroked, pressed, teased—

"Look at you," he rasped, voice thick with something dark, something possessive, something hungry. "Falling apart for me already, hm?"

You let out a desperate, broken sound, your body aching for more, for him, and Sebastian just smirked, grinned, before plunging his fingers inside you, insistent and deep.

Your body jolted, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure, the feeling of him inside you. Sebastian groaned at the reaction, his fingers flexing, curling, teasing—spreading you open in the most devastating way.

His mouth was back on you in an instant, tongue flicking over your clit, slow and purposeful, as his fingers worked inside you, stroking, coaxing, ruining.

Your head tipped back, pleasure surging through you, sharp and overwhelming, And this time—

You did moan his name.

Again.

And again.

And then—

“Let me fuck you,” he rasped.

Your breath hitched.

“Wha—”

Sebastian’s grip tightened, his nails digging into your skin just enough to make your breath stutter.

“Answer me,” he repeated, his voice lower this time, more desperate. “Before I forget how to be a gentleman and do it anyway."

You huffed, a flicker of defiance sparking through the haze of pleasure. "How demanding of you," you murmured.

Sebastian's grip flexed against your thighs, his fingers still buried inside you, his mouth hovering just above where you needed him most. His jaw tensed, his pupils dark and blown, his expression twisted with want, with something near desperation.

"Answer me," he repeated, his voice thick with warning as his fingers curled inside you, imploring you to respond.

But you just smirked, still gasping, still wrecked, but unwilling to give in that easily. Sebastian wanted an answer? He could wait.

Your fingers twitched against his shoulders before you moved, pushing yourself up. Sebastian’s gaze flickered up to yours, pupils blown, his lips still slick with you, his hands flexing against your thighs like he knew what you were doing—like he knew you were about to make him suffer.

Good.

You reached for him, your fingers curling around his biceps, pushing him back, and Sebastian let you, let you take, let you flip the balance of control.

Your hands trailed lower, down his chest, his stomach, and then your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid, his jaw tight, his hands twitching where they still braced against your thighs.

You smirked, slow and deliberate, tilting your head as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s wrong?” you murmured. “You were so talkative a second ago.”

Sebastian let out a breath that was more growl than exhale, his head tipping forward slightly, his entire body coiled like he was barely holding himself back.

Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his trunks, teasing the band, pulling just slightly.

“Let me see you,” you whispered.

Sebastian stared at you, eyes dark, lips parted, his hands clenching, flexing, aching to touch, to take. Then, without breaking your gaze, he reached down, fingers curling over yours, helping you undo the ties.

Your breath caught when the fabric slid down, when his cock sprang free, hard and thick, flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach, every inch of him aching, straining.

"Like what you see?" he asked, voice smug despite the raw edge of need in it.

Yes.

You swallowed hard.

"I'm deciding," you managed to shoot back.

Sebastian barked out a laugh—short, strained—before he caught your chin between his slick fingers, tilting your face up, forcing your eyes back to his. "Fucking tease," he muttered.

You arched a brow, smirking, and without breaking eye contact, you leaned in.

Your lips brushed over the flushed, aching tip of him, barely there, just enough to make his entire body shudder, to make him suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

His cock twitched against your mouth, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, and you—slowly, deliberately—dragged your tongue across it.

Sebastian jerked, his grip tightening on your chin, his breath stuttering, a low, guttural groan escaping him.

You hummed, pleased with his reaction, with the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingers, with the way his jaw clenched like he was barely holding on.

But you didn’t take him fully. Not yet.

You let your lips trail down his length, your tongue flicking out just enough to taste him, to tease him, your hands smoothing over his thighs, slow, measured, unrushed.

Sebastian groaned, low and dangerous, his grip tangling in your hair, tugging and demanding, his body vibrating with restraint, with the barely leashed need to take control, to take you.

“Enough,” he ground out, his voice a raw, strained command. “Either stop teasing, or I’ll fuck your mouth like I know you want me to.”

Heat flooded your stomach, your entire body pulsing at the sheer dominance in his tone, at the way he looked at you like he was losing his mind, like he was aching to wreck you.

You pulled back just enough to make him groan in frustration, enough to make his fingers flex against your scalp, enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation.

Then you licked your lips, slow and deliberate, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s the rush?” you asked, voice syrupy sweet, filled with challenge. “I thought you wanted to be a gentleman.”

Sebastian snapped.

A growl rumbled from deep in his chest, his grip shifting as he pushed you back onto the lounge chair, his body pressing against yours, hot and unyielding.

“You really want to test me right now?” he muttered, his voice dark, dangerous, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your stomach.

“Maybe."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, a rough, strained chuckle escaping him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his grip shifting to your thighs, spreading you open for him again, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be, where you wanted him to be.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark and searing, one last time.

“You’re done teasing,” he rasped, voice raw as he pressed the thick, aching length of himself more firmly against your stomach, teasing, taunting. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

You grinned, fingers curling into the damp mess of his hair, tugging him down to kiss you. His groan vibrated against your lips, his hands clenching against your thighs as you deepened it, licking into his mouth, tasting the desperation there.

And then, you shifted beneath him, twisting, arching—attempting to flip yourself over, to press your chest to the lounge, to give him the perfect view of your ass as you braced yourself on your forearms.

But before you could turn completely, Sebastian’s hands flew to your waist, stopping you.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering through the haze of heat as you turned to look at him, your breath coming in short pants. “Sebastian—”

He shook his head, softly, slowly, like he wasn’t rejecting you—like he was pleading with you.

“No, don't,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but suddenly softer.

Your brow furrowed, eyes searching his. "Don’t?"

Sebastian's lips curved into a small, strained smile, one hand reaching to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

"As much as I love your ass," he admitted, his jaw tightening as his gaze dipped, sweeping over the soft curves of your body—lingering, wanting. "And as much as I’d love to see it against my hips, to watch myself sink into you, to see the way your back arches, to hold onto these soft, perfect fucking hips and bury myself so deep—”

His voice broke, his breath coming out sharp, shuddering.

“That's not what I want, not for our first time.”

Your stomach flipped, something warm and devastatingly tender blooming in your chest, twisting around your ribs.

Sebastian sighed, his grip on your face tightening just slightly, his gaze flickering back up to yours, something raw, vulnerable shining behind the wrecked hunger in his eyes.

“The first time,” he murmured, voice rough, stripped down, honest. “I want to see you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to watch you come.” His lips ghosted over yours, featherlight, reverent. “Want to see every expression, every little fucking reaction. All of you.”

You swallowed, your breath still unsteady, your body still burning, aching—but the heat had shifted, changed.

This wasn’t just need. It was something more.

His lips brushed over yours, featherlight, his hands framing your jaw like you were something fragile, something precious. "Is that okay?"

Your fingers curled around his wrists, your pulse hammering beneath his touch.

You nodded.

Sebastian exhaled, a breath that felt like it had been trapped inside him for years. Then, so softly—so reverently—he kissed you.

Not like before.

Not feverish. Not desperate. Not a frantic chase of pleasure.

This was different.

This was tender. This was worship.

“I love you,” he said against your lips.

Your hands slid up to his face, cupping his jaw. "I love you too."

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound breathless, almost disbelieving, like he couldn't quite process that this was real. That after everything, after years of tension and stolen glances, after all the pushing and pulling, you were here, beneath him, wrapped up in him, saying the words he'd never let himself hope to hear.

His lips found yours again—slow, unhurried, savoring—before he finally shifted, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be. Where you wanted him to be.

He teased, barely pressing into you, the slick heat of your body driving him to the edge of his restraint. His breath fanned against your lips, uneven, ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark, devouring, and his voice, when it came, was hoarse.

"Tell me if—if I need to stop."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath stutter, your own lips parting as you whispered, "I will."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, his grip tightening at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

"Keep your eyes on me," he murmured, fingers flexing against your skin, voice rough, edged with something deeper than desire. "I want to see everything."

A shudder ran through you, your breath catching, your pulse hammering beneath the weight of him, the weight of this moment.

Because this wasn’t just need.

This wasn’t just giving in to years of tension.

This was love. A love that burned. That consumed. That settled into your bones and refused to let go.

Then, with a slow, steady roll of his hips, he pushed inside.

Your breath caught, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as he stretched you open, filling you completely, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, until you could feel him in every part of you, until there was nothing between you.

Sebastian shuddered, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice trembling with the weight of his own need. "You—God, you feel unreal."

You clung to him, your hands grasping blindly at his shoulders, his back, needing something to hold onto, needing to ground yourself as pleasure crashed over you in waves, hot and overwhelming.

And Sebastian—God, Sebastian—

His head dipped, his lips brushing against your jaw, the column of your throat, breathing you in, his hands roaming and greedy, mapping every curve, every dip, every soft, yielding part of you like he was memorizing you, like he wanted to brand this moment into his soul.

“Move,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your nails scraping against his skin. “Sebastian—please—"

He didn’t make you wait.

A ragged groan tore from his lips as his hips pulled back, slow and deliberate, before thrusting forward again, deeper, dragging another gasp from your throat as he filled you again and again, his movements measured but devastating.

His lips found yours, desperate, consuming, claiming, swallowing every sound that escaped you, every broken moan, every whispered plea.

And he was watching—just like he said he would.

His gaze flickered over your face, drinking in every expression, every quiver of your lips, every flutter of your lashes, memorizing you.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence, his hands gliding up your sides, over your ribs and gripping at your breasts.

You whimpered, your body arching into him, your thighs tightening around his waist as he kept moving, slow and deep, dragging out every inch of pleasure, unraveling you entirely.

Heat curled low in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter, every shift of his hips, every roll, every stroke against the most sensitive parts of you sending you hurtling closer to the edge.

"Oh god," you moaned, head falling back, tension coiling tighter as he stroked the bundle of nerves inside you, the one that made you see stars, the one that made your entire body tighten around him.

Sebastian let out a wrecked, filthy sound, his hands flexing against your waist, like he was barely holding himself back, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling too soon—because he wanted to watch you come first.

He moved faster now. Rougher, deeper, every thrust dragging a desperate, broken moans from your lips, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you, sharp and electric, ready to snap.

"Sebastian," you whimpered, your fingers fisting in his curls, your head tilting back, your body begging for release, needing it.

"I've got you," he murmured, breathless, his lips brushing against yours, his movements never faltering, never slowing. His forehead pressed against yours, his voice a ragged whisper. "Let go. Come all over my cock—let me feel it."

And fuck—you did.

Pleasure ripped through you, blinding and all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs, the world narrowing to just him, just this, just the way he held you, the way he filled you, the way he worshipped every sound you made.

Sebastian followed you over the edge, his body jerking, his thrusts turning erratic and desperate as he groaned, his fingers digging into your waist, pulling you closer, deeper, until he was buried impossibly deep, spilling inside you, hot and thick and completely undone.

You felt utterly spent, boneless beneath him, warmth pooling in every inch of your body, but you welcomed his weight, the way he sank into you like he belonged there, like this was exactly where he was always meant to be.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your chests rising and falling in tandem, your heartbeats thrumming in sync, a quiet, unspoken connection settling between you.

Sebastian finally let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing against your temple, lingering there for a heartbeat, maybe two.

Then, his fingers—still gripping your waist—softened, smoothing over your skin in slow, lazy strokes.

"Holy shit," he murmured, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "That was—"

"Perfect," you finished for him, your voice still breathless, still heavy with everything this was, everything it meant.

Sebastian's lips curled upwards, nudging his nose against yours, his breaths still uneven. "Yeah," he murmured. "Perfect."

You smiled, cupping his jaw and tugging him down for another slow, lingering kiss—one that wasn’t filled with hunger or urgency, but something deeper. Sebastian melted into you, sighing against your lips.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "You're so fucking beautiful, I'll remind you until the day I die."

You swallowed, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you pulled back, dazed, overwhelmed, utterly wrecked by the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something cherished, something he had never once doubted wanting.

“You really believe that?”

Sebastian let out a soft, breathy chuckle against your mouth, nudging his nose against yours, his hands still tracing over your body.

"I don't believe it, I know it," he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips. "You’re the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Another kiss.

"Perfect, really."

Another.

"Always have been."

Your chest tightened, your stomach twisting, something thick and overwhelming settling in your throat. Because God, you had spent so long believing you weren’t enough—so long shrinking yourself, making yourself smaller, convincing yourself that someone like him could never want you like this.

But he did.

He always had.

And now, with his body wrapped around yours, with the heat of him still lingering between your thighs, with the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—it was undeniable.

It had always been you.

A shaky breath left your lips, and you smiled—small, but real—your fingers tracing over the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the tension there, feeling the way he was holding himself together, barely, just for you.

"I love you," you whispered, and God, it felt good to say it again. To let it out. To give it weight. "I will for the rest of my life—" your thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth, and you grinned, "and after that too. I'll fucking haunt you, Sebastian Sallow."

A rough, breathless laugh escaped him, and his head dropped, his forehead pressing against yours. "Good," he murmured, his voice warm and teasing but full of something deeper, something raw. "Because you're mine. Completely stuck with me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, fingers threading through his curls, nails scraping gently against his scalp.

"Obviously," you mused, voice still breathless. "I can feel you dripping down my thighs right now."

Sebastian groaned, deep and wrecked, his grip on you tightening like he physically couldn't handle what you'd just said. His forehead still rested against yours, but you could feel the way his body tensed, the way his fingers flexed against your hips, like he was resisting the urge to do something about it.

"Fuck," he muttered, and his breath was hot against your lips, his nose brushing yours. "Don't say shit like that unless you're ready for round two."

You smirked, utterly sated, utterly pleased with yourself, your body still thrumming with euphoria. Your hands trailed lazily down his back.

"Who said I wasn't?"

He groaned, half in frustration, half in amusement, and buried his face against the crook of your neck. "You have no idea how badly I want to," he admitted, voice muffled against you, breath hot and uneven. "But I’m pretty sure I have nothing left to give you."

You giggled, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls, tugging lightly just to feel him groan.

"Nothing?" you teased.

"Love," he mumbled. "I think I came enough for three sessions in one. My soul left my fucking body at some point."

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh. "Sebastian Sallow, surrendering? What in Merlin's name am I hearing right now?"

He groaned again, lifting his head to glare at you—though the effect was utterly ruined by the small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not surrendering," he argued. "I'm just acknowledging that I may need to recover before you completely break me."

You laughed outright this time, the sound bright and breathless, warmth blooming in your chest at the sheer wreckage of him.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Give me, like, ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."

"You might as well use that time wisely, then," you mused, voice teasing, but laced with something softer, something full.

Sebastian hummed against your skin, pressing a lazy, absentminded kiss to your collarbone. "Mmm, and how’s that?"

You smirked. "By cleaning me up. Preferably with your tongue.”

A low, wrecked sound rumbled from his chest, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and suddenly his grip on your waist tightened.

"You're killing me," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

You grinned. "Am I?"

Sebastian lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils still blown wide, his expression caught somewhere between utterly ruined and utterly obsessed with you.

"You are," he admitted, voice rough, hoarse, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip. "Because now I have to."

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Oh? Have to?"

His lips curved into a smirk, dark and lazy. "You asked me to," he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerous, something possessive. "And I'm a very considerate boyfriend."

You arched a brow, amusement flickering in your expression as you lifted your head slightly to meet his gaze.

"Boyfriend?" you mused, voice teasing, but beneath it was something softer, something real. "When did that happen?"

Sebastian blinked, then scoffed, like you had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"Merlin’s balls, woman," he muttered, shaking his head as he let his weight settle more firmly against you. "You just let me fuck you into a patio chair, told me you’d haunt me, that you've loved me since we were sixteen, and now you’re questioning whether I’m your boyfriend?"

You grinned. "Well," you drawled, tilting your head, feigning deep thought. "You never asked."

Sebastian groaned, dropping his forehead onto your chest like he physically couldn’t handle you right now. "Unbelievable."

"You’re the one making assumptions," you teased.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze again, and there was something fond in his expression, something soft beneath all that exhaustion and wreckage.

"Alright," he murmured, voice low, hoarse. "Be my fucking girlfriend."

You huffed out a laugh, amused, delighted. "Wow, so romantic."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. "Please be my fucking girlfriend," he corrected, smirking as he trailed a hand down your thigh, fingers teasing, possessive. "Though, given the fact that I've also loved you for a decade, and the fact that I’m about to devour you, I’d say the answer’s pretty obvious."

Your breath hitched slightly, your amusement shifting into something warmer, something deeper, something that curled low in your stomach.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.

"Hmm," you hummed, running your fingers down his back, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, enjoying the way he shuddered beneath your touch. "I don’t know..."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, his smirk turning wicked, dangerous. "You don’t know?" he echoed, voice dipping low, teasing, edged with something predatory.

You grinned, thoroughly pleased with yourself, fingers still lazily tracing patterns down his back. "Mmm. Maybe you should convince me."

A deep, wrecked groan rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your thigh tightened. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"

You shivered beneath him, your breath catching, anticipation coiling in your stomach. You opened your mouth—maybe to challenge him, maybe to tease him further—

A sharp click rang through the air, the unmistakable sound of the gate latch unlatching.

Sebastian froze.

You froze.

Then—

"OH MY GOD."

You barely had time to process before a chorus of voices erupted from behind you, overlapping in shock, amusement, and sheer disbelief.

"Finally!"

“Sweet Merlin—”

"No fucking WAY."

"I cannot bloody believe this!"

Sebastian flinched, his entire body going rigid, his head snapping up so fast you thought he might injure himself.

A strangled sound ripped from your throat as you followed his gaze toward the entrance of the secluded deck—where your friends stood, frozen, their expressions ranging from amusement to absolute agony.

Poppy had both hands clapped over her mouth, her wide eyes darting everywhere but you. Natty looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or leave the country. Garreth, the absolute menace, was grinning like he'd just won the lottery, nudging Imelda—who was looking at the two of you like she was seconds away from hexing you both for subjecting her to this.

And then—

"Thank fucking Merlin I'm blind," Ominis declared, his expression nothing short of relieved, even as his face twisted in mild disgust. "This was the single greatest blessing Salazar ever granted me."

Sebastian dropped his head onto your shoulder, his damp hair sticking to your skin. His breath hitched—somewhere between a groan and barely-contained laughter—as you immediately scrambled to cup your breasts with frantic desperation.

Mercifully, blessedly, he was still positioned between your legs, hiding the most damning evidence from your group of unwitting, horrified spectators.

"Fuck," he laughed, voice wrecked, his arms tightening around your waist. "This is so much worse than getting caught by a professor at Hogwarts."

You let out a strangled, humiliated sound. "Sebastian, please, we need to get a towel or—!"

Garreth howled with laughter, his voice ringing loud and delighted over the deck. "We left you alone for an hour," he crowed, "and you two finally decided to stop pining and start—”

"SHUT UP," you and Sebastian both shouted at the exact same time.

Poppy let out a giggle from somewhere behind Garreth, and you could practically hear the barely-concealed amusement in Natty's voice when she muttered, "It's about bloody time."

Imelda groaned. “I just—why here?” She gestured toward the deck, still looking like she wanted to bleach her eyes. “This is communal property!”

“Technically,” Sebastian muttered against your thigh, “we were here first.”

“Oh, so that makes it better?” Imelda practically screeched.

You groaned, feeling the heat of absolute mortification creeping up your neck.

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care how inevitable it was,” he said, voice utterly flat. “I do care that I now have to suffer through knowing where it happened.”

Poppy giggled behind her hands. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ominis.”

“You try sharing a living space with Sebastian after this,” he deadpanned.

Sebastian grunted, finally sitting up, his broad frame still angled protectively in front of you, shielding as much of you as he could manage. His hair was a disheveled mess, his expression caught somewhere between resigned acceptance and unapologetic defiance—like a man who had been caught red-handed but had absolutely no regrets.

“Well,” he exhaled, his arm still braced protectively in front of you, still shielding as much of you as he possibly could. “Guess we’re not keeping this a secret anymore.”

Natty snorted, crossing her arms, her smirk barely contained. “You two thought this was a secret?”

Poppy giggled from behind her hands, her eyes still squeezed shut like she wasn’t quite brave enough to risk seeing something scarring. “We’ve known for years.”

Garreth grinned like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. “I knew you two were in love, but this—” He gestured wildly to the deck, to the situation, to Sebastian still bracing himself between your legs like a human barricade. “This is beyond what I could have ever imagined.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Alright, that's enough commentary from the peanut gallery.”

Imelda scoffed. “Peanut gallery? We walked in on this absolute nightmare! You don’t get to act like we’re the ones inconveniencing you.”

“I do, actually,” Sebastian quipped, deadpan. “You’re the ones interrupting our afterglow.”

Natty’s voice was full of strained patience, but there was no hiding her mirth. "Alright, alright, everyone, let’s give them some space before they die of embarrassment."

"Bit late for that," you muttered under your breath.

There was a collective shuffle of movement, a few muffled laughs, and one last dramatic sigh from Garreth before the door clicked shut behind them. Silence settled over the space, thick and still buzzing with lingering mortification.

Sebastian snorted. "You think they’re ever gonna drop this?"

"Absolutely not," you muttered, knowing full well that the moment you and Sebastian emerged from this, you would never hear the end of it.

And yet—

Somewhere beneath the mortification, beneath the utter embarrassment, there was something else.

Something warm. Something real.

Something that felt like forever.

Sebastian shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes still twinkling with amusement, but soft, fond, full of something deeper than just humor.

"You still gonna haunt me?" he murmured, smirking.

You huffed a laugh, still hiding against his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to the bare skin there.

"Now more than ever, Sallow."

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moonlight-joy · 2 days ago

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Not Yours to Love

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Anthony has been your closest friend for years, but when he announces his engagement to another, you realize you might have always wanted him for yourself.

Pairing: Reader/Anthony Bridgerton

You had always believed there were some things in life that were constant.

The warmth of the sun on a crisp morning. The scent of old books in the Bridgerton library. The way Anthony’s laughter—deep, unguarded—made the world feel a little less daunting.

And the way you and he had always belonged to each other, in that quiet, unspoken way.

You had never dared to name it. To do so would have been to disturb the delicate balance you had shared for years. Anthony Bridgerton was your dearest friend. Your fiercest ally. The one who knew your thoughts before you could voice them.

But he had never been yours.

And today, you were reminded of that in the most painful way imaginable.

“The engagement has been settled,” Violet Bridgerton announced with all the grace of a proud mother, her voice carrying over the chatter of the crowded drawing room.

You barely heard the murmurs of congratulations. The clinking of teacups. The delighted exclamations from Lady Bridgerton’s guests.

All you heard was the sharp, deafening crack of your own heart breaking.

Anthony was to be married.

You forced yourself to look at him, to see it for yourself. He was standing tall beside his betrothed—a woman you had known only in passing. A woman who was beautiful, refined, worthy of a Viscountess.

A woman who was not you.

His dark eyes met yours across the room, searching. Something flickered there—something uncertain. But it did not matter.

Because he was no longer yours to know.

You did not cry.

You did not allow yourself such foolish indulgences.

Instead, you smiled when necessary, congratulated him when expected, and kept your voice light, as if your heart was not unraveling thread by thread.

But later that evening, as you walked the Bridgerton estate gardens in solitude, the weight of it pressed against you like a storm.

You had been foolish.

You had never spoken the words aloud, never let yourself believe that Anthony Bridgerton could ever be yours. And yet, deep down, you had always thought—one day.

One day, he would see. One day, he would choose you.

How naive.

“Why do you look as though the world has ended?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, turning to find him standing at the edge of the garden path. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, his expression unreadable.

“I am merely enjoying the fresh air,” you lied.

Anthony studied you in that way he always did—too perceptive, too knowing.

“I thought you would be pleased,” he said, his voice softer than before. “I expected you to scold me for waiting this long to settle down.”

Your lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. “Am I not?”

Something flickered across his face—something like hesitation. And for the first time, it occurred to you that he had expected something different from you today.

A different reaction. A different feeling.

But it was too late.

So you tilted your chin up, your voice even. “She is lovely, Anthony. You will make a fine husband.”

He exhaled, the tension in his posture easing—if only slightly. “It is the right choice,” he murmured.

The right choice.

A sharp ache settled deep in your chest.

Of course, it was.

Anthony had always done what was expected, always shouldered the weight of duty with unwavering resolve. And love—real, reckless love—was not something he allowed himself to indulge in.

Perhaps that was why he had never seen you.

You swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Then I am happy for you.”

You should have left.

You should have walked away before the weight of it crushed you completely.

But you stayed, lingering in the gardens as Anthony hesitated beside you. As if he, too, was waiting for something unsaid.

“Tell me,” he murmured after a long pause, “do you think I will be a good husband?”

The question was like a knife.

You turned to him, searching his face. “Does it matter what I think?”

His jaw tightened. “It always has.”

A bitter smile touched your lips. “Then I will tell you what I think, Anthony.”

You stepped closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

“I think you have always done what is expected of you,” you whispered. “I think you have spent your entire life making the right choices.”

His breath hitched, but he said nothing.

“And I think,” you continued, voice trembling, “that I was foolish enough to believe, just once, you might have chosen something for yourself.”

The silence between you was deafening.

Anthony’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

“Say it,” he rasped. “If you have something to say, say it now.”

Your throat burned.

But what was the point?

He had made his choice.

And you… you were not his to love.

So you swallowed the words that threatened to spill from your lips.

And instead, you forced one last smile.

“There is nothing left to say.”

Then, before he could stop you—before you lost whatever fragile composure you had left—you turned and walked away.

And this time, Anthony Bridgerton did not follow.

Please support my work with like and comment

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x yn #bridgerton x you

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piracytheorist · 2 days ago

Text

I'm finally re-reading The Hunger Games after nearly ten years and first I gotta say WOW this book has such a great prose and it feels so well written and with such good care in its details and narrative. And second, it just struck me as so important that in Katniss' flashback, the day after Peeta gave her the bread, she saw the dandelion and went out with Prim and gathered dandelions so they could eat with the leftover bread.

And idk I feel like this has a very good balance of "It's okay to accept being saved by someone" and of "You can save yourself" - even though Katniss has a HUGE but understandable denial surrounding her debt* to Peeta for giving her the bread, but that's a character thing and not necessarily a narrative thing. Because thanks to the bread, Katniss and her family got to eat for two days about, but the very gesture was what kickstarted Katniss' willingness to find food herself. First with the dandelions, then with some more gathering, eventually evolving into her hunting and fishing and gathering deep into the woods.

It's like a kind of thing like "You can't love anyone until you love yourself" which here can be switched to "You can't be saved until you want to save yourself" which also has a meaning because, you can physically save someone from a bad situation, but until they've gathered enough strength to start healing mentally, they will still be trapped. Katniss is just lucky she had the strength and resources, although terribly limited, to start getting herself out of desperate, starving poverty, although it's obvious the mental toll it kept having on her over the years.

Idk again I feel like there's a lot of understanding that one SHOULDN'T have the sole responsibility of dragging themselves out of poverty (especially when a tyrannical government has forced them into it), but when presented with an act of kindness and a glimmer of hope, they can be powered on to help themselves. And there's also understanding that though it might be considered noble, it can be terribly traumatizing. There is hope but there is also pain, when you have no choice but to save yourself. And considering how Katniss' trauma just keeps piling on across the trilogy, I doubt it was meant in an effort to glorify it. She's not a symbol, a paragon, a beacon of hope; she's just a traumatized teenage girl who shouldn't have gone through any of that.

*which is also another thing because in Peeta's view, all he did was burn two loaves and receive a beating and a harsh reprimand, something which is safe to assume was something common in his family. So maybe he doesn't see it as such a huge thing he could have done. I haven't finished the book but if I remember right he says later that he should have walked to her to give her the bread instead of throwing it in the rain? But yeah to him it was just one purposeful accident and a punishment for it, but for Katniss and her family it was literally life-saving. So while Katniss thinks so high of that debt, Peeta only thinks he should have done more.

#hmmm went off there at the end #am I gonna evolve into writing thg meta now lol #The Hunger Games

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sophieinwonderland · 2 days ago

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In light of what has happened recently; Every passing day makes it more and more incomprehensible to me that the American electorate voted for clowns like Trump and Vance when there were red flags everywhere. Jesus...

This is something that bears repeating: The Republican candidate being a bully and all around horrible person is a feature to the people who voted for him, not a bug.

Yes, what tipped the balance might have been neutrals who were misinformed into thinking Kamala would be the worst option, or people "protesting voting" or staying home... but Trump's base... the people who have been loyal to him through all of this... they don't see his behavior as "red flags."

The term "sanewashing" has popped up a lot lately in how the media refers to Trump. But I think it started with his electorate first.

There was this idea among Democrats back when Trump was first running that he was too radical to win the Republican primaries. When he beat out all the competition, Democrats would cope by saying "well, look at all the Republicans who didn't vote for him." But it didn't matter because those people did vote for him in the general election.

Democrats have been acting for the last decade like there is going to be something Trump will do that will be so horrible that the Republican electorate will turn against him.

I think that this is because most Democrats are fundamentally good people who expect that even if they disagree with their political opponents, those opponents have some shred of humanity and human decency somewhere inside that will be appalled by what is clearly monstrous behavior.

Democrats and Republicans both project. Democrats are largely good people who tend to project our goodness onto Republicans, thinking Republicans should be horrified by things that are so clearly horrible. Republicans are terrible people who only care about themselves and want to hurt everyone who isn't like them for being different, and project by seeing us as just as vile and nasty as they are.

One example of this that I've seen a lot is the "Russian Bot" narrative. Yes, I'm sure that there are plenty of Russian bots out there. No doubt! But it also seems like a way of shifting blame. An idea that the most horrible messages have to be coming from bots because you just couldn't imagine a real human being that terrible or monstrous.

It's not that all Republicans are terrible either. There are or at least were some good or okay ones.

But remember that moment when John McCain corrected supporters who were claiming Obama consorted with terrorists in 2008 when he was the Republican presidential candidate, and he was booed by his own party at his own rally?

youtube

This is what Democrats seem to consistently not understand about the Republican party.

The rot is in the electorate. It always has been. The politicians are terrible and corrupt, yes. But a lot of them are also still representing what their voters want.

What you see as "red flags" are traits Trump's voters WANTED from McCain and he couldn't deliver on.

They like Trump bullying our allies because they see that as strength.

They like Trump taking away rights from trans people and locking immigrants in concentration camps because they don't have the capacity to empathize with anyone not like them as a human.

They like Trump breaking the law as he sees fit, being accountable to no one and declaring himself a king because they want a dictatorship as long as the dictator is theirs.

And the hardest pill to swallow is that these horrible people who would have gladly supported the Nazis in the 30s and 40s are not bots. There are not some distant enemies. They're your neighbors. They're your family. They're the people who will smile and wave as you pass them on the street.

This is what modern Democrats cannot seem to process. That there is this actual blight of evil in this country that are otherwise normal people, but politically would gladly support the most heinous and monstrous of policies.

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finelinejua · 3 days ago

Text

If We Burn.

-A frat boy Harry Styles fanfic.

The rules were simple: No feelings. No attachments. No one finds out.

But Harry has never been good at following rules. And Olivia? She's just as bad at pretending she doesn't feel the heat every time he looks at her.

They can call it a mistake all they want. But mistakes don't feel this good.

They were never meant to survive each other. But that doesn't mean they won't go down in flames trying. And some fires aren't meant to be put out.

CHAPTER 1:

The first thing Harry felt was the pounding in his skull. A relentless, brutal ache that made him groan and drag a hand over his face. His mouth was dry, his body heavy, and his head was full of static.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice hoarse, cracking like he hadn't spoken in days.

The scent of stale alcohol, sweat, and perfume clung to his sheets, thick and suffocating. The kind of scent that told him last night had been a mess. He cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it when the dim morning light slashed across his vision like a knife.

His room was a disaster—clothes scattered haphazardly, a half-empty bottle of whiskey balancing precariously on the nightstand, crumpled condom wrappers discarded near the bed. His leather jacket was on the floor, tangled with a thong that definitely wasn't his.

He shifted, wincing as he pushed himself upright. The ache in his head pulsed angrily, punishing him for every drink he had knocked back last night.

He exhaled slowly, blinking blearily at the empty space beside him.

No one was there. Just rumpled sheets and the ghost of someone long gone.

His jaw tensed.

He should be used to this by now—waking up to nothing but the wreckage of a night he could barely piece together. Still, a flicker of something unfamiliar curled in his chest. Annoyance? Amusement? He wasn't sure.

Didn't matter.

His fingers dragged through his hair as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cold floor. He sat there for a moment, elbows resting on his knees, trying to shake off the lingering fog in his head.

Flashes of last night began to surface, hazy but sharp in some places—

A bar. Music pounding through his bones. Laughter, loud and uninhibited. The clink of glasses. The bitter burn of tequila chasing him down.

The party had been chaos.

Niall had been the loudest, arm slung around Harry's shoulders at one point, yelling over the music about some ridiculous bet he had lost. Louis and Zayn had been instigating, fueling the night with reckless grins and a challenge in their eyes. Liam had tried to keep things under control, but even he had let loose after a few shots.

And Harry? He had been floating through it all, drink after drink, soaking in the noise, the warmth of bodies pressed too close, the static energy of a post-concert high.

Then—

"Could you be careful and look where you walk?"

Sharp, unimpressed, cutting through the haze of his drunken bliss.

Harry had barely stumbled into her, but she had spoken like he had just committed some unspeakable offense.

He had turned, ready to snap something back, something cocky and sharp—

And then he had seen her.

The last time he had seen her, she had been younger, still trailing after her brother, wide-eyed and full of attitude. Now, she was standing in front of him, all fire and bite, staring at him like she couldn't believe he was wasting her time.

It had thrown him completely off balance.

"Wow," he had mused, eyes flicking over her, his lips already curling into a smirk. "Haven't seen you in a while."

She hadn't looked impressed.

"Yeah, well." A beat. Then, dryly, "Not long enough."

That had made him chuckle, low and lazy, intrigue slipping into his bloodstream like something he couldn't quite shake.

She had changed. Gone was the awkward kid, replaced with someone sharp, poised, and entirely unfazed by him.

He should have left it at that.

But Harry had never been good at letting things go, especially when someone acted like they couldn't care less about him.

So he stayed. So did she.

The back-and-forth had come naturally. She had been quick, unbothered, countering his teasing with jabs of her own.

He had casually reached for an ice cube from his drink.

And instead of dropping it into his glass, he slid it across the table.

Directly toward her.

"One drink?" he offered, cocking a brow.

She had rolled her eyes. "One drink and then you leave me alone."

She had lied.

One drink had turned into three. Then four. Then a shared cigarette outside, smoke curling between them in the cool night air.

"You're still as irritating as I remember," she had muttered, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before passing it back.

Harry had laughed, shaking his head. "And you're still as full of shit as I remember."

She had smirked. And that had been it.

The rest of the night had unraveled in heated glances, too much alcohol, the way she had let him press her against the bar, her breath hitching just slightly when his hands had settled at her waist.

One thing led to the other.

And now, she was gone.

Harry sighed, dragging himself to his feet, stretching before reaching for the half-smoked cigarette on his nightstand. As he walked toward his balcony, he lit it, inhaling deep, letting the burn settle in his chest.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, still tasting the faint trace of her lipstick.

A scoff slipped past his lips as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

Fine. Whatever.

It wasn't like he cared.

After a shower, Harry stepped into the kitchen, towel slung low on his hips, running a hand through his damp hair. He barely had a moment to process the scene before a chorus of whistles and laughter erupted from the couch.

"Oi, look who finally decided to join the living!" Louis called out, grinning over a cup of coffee like he owned the place.

"Thought we'd have to send a search party," Niall added, legs kicked up on the coffee table, clearly enjoying himself.

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Not in the mood, lads."

"Oh, but we are," Niall shot back, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Saw a girl leaving earlier. Pretty thing, moving fast—practically bolted out of here."

Liam smirked, stirring his tea. "You must've really charmed her, mate."

Harry scowled, grabbing a coffee mug and filling it, pretending like his stomach hadn't just twisted a little. She left that fast? He knew he should've expected it, but still...

Harry scoffed, unfazed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Don't know what you're on about."

Louis grinned, leaning forward like he was enjoying this far too much. "Really? So the girl who walked out of here at sunrise, looking like she was escaping a crime scene, was just a figment of our imagination?"

Harry smirked, raising his mug. "Sounds like a personal problem, mate."

Niall chuckled, shaking his head. "You're really not gonna tell us who she was?"

"Not much to tell," Harry said, taking a slow sip. "Fun night. The end."

Liam gave him a long look, as if trying to read between the lines. "Being the one to have a one night stand almost every weekend... you're too calm about it, but what's new?"

"Should I be writing poetry about her or something?" Harry deadpanned.

That earned a laugh, and the conversation shifted to something else, but Harry could still feel them watching him, waiting for a crack in his composure.

He didn't give them one.

What they didn't know wouldn't kill them. And it's not like he was thinking about her.

Wattpad link to the fic: https://www.wattpad.com/story/390344008?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=finelinejua

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trappezoider · 1 day ago

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Hi! You were the first Hogwarts Legacy fan artist I came across and I wanted to say how much I love your works 🥰

I recently saw an ask about which program you use to create your pieces which got me wondering... 👀 do you have any tips to share with aspiring digital artists trying to learn how to properly add shading/lighting?? I'm happy with my pieces during the flat colour stage, but every time I attempt shading/lighting or other methods of adding texture/definition/perspective, it always looks "off" to me 🤔 so my WIP folder is huge rn.

Thank you in advance for any advice you're willing to share 🙏😊

Hiya there!! Thank you so much for this ask!! First of all, I gotta say how wonderful it is that you're excited about art and want to learn more about it. I just had a chat with a friend about this but I think art is such a fun, vast hobby, full of endless possibilities, and whenever people want to get into it and learn, it's just wahhhhh. Fills my heart with joy and makes me bounce :D Now, full disclaimer, I am not an art teacher so my say on the matter is not that of a professional. I struggle with these things myself as well but I'm really happy if any of my advice can help a fellow artist. Keep in mind that works for me might not work for you, and "good art" is highly subjective. But I understand that achieving that fine balance between knowing how to imitate life and then being able to recreate that imagine in your head on an empty canvas is something a lot of artists want. That's hard af though. But you can't have success without failure, that's why we have so many WIPS xD Lucky for us, our brains and hands are amazing at learning. Eventually those WIPS might become actual realised works. Crying, praying and manifesting for us both xDDD Now, if you're struggling with shading and lighting, I suggest doing value studies. Perhaps take black and white photos with a striking relationship between shadow and light, then try to replicate that without colour picking. Try to observe the whole picture, without paying too much attention to the details at first, Make your brush strokes large especially when sketching out the initial shapes. You can give yourself a time limit of say, 5-60 minutes, for each study, but I wouldn't go over a 1,5h hour limit. I recommend using fairly simple images, with less textures and where shapes are the main character so to speak. Then when you think you're ready, you can do the same thing but this time choose coloured images but still use only white/black. Excercises like these help me a ton when I feel like I wanna update my skills. Doing art is a never-ending learning curve but I feel like that's what makes it so stimulating hehe Below is an example of one value study I did recently. I don't do these often but I know I probably should xD I always just do colour studies nowdays cause that's something I'm most interested in observing at the moment :D But this is just an example of what you can do if you want to learn shading in particular. Now it doesn't need to be perfect, it's just practice that may help you get used to values and how they interact with each other on the canvas.

You can also do colour studies if that is something you're interested in. Those might be a bit more challenging but as long as you keep each study short and use simple images (like literally just an image of an egg on a table or something xD), it shouldn't be too intimidating. Sorry for such a long reply xD I hope you have lots of fun and get all the possible enjoyment from making art! So happy for you!!! Wishing you all the motivation, success and inspiration in the world!!!

#art #ask #advice

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foreverisntenough · 2 hours ago

Text

‘Aperture’

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

Chapter Index:

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

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

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

Chapter 4- 'After After Party' | 'Aperture'

word count - 14.3k

[Unforgettable - French Montana 🎶]

The afterparty pulsed with a kind of decadent chaos—the kind only Paris could conjure. A dimly lit lounge attached to a luxe hotel, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and cigarettes, the murmur of conversations in a dozen different accents blending into the bass of an unrelenting track, and the shake of cocktails. Faces blurred together, awash in the low golden glow of lights, opulent fabrics shimmering under the light. Here, everyone was someone, yet Trent felt like a ghost. A body moving through the motions, standing still inside his own mind. Because you were here. You had to be. Or maybe he just needed you to be. He barely remembered arriving, hadn’t listened to a single word his brother had said since they walked in. Someone—someone important, though he couldn’t remember their name, someone he really should have been paying attention to—was speaking to him, and yet their voice was nothing but static. Trent’s world had narrowed to a singular point, a fixation he couldn’t shake, a longing he couldn’t reason with. And then—there you were. Not walking towards him. Not looking for him. Not even scanning the crowd, searching for the very thing he’d convinced himself you wanted. Instead, you stumbled—gracefully, but still—a misstep in your over the knee boots, laughing softly as you emerged from a coat room with two men at your side. A chill slithered down his spine. His stomach turned. He felt stupid.

Stupid for thinking that the moment he walked in, you’d feel it too. That you’d be searching the crowd with the same feverish desperation that he was. That you’d be waiting, just like he had been, for the inevitable pull of gravity that always had landed you both in the same place. But you weren’t looking for him. Not at all. Trent clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides as the spiral began. The dark thoughts, the ones he hated—the ones that whispered maybe you weren’t the girl he thought you were. Maybe you were just like the rest. Maybe all those footballer shoots weren’t just business. Maybe Ibiza had been just that to you—a fleeting encounter, forgettable. Maybe he didn’t know you at all, like he said to Marcel. Maybe he genuinely was no one to you.

And yet, you were dying inside. Because you were looking for him. Searching in every passing glance, every flicker of movement. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be obvious. Couldn’t let it be known how badly you wanted him to see you first, to make the move, to chase. You weren’t this girl and yet when it came to him, you found the girl looking back at you in the mirror reapplying lip gloss and adjusting her tits for the fifth time, someone you didn’t recognize. You weren’t fearless—not when it came to him. Not when it felt like wanting him this much was akin to giving him every piece of yourself. You had even gone so far as to ask a friend of a friend who worked for Louis Vuitton—the kind of favor that made you cringe—to check the guest list for his name. That was how badly you needed to see him. How badly you wanted this. And the coatroom? The two men? None of it was what he thought. Just an innocent exchange, a favor in return for a favor. Helping someone retrieve a forgotten phone from their jacket pocket before slipping out, right into his line of sight. But what Trent didn’t know hurt him. And what you didn’t know was that he was already drowning in you.

Because he remembered your parting words—’maybe you.’ The way you had thrown them over your shoulder with a smirk, as if they hadn’t undone him entirely. As if they hadn’t settled in his bones, thrumming through his veins like a slow-burning fire. And now, here you were, existing in the same space but still feeling so achingly far. And Trent didn’t know how to close the distance. Didn’t know if he even should. Because he wasn’t sure if you meant maybe him in a cheeky way or that you had so many options tonight, it potentially could be him. He didn’t like being one of many and he didn’t think you were like that. Was it hypocritical? Probably but he’d never really cared enough to be hypocritical before. He thought you were different, that you had a standard that he was trying to crack and yet he worried you might’ve already been cracked.

The atmosphere was suffocating in its extravagance— Louis Vuitton dripping from every person seated on the velvet sofas low on the group, table lamps that glowed orange, a disco ball that was ironic and a dj, the sound of ice clinking against crystal glasses as servers weaved through bodies pressed too close together. Laughter, too loud, music, too heavy, the air thick with smoke and exclusivity. And somewhere in this sea of indulgence—you. Trent had known you were here before Marcel whispered it in his ear, he saw you when he wished he hadn’t, but hearing it confirmed sent an involuntary heat up his spine.

“So Campbell and Foster’s friend is here,” Marcel muttered as they elbowed their way toward the bar. The crowd was dense, bodies moving in slow waves, and finding anyone felt impossible. Marcel had opted to keep your name out of it—maybe for discretion, but more so for the amusement of watching Trent pretend not to care.

“Yeah, saw her.” Curt. Dismissive. A blatant lie. Trent had done nothing but look for you since stepping into the party, his eyes scanning every darkened corner, every gathering of people, every turn of a delicate wrist that might be yours. He thought he could handle this. Be unaffected. Play it cool, let it go. But the truth was, it hurt. It hurt because the last time he saw you, you had left him with nothing but a smirk and two words that had haunted him ever since: Maybe you and a fucking wink. And now, you weren’t looking for him.

Meanwhile you were flitting from group to group, industry acquaintances, old contacts, friends, laughing at conversations he wasn’t a part of only wishing he was in them. You were purposefully getting lost in the crowd, only in effort to hopefully brush past him. He tried to reason with himself—maybe if he fucked you, he could get it all out of his system. He wouldn’t say no if you made it easy, if you came to him. But it wouldn’t be because he wanted you. It would be to forget you. But he knew that was a lie, too.

“No,” Marcel laughed, eyes glinting with something too knowing. “You were staring at her, bro. You’ve been looking for her all night. Gonna say something to her or just brood?” Trent exhaled sharply, fingers curling around the sweating glass in his hand.

“I don’t know if I want to be around who she’s with… like, all this.” His voice was lower now, edged with something unspoken. Disgust? Maybe. Resentment? Definitely. He was lumping you in with the crowd of the party to make it easier to say he didn’t want you. Deciding you were just like the rest; cigarettes inside places they weren’t allowed, names said deliberately wrong. He didn’t like this world—the pretentious, self-indulgent spectacle of it all. The way everyone here carried themselves with a careful kind of apathy, a curated coolness that meant nothing was ever that deep. And more than that, he didn’t like the thought of you in it. The coatroom. The two men. The possibility that you were someone different from the person he wanted you to be.

“Yeah, but you’re here, too.” Marcel didn’t bother softening the truth. “This is your life, just the same.” And Trent hated that he was right. That the reality was this was his world too occasionally, just like it was yours. That people could exist in spaces that were too cool even if they were kind. It was unfair for him to fault you for your invitation tonight when he had received one too.

Amidst another trip to the bathroom to check how your hair was and reapply your perfume, you found him, after the adjustments, thank god. His side profile, sharp under the ambient lighting, jaw set in quiet contemplation as he listened—half-listened—to Marcel. Trent’s eyes narrowed in the sea of people in front of him, ignoring his 5 o’clock i.e you approaching from an angle. You weren’t sure why your feet moved toward him, why you suddenly felt emboldened to slip through the crowd, dodging wayward drinks and whispered conversations. Maybe you just wanted to be near him. Maybe you wanted to see if he’d been searching for you, too. But before you could reach him—before he even realized you were closing the distance—you heard the words that made you freeze, breath hitching.

“Yeah… Don’t know. She just might be more of a risk than a reward.” It was a simple sentence. No weight to it in his voice, no hesitance. Just a passing thought, as if he were discussing a business deal. A calculation. And that was all you heard. A risk. Not a reward. That’s all you needed to hear. Your stomach dropped, your heart lurching as if it had been yanked from your chest. It was an effort not to react, not to let the breathlessness of rejection show on your face. But your expression betrayed you—your lips parted, brows knitting together in an instant of unguarded hurt before you forced yourself to move, pivoting sharply as if you had never intended to go in his direction at all. Like you had never been reaching for him. Like you hadn’t spent the entire night waiting for him to find you. And Trent, unaware that you had been close enough to hear him, didn’t even notice.

“Shit.” You muttered, your martini nearly spilling onto your corset as you fumbled back through the crowds. You set the drink down on a random table feeling your bottom lip begin to quiver. Feeling stupid. You grabbed a few cocktail napkins and wiped your hand dry. You shut your eyes tight and you exhaled before you beelined for another room of the party. It was fine. ‘It is what is’ you told yourself. You didn’t know him, maybe it was all best left in Spain.

[You Doing Something To Me - Smi.le 🎶]

The night had melted into something heady and liquor-drenched, the kind of haze that blurred time and consequence. Call it the after after party. People had left, people had arrived, and with them came new indulgences—the kind that kept the party breathing well past its natural lifespan. It was fashion week, after all, where excess wasn’t just expected, it was curated. And maybe that’s what unsettled Trent. Not the party itself, but you in it.

He didn’t understand this world. He was included in bigger events like this, but as a whole, day to day, no. He rarely bothered unless he was asked. He wanted to be included in nights like tonight but he never understood why it all needed to be this way. Not the price tags of clothing or the celebrity of it all, that he understood, or at least he thought he did. But why party favors had to come in little tiny baggies. The untethered decadence, the way everything felt just a little too slippery, too impermanent, too far removed from reality. He didn’t get how you fit into it. Maybe that’s what bothered him most—that you were here at all.

He sat in an offshoot of the party, some dimly lit side room where time felt even more warped, where too many girls lingered and too few guys enjoyed the imbalance. Marcel was occupied with someone draped over his arm, and Trent, absent-minded, watched the ice in his glass slowly succumb to warmth, swirling lazily, disappearing. He was only still here so he could say he stayed. But he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about this party. He didn’t care about this room. He didn’t even have it in him to find someone else to entertain him for the night. Unfortunately, he still cared about you. Where the fuck were you? He hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the night. Had you left? Was that why he stayed, hoping you’d reappear? You had vanished like you were never there at all. Maybe he’d finally done what he never truly wanted to— lose you. But that was all only because you were avoiding him after finding out you were a ‘risk.’ You were hurt. You were the one that tried to avoid the games in an effort to not get hurt. To not feel all the things he made you feel but instead you were more invested in him than ever and it felt like someone had duped your martini on your heart and held a lighter to it. You were burning for him and yet you felt so burnt by him. And in a moment of self invalidation, Trent’s thoughts paused, interrupted by a voice cutting through the room, sharp, invasive.

“Bro, if you’re not gonna participate, you gotta get the fuck out.” Trent didn’t even look up. He didn’t need to. Trent could feel that the comment was directed at him. The voice wasn’t familiar, but the tone was—the entitled drawl of someone who thought they owned the night, who had long since mistaken indulgence for importance. The key in the man’s hand, the quick wipe of a model’s nose beside him—yeah. Trent got it. With a slow exhale, Trent nodded. He really, truly, did not give a shit. Not about this coked-up entitled waif that’s for sure. But you? He couldn’t shake but maybe it was time, he went home. Time he retired. And then, like some cruel trick of the universe, there you were. Standing in the doorway. The sight of you sent his world tilting. A blink. Another. Like his brain needed extra time to process that you were really here, that he wasn’t just conjuring you up in his mind because he’d spent all night wanting to. His brow furrowed but your gaze wasn’t on him—it was locked on the guy who had spoken, your expression unreadable but your presence alone carrying enough weight to silence the room.

“Hey, want to not be a dick?” Your voice was smooth, effortless. You weren’t here for Trent—you had come to find someone else, but instead now you had found him. Your heart thudding as you heard the boy—Martin, some nepo-baby with that carefully cultivated, malnourished Victorian look the industry loved so much— threw some shitty comment at the person that made your feet feel like boulders the second you stepped in the room. It felt like you had walked into a glass door but you were reacting on instinct. And Trent? He was already standing before he could even decide to, like his body was magnetic to you. Martin grinned around his key, sniffing roughly looking back at Trent. Unfortunately, you did know Martin well, but he was amused by you intervening.

“Get girls to fight for you always?” He taunted, eyes flicking to Trent with the kind of sneer that was meant to bruise. “Bet you’ve never caught a swing either, huh, pretty boy?” You turned then, really looked at Trent for the first time since you walked in. He wasn’t even reacting, just shaking his head, unimpressed, detached. It was such an absurd comment, coming from a model type, and Martin was just being rude to be rude, his niche Swiss boarding school accent of european wealth mocking for the fun of it. But before you could say something more, before you could stop him—

“All good. I’m out.” Trent replied. Simple. Unbothered as he placed his drink down on a table. But then—then. You expected him to step past you without pause, to brush by like you were just another body in the room, just another part of a night he was leaving behind. But instead, his hand found your waist. Low. Gentle. Firm. And then his voice, quieter now, softer than you ever expected. “You wanna come with me?” He hadn’t planned to ask that. Hadn’t planned to feel this way. He had spent all night trying to tell himself that he didn’t care, that he was fine, that he could just forget you. But now, with his fingers pressed against the curve of your waist, with you standing in front of him like you had been written into this moment, he knew. He didn’t want to leave without you. He was entirely off script and entirely not himself, but he was okay with that when you nodded, silent but sure.He felt something settle deep inside him. The realization that you felt nothing like a risk and were seeming to feel much more than a reward.

The hallway was hushed, a liminal space between indulgence and escape. The bass from the party throbbed in the distance, a muffled heartbeat behind closed doors, while the glow from the dimmed overhead fixtures flickered gold against polished marble. Beyond the other end of the hall, the entrance to the hotel loomed—dimly lit, an invitation to somewhere more private, more dangerous. Him. You. The choice in the space between. Trent’s palm burned against the small of your back, his fingers flexing idly over the curve of your spine. The heat of him seeped through your skin, anchoring you in place even though part of you wanted to run—because the way he looked at you made escape seem like the safer choice. But you weren’t sure if you wanted safe, not when he’s hands on you felt like this.

“He can be an ass,” you spoke first, voice soft, thick with something unspoken. “Sorry. It’s lame they even still do that stuff.” You felt embarrassed, like you owed him an apology for a world you were a part of but never partook in.

“Nah, no worries.” His voice was low, smooth, that honeyed Liverpool drawl curling around the words. His hand didn’t move. He didn’t let you go. “Let ‘em. Not interested.” That word. Interested. It cut, subtle but sharp, because hours ago, you had heard him say the opposite. Heard him tell his brother that you weren’t worth it, that you were a risk, not a reward. And now? Now his hand was on you, staying on you. His touch felt like a brand, his voice was a shade rougher like maybe he wasn’t so sure anymore. You exhaled, glancing away down the hallway the opposite direction back towards the party roaring on, mentally preparing yourself to go pretend again; pretend like you wanted to be anywhere besides in his arms, pretend like you could forget him.

“Yeah… not interested,” you echoed, but your voice gave you away, featherlight and uncertain. You expected him to step back then. To let go, to end whatever this was before it could unravel into something too real. But Trent didn’t move. Instead, his hand only pressed deeper, drawing you into his side until your chest barely brushed against him. The shift made you look down towards your chest feeling less sure about your decision but you could feel his gaze was already on you—narrowed, searching.

“Hey, what you going shy for?” His voice was quieter now, teasing but tender. Trent’s opinion that you might’ve been this world and not simply a part of it was shaken the second you attempted to stand up for him and completely vanished when you left with him. You barely had time to answer before his fingers tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. “You stay back in that room without me?” He teased, lightening the tension with a soft smile. But that touch. His touch. A simple graze of his thumb over your lips, and you swore the air in your lungs turned to smoke. Your stomach dipped—not from nerves. From need. Trent swallowed. His words were light, easy but inside he’s wheels were turning. He was thinking, deciding. You watched his throat bob, watched his pupils bloom wide as his gaze flickered down—to your mouth, to the way your lips parted instinctively for him, to the leather corset hugging your body like a second skin, the corset [ref index] pushing up the tits he’d been dying to see for weeks now, to your thighs peeking beneath the hem of your skirt, the skirt that hid a pair of panties he’d do anything to tear off you. And maybe that was where this should have stopped. But then he looked back up, and fuck—he saw you. Not just your body, not just the way you fit against him perfectly, like you were never a stranger, but just you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just lust clawing between you. It was recognition. A sharp inhale filled the space between you. Your fingers magnetic to lay against his chest, a slow, testing press. Trent exhaled at the contact, his breath unsteady, his chest deflating beneath your touch. Relief? Or restraint? You didn’t know. You only knew you wanted to try. You had to.

“I’m happy I found you,” you whispered. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, like your words did something to him he wasn’t ready for. And then—that smirk. Lazily, it curled at the edges of his lips, soft and utterly smitten. The kind of smile that made your breath catch because it looked real. Trent hummed low in his throat. He stepped into you at the same time, he pulled you in close, closer. Fuck plans. Fuck restraint. Fuck pretending this wasn’t happening. His hand slipped from your chin, tilting to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping slow over the heat of your cheek. You melted. Then— a shift, an inhale, and his hands were on your ass, dragging you deeper, pulling your skirt higher. His touch was rough and sure, fingers kneading, claiming, teasing. You silently gasped, and he fucking smirked. A reminder—this was the same man who had caught you in the club, dragged you back to reality. And yet, here you were, letting yourself fall into him but not without an attempt at composure. “Big risk…” you murmured, teasing, taunting. Trent stilled for half a second. A flicker of something in his eyes—shock, realization that you heard him earlier. Both your hands slid up his chest, slow, deliberate, trailing heat in their wake. Fingertips brushing along his collar, his jaw, curling lightly around his throat. His eyes darkened. And then—his voice, thick with something fatal.

“Bigger reward.” A whisper against your lips. And then—he kissed you. The kiss was a slow, molten thing at first—a testing of limits, a savoring of the moment that had been building for too long. But it didn’t stay that way. It couldn’t. Trent moved against you like a man starved, his mouth slanting over yours with a need that unraveled something deep inside you. His fingers curled at the nape of your neck, tilting your head to his liking as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, hot and impatient. You sighed into it, your whole body melting into him as if you had been built for this moment, for him. You barely registered the way he walked you backward, his hands greedy—tracing, gripping, learning you. He was everywhere all at once, his touch burning through the fabric of your clothes. You wanted him to take them off your body immediately. His hand splayed over your lower back, pressing you closer, making you feel every inch of him, the strength in his arms, the way his body fit against yours like a perfect puzzle piece. Then, suddenly—the wall. You gasped as your back met the cool surface, but Trent didn’t falter, didn’t stop. He groaned, the sound reverberating between you as he trailed his mouth from your lips to your jaw, to your neck. His stubble grazint your skin, leaving a path of heat as he kissed and nipped at the delicate column of your throat. You tilted your head, baring more of your neck for him without thinking, surrendering to the pull of him.

“Someone could see us,” you whined with no real intention of doing anything about that as your fingers gripped his shirt, tugging just enough to make him groan. The sound shot straight through you, pooling low in your stomach.

“Don’t care and you don’t either,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough, edged with something dangerous, something aching. And you agreed, you didn’t care, still, even with the cheek, Trent got the sentiment. You barely noticed how you had started moving again, how your bodies had begun a slow retreat from the open hallway, lips clashing, hands grasping, breathless and desperate. You were barely aware of how you fumbled blindly with a door handle, how Trent's hands slipped down your waist, gripping and guiding you through the threshold until the world narrowed into a dimly lit, intimate space—the coat closet.

[The Party and The After Party - The Weekend 🎶]

The air was electric, charged with the kind of tension that made it hard to breathe. The closet was dim, the sliver of light from the cracked door casting shadows over you both, flickering across sharp jawlines, parted lips, the anticipation strung so tight it could snap. The scent of leather, wool, perfume, and faint traces of cigarette smoke clung to the walls, but all Trent could smell—all he could feel, taste, want—was you. But none of it mattered—because the moment the door shut behind you, it was just him. Just you.

“Always look so fucking sexy,” Trent rasped, forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and uneven against your lips. His hands, rough and sure, traced slow circles over your hips. “You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted this tonight.” You felt it—the heat, the tension that had been simmering for far too long, threatening to boil over. His voice was thick with longing, with something dangerously close to confession. The weight of it made your stomach clench, made your fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, needing him to close the gap again. But then—hesitation. A flicker of something in his eyes. His gaze shifted, sharp and searching, his grip on you tightening slightly. His head turned, taking in the coats surrounding you, recognition settling over his features. "Baby… You kiss anyone else tonight?" The words came out rough, unfiltered, something almost possessive lingering beneath them. His jaw tensed. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, and you hadn’t even processed where you were let alone the question before your mouth acted on instinct—pouting, just slightly, unintentionally. Trent exhaled, something flickering in his eyes at the expression. His thumb reached up, dragging across your lower lip, his jaw clenching but his body still pressed tight against yours.

“Did you?” You muttered back not meaning to sound smart. You just were unsure what was happening. Trent’s brow furrowed but his face stayed serious. He shook his head ‘no.’ slowly. His answer completely earnest. Then it hit you—that this mattered to him. He didn’t want sloppy seconds, he wanted you, for him. The relief flooded you before you could stop it, warmth pooling in your chest. He cared. He cared. He had been burning for this just as much as you had. You couldn’t help it—the small, breathless giggle that bubbled up past your lips, giddy and unfiltered. Trent didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. His hands flexed against your hips, his grip possessive. He needed you to say it. Say it. Tell him he was right about you, that you were what he thought, what he wanted. You went quiet with a sympathetic smile and an exhale. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, but dragging it out ever so slightly just so he knew that he was the one asking for reassurance before you finally answered, breathless but sure.

“No…” Your lips parted on a whisper. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the way he held his breath. “I’ve been waiting for you all night.” The words settled between you, tangible, electric. You smiled, soft, teasing, a little drunk on him in a way alcohol could never compete with. Trent exhaled sharply, his head rolling to the side for half a second, like he was both relieved and amused at himself for caring this much. His tongue flicked against the inside of his cheek before his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and focused.

"Thank God," he murmured. You giggled but it was muffled when his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, deeper with more urgency, more hunger. His hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling you tighter, harder against him. The pressure of it made your breath hitch, made you dizzy with how much you wanted him. His fingers curled into the hem of your mini skirt, dragging it higher, his touch branding your skin, claiming. “Been waiting,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing back to your jaw, your throat. “Don’t wanna wait anymore.” You shuddered, your hands moving blindly over his chest, his shoulders, mapping every inch of him as your back pressed into the wall of coats.

“You never had to wait for this,” you breathed. Trent groaned—low and guttural and desperate. Knowing that you would’ve let him have you had him reeling. He kissed you as if he could consume you, as if he could make up for all the lost time in this one perfect moment.

The air was thick, heavy with heat and want, the dimly lit closet swallowing the rest of the world whole. It smelled of expensive cologne, of leather and silk, but beneath it all—him. That intoxicating scent, the one that had been imprinted in your memory long before you ever had the right to crave it. Now, it was all-consuming. It was dark save the dim light slipping under the door barely reaching into the corners of the room, where heavy coats hung like shadows, muffling the outside. It was just you and him, lost in a space that was dangerously small and dangerously intoxicating. Your lips found his ear, warm and teasing, your breath a whisper of wicked intent.

“Have you been thinking about me, baby?” Your voice was nothing more than a purr, a featherlight tease against the shell of his ear. The words melted into his skin as your teeth grazed his earlobe, tugging just enough to make him inhale sharply through his nose, a slow, deliberate act of seduction. A hum of confirmation vibrated low in his throat as his lips found the sensitive curve of your neck, branding you with slow, open-mouthed kisses. His lips still mapping your throat. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you close as if he were afraid you’d disappear. He was drinking you in, the scent of your skin, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Fuck. He had been thinking about you. Too much. Too often. “Hmm?” you prompted, voice dripping in mischief. You felt like you might’ve finally been gaining some control. Trent exhaled more than sound, too immersed in you. In the way your perfume wrapped around him, how your body pressed against his, every curve fitting into him like you were made to be there. Like this was inevitable. Then you pulled back—just enough for him to chase you, to leave him lingering in the heat of where you just were. And God, he hated it. And yet, he loved it, being lost in you—the way your skin felt against his, the way your perfume clung to the air between you, the way you touched him like you knew exactly how to dismantle him piece by piece. "Been thinking about you a lot," Your breath was cold, minty mixed with vodka and him, your tone weightless but devastating, each word a slow, delicious unraveling. Trent exhaled sharply through his nose, his restraint hanging by a thread. Because fuck, he had been thinking about you. More than he wanted to. More than he should have. You were the spark to gasoline, the match to an already burning flame. Every single thing about you set him alight. But Trent’s eyes were darker than ever now, heat pooling in his pupils, a storm barely contained. His hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you, but you could tell—he was unraveling and you wanted to pull that final thread to undo the woven composure he carried so effortlessly but it wouldn’t be easy, not with Trent. He wouldn’t let that happen, not to him.

“Yeah?” His voice was deeper now, husky with something dangerous, something wanting. He was unraveling, true, but he’d try to convince you otherwise. You didn’t answer, not with words. Rather with a slow, deliberate push. You backed him into the edge of a wooden shelf, the thud of his body meeting it barely registering because his mind was too consumed with you. Even as his spine met the edge, instead of annoyance, his lips curled—a wicked, greedy smile, sharp enough to cut. **Your hands, your lips, your scent—**he was drowning in you, and he didn't want to come up for air. His eyes gleamed in the low light, dark with desire, with relief. The movement was firm, decisive. Bold. He liked that you were taking control. That you wanted this. “What have you been thinking about?” He asked, smug but hungry, his fingers digging into your waist, like he needed to feel your answer. You hummed as if you were mulling it over, trailing your hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling his breath stutter beneath your touch. He was solid beneath your fingertips, his muscles taut, every inch of him tensed like a wire about to snap. Your lips ghosted over his jaw, pressing just enough to feel the way his pulse kicked up beneath your mouth. He smelled like clean skin and spice, a hint of sweat, something uniquely him—and you wanted to be suffocated by it, the distraction that was him, until you realized your fleeting kisses had got your lips to his ear again..

“I shouldn’t tell you,” you whispered, barely there, barely anything, but the way his whole body reacted, the sharp inhale, the way his grip on you tightened—it was everything. Trent tensed, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. He huffed out through his nose a light laugh and a cheeky smile trying to remain calm, cool, sexy. His jaw shifting as he gripped your waist more securely to ground him in the moment but all it did was spur you on. You were two people that knew game strategy but you were struggling to put in practice. It was an ebb and flow of power, in your hands one moment, his the next. One of your hands drifted lower, lower, lower, Trent’s heart rate picking up, until your fingers teased along the waistband of his trousers, slow, torturous. His abs flexed under your palm, and the way he sucked in a sharp breath, **a single muscle in his jaw twitching—**it made your stomach flip. His head dropped back against the shelf for half a second before he looked at you again, eyes heavy-lidded, dark, filled with nothing but want. A breathy laugh left him, though it was barely amused. It was wrecked, on edge like his smirk still in place, though it was faltering at the corners.

“Alright, baby.” His voice was a rasp, thick with lust but also cheek. He wanted to play too. The word baby was a low murmur, almost a groan, rolling off his tongue like silk. It made your stomach drop, your thighs clench, made you ache for more. You pulled back just enough to look at him, to see the way his gaze had darkened, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension so tight it was suffocating. “Can you show me then?” His voice was low, coaxing, full of something both soft and sinful. His hands slid lower, rough palms gripping the curve of your ass as he pulled you flush against him so you could feel just how much he wanted you to show him. You exhaled a small, breathy hum, your lips ghosting over his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, teasing every inch of him as his hands traced fire down your spine. You weren’t sure where you ended and he began, only that you never wanted to step away from this. From him.

Your kisses trailed lower, tracing the dips and ridges of his toned chest, your lips teasing over his shirt, before you pulled the fabric up as you descended down kissing over his momentarily exposed skin, warm, addicting, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His scent—clean, rich, perfect cologne mixed with something purely him—filled your lungs, making you dizzy, drunker on need. Trent’s eyes narrowed on your figure sinking in front of him, this was dream worthy, no, better than. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it out of the coat room and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Fuck off,” Trent muttered in disbelief, voice rough, his breath catching as he looked down at you. You batted your lashes up at him, a feigned innocence in your gaze as your fingers teased at the waistband of his trousers, your touch deliberate, slow. You saw the way his jaw flexed, the way his broad chest rose and fell faster beneath the weight of anticipation.

“You want me to stop?” you asked, lips curling in a taunting smile as your fingers worked open his belt, knuckles brushing against the heat straining beneath his trousers.

“Nah, nah, nah.” He let out a breathy laugh, more at himself than anything. His hand came to the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair, not pushing—just needing to feel you there. “I want you to show me exactly what you’ve been thinking about.” Your nod was slow, deliberate, as your hands slid lower, freeing him from the confines of his trousers. He sprang free, thick, heavy in your palm, already leaking, already aching for you. Trent groaned, his head tilting back slightly as you parted your lips and let a slow stream of saliva drip onto him, watching it glisten, watching him twitch in response. “Fucking unreal,” he muttered, letting his head loll back, his grip in your hair tightening ever so slightly as your fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him with an excruciating slowness. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction from his reaction. You were trying to be composed but he was feeding your ego, making you feel things you hadn’t expected and it had you wanting more. You wanted to please him.

“Do you want me to suck your cock, baby?” you asked, voice sultry, teasing, but your eyes never left his—challenging him, taunting him. He shouldn’t have but he loved this. He loved that after he broke you down, pulling you into a toilet in Ibiza, you’d gotten him into a coat closet in Paris begging for you, no different than you had for him. Trent exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling as he fought for control. His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice almost a growl. “Show me how much you want it.” You needed no further encouragement. Leaning in, you flattened your tongue against the swollen head, tasting the saltiness of him before sinking down, your lips wrapping around his length, taking him inch by inch. Trent let out a broken groan, his hips jerking forward slightly, instinctual, primal. His fingers tightened in your hair as you worked him deeper, your tongue swirling, teasing, hollowing your cheeks as you took him further. The weight of him, the heat, the slight pulse against your tongue—it sent a thrill straight through you, a wicked satisfaction at the way he was coming undone above you. Trent’s breath came in harsh, uneven pants as you set a slow, torturous rhythm, your hand pumping the base in sync with the wet slide of your mouth. His head fell back against the shelf behind him, his muscles tight, his abs flexing with every stroke of your tongue. “Just like that.” His voice was rough, laced with pure, unfiltered pleasure. “Fuck— good girl.” The praise made something molten pool low in your belly, made you whimper around him, the vibrations forcing a strangled moan from his lips. His hips began to move, shallow thrusts that pushed him deeper, had him hitting the back of your throat until spit pooled at the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin. Your fingers dug into his strong thighs as you took him further, wanting to ruin him, to have him remember the way your mouth felt around him long after tonight. Trent didn’t even know where he was in the world, that's how good he felt, it was almost an out of body experience. His curses came out broken, wrecked, his body tensing, his grip in your hair tightening. “Baby, you’re gonna make me—fuck.” He shut his eyes. You hummed around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder, stroking the last bit of him that your lips couldn’t reach. And then he shattered, he couldn’t hold out any longer. He’d thought about this for a month. His restraint snapped. "I’m gonna cum, yeah?." He rasped, shutting his eyes, too caught up in pleasure to say anything sexier as his body tensed. You nodded with a hum. The vibration eliciting a muffled guttural groan from his throat as his release spilled hot and thick down your throat. His body shuddered, muscles locking as you milked him for every drop, swallowing greedily, savoring the taste of him. As he opened his eyes again, still catching his breath, you parted your lips once more, letting your tongue flick out just enough to show him before you swallowed only to open your mouth again to him how good you’d been. Trent let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief, his grip softening as he pulled you up, bringing you back to him. His mouth found yours in an instant, deep and claiming, his fingers still tangled in your hair as he kissed you like he never wanted to stop.

The world outside the coat closet was a blur—the pulse of bass-heavy music, the distant hum of laughter, the occasional burst of chatter—but in here, it was just the two of you. Heat thick in the air, hands tangled, mouths crashing together in a fevered, messy kiss. Trent’s fingers skimmed over the tiny skirt covering your ass before slipping down the backs of your bare thighs, then suddenly back up under your skirt to your bare ass all whilst dragging fire in their wake. He pulled your body flush against his, solid and warm and wanting. The urgency in his touch made your breath hitch, made your legs tremble slightly as his lips trailed from your mouth down to your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear where he nipped, sucking just enough to make you shiver. His hands were everywhere, greedy, desperate, sliding up your thighs, palming your ass, gripping your hips like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. And then—one hand moved. His fingers found the zipper of your top, tugging at it with intent. Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait, wait, wait, baby—” you breathed out, voice softer now, hesitant but sure. You didn’t want him taking off your corset in here. His head lifted, lips swollen, brows slightly furrowed in surprise. “Can we, like… maybe not do that in here?” The words hung in the air between you, cooling the feverish pace you’d both set. You felt silly, maybe that’s all this was to him, a coat closet fuck, as you watched Trent blink, slightly taken aback. Not because he was upset—he would never pressure you—but because he had really thought this was going somewhere. He let out a slow breath, leaning back just an inch to search your face, his hand still resting against your waist. You could see the patience wash over him. And then, you smiled sympathetically, bashful but knowing. “I… I just want to fuck you how I’ve wanted to...” You admitted albeit a bit embarrassed praying, he’d get it. A slow smirk stretched across his lips, one that sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. His fingers flexed against your hip as he processed your words, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, deep, laced with something dangerous.

“Yeah?” He smirked and it was the same lethal handsomeness you first saw at the club, but now, it felt different, sincere even. You nodded, slow, teasing, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips before he leaned in, so close you could taste the faintest hint of liquor and mint on his breath. “How’s my bed sound then, baby?” His smirk was smug, unfairly beautiful, and it made you giggle despite the ache pooling low in your belly.

“I guess so,” you teased, biting your lip. Trent exhaled a little laugh, rolling his head to the side as if he was bothered by you accepting with an ‘I guess’ but in reality, in his heart of hearts, something he'd never tell anyone, it was endearing, and another adjective that seemed to populate in his brain when it came to you… it was cute even. His hands squeezed at your ass once more, as if he was grounding himself, reminding himself just how sexy you were even when that word ‘cute’ kept reappearing, savoring the last few moments of restraint.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s get you outta here.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Besides, I don’t want any interruptions.” He let you step back, but just as he reached for the zipper of his pants, he leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not for hours with you,” he whispered, punctuating it with a kiss just behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your stomach flipped.

Trent laced his fingers through yours, his grip firm, certain, but still waiting—for your approval, for you to take the first step. And you did. With a soft tug, you moved toward the door, eager, leading him out, but then—

“Oh, shit!” you gasped, turning back so suddenly that your chest pressed directly into his. Trent caught you instinctively, hands gripping your arms, his face a mixture of amusement and surprise. Your eyes going wide at the impact. You swallowed, taken back by your own proximity. “Wait… can I get my jacket?” you asked earnestly. “I really like it. It was a gift…” You pouted, recalling the Louis Vuitton gift you received from the brand today, the PR piece you got to keep, and you definitely didn’t want to leave it behind only for it to get taken home by someone else. His smirk softened into something warmer, something undeniably fond.

“’Course.” His voice dipped again, husky, teasing, but there was something almost reverent about the way he said it. “Baby, I promise, you can do whatever you want tonight.” His lips hovered over yours, close enough to steal, close enough to make you need to close the distance. And you did. The kiss was slow, deep, nothing hurried or frenzied like the ones before. No, this one was something else entirely. Something that simmered, something that curled around you like smoke, seeping under your skin, staining. Something memorable. Memorable in all the ways he was.

Trent exhaled through his nose, his head lulling back slightly when you finally pulled away and turned to rifle through the jackets, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips.

“So was it that good?” you called out teasingly in the small room, fingers closing around your jacket. When you turned back, Trent was watching you, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softer now, holding something deeper.

“You…” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Are that good.” And strangely—you believed him. Because it didn’t feel like cheek, or charm, or one of his usual flirtations. It felt honest.

[Say It - Tory Lanez 🎶]

The hotel hallway spun in soft, golden hues, the remnants of too many drinks making everything feel deliciously surreal. You weren’t sure if it was the champagne still fizzing in your veins or just him—his presence, his hands, the way he looked at you like he wanted to ruin you and worship you all at once.

“I like this, you know.” His voice was low, thick with something dangerous and sweet as he turned to face you, his finger hooking under the delicate chain of your necklace. The simple touch sent a shiver racing down your spine, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was, how his cologne wrapped around you, how his lips hovered just within reach.

“Really?” you murmured, eyes glimmering, half-lidded from the haze of the night. You weren’t sure what was real and what was the kind of intoxication only he could induce. You weren’t sure what was charm, what was cheek, what was just a game and what was authentically him. But it blurred, all of it, like smudged ink on a love letter, and you didn’t care—because the only thing in your tunnel vision was his face, and lord have mercy it was a pretty one. Trent hummed in response, a smirk tugging at his lips as he reached behind him, blindly finding the door handle. With an ease that made your stomach clench, he cracked it open and took a slow step back, pulling you forward by your necklace, reeling you into his orbit. You laughed softly at the smoothness of his movements, stepping over the threshold as he let you into his room.

“Where they put the ballers?” you teased, lifting your brows as you glanced around the massive suite, the city lights twinkling beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. You turned back to look at him by the door.

“Only the good ones.” He smirked, that maddening, cocky, gorgeous smirk that had been the undoing of so many before you. You rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as he stepped into you, the door clicking shut behind him, locking you both in—another confined space, another moment where the air grew thick with unspoken things, with anticipation, with the pulse of something electric. His hands found your waist, fingers splaying over the fabric like he was meant to hold you, like he already knew exactly how to touch you. “You’ve been thinking about me?” he murmured, his lips so close to yours, you could feel his breath fanning against your skin. You hummed, tilting your chin up, your lips practically brushing, just waiting—aching—for that final push. His eyes darkened, locked onto yours with something ravenous. “Good.” And then, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was perfect. Messy and hungry and laced with all the pent-up tension that had been simmering between you for weeks, even in your silences. Somehow this kiss was even better than it was in the coat room, maybe it was the opportunity of possibilities locked in a hotel room with him. His lips moved against yours like they were made for you, like they’d always known exactly where to go. You moaned into his mouth, fingers bunching in his shirt, fisting the material, dragging it up his abs in silent demand.

“Yeah?” he teased, pulling back just a fraction, a cheeky grin curving his swollen lips. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how you were managing this duality. None of it made sense in his head. You were adorable and yet deadly sexy, you were bashfully reserved and yet confident and commanding, you were dominant and yet submissively needy. And he loved every single side of the dichotomy. You barely had time to register your nod before he reached over his head and tugged his shirt off in one fluid motion. Your jaw slackened, just for a beat. Fuck. Tanned skin, strong arms, carved abs, the sharp V of his hips disappearing beneath his waistband—he was unfair. Just unfair. Trent noticed. He always noticed. He smirked, stepping in again, hands settling on your waist, firm and sure. “I took my top off…” His eyes flickered with something mischievous, something intoxicating and then they deliberately flashed down to your cleavage. “Can I take off this one too?” He mused as his thumb graved over the leather fabric. Your breath hitched, but you nodded, reaching back, guiding his other hand to the zipper of your corset.

The pull of his hand dragged the zipper down with an excruciating slowness, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. The only things left in the air were your ragged breaths, your hammering heartbeat, the sheer weight of his gaze as he watched you, locked onto you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. His thumb drew slow, agonizing circles against your waist as the zipper reached the end. He held the fabric in place, his touch searing even through the layers. And then—he leaned in, his lips trailing down your neck, slow, reverent, burning a path straight to your collarbone. His hands slid up your ribs, pushing the fabric aside, finally pulling it away from you completely. Your breath stuttered, bare in front of him, exposed in every way that mattered. Trent exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was trying to hold himself back, like he was already ruined by the sight of you. The air had gone thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the remnants of cocktails, a heady mix of martinis and something sweet still lingering on your lips. The city lights outside flickered against the towering glass windows, neon colors bleeding into the dimly lit suite, painting the room in shades of gold and violet. The bass from the party still thrummed in your veins, but nothing drowned out the sound of your own ragged breathing—or his.

Trent stood in front of you, broad and perfect, his eyes drinking you in like you were the finest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you. You were normally confident in your skin, in the way you moved, in the way men looked at you. But under his gaze? Something wavered, something small but persistent. You felt more than naked, you felt vulnerable. You began to overthink. Did you look good enough for him? You hated that you even thought it. But then—his hands found your waist, warm and firm, fingers splaying possessively over your hips, dragging you against him, forcing you to feel just how much he wanted you. And fuck, he felt so good. You exhaled a shaky breath, hands sliding up his sculpted chest, tracing over the smooth skin, the ridges of muscle. He was burning hot beneath your touch, a quiet purr slipping from his lips as you leaned up to kiss him. He groaned softly into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing yours, slow and decadent, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His lips trailed from your mouth, down your jaw, across the delicate skin of your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses that sent delicious little shivers racing down your spine. His hands moved up your sides, slow and teasing. You whined softly, back arching instinctively as his thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice thick with want. "You know how fucking sexy you are." He nipped at your skin, just beneath your ear, and you whined, your fingers threading into the curls at the top of his head, pulling slightly. He chuckled darkly, hands sliding lower, over the small of your back, gripping your ass before they traveled further, big hands sliding behind your thighs. “Been dying to see all of you.” Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, hands strong and sure as he picked you up. You gasped, your head lolling to one side, granting him more access as he pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. He carried you across the room like you weighed nothing, walking you straight to the bed, and set you down firmly. His grip on your thighs tightened, preventing you from moving too far, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "Gonna let me taste you again?" His voice was thick, his pupils blown wide, hunger written all over his gorgeous face as he kneeled in front of you on the bed, the city lights casting golden streaks over his sharp jawline, his perfect lips. A slow smirk curled on your lips, reveling in the shift of power between you both. You lifted your leg, the heel of your boot sliding over his shoulder as you arched a brow.

"Yeah? You want a taste?" His smirk deepened, his big hands immediately moving to your thigh, caressing up its smooth length, fingers pressing into the supple skin like he was savoring every inch of the moment. With deliberate slowness, he unzipped your boot, tugging it off, his lips brushing down inch by inch, leaving featherlight kisses down your calf, over your ankle, until it dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Then the other. You let your hands slide down your own thighs, watching him as you sat forward slightly. The doubt from before? Gone. You felt powerful now, back in control. There was no second-guessing yourself anymore—not with the way he was looking at you, like he’d crawl through fire just to put his mouth on you. You met his gaze, locking eyes with him. “Can I take this off?” You asked, fingers already toying with the clasp of your little skirt. Trent didn’t answer with words—he didn’t need to. His hands were already helping you pull it down your hips, letting the fabric slide down your legs. He grabbed it, tossing it somewhere in the room without a care in the world because the only thing that mattered was you. And then—his breath hitched. The air was thick, decadent, laced with the quiet hum of Paris beyond the window, but all you could hear was your own ragged breath. He knelt at the edge of the bed, a vision carved from shadow and street lights, his eyes dark, starving, locked onto you like a promise. Your body betrayed you before he even touched you—heat pooling, softening, unraveling at the mere sight of him between your thighs. You swore you could feel yourself melt, feel the slow, sinful drip of anticipation, of need so potent it bordered on pain. Your skin hummed, oversensitized, flushed with the unbearable ache of waiting. He licked his lips—those perfect, obscene lips—and it felt as if the world tilted, the moment stretching unbearably thin.

“Oh my fucking God, baby.” His voice was rough, nearly reverent as his eyes dragged over you, taking in every inch of what he’d been fantasizing about for months. You barely had time to react before he moved. You leaned back instinctively, but he was already there—grabbing you, strong fingers pressing into your thighs. "Nah, nah, nah." He groaned, shaking his head. "C’mere." He pulled you back toward him, his grip firm but deliberate, like he’d die if you moved even an inch further away. His hands traced fire along your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer, like an offering he was ready to worship, exposing your glistening core to him. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest. His hands flexed on your legs, almost like he was restraining himself from devouring you right then and there. "Fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. His fingers traced lightly over your inner thighs, his mouth watering at the sight of you, spread out in front of him, dripping for him. And then—his voice dropped into something dark, something filled with hunger and adoration all at once. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." And then, just before his mouth met you, he smirked—because he knew. Knew you were already gone, already wrecked, already his.

The city pulsed beyond the towering windows, neon lights flickering like electricity, casting fragmented shadows across the plush hotel suite. The bass from the party still hummed faintly beneath your skin, but none of that mattered now—not with Trent between your legs, gripping your thighs like a man starved, his breath hot against your already oversensitized skin.

He was teasing, toying with you, but it was a losing battle—his own hunger betraying him with every desperate flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrated against your dripping cunt. He was devouring you, licking and sucking like he’d been craving this, starving for it. His tongue delved deep, curling inside you before dragging up through your wetness, tasting you like you were his favorite sin. And fuck, you were.

You moaned, your back arching off the mattress, hands tangling in his curls, tugging, guiding him, urging him on. But he didn’t need direction—he knew exactly how to wreck you. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking just right, sending fire through every nerve in your body. You tasted like liquid gold to Trent. Like something he’d never get enough of. His fingers slid through your slickness before pressing into you, stretching you open, working in tandem with his mouth. He loved feeling you clench around him, loved the way your body responded so perfectly to his touch. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as he feasted, a man possessed.

“T…” You whined, barely able to form words, your body trembling, pleasure coiling impossibly tight in your core. “Oh my god- you’re so fucking good.” You whimpered. He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body. He fucking loved this. Loved making you fall apart on his tongue. Just when you thought you might come undone, he pulled back, dragging his teeth gently over the soft skin of your inner thigh, sucking bruises into the delicate flesh. You whimpered, eyes fluttering as his fingers moved with unrelenting precision, thrusting deep, curling up into that devastating spot inside you. The sound was unmistakable. Sopping wet pleasure built up over a month. Your body jerked, overstimulated, a desperate whimper spilling from your lips. Then suddenly—he pulled his fingers from you, leaving you empty for the briefest second before his hands gripped your hips hard, holding you firmly in place as he pressed his tongue flat against your cunt again, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with ruthless precision. Your breath hitched. You were unraveling, the pressure mounting, your muscles tightening, your body trembling uncontrollably as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive spot again and again and again. “I’m gonna cum—fuck.” Your voice was barely coherent, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot bliss. And then—you shattered. Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your thighs trembling violently as pleasure ripped through you, your vision blurring as you cried out. Trent groaned into you, loving the way your body reacted to him, drinking in every drop of your release as he lapped you up with deep, satisfied strokes of his tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your soaked skin, the vibrations sending a sharp aftershock through you, making you twitch in his grasp. He chuckled darkly, loving the way you shuddered, completely wrecked beneath him. His lips pressed soft, teasing kisses to your overstimulated, dripping core, reveling in the way your body jerked in response. His face was covered in you, his lips wet, his chin glistening, and fuck, he thought you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Your body was still humming, overstimulated, your limbs feeling weightless, but you weren’t done. Not even close. You felt alive, like you’d been plugged into a socket, your skin buzzing with raw electricity. Your head lolled back, breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to come down, but Trent wasn’t letting you. His grip on your thighs stayed firm, keeping you spread open for him, keeping you his. You forgot what this felt like. You remembered how good he was, how he had this insane ability to ruin you completely, but you forgot this. The heat of his body, the strength of his hands, the possessiveness in his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire fucking world.

Game or not—tonight, you felt special.

Trent pulled you onto his lap with ease, strong hands guiding you until your legs draped over his, straddling him, skin to burning skin. His palms splayed over your thighs, the warmth of them searing into you as his thumbs traced slow, idle circles—teasing, possessive. Every touch sent another ripple of heat through you, another reminder of just how desperate you were for more of him. The air was thick with something electric, the space between you humming with an unrelenting need that had been building since Spain. Every moment apart had only fed the hunger, the tension that had followed you both across cities, through stolen glances and fleeting touches, through nights spent imagining this exact moment. And now, here you were—nothing between you but heat and anticipation. You could feel him—all of him—his thick, aching length pressing against your drenched core, hard and hot and barely restrained. Clothes had long since been discarded, abandoned somewhere between your hunger and his need, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Just tell me you want me.” His voice was a low murmur against the charged silence, rough with restraint, threaded with something deeper than lust, something raw. His dark eyes burned into yours as he leaned back against the headboard, his body a perfect, lazy sprawl beneath you, but his hands—his hands—were anything but relaxed. They gripped your waist, kneading, guiding, rocking you against him with slow, deliberate friction that had you gasping. You ground against his length, the slick slide of your arousal coating him, teasing you both. Your nails scraped lightly against his chest as you leaned into him, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice a soft, sultry confession Trent exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening as his eyes drank you in—your bare skin glowing in the dim light, your lips swollen from his kisses, your body poised above him with nothing on but the wicked gleam in your eye.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his smirk lazy, cocky, but betraying the war he was fighting within himself. “Should I let you have me?” He tried to keep it light, teasing, but his voice had that telltale roughness to it, the rasp of a man losing his restraint, of a man undone. You felt it in the way his cock twitched beneath you, in the way his hands dug into your skin, urging you closer. So, you decided to push him further. With slow, calculated movements, you rolled your hips, dragging your slick folds over his length, arching your back, letting your nails ghost down his neck, a sinful contrast to the softness of your touch. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, could see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, something close to desperation.

“Should I let you have me?” you countered, your voice laced with syrupy defiance as you sat back. Trent’s eyes lit up at the competition you were trying to initiate. You let your fingers trail over your own body, cupping your breasts just enough to tease, to tempt. Torturing yourself with a gentle pinch to your nipples, only in an effort to taunt Trent. Trent’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eye giving way to something more primal, more urgent.

“’Course,” he murmured, voice thick, gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world. “You know I make you feel good, baby.” It was a line, something smooth and confident, something that might’ve made you roll your eyes if not for the way his body betrayed him—his cock twitching against you, his breath uneven, his restraint unraveling one frayed thread at a time. You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly, forcing him to sit in the weight of his own words. Because yes, he made you feel good. But you had him just as wrecked. Trent smirked at your silent challenge, but it faltered when he yanked you down harder against him, your dripping core grinding against his length. A sharp, needy whimper slipped from your lips at the friction, but before you could feel embarrassed, he let out a deep, guttural groan, his head falling back against the headboard, his hips jerking up into you on instinct. And just like that, the power shifted. Trent was learning more about himself when it came to you and fast. That he’d crumble. His cheek and charm couldn’t distract from the visceral reaction you evoked. You leaned in, letting your lips hover near his ear, letting his cock glide between your slick folds with torturous ease.

“Say it,” you whispered, a slow, taunting drag of your heat against him. Trent exhaled sharply, a desperate sound that sent a thrill down your spine. His grip on you was rougher now, his fingers digging in, his self-control slipping with every teasing slide of your body against his.

“Un-fucking-real you are,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, breathless. He didn’t care, this was visceral. You had him responding without conscious control. He felt too good. “Need more of you.” And you felt even better when he said that. His lips found your neck, hot and insistent, kissing, nipping, sucking at sensitive skin, each press of his mouth more fevered than the last. You tilted your head, giving him more, melting beneath his touch, losing yourself in the way his body felt against yours.

“You like it?” you murmured between breathy gasps. “Like the way I make you feel?” His only response was a low, helpless hum against your skin, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth, his composure slipping through his fingers. Between the slickness of your arousal and the thick head of his cock pressing into you, neither of you could breathe, neither of you could think—just existing in the unbearable tension of almost. You knew he was close to breaking, teetering on the edge. And you wanted to push him over it. “I think I know something else you’ll like,” you cooed, pressing a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the mattress fully. Trent let you move him, his dark eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide. And when your gaze met his, heavy with promise, heavy with the weight of everything left unspoken— He knew. He knew he was about to get exactly what he’d been craving since Spain.

The air between you crackled, heavy with something unspoken, something beyond lust but equally consuming. Your bodies had long since abandoned restraint, tangled together in heat and urgency, every touch igniting a fire that neither of you had the will—or the desire—to put out. Straddling Trent, you felt every rigid inch of him pressing against your slick folds, thick and unrelenting, his body a furnace beneath yours. His hands roamed your thighs, possessive and reverent, gripping, kneading, claiming. You rocked against him, teasing yourself just as much as you teased him, dragging your wetness over his length in slow, torturous slides that had both of you trembling. A sharp inhale. His muscles tensed beneath you, his abs flexing as if bracing against the sheer intensity of his own need. His head fell deeper back against the pillow for a brief second, eyes squeezing shut, jaw clenched. And then his hands found your hips, strong and insistent, guiding you upward just enough—just enough to make you hover above him, to make you wait, to make you beg.

“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” you whispered, your voice sultry, teasing, though your own breath wavered with the depth of what you were feeling. You lined his cock at your entrance, the tip barely breaching your soaked heat, just enough to have him right there—just enough to drive him insane. You rolled your hips slightly, your own cruel form of torment. Trent let out a ragged breath, his control slipping fast, his fingers digging bruises into your skin. There was no charm in his voice now, no practiced suave grin—just unfiltered, raw honesty spilling from his lips in a husky confession.

“All I’ve thought about since the moment I met you was how bad I wanted to have you,” he rasped, his dark eyes locking onto yours, blazing with need. “I’ve needed this, baby. Needed you.” The words sent a shiver down your spine, an intoxicating thrill curling in your belly, tightening the already unbearable tension. Your body answered before your mind could catch up—sinking just slightly, just enough to feel him stretch you open in the most tantalizing way. A broken whimper escaped you, your chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow breaths. Trent’s grip on your hips tightened as he fought for composure, but his self-control was hanging by a thread, fraying with every second you made him wait. One of his hands moved lower, cupping the roundness of your ass, guiding, urging. His voice was lower now, darker, edged with the kind of command that made your entire body hum. “Be a good girl for me,” he murmured, eyes ablaze with hunger, lips curling at the way your body trembled under his touch. “Take my cock. Like a good girl.” And then— The most delicious, devastating stretch, the slow, overwhelming fullness as you sank all the way down to the hilt, as he filled you completely, splitting you apart in the most sinful way. A filthy moan tore from your throat, unabashed and raw, your head tipping back in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. Trent was just as wrecked. A guttural groan rumbled from deep within his chest, his head falling back, his brows pinching together as his fingers bit into your skin like he was trying to ground himself, like he was barely holding on. But his eyes—his eyes never left yours, locked onto your face, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremor in your body, every sound that fell from your lips.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimpered, your voice shaking, your body struggling to adjust to the way he stretched you, filled you. “You feel so big—” Trent let out a harsh breath through his teeth, his hands flexing on your hips.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice wrecked, his restraint snapping thread by thread as he watched you struggle to take him, to fit him. You rocked your hips slightly, a slow roll that had your clit dragging against him just right, sending shocks of pleasure rippling through you. Your walls clenched around him, earning another deep, breathless groan from his lips. The way he looked at you, the way his hands gripped you, the unbearable heat between you—it had you already racing toward the edge, already unraveling. You both questioned if the build up had been too much but with the way this felt, it didn’t seem like enough.

“Fuck… I’ve thought about this so much, T,” you admitted, barely coherent, lost in the euphoria of it all. “Oh my god. Wanted you inside me.” That was it. That was his breaking point. A sound tore from Trent’s throat, something primal, something unhinged. In a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body caging yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and raw, desperate hunger. Desire and need tangled between you, a mess of breathless moans and hands clawing at skin, fingers threading into hair, bodies moving together in a rhythm that neither of you had to think about—only feel. Trent buried himself deeper inside you, setting a pace that was ruthless, devastating, perfect. Each stroke hit deeper, stole the air from your lungs, sent you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it bordered on madness. His lips trailed up your jaw, hot and feverish, his breath heavy in your ear.

“I’ve been craving you, baby,” he growled, the deep timbre of his voice sending tremors down your spine. “I’ve thought about fucking you a million ways.” He punctuated his words with another powerful thrust, making you gasp, making your nails dig into his back, making him groan at the delicious sting. His lips dragged lower, tracing the column of your throat, the hollow of your collarbone. “Haven’t thought about anything else but you since I met you.” For a fleeting second, something flickered in his eyes—a moment of realization, a truth that slipped past his lips before he had the chance to stop it. And he should’ve stopped it. He should’ve taken it back. But the way your body reacted to those words, the way you clenched around him, the way your lips parted in a soft, breathless gasp— He didn’t care. Didn’t care if he’d just given himself away, if he’d just bared something too raw, too real. Not when you looked at him like that. Not when you moaned his name like it was the only one you knew. His mouth found your tits, lips wrapping around a hardened nipple, sucking, licking, biting—driving you to the brink of delirium, of pleasure so consuming it blurred the lines between body and soul.

“I’ve wanted this,” you gasped, arching beneath him, hands threading through his curls, tugging him closer. “Wanted you. Needed you.” Your confession shattered the last of his control. There it was. This was mutual. Both your carefully crafted plans dissipating. A curse tumbled from Trent’s lips, his pace turning brutal, relentless, like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin, into your soul. His fingers dug into your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer, his lips stealing every moan, every gasp, every ounce of control you had left. This wasn’t just sex. This was hunger. This was desperation. This was something raw and dangerous and undeniable. And neither of you wanted it to stop.

Trent’s body moved against yours with a relentless rhythm, his hips snapping into you with deep, punishing strokes, each one sending white-hot pleasure tearing through your body. You could feel him everywhere—his heat, his weight, the way his hands claimed you, how his lips ghosted over your skin between ragged breaths. It was overwhelming. It was euphoric. It was perfect. And then— A sudden shift. Trent grasped one of your legs, hooking it under his arm, opening you up to him in a way that made you gasp, made your head fall back against the pillows. The angle was devastating, the head of his cock striking something deep inside you, something electric, something that made your vision blur and your fingers claw helplessly at his back; like it was a place only for him. Trent groaned at the way you clenched around him, the sheer tightness of you, the way your body welcomed him like he was meant to be there. His mind was unraveling, thoughts slipping into dangerous, uncharted territory—because fuck, it wasn’t just the physical. It was you. You beneath him, wrapped around him, taking him so perfectly, so desperately, so good, like you were his.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, voice thick with wrecked pleasure, his forehead pressing against yours for a brief moment before he pulled back to watch you, to see you fall apart. His thumb brushed over your lips, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, consumed by something deeper than lust. “Like you’re pussy’s made just for me. Doing so good f’me.” The words sent a shudder down your spine, something stirring in the pit of your stomach that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the way he said it—like he meant it. But Trent’s restraint was slipping, his hips snapping harder, faster, his fingers gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d wear his marks tomorrow. You could feel everything building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, the inevitable fall rushing toward you like a tidal wave. Your other leg wrapped around his waist, desperate, pulling him closer, dragging your foot down the expanse of his muscled back as your nails dug into the hard planes of his biceps.

“T, I’m gonna—” You gasped, the words breaking into incoherent cries as your body trembled beneath him. You couldn’t get the sentence out, couldn’t think, not when he was fucking you like this, not when he was ruining you with every deep, mind-numbing thrust. Trent was right there with you, his jaw clenched, his breath ragged, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your swollen clit. The rough pad of his thumb circled it in tandem with his thrusts, sending a blinding shock of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you nothing but wreckage beneath him.

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice dark, commanding, possessive. “Tell me whose cock you’re gonna cum on.” His words sent you spiraling, the sheer filth of them mixed with his deep, deliberate thrusts making your entire body lock up, teetering on the edge. Your mouth fell open, your head rolling back, tears slipping down your heated cheeks from the unbearable pleasure.

“Yours.” The word tore from you in a breathless whimper, your fingers clenching around the firm muscles of his arms. “Fuck—yours, Trent. Made for you.” His dark eyes burned with something wicked, something triumphant, and he wasn’t about to let you hold back.

“Doing so good for me,” he rasped, his free hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to stay on him, to let him watch every inch of your unraveling. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Let me see how fucking pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” That was it. The words. The way he said them. The way he owned you in this moment. Your orgasm slammed into you like a crashing wave, your entire body tightening, back arching, mouth parting in a silent scream as white-hot pleasure overtook you. Your walls clenched down around him, hard, desperate, milking him in the most sinful way, and it wrecked him. Trent let out a deep, guttural moan, his composure shattering as he watched you break apart beneath him, the sight of you completely lost in pleasure tipping him right over the edge. His thrusts became more erratic, rough, needy, and then he was leaning down, his chest pressing against yours, his weight grounding you as he chased his own release. Your lips found his neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses, nipping at the sensitive skin, your body still trembling with aftershocks.“I’ve only thought about this,” you breathed against his skin, your voice ragged, desperate, laced with something dangerously close to a plea. “About you. Please, please.” Trent groaned, his body tensing, his arms flexing as he held himself above you. He was right there, right on the brink, and your words obliterated what little control he had left. “I want you,” you whined, your nails dragging down his back, your lips brushing against his jaw. That did it. Your whiney confessional did it for Trent. A deep, broken moan tore from his throat, and then he was gone—lost in the most sinful, perfect, earth-shattering release of his life. His hips stuttered, his hands gripping you like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t be close enough, as he spilled inside you, filling you completely. The sensation, the way he groaned your name like a prayer, like you were the only thing that had ever existed—it sent another ripple of pleasure tearing through you, another small but devastating aftershock of your own orgasm. His strokes slowed, his forehead pressing into yours, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat, your limbs tangled together in the aftermath of something neither of you could quite name. For a long moment, the room was silent save for the sound of your mingling breaths, the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Trent hovered above you, propping himself up on his forearms, his forehead damp with sweat, his lips parted as he gazed down at you. And then he did something he never did. His hand came up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your flushed skin. His lips pressed to your forehead—soft, lingering. Then your nose. And when your eyes fluttered open, finding his, that stupid, boyish smile he tried so hard to fight appeared on his lips. And for the first time, Trent didn’t fight it. Didn’t fight you. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded between you. And that? That terrified him more than anything.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

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

Next part - Chapter 5 Coming Soon!

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

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