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everyonewooeverywhere · 30 days ago

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NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

chapter 1 : oh shit. a cowboy.

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 4.9k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), strangers to lovers, toxic relationship, yeonjun slander 😗 (sry baby), yj and reader get into a pretty big fight

notes: literally thank you so much to @ateez-main-yapper for helping me write this! like this would not exist without her letting me yap in her dms. or letting her help build the story up. or asking her to help edit. this was a two woman job 🙂‍↕️ so thank you baby 💗

ALSO there have been a couple changes and edits from the teaser, so not everything of the first 1k words is the same ☺️

and YES there will be a part 2 (& 3 💀) so PLEASE don't ask for it 😭 she will come when she's ready

Where the fuck was this place? You took another turn down another shaded alley, the sky strangely overcast for two in the afternoon.

The tapping of your fingers on the steering wheel was the only music since the stereo had broken months ago when Yeonjun slammed his fist against it in a fit of rage when you asked him to skip his gig this weekend to attend your sister’s wedding. Now it just blinked periodically when the car hit a bump, giving it miniscule signs of life. And for a man who focused his whole life around his music, he seemed uncharacteristically uninterested in getting it repaired. And maybe it would never get fixed because you could only afford to get the big issues fixed today.

After six wrong turns you finally pulled into the parking lot. Your friend had recommended this garage when you’d told her this car had been having all sorts of issues, and she insisted on here. You had your doubts when she pulled up the Instagram of one of the mechanics to show you the shop and ended up going on about how hot he was for several minutes, but you didn’t really have any other options.

It looked official enough. The brick building was large enough to house two large garage doors that opened up the shop to the dusty parking lot. Peering inside, you could see that there weren't many people inside the garage. There were only two mechanics in your line of sight, the closer of the two venturing back and forth between his toolbox and the taillights of an old Chevy, and you were their only customer as far as you could tell. You shrugged, Maybe they’re understaffed.

You shrugged before swinging the car door open and grabbing your purse out of the passenger’s seat, brushing off your pants before you made your way in. There wasn’t a front desk or a receptionist to talk to, and you got the feeling that this shop was solely run and staffed by the men inside.

You spent several moments hovering by one of the garage doors, shuffling your feet and trying to catch the eye of one of the mechanics, but neither of them looked up. Entirely too absorbed in their work to notice your presence. They must not get very busy.

“Um…hello?” You spoke, trying not to startle either of them.

They both turned to you, and the man who’d been fixing up the Chevy opened his mouth to speak. But he was cut off by his coworker, who jogged over from where he'd been partially hidden from view behind a rack of miscellaneous parts, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and muttering a quick, “I’ve got her, Min.”

“Min” chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Oh god.

“Hey Doll, what can I do for ya?” Something about the way he sauntered up to you and smiled so gently immediately filled your stomach with butterflies, but you chose to ignore them for the sake of your own sanity.

Doll. That was a new one, and you felt that anyone else uttering that word toward you would’ve disgusted you to your core. But something about this stranger was strangely comforting. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited for you to speak. Maybe it was the baseball cap strewn backward on his head. Or maybe it was the strands of his taupe hair that fell in front of his face, strands you imagined yourself brushing up under his hat.

Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your purse, “I’m, uh, having some car issues.”

The laugh he let out, and the curve of his lips that accompanied it, made the tips of your ears burn, “‘Course you are, sweetheart. Anything in particular, though?”

“Oh,” you chuckled softly along with him, “Well, he mentioned that the acceleration’s been kinda weird, and I thought the engine was a little loud when I drove it here today. Sorry, I don’t really know a ton about cars.”

He hummed and tapped his foot a couple of times, “Which one is it?”

You pointed across the lot.

“Alright, let me pull it into the garage,” he put his hand out in your direction.

You stared at it, confused, and when you looked back up at his face he was smiling at you again. Stupid smile. He made your heart flutter more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Keys, sweetheart. Your keys.”

“Oh,” you scrambled around in your purse before handing them over, embarrassed.

He took them from you with a 'thanks doll' and a tip of his head, hand hovering over his forehead in a way that made you think he was used to wearing hats much bigger than this simple baseball cap. Before you could even question it further he was jogging across the lot and pulling the car through the big garage doors.

When he stepped out of the car he looked at you curiously, “This your car?”

You shook your head, “No it’s my boyfriend’s. He’s been…busy…lately, so he hasn’t been able to bring it in. He keeps complaining about it, though, so I just decided to do it for him, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, nodding slowly.

“What?” you asked, moderately offended.

He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “Nothing. Sorry. You just seemed a little unsure is all.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. I honestly think he just kept complaining so I would get tired of his whining and go on and get it fixed myself,” You chuckled awkwardly. Why the fuck were you telling him this? You started to feel a little embarrassed.

And that feeling only got worse when you saw the mildly horrified look on his face.

You shook your head and ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “Can you just fix it?”

That pretty fucking smile came back, and your grip on your hair tightened just a little in frustration. “Of course I can. Glad you brought this in when you did, honestly. Seems like your boy toy’s got a bit of an exhaust leak. Could be pretty dangerous, so it's good to get it off the road.”

“Ah, perfect.” You shifted on your feet, “How long will it take, do you think?”

He lifted his hat and ruffled his messy hair before readjusting it on his head. Why did every little movement he made drive you crazy? “Unfortunately, issues like this take a couple days. I doubt I could get her done any sooner than tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Okay. I’ll try and get a ride home then.”

“Alright, Doll. Let me write down your number real quick so I–so we can call ya when she’s ready.”

You wrote down your name and number for him on a pink sticky note that he stuck to the dash.

“Perfect!” He smiled at you, “We’ll call ya tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Awesome! Thank you…Oh. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Yunho. My name is Yunho, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

And you couldn’t help the ramming of your heart in your chest when he took your hand into his own.

Yunho watched as you stepped out into the parking lot to call someone, presumably that questionable boyfriend of yours who seemed to be way more trouble than he was worth. He couldn’t help how his heart had dropped when you told him you had a boyfriend in the first place. After a long while of singleness, he was kind of hoping to test the waters when he saw you, and it even seemed like you responded positively to his obvious flirtations.

“So a boyfriend, huh?” Mingi startled him from behind.

Yunho let out a small sigh, trying not to let himself get too worked up about it. You had only met twenty minutes ago for fucks sake. “Yeah, seems like a real piece of work though.”

“Really?” MIngi gave his friend a skeptical side-eye, “Or is that the jealously talking.”

“No, seriously! This is his car. And she said it’s been actin’ up for a while, but he never made the time to bring it in. She only brought it here ‘cause he wouldn’t stop whining ‘bout it.”

“Huh. Sounds kinda child-like to me, but who are we to judge? We haven't even met the dude,” Mingi pat his friend on the back, “Try not to let it get you down, man. I’m sure there’s a cowboy-lovin girl right around the corner waiting for you.”

Yunho nodded, moving along so Mingi would let the whole thing drop. But no matter how many times he repeated in his head that you were taken, he just couldn’t stop looking over in your direction. You just seemed so…tired. He didn’t want to assume, but he got the feeling that this boyfriend of yours might be the main cause of that. And try as he might to reign in his ego and keep it in check, he couldn't help the part of him that knew that, whatever this man was providing for you, he could do so much better. That wasn’t really his place, though. So he let you be.

“Yeonjun what do you mean you’re busy? You were on the couch when I left an hour ago,” you sighed through the phone.

“Baby, come on. You know I have a gig tonight,” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “And I need to get in the right headspace, so I can’t leave the apartment. It’ll ruin the mood.”

“Is that really more important than picking me up? I’m stuck here.”

“I don’t know. Call an Uber?” Oh, you were gonna kill him.

“What? Why would I pay for an Uber when I have a boyfriend at home with my perfectly functioning car who could drive his ass over here and pick me up? For free!”

You hated how difficult it was to get him to help you out in any way. Why did he have to be so stubborn? “Listen, I really can’t break my flow right now. Maybe wait a couple hours, and I’ll come pick you up, okay? Or maybe have one of your friends pick you up.”

“It’s 3 pm on a Tuesday, Jun. Most people are at–” He hung up on you, “Work..” You trailed off.

God, this is so embarrassing. What the hell were you going to do now? You could call an Uber, but you could barely afford groceries this week. And getting this car fixed was gonna drain the last of your paycheck.

You bit at your lip anxiously, wracking your head for options. Your friends would be more than happy to pick you up, but most of them wouldn’t get off work for another two hours. So maybe you could just wait until then. Or maybe you could hitchhike? The highway was miles off. And your gut wrenched at the idea of a stranger knowing where you lived…But maybe that could work. Or maybe you cou–

“Everything alright out here, sweetheart?”

You jumped at his voice, “Oh! Yeah,” you scratched at your head, trying to force a smile, “My boyfriend’s just really busy, so he can’t come get me.”

“Do you…need a ride?” He offered sincerely, “I don’t wanna overstep or anything, but I could help ya if you need it.”

“Oh god no! You don’t have to do that.”

He grinned softly at you, “It’s really nothing at all. I’ll tell you what, I’m leaving here in about an hour. If you can’t find a ride before that, you’ll let me give you drive you home.”

Just say ‘yes.’ Your brain was practically begging you to speak, but you knew this would cause an argument with Yeonjun. A random handsome man bringing you back to the apartment? Oh, it was a recipe for disaster. But what other choice did you have? It wasn’t like he was gonna pay for an Uber to help you home or pick you up himself. No, he left you stranded here with a shit reason, so you were gonna get home the best way possible, and, if it pissed him off, that was his own damn fault.

“Ok,” you smiled up at him, “If you really don’t mind.”

“Trust me, Doll, it’s no problem at all. Let me just finish a couple things up and change, and then we’ll get going, okay?”

You sat on the bench inside the shop while he finished his work. Trying to give yourself a moment to breathe. This was supposed to be your day off. You had finally been able to get a break from both of your jobs, and this is how you were spending it. Trying to fix the car of your boyfriend who couldn't even put his “pre-show ritual” on hold to make sure you got home safe. Part of you was mad at him. Livid that his priorities were so far in the gutter. But you were mostly angry at yourself. Because at the end of the day, when all was said and done, you were the one who had spent six whole years of your life bending over backward for a man who wouldn’t even reach out his arm to catch you.

You worked two jobs to support the two of you. Your paychecks paid for groceries, rent, insurance, everything. And what did he pay for? Nothing. Because he didn’t have a job. He played two gigs every month at the dingy bar two miles from your apartment, which somehow justified not even bothering to look for employment.

How did you even get here? A deep sigh rose out of your throat. What the hell were you doing all this for? Your head hurt just thinking about all the times he’d let you down and all the stupid little arguments those let-downs had caused. And yet you were still out here paying his bills and running his errands.

“Alright, sweetheart, ready to go?” You broke out of your spiral when he called for you, and you looked up to see him no longer in the denim and baseball cap he was sporting earlier.

Lord help me. You silently prayed to whoever might be listening, swallowing around the sudden dryness in your throat. He was sporting a light blue button-down shirt with the top two buttons left open so his collarbones were exposed and a light brown cowboy hat that almost exactly matched his hair. A cowboy. Of course. You couldn’t help the racing of your heart as he reached to adjust the brim of his hat. Unsure of whether you wanted to praise or curse whatever fate had sent him your way.

You cleared your throat and stood up from the bench, barely pushing a ‘yes’ out of your mouth.

He grinned and motioned for you to follow him to the parking lot. The innocent gesture left you lightheaded as you focused on the way his index and middle fingers curled towards his wrist.

As you approached, he gestured to a baby blue pickup truck, “Here she is. My baby.” You chuckled, endeared by the pet name, the image of him gently patting the hood of 'his baby' as he walked around the front of the truck with you reminding you of cowboys in old westerns, leaning their foreheads against their mares as they gently stroked their manes.

It was sweet. So sweet that you almost missed the fact that he was coming around to the passenger side of the truck with you.

He brushed past you, reaching for the passenger-side door. Swinging it open, he held out a hand to you, and you took it without much thought.

“Up you go,” he said with a playful lilt to his voice, helping you hold your balance as you climbed into the truck.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Doll. I got ya.” He was going to be the death of you for sure.

“Ten years. You’ve been working there that long?” you looked over at him, amazed, “How old are you?”

He let out a hearty laugh, “Twenty-five. Mingi and I used to come up after school every day and help out. His grandpa used to run the shop but he retired a few years back and left it to him.”

“Oh, that’s sweet!” The thought of a little Yunho sweeping the floors and vacuuming cars made you smile.

He hummed, “Yeah, it’s been a real nice job. Flexible hours, good pay, get to meet pretty girls from time to time.”

The tips of your ears burned at his blatant flirting. You looked over to see him focused on the road in front of you. The rays of the late afternoon sun shone on his face, letting you see the tan glow of his skin up close.

Why did you have to meet such a seemingly perfect man today? Why couldn’t this opportunity have fallen into your lap six years ago?

And fuck you knew you needed to end things. But more than half a decade of your life had been poured into this relationship and you couldn’t find it in your heart to let that go so easily.

Yunho noticed you looking over at him in his periphery, expecting some kind of playful rebuke, but was more than a little worried by your silence. Afraid he'd crossed a line, he was quick to apologize, eyes sincere and tone sober when he chanced a proper glance your way. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’ mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! It’s fine,” You assure him, unconsciously threading your fingers through the ends of your hair, “I just don’t usually get this kind of attention. I know you’re just being playful.”

He nodded, some of his playfulness seeping back into his expression as he cleared his throat, adjusting the brim of his hat as he fixed his attention back onto the road in front of him. “I promise I’m not lyin’ about the ‘pretty’ part, though. I hope you know that.”

You scoff, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks rise, “Thank you…”

Silence enveloped the two of you after that, but he didn't seem to mind. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and humming along to the music playing out of the car's stereo. In another life, one where the man waiting for you back at your apartment wasn't hell-bent on driving you insane, you wanted to believe that you could be strong enough to look away. To ignore the butterflies filling your stomach. To ignore the way he made your heart flutter. But you just couldn’t find it in you to look away, but he didn’t seem to catch on.

He thinks it's cute that you think he doesn’t notice. He’s very keen on noticing your every little move. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when he called you pretty and the way you awkwardly fidgeted with your bag when you told him that you didn’t normally receive that kind of attention.

It took every ounce of self-control in his body to keep him from prying. But he couldn’t help the way he started to hate this man that he’d never met even more. What he wouldn’t give to have a partner who was willing to go get his car fixed without asking. Someone who was so dedicated to the relationship that they were willing to sacrifice the little free time they had just to help out.

As he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex, he glanced over at you and met your eyes for a second. You quickly whipped your head away, embarrassed that you’d been caught red-handed. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, smiled, “Here we are.”

“Mhm,” you nodded awkwardly, busying yourself with checking that you had all your things set to go. “Thank you for the ride. It means a lot.”

“Not a problem at all, Doll. Need me to walk you up?” he asked, leaning forward to try and meet your eyes.

You shook your head, “No, I’ll be alright.” You gave him a smile, “So you’ll call me tomorrow?”

He nodded, the tip of his hat dropping slightly, “Yep, I should be done with ��er around noon.”

“Perfect! Again, thank you so mu–”

You were cut off by the sound of someone pounding on the passenger side window. Both of you turn at the sudden commotion.

Yunho watched as you hurriedly swung the door open and slid out of the car. And he heard a muffled, “Jun, what the hell!?” after you’d slammed the door of his truck.

Ah, the boyfriend.

“Are you insane? What the fuck is your problem?” You yelled.

Yeonjun glared at you through the wild strands of his crimson hair, “My problem!? Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh, that’s your issue? That I had to have the mechanic drive me home?” You seethed, jabbing a finger into his chest, “This could’ve easily been avoided if you had picked your sorry ass off the couch to drive me home yourself. Like any decent partner would.”

Your not-so-subtle jab seemed to go over his head, his mind too focused on the image of you smiling and blushing in response to a man that wasn’t him. “You really couldn’t have found a woman to drive you home? It just had to be this dick.”

“No, Yeonjun, I couldn’t find a woman to drive me home. You know why? Because it’s a Tuesday afternoon and all of my friends have jobs. Unlike you who can’t even take the time to take a break from whatever the fuck you do all day to give me a ride.”

He gawked at you, clearly offended, “I have a job.”

“Oh my god. This again?” You ran a frustrated hand over your face, “No. You don’t. Practicing with your bandmates twice a week and playing a single gig a month is not a job. You make $100 a month.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a nine-to-five? I like my schedule the way it is.”

You could feel angry tears forming at the back of your eyes, stinging as you held them back, “You think I DO!? Yeonjun, I work sixty hours a week trying to keep us afloat. I pay for our food, our rent, our insurance, your fucking car! And I can’t even get you to pick up the damn apartment when I’m gone.” The tears started falling before you even realized it, shocking both of you. It had been a long time since he’d last seen you cry. Because you always chose either anger or an eerily calm response to his childishness. Knowing deep down that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you if you slipped into vulnerability. “I’m fucking tired Jun. This was my first day off in three months, and I spent it trying to get your car fixed. And I can’t even get a ‘thank you’ out of you. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You aren’t nineteen anymore, and I think it’s time you grow the fuck up.”

He didn’t say anything. The anger in his face replaced by a mix of shock and awkward discomfort, one of a man who was embarrassed to even be in this situation.

You stayed like that for a beat, holding your breath, praying for the moment when he realized everything he’d done wrong. Where he woke up from the immature daze he’d been trapped in since you were teenagers. But you supposed that was all wishful thinking, the tension broken not by either of you, but by a honk from behind him. His bandmate was here to pick him up.

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mumbled before jogging up to his friend’s car and sliding into the passenger seat. You watched him give his friend one of their ridiculous handshakes, the sound of blaring music and feminine laughter spilling out into the parking lot before the car door slammed shut. The scene was so ironic in the face of everything he'd just yelled at you for that you really couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up through your tears, bitter as acid on your tongue.

Yunho sat in his truck as he watched your asshole of a boyfriend leave the parking lot. He stayed like that for a while, watching you wipe at your tears and try to compose yourself. When you’d calmed down enough for his conscience to let him leave, he looked down at the passenger seat and noticed you had left your purse behind.

Grabbing the bag, he exited the truck and approached you. Trying his best not to startle you, he cleared his throat.

Surprised by the sound, you turned around to find Yunho standing there awkwardly, holding out the purse you now realized was missing from your shoulders, “You left your bag.”

“Oh…thank you.” You mumbled, closing the distance and grabbing it from him with a bit more force than you meant to. The mechanic didn’t so much as flinch.

How could he when his heart hurt for you? This woman he could barely even claim to know. He hated the fact that you felt the need to respond defensively, the pain in your eyes, and how you could barely look at him. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of this. It wasn’t your fault. But Yunho knew without you having to say anything that you were incredibly embarrassed.

“Listen–”

“Oh god. Please don’t”

His shoulders dropped, “I just wanted to–”

You lifted a hand to stop him, “Yunho, please. You’ve been so kind to me, and I really appreciate your help today. But please for the love of god don’t make me dump my relationship problems on you.”

“Hey now,” he said, holding both his hands up in a calming motion as he spoke in a voice so deep and steady in contrast to your own that it caught you by surprise, “I don’t mean to push or pry, Doll, you just look like you could use someone to talk to is all.”

“I just don’t want you to think down on me,” you sighed.

He looked at you sincerely, slipping the hat from his head and placing it on the hood of the truck, “Now, have I given you the impression that that’s somethin’ I would ever do?”

The appreciative smile you gave him almost made him melt. You leaned back against the side of his truck, tilting your head back until it hit the window with a soft thud, “I’m just so tired.”

Yunho slid next to you, awkwardly scuffing his boot into the pavement, “Would it be too rude to say I could tell?”

You chuckled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve been trying for years to get him to just put in an ounce of effort, but he won’t budge. But we’ve been together so long I don’t know if I have it in me to end things.”

“You know it’s not your job to teach him how to be an adult, right? He’s a grown-ass man. You shouldn’t have to beg him to help you out.”

The somber look in your eyes when you looked up at him made Yunho want to pull you in and hug you to his chest, but he respected your boundaries.

“I know. I just…” you trailed off, no longer finding it in yourself to argue for your relationship.

Yunho took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he wanted to get off his chest, “Look, Doll, I don’ wanna overstep or anything, but I’m gonna be blunt with you.” He paused, giving you room to tell him to stuff it and save it for someone else if you wanted to. But you were looking up at him expectantly, teary eyes nearly pushing his little speech clean out of his skull. He had to clear his throat a little before continuing. “The way that man treats you is just disgusting. For everything you do for him? The least he could do is make sure that your apartment is spotless and you never have to cook again. And I’m not saying it’s me who should give it to you, but you deserve worlds better than that.”

“Yeah…” was all you could get out before you felt a tear fall down your cheek, and you tried to wipe it away before Yunho saw. But of course he noticed.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on your shoulder in comfort, running his thumb along the fabric of your t-shirt. You surprised him, though, when you turned into him and started sobbing into his chest. Your fingers desperately gripping his button down.

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back. Holding you with so much warmth and sincerity that you felt safer than you had in years. In the arms of a stranger, no less.

general taglist: @swimmingkpopblog @oddracha

ateez taglist: @certifiedmoa @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @curiousgworge @hyukssunflower @hotteokisms

@sushiinmidnight @atiny-dime-p1ece @mismatchfluffysocks @vic0921 @vampzity

@breadpuddingboys @woolysium @desirehorizon @im-ovulation @pommelex

@dancingwithdeities @maidens-world

ok cowboy: @saintriots @ateezswonderland @fairyofhueningkai

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marvelslittlewhore · 11 months ago

Text

Warnings

REQUEST | I can't help but think of rafe x reader x JJ at a party. She is being a brat to them and they warn her if she keeps it up she is in trouble. Rafe snaps and takes her upstairs to punish and then JJ comes in all sweet, like we warned u, and he praises her for being good for Rafe. Telling her to be good for him while he makes it beter.

PAIRING | mean!dom!rafe cameron x fem!reader x soft!dom!jj maybank

WARNINGS | 18+ MDNI! mentions of alcohol consumption, smut, threesome, p in v, oral (m and fem receiving), a frustrating cut-off because I didn't know how to continue sry

A/N | I'm not sure if I like this, love being insecure

◃◦--------------●--------------◦▹

"Please, just one more?" you whined, giving Rafe your best puppy eyes.

"I said no. You had enough for tonight," he said, nursing on the cup that he had just taken from your hand.

You frowned muttering something under your breath and jumped when you felt a sudden pinch on your butt, turning to face JJ. "You better watch it, cupcake."

You had given them an attitude the whole day and you knew you were already walking on thin ice but you just couldn't help yourself.

"He's being mean!" you pointed at Rafe without looking at him.

"And you're being a brat." Rafe snipped back and you gasped turning back to him.

"Am not." You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the wall between them.

"Gotta take a leak, be right back," JJ said kissing the side of your head before walking off.

You had a sour expression on your face and Rafe couldn't help but smirk at your antics, reaching out to poke your cheek, intending to make you smile but you only slapped his hand away, glaring at him.

The smirk he had left his face in an instant and his hand now grasped your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I've had enough of your attitude. Maybe you need a little reminder of who's in charge here, huh?"

If you haven't been wet before you would be soaking your panties now, melting into Rafe's touch, the buzz from the alcohol you had in your system giving it another kick.

Without another word he grabbed your hand, walking through the crowd of people and up the stairs, thank god the party was at Tannyhill tonight.

"What about JJ?" you asked looking over your shoulder for any sign of the blonde.

"He'll know where to find us, don't worry," Rafe responded, dragging you inside his room and closing the door but not locking it.

He turns back to you, crossing his arms, the look on his face tells you that he's not in the mood for any more of your games.

"Strip." he simply demanded and so you did without questioning, slowly slipping the strips of your dress off your shoulders, it smoothly falling off your body and onto the ground.

You stepped out of it, taking your bra off next, now standing in front of him in only your panties. He snapped his finger, pointing at the ground before him.

"On your knees."

You quickly did as told, face to face with his crotch before looking up at him.

"You know what to do, brat."

Your hands reached up to fumble with his belt, opening his sipper next and pulling his pants down with his boxers, his cock springing free and you almost drooled at the sight.

You got into action, stroking him slowly, your tongue swirling over the tip. When it took Rafe too long he grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail. "Open wide."

As you did he started to use you as he saw fit, it was a punishment after all. He throws his head back groaning at the way you gagged and garbled around him.

Then he held your head still and started to fuck your throat raw. "Fuck." he moaned, looking down at you, seeing the tears that brimmed in your eyes. "You better swallow it all."

Just as he said it you felt him twitch, spilling his load in your mouth with a groan, pulling out only to hold your chin and pressing his thumb on your tongue, leaning down to be closer to your face.

He smirked at how fucked out you already looked, hair and makeup a mess, breathing heavily.

"On the bed."

You quickly got up, scrambling on the bed and into position, grabbing onto the sheets in anticipation. You watched Rafe getting on the bed, opening your legs wide for him.

He kneads the flesh of your thighs and you yelped when he gave the right one a sudden smack, rubbing over the spot.

He hooked a finger in your panties, pulling them down in one go. "Damn, baby, you're dripping."

Your face flushed at this and you moaned when you felt the tip of his cock nudge at your entrance, slowly pushing in.

He didn't even let you breathe for a second, both of his hands holding onto your hips and fingers digging into your skin, starting to snap his hips at a brutal pace.

"Shit- Rafe," you whined and his hand came back down on your thigh in a warning for you to keep quiet, so you did by holding a hand over your mouth, closing your eyes.

You're so out of it that you don't even hear someone entering the room, but you instantly know who the ring-adorned hands belonged to that cradled your face.

"We warned you, didn't we?" JJ said, and you opened your eyes, tears forming again, and you knew this night was far from over. "But you're doing so good. Being such a good girl for Rafe."

Rafe didn't increase his movement and you mewled your hand shooting up to grip JJ's bicep tightly.

JJ coed and one of his hands snaked down to rub your clit, all the stimulation has you sending over the edge, the first orgasm of the night ripping through your body.

Rafe slowed down, fucking you through your high and leaning down to kiss you. When he pulled back he shuffled further down the bed to be at eye level with your pussy.

He instantly got to work, eating you out like you were his last meal. You squealed at the assault he was doing on your clit, turning your face to look at JJ pleadingly to do something, anything.

"It's almost over, princess, promise." he smiled at you "Until that..." he leaned his head down to suck on your nipple, his hand playing with the other.

These boys are gonna be the death of you.

◃◦--------------●--------------◦▹

Taglist

For everything:

@lokigirlszendaya @buckymydarlingangel @superlegend216

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hotpinkstars · 2 months ago

Text

SHE'S GOT EVERYTHING THAT I DON'T HAVE

"and she's all i wanna be, all i wanna be so bad"

or, in other words, your spouse catches you shittalking your body in your mirror, comparing yourself to someone who poked fun at you earlier.

fandoms - bungou stray dogs, honkai: star rail, genshin impact

hi guys. nobody told me how much highschool would drain u to the fuckin core. thats fine i'm writing now atleast sry this is probably so shit i'm so tired and i'm listening to this album on repeat ughhhhhhh anyways enjoy! also this is opinion based and may be a little bit biased/ooc

fem reader (boobs mentioned, not in a sexual way), uhhh just angst with a little fluff at the end

men that don't know what to do when he hears your self-deprecating comments from the other room. he got home early, and was going to surprise you, a gorgeous bouqet of roses in the hand behind his back. his smile faded, his excitement turned into a pain in his heart. you were comparing yourself to another woman that had talked smack about your appearance earlier in the day.

he saw it all unfold as soon as he lightly walked from the front door to your shared bedroom. he didn't want to let you know of his presence- no, not yet. he wanted to see how far you'd take your words, and to get a better grasp of what was really going on.

the scene in front of him was heartbreaking; you were standing nearly completely naked in front of the full lengthed mirror in the corner of the room, your back nearly turned to the door, but not enough to see him in the mirror behind you unless you find a certain angle. you were running your hands over your chest, saying something about them being "too big" and "not fitting of your body type."

he figured he should intervene soon. he didn't want you talking about yourself like this, especially when he's right behind you, and could do something about it.

he doesn't know what to say, which is why he's not stepping in right away.

he waits for you to turn around, a gasp leaving your mouth and the look on your face one of pure horror. you didn't know what to say either, besides a small little

"did you hear all of that...?"

he nods, sadness evident on his gorgeous face. you could only but fall on the floor, right in front of the mirror, and cry. you were embarrassed, nervous about how much he saw and heard. you thought he'd be mad, he'd run away, he'd agree with you, but instead he falls to his knees and hugs you tight.

he let you cry it out on his shoulder, whispering every single thing he loved about you and your appearance, hoping to make you feel even a little bit better about yourself. he repeated "i love you" and "you're gorgeous the way you are, baby."

after about a half hour, you'd calm down, and he'd let go of the hug, bringing you up onto the bed and cuddling with you there. he doesn't want to push you to talk it out, not now at least. he's tired, you're tired, and you're in the wrong mental space right now. he knows that, and tries to hum a small tune to put you to sleep.

- KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, kamisato ayato, albedo, diluc, boothill, AVENTURINE, jiaoqiu, chuuya, dazai, ranpo

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runariya · 3 months ago

Text

Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 1

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: a lot of fluff, a little bit of lying, good natured 'manipulation', size difference, JK has tentacles, self-doubt, minor wound that needs to be stitched, mentions of bonding, doubt, again lying, kissing, smut (only superficial in this part), lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.8k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You think you might settle here, let your restless stitching hands finally find their rhythm on this planet where the air is soft and the light through the windows of your little shop lands like golden thread across the floor. It feels right, this place, Euphonis—a world you once stumbled upon like a loose button in a drawer, an afterthought, but now it glows in your mind like the warm thrum of a needle through fabric. The shop is everything you’d imagined and more, dressed in rustic charm, the old wood floor beneath your feet creaking like a whispered conversation, a relict of the lives it has seen, the weight of Seraphenti footsteps heavier than your own feathery steps. No need for a bell at the door, no chime to herald each customer; the groan of the boards will sing their entry for you, a music of its own.

You’ve been a seamstress for as long as your memory stretches, threading your way through worlds in search of something like home, always with the same soft hope in your chest, the same search for people who need your craft. Zyntis and its inhabitants had seemed promising once—their tails awkward in standardised clothing that never quite fit—but your style had no place there, and so the doors of that shop closed, the dream dissolving before it could begin. And then, by some strange luck—or maybe fate—, you found yourself here, among the Seraphentis, creatures of ethereal beauty, their four tentacles making clothes ill-fitting and frustrating, begging for someone with your hands, your skill to fix what never quite sat right on their otherworldly forms.

And now you're here, here with your thread and your scissors, ready to stitch together lives just a little better, one custom piece at a time, easing the small burdens of misfit garments, making life smoother—seamless, you think with a soft smile.

Late in the afternoon, the shop is quiet, only the rhythmic whirr of your sewing machine filling the small room, your small fingers guiding the fabric beneath the needle with every beat of your heart. You're working on a dress for yourself, something soft and simple to soothe the days behind and look forward to the days ahead. The fabric is delicate, like a promise, and you're so absorbed in its flow that you don't hear the front door until the floor itself betrays the presence of another—footsteps, nearly silent but for the familiar creak beneath their weight.

You stop, hands stilling the machine as you lift your gaze and stand up without much thought, and there—there stands a Seraphenti in the middle of your shop, framed by the light like something out of a dream. Your breathing comes to a sudden stop, not for the first time, at the sheer beauty of these beings, but this one—this one is something else entirely. His face holds you, every line and curve more perfect than any sculpture, his dark eyes deep as midnight, lashes long and thick like the edge of a brush dipped in ink. His lips, rosy and gleaming, part slightly when he sees you—when he realises you are not what he expected, a human, let alone one as small as you, much shorter than any Seraphenti, standing before him in a tailor's shop meant for his species.

You feel his surprise, she him staring unsure at you, but you also feel his warmth, his curiosity. The corners of your eyes crinkle into a smile, the kind that stretches wide and genuine, your teeth flashing in welcome as you call out to him with your soft, cheery voice, "Hello, welcome! What can I do for you?"

It’s as if your words break a spell. He smiles back—radiant, confident in a way that catches you off guard for a second, though there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel at ease. He steps forward, his tall build filling the room, and you have to tilt your head back so far that you almost laugh from the sheer height of him.

"Hi," he says with a dialect, his voice rich and warm. "I was hoping to have my shirt customised… if that's possible?"

"Of course!" You can't help the excitement in your voice—he’s your first customer here on Euphonis, and that alone makes you practically beam. You gesture towards the small podium you’ve had specially made for your size, a donut-shaped stand meant to let you reach your taller clients with ease. „If you’d come with me, I just need to take your measurements."

He follows you, but pauses when his right foot lands on the podium, eyeing the contraption with a look of mild confusion before you giggle and explain, "Oh, the donut’s for me, not you. Just step into the middle."

Realisation dawns across his handsome face, and a high-pitched laugh escapes him, shaking his broad shoulders. He looks down at you, and suddenly you both burst into uncontrollable laughter, cracking up like it’s the funniest thing in the world. You hold your stomach as your side begins to ache, tears prickling at your eyes as you try to compose yourself.

"I'm sorry," he manages between laughs, wiping away tears as well. "It's just… brilliant."

"No, no need to apologise!" You smile, cheeks aching from the shared moment. "It's fine, really."

You both manage to calm down long enough for him to step into the circle, and you climb onto the podium behind him. Despite the elevation, he towers over you still, and the two of you exchange a look in the mirror—your heads tilted in different directions as if caught in some ridiculous dance move. The sight is too much; you both burst into laughter again, leaning on each other to stay upright, wheezing without restraint.

When all the laughter finally runs out of your systems, he straightens, offering you a playful smirk. „You know, I’ve always been one of the taller ones."

"Really?" You quip, pretending to be shocked. "I never would have guessed."

His eyes light up, the sparkle of amusement never leaving as he says, "I'm Jungkook, by the way."

"I'm ___," you reply, meeting his gaze in the mirror once more. "Nice to meet you, Jungkook. Now, let’s get those measurements, shall we?"

You begin your work, tape in hand, as you move around him, tracing the lines of his strong frame, marvelling at the way his body seems to have been carved by some masterful sculptor. Each muscle is defined, even beneath the fabric of his shirt, and you focus hard to keep your hands steady, to keep from letting your admiration spill over into something too obvious. Every so often, you catch him watching you in the mirror, a soft smile playing at his lips, his dark eyes warm and knowing as if reading your mind, though he says nothing—just lets you work.

When you reach his back, the challenge becomes clear—his tentacles rise at your approach, like a loom adjusting its threads to some unseen hand. They stand tall and tense, alert and protective, sensing your presence but unsure whether to trust. You reach out slowly, letting the back of your hand hover near them, allowing them to ‚sniff‘ you, in a way. Slowly, reluctantly, they relax, draping back down, though they remain distant, uninterested in interacting with you. You can’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment—Seraphenti tentacles are usually more curious, more playful—but Jungkook’s seem reserved, almost dismissive.

Still, you carry on, finishing the measurements with care, even as a quiet sadness lingers in your thoughts. "We’re done," you say, the words soft as you both step off and out of the podium, heading towards a dresser that you use as a counter, and jot down the remaining notes.

Jungkook hands you his shirt from a small backpack you hadn’t noticed before. “When can I pick it up?”

“Three days?” you suggest, hoping to give it the time and attention it deserves.

“That works for me,” he says with a nod, and you scribble the pickup date on a small slip of paper, passing it to him along with a smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say, handing him the receipt. “See you in three days.”

“Thank you, too, ___,” he says, his voice softer now, a touch of warmth lacing his words as he leaves your shop.

And just like that, the door closes behind him, leaving you alone again in the soft light of the afternoon, your heart fluttering silently in your chest.

Three days after your first encounter, Jungkook returns to your shop. The wooden floors creak softly beneath his weight as he steps inside, and despite knowing he’s coming, the sight of him still sends a ripple through you, as if the world itself bends gently towards him. He’s all smiles and easy charm, his presence large enough to fill the room but never overwhelming. You hand him his shirt with a small sense of pride fluttering in your chest, neatly wrapped in tissue paper and a cute little sticker holding its edges. You’ve sewn every stitch with care, crafted every seam with precision, and when he leaves with a grateful smile and a wave, you feel light as air, like you’ve woven a thread of connection to a customer that might just hold.

But the next week, he’s back. You hear the familiar creak of the floorboards and turn to see him holding the same shirt, this time with an apologetic frown lining his beautiful face. There’s a tear where you made your customisation, a delicate seam pulled apart. You feel a knot of dread form in your stomach, tightening until it’s nothing but uncomfortable. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the shirt from him, running your fingers along the damaged thread. You apologise profusely, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and promise to fix it at no charge. He reassures you—says it’s not a big deal, that things like this happen—but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve failed him.

You spend the next few hours painstakingly re-stitching the seam, checking it over and over to ensure it holds. It’s perfect when you hand it back, and Jungkook thanks you warmly, that familiar smile returning to his face as he leaves. Still, something gnaws at you, a quiet voice at the back of your mind whispering doubts into your ear.

Then he returns again.

And again.

Each time with the same shirt, each time with a small tear, a rip where you’ve sewn. Your heart sinks deeper with every visit, each one like a tiny unravelling of the confidence you’d worked so hard to build. You start to dread the sound of the floor creaking beneath his feet, the sight of that perfect face marked with apology. Your hands shake when you work now, the thread slipping from your grasp more often than it used to, and the needle seems to prick your skin more than it should, small beads of red appearing where your focus falters.

By the time he comes back for the seventh time in three months, the weight of it all becomes too much. The sight of him walking through the door feels like a final thread snapping, the tension that’s been building in your chest pulling so tight that it finally breaks in two. You’ve tried your best, given it everything, and still, you’re failing miserably—still, your work isn’t enough. You can feel the tears already welling in your eyes before you even greet him.

The door shuts behind him with that same familiar groan of wood against wood, and you’re already pulling the apron from your waist, the knot in your stomach so tight it hurts.

“Jungkook,” you say, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern as he takes a step closer, holding the shirt loose in his hand by his side. “What? ___, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, the words coming out before you can stop them, tumbling over one another like loose yarn spilling from a spool. “I don’t know why it keeps happening. Every time I fix it, it just—breaks again. I don’t understand. I’ve never had this problem before. Maybe my work isn’t… maybe I’m not…” You trail off, tears slipping down your cheeks now, your hands shaking as you press them to your face, trying to hide the wave of emotion washing over you. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Jungkook’s face falls, and suddenly he’s in front of you, his free hand hovering just above yours as if unsure whether he should touch you or not. “___, no, please don’t say that. It’s not—”

“I can’t keep doing this,” you continue as your hands fall limply to your sides, your voice breaking as you choke out the words. “Every time you come back, it feels like I’ve failed. I don’t know why the thread keeps breaking, why I can’t make it work. It’s like every time I stitch it together, something inside me frays even more, and I just… I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in panic, and he quickly closes the distance between you, reaching out to gently take your miniature hand in his big one. His touch is warm, his fingers curling around yours with a softness that paralyses you momentarily. “No, no, it’s not you. ___, it’s not your work. Your stitching is perfect. It’s me—” He stops, inhaling deeply, his eyes darting around the shop for a moment as if he’s gathering the courage to say something. Then he lets out a burdened breath, looking back at you with a pained expression. “I did it. I—I damaged the shirt on purpose.”

You blink up at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “What?”

“I damaged it on purpose,” he repeats, his voice low and apologetic, like a child confessing a misdeed. “I—I just… I wanted to keep seeing you.”

You think you might faint, your mind struggling to process his words. “You… you tore the shirt… on purpose?”

Jungkook nods, his face and ears burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I just—after the first time, when I saw how careful you were, how much you cared, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I didn’t know how else to see you again, so I—” He gestures helplessly to the shirt in his hand, offering it to you like if it were the culprit, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I kept damaging it. A little more each time, just so I’d have an excuse to come back.”

You stare up at him, unblinking, wondering if you imagined his confidence or not. But still, there are equal parts disbelief and something else that settles within you—something that feels strangely like relief, like the loosening of a knot that’s been pulling tight for months. The silence between you stretches, Jungkook’s nerves flaring, as your mind is still trying to catch up with everything he’s just said.

“Why?” you finally manage to ask, your voice small, barely more than a whisper.

Jungkook meets your eyes, his expression softening as he takes a deep breath. “Because… I like you,” he admits, the words tumbling out like they’ve been waiting too long to be spoken. “I liked you from the moment I walked in here the first time. I didn’t know how to ask you out. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, or that you’d think I was ridiculous, so I—well, I made up reasons to keep coming back. To keep seeing you. But it’s not because you’re not good at your job—you’re amazing at it,___. It’s because I didn’t want to stop seeing you.”

His confession washes over you like a warm shower after a long exhausting day, the self-doubt that had been festering inside you slowly dissolving under the gentle flutter of his words. You take a breath, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks as you search his face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of joke or misunderstanding—but all you see is sincerity, and a nervous kind of hope.

“I…” You falter, still trying to wrap your mind around everything, but there’s a warmth blooming in your chest now, a quiet happiness that wasn’t there since Jungkook came back with the damaged shirt. You look down at your hands, still held gently in his, and let out a small, breathless laugh. “You tore your shirt… just to see me?”

Jungkook nods, his lips curving into a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Pretty stupid, right?”

A laugh escapes you, soft but genuine, the tension in your chest finally releasing. “Maybe a little,” you admit, looking up at him with a small, flirty smile of your own. “But… kind of sweet, too.”

His eyes brighten at that, relief flooding his expression as he squeezes your hands gently. “I’m sorry, though. I should’ve just… told you. I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself.”

You shake your head, wiping away the last of your tears. “It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t great thinking I was losing my touch, but… I guess I can’t be too upset. Not now that I know why.”

The two of you just stand there for a moment, the quiet between you no longer heavy with doubt. It’s strange, how quickly everything has shifted—how the world has gone from tipping over to balancing out again in a way you hadn’t expected. You take a breath, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

“So… what now?” you take a breath to shush the shyness away, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

Jungkook’s smile widens, his beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners as he gently tugs you a little closer. “Well, for starters, I’ll stop tearing my clothes on purpose,” he laughs quietly. “And maybe… we could try seeing each other outside of the shop? If you’re interested, that is.”

Your small heart skips a beat at his offer, and for the first time in months, the doubt inside you is nowhere to be found. You nod, a beaming smile on your face as you look up at him. “Yeah,” you say softly, “I think I’d like that.”

And just like that, you love story with Jungkook begins.

It's been months since you and Jungkook started seeing each other. Since that day he walked into your shop with his torn shirt, a thread of connection was spun between you, and what started as something delicate, tentative—like a stitch holding two fragile fabrics together—soon grew into something much stronger, blossoming from strangers to friends, to finally, without much fanfare, to a couple. You’ve gone from quiet cups of coffee shared in the mornings, the smell of roasted beans lacing the air between you, to nights spent curled up together on his sofa, the noise of the world fading away, leaving just the warmth and quiet intimacy of kisses. You’ve woven yourselves securely into each other’s lives, slowly, stitch by stitch, until the fabric of your days has become so interwoven that it’s hard to remember what life was like before the other.

There’s an ease to your relationship now, a rhythm you’ve both fallen into—domestic moments that feel as familiar and comforting as the soft creak of old wood beneath your feet in the shop. You cook together, hands brushing as you pass ingredients back and forth, Jungkook’s arms sneaking around your waist to tease you, pulling you closer just for the joy of feeling your body near his. You help each other with mundane tasks—he rearranges your bolts of fabric while you pin a garment to a mannequin, and in turn, you fold his laundry as he hums some quiet melody under his breath.

But not everything in this tapestry is perfect. There are pulls, tangles in the threads that remind you of the things you can’t control—the Seraphenti tentacles that constantly test for bonds, seeking to see if they align with others, exploring compatibility in ways that no words could, to merge together and never be able to part again. You’ve learned this since the beginning, understanding that his tentacles are almost their own beings, extensions of him yet with wills of their own. It’s natural for them, simply biology, to seek connections, to sniff and sense, and while you try to remind yourself that this is simply part of who he is, it doesn’t stop the sharp tug of fear when you see those tentacles reach for someone else, when they can’t seem to even recognise your presence. It made you feel a little nervous but had never truly been an issue in your relationship—until now.

You are standing in line at a fast food stall, a simple joy, the scent of fried food and warm spices lingering in the air, when everything you silently feared catches up with you, when the sky above is bruised with twilight, such as your soul soon will be.

It starts as one of those easy moments that feels like the perfect stitch at the end of a long day—a moment of peace, of completion. But then, a female Seraphenti joins the line next to your stall, her silvery skin catching the fading light like a needle glinting in the sun.

You feel the change in Jungkook before you even see it. His body tenses, his movements growing hesitant. You look up and see his tentacles rising slowly, drawn towards hers as though pulled by an invisible thread. Your heart skips a beat, then begins to unravel, that quiet sense of peace fraying as you watch his tentacles move closer towards hers with instinctive curiosity. They hover between them like two stray threads, exploring, seeking a bond, and your chest tightens, painfully so. You try to swallow the bitter knot of jealousy that forms in your throat, but it just can’t go down, too raw, too sharp.

Jungkook’s face pales beside you, and you can see the silent dread and panic in his eyes. He glances at you briefly, as if to reassure you, but it does nothing when his eyes tell. You stand there, frozen, the world around you tilting again, as your eyes focus solely on the quiet, delicate dance of their tentacles. They move closer and closer, testing, curious. And the worst part is that this isn’t some conscious decision of his—this is simply biology, a force stronger than either of you. But knowing that doesn’t stop your heart from sinking like a stone in a bottomless well.

Time seems to stretch and elongate like a spool of thread unwinding too quickly, and the tension becomes unbearable for you. The female Seraphenti seems uninterested in anything but the exploration of the menu ahead, her tentacles floating lazily in the air, waiting for the connection to either solidify or break apart. Jungkook watches with a grieving expression, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, but then, with a sudden, vicious snap, his tentacles attack hers, which recoil with equal ferocity, as Jungkook lets a breath of pure relief escape his body.

There’s a soft gasp from the crowd around you, eyes drawn But it’s short-lived, as the gasps of the crowd around you is heard, Jungkook winces, and you notice immediately that one of his tentacles is curling back toward him, wounded. You’re at his side before you even think, your hands brushing against his arm as you whisper, “Let’s go home.”

He nods, his face still pale, and together you leave the stall behind, walking in absolute silence. His injured tentacle hangs limply, the fabric of your connection feeling threadbare, frayed by what just happened. You can feel it—both the physical pain in him and the emotional sting in yourself, the wound of knowing that his tentacles sought something with another, even if it didn’t take root.

Back at his flat, the quiet is almost suffocating you as Jungkook glances at you with eyes filled with relief, shame, and something you can’t quite place. He sinks onto the sofa, his movements defeated, and you immediately fetch the small first aid kit from his bathroom. And still, Jungkook only watches you in silence as you kneel beside him, your hands gentle as you begin to clean the small cut on his tentacle. There’s a strange sort of comfort in this—tending to him, mending the damage like patching a torn garment. But underneath it all, there’s a sadness that you can’t shake, something threatening to break everything fully.

You move carefully, your fingers working with the same precision you use when sewing—steady, practised, almost automatic. His tentacles, usually so independent, seem to allow your touch this time, curling slightly but not retreating. You feel their warmth under your fingers, the living pulse of them, and for the first time, they seem to recognise your presence not as something to ignore or push away, but as something to co-exist, if only just.

As you prepare the needle to stitch the small tear, you try to lighten the mood, though the weight of earlier still hangs between you both. You glance up at him with a faint smile and joke, “I’m sorry I’m missing the nurse outfit. Would’ve made this whole thing more convincing, don’t you think?”

Jungkook looks down at you, his confusion evident. “A nurse outfit?”

You laugh softly, though the sound is fragile like your nerves, thin like thread worn from overuse. “Yeah, you know. Nurses—like the assistants to doctors. They take care of people when they’re hurt. Stitch them up, give them medicine, that sort of thing.”

He frowns slightly, thinking it over. “Like a healer’s apprentice?”

You nod, threading the needle carefully, the familiar rhythm of sewing calming your nerves slightly. “Sort of. They don’t do the magic or the rituals, but they do everything else. They’re the ones who actually keep people alive most of the time.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a small smile, though there’s still a lingering sadness in his eyes. “You’d make a good nurse,” he says quietly. “Or a healer’s apprentice.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’ll stick to tailoring for now. But thanks.”

The silence that follows again is filled with unsaid words and emotions. You finish stitching the wound, tying off the thread with careful fingers, but as you do, the lingering ache in your chest only grows sharper, the tentacles again retreating from you in an instant. You place the needle aside and sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly as you try to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers suddenly, his voice full of sorrow. “I hate that this happened. I hate that you had to see it.”

You glance up at him, and the raw sincerity in his eyes makes your heart twist painfully. “It’s not your fault,” you whisper back, afraid that if you speak any louder, it might shatter you whole. “I know it’s just… how things are. But that doesn’t make it any easier.” You lower your gaze, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up behind your eyes. “It’s hard not to feel like… one day, your tentacles are going to decide I’m not good enough. That there’s someone else out there who fits you better.”

Jungkook’s expression saddens even more, and he reaches out, his hand finding yours, even if it’s the only thing searching for you. His fingers are warm and big, as he squeezes your hand tenderly. “It doesn’t work like that,” he says softly, though you know its a lie. “They don’t decide everything. They’re curious, yes. But they’re not the ones who get to choose who I love.”

You know he’s lying, you know he’s only trying to mend what’s broken. “But what if they do? What if one day, they find someone else and—”

“I’ll fight them,” Jungkook interrupts, his voice resolute. He looks at you with such conviction, such certainty, that for a moment, you almost believe him entirely. “If they ever try to pull me away from you, I’ll fight them. Because I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

His words hang between you, like the final knot that holds the end of a stitch secure, binding it in place so it won’t come undone. And though there’s still doubt lingering in your heart, there’s also a quiet hope you want to follow blindly.

You manage a small smile, though your voice trembles slightly when you speak. “I hope that’s true,” you whisper, now lying to yourself as well. “Because I want you too. More than anything.”

Jungkook leans closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin like the brush of soft fabric. “It is true,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I promise.”

Jungkook then kisses you slowly, tenderly, like he has so many times before, but now there’s a sadness, a longing beneath it. You can feel it in the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath is restricted, the way his touch lingers longer than usual. It’s in the soft pull of his mouth, the way his fingers hold you like he’s afraid you might slip away. His fear, his desperation—they seep into the kiss, bitter, and you taste it with every breath, every trembling press of lips.

He pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you instinctively, holding you close, as if your bodies can protect each other from the truth untold. Your hands find their way to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair—soft, silken strands flowing between your fingers. His hands glide up from your thighs, tracing your spine, pressing you closer as they move higher, over your back, until they reach your neck, cradling it with a touch that is both tender and desperate. He holds you like you’re the last solid thing he can grasp in a world that’s threatening to crumble.

The kiss deepens, turning heated as the desperation between you grows. Your fear mirrors his, gnawing worry that clings to your being, tightening in your throat. You can’t stop thinking about the possibility of losing him—of waking up one morning, still wrapped in his arms, only to have him slip away from you without warning some hours later, taken by a bond you have no control over. The thought haunts you, lingers in your mind as your kiss becomes more frantic, more painful. It’s like you’re both trying to escape the fear, but the harder you cling to each other, the closer it seems to get.

Jungkook lifts your small form effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom without breaking the kiss, his steps hurried, like he’s trying to outrun something. When you finally reach the bed, your hands are on him, frantically pulling at his clothes with shaking hands as he pulls at yours, both of you desperate to strip away the layers separating your skin. You kiss him harder, desperate to forget, to lose yourself in him, to forget the race against the clock that neither of you wants to see.

You can barely savour this moment, the moment that should have meant everything, that moment when you finally allowed your bodies to connect in the only way possible. You don’t even stop to take in the sight of him—the way his body is revealed to you, inch by inch, until he stands before you completely bare. You don’t take the time to marvel at his beauty, the strength of him, the way he seems to tower over you with his sheer size. All you can think about is the sadness, the dark cloud that lingers over this moment, threatening to suffocate any joy you might have felt. You barely even register the difference between your bodies when he finally presses into you—his size, the way your body stretches around him, the sharp sting of pain that follows. It’s all distant, muffled, like you’re watching it happen to someone else, detached and numb.

But Jungkook’s eyes, they’re wide, filled with sorrow and longing, and his voice breaks as he whispers, over and over, a chant of reassurance that he’s trying so hard to believe. “I love you. I love you. I’m never letting you go.” He repeats it like a mantra, as if saying it enough times will make it true, will make the fear disappear.

But the words only echo between the slap of flesh, but you can’t find the strength to respond. You want to—want to tell him you love him too, that you’ll never leave, that you’ll fight for this with everything you have—but the cloud has taken hold, and the words stick in your throat, unable to escape. Instead, you stay silent, letting his words fill the space between you, hoping they’re enough for both of you, even as doubt and sadness weigh heavy on your chest.

And when you both reach that moment of release, it feels hollow—beautiful on the surface, but fragile beneath. The euphoria that should have filled you instead leaves you feeling emptier than before, breaking your heart even more. You lay there with him, tangled in the sheets, your bodies pressed together, but it’s as though a chasm has opened up between you. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. This isn’t how you imagined your first time with him, how you thought your love would feel.

Instead, all you’re left with is the silence that follows and more tears in your eyes than you can hold back. You wonder if this is your new reality—living each day with the constant worry that he might be taken from you. You wonder if the love between you might not be enough to keep you together in the end. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at him again without that pang of uncertainty and sadness.

You wonder…

masterlist • 2

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cinnaleaf · 1 month ago

Text

ESSENCE OF US - CH 9: RED CARD* [ft. Jude & Jules]

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | READ CH 8 | MASTERLIST | READ CH 10

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: ANGST, SMUT, unprotected sex, language, mentions of anxiety, alcohol use genre: angst, fluff, slow(ish) burn romance, brief smau wc: ~12.6k 💌: gala fits were made up in this dizzying head of mine so no links sry. also finally made visuals lol

“Why are you packed like you’re going on tour with Adele?” Trent teased, sitting on the edge of your bed as you tossed multiple outfits into your already overflowing suitcase. You pulled a face at him, glaring playfully. “I have to have options! I can’t have people one upping me at an event like this. Camille will never let me live it down. I need backup fits for my backup fits. I have to plan for any and every thing.”

Trent shook his head, laughing under his breath. “I’m just saying.. we’re only going to be there for a day or two max and you’ve prepared for a month long holiday.” You threw a dress at him, laughing as it landed on top of his head. “Shut up! You just don’t get it. I’m stressed enough just thinking about what to wear to the after party.” You paused, biting your lip, knowing Trent would be a little jealous with your next remark.

“Camille invited Jules Koundé..he’s such a fashionable man. Honestly, he’s gonna be the best dressed at the gala, I know it.”

Trent scoffed, his face displaying a vexed expression. “Nah. It’s going to be me. Jules won’t have shit on my outfit.” You burst out laughing at his confidence, doubling over in giggles. Trent did okay when it came to popping out with different fits, but it wasn’t anything remotely compared to Jules level of execution. “Baby..I’m so sorry to say this but...no one is outdressing Jules. I’ll let you believe you are if it makes you feel better though.” You smirked at Trent, egging him on more in a playful manner. “He literally wore cream on his body as a top and looked good wearing it..if you can top that, then you need to be modelling off the pitch.”

Trent kissed his teeth, muttering something about how your hype for Jules’ outfit was a little too much. You chuckled as you shifted your attention back to your suitcase, carefully arranging the pile of clothes scattered around the bedroom. “Anyway, Camille’s after parties are legendary. Once all the uppity people go to bed, the real fun begins. Open bar, great music..it’s my favorite part.”

Trent leaned back on the bed, placing his arms behind his head as he relaxed, his gaze landing on your ass while you were leaned over. “Yeah? You gonna outdress everyone there too so I can rip it off you later?” You shot a look at him as you glanced over your shoulder, trying to hide your smile. “See, this is exactly why I need multiple outfits. You’re a menace.”

Trent got up from the bed to make his way over to you, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. “You haven’t had any complaints yet..” His lips brushed your soft skin as his hands moved to caress the curve of your hips. “Baby….” you breathed out shakily, feeling your pulse increase when his lips gently sucked the skin beneath your ear.

“Hmm?”

You turned around quickly, pulling him in for a proper kiss. Well, it was supposed to be a ‘proper kiss’, but things definitely escalated from there. His mouth moved against yours with pure passion as his tongue slid past your lips, dancing magnetically with yours. You ran your hands over his curls, pulling him closer. His hands roamed to your ass to grip it firmly. Your lips parted slightly to let out a soft moan; Trent tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth before slipping his tongue back in your mouth. Both of you were absolutely intoxicated from the passion of it all. You slid your hands down to his torso, reaching up under his shirt to graze your fingers over the peaks of his abs, feeling the way his heated muscles tensed under your fingertips. You smiled into the kiss, loving the way his body was reacting to your touch. Trent bit back a groan and tightened his grip on you. He slipped a hand into your hair, tugging your head back gently to splay a trail of kisses down your throat which made your entire body feel hot against his lips.

“T-Trent..we need to leave soon,” you pant, making no move to push him away at all.

“Yeah, I know..” he whispered against your neck, making absolutely no effort to pull away either. “We still have time though..” He pushed you against your makeup vanity as you continued to makeout, neither of you noticing your perfume notebook teetering on the upper edge as it slid between the back of the vanity and wall. You moaned against his lips when you felt his hands reach up to massage your chest. “We don’t have that much time,” you said breathlessly, finally pulling away from him. He let out a frustrated sigh but stepped back, his eyes gazing at you while you tried to gather yourself. “Finish packing then, you tease” he grumbled, though you could tell he was joking.

“Thank you,” you said, mind still spinning from your mini makeout sesh. You were still testing out the vanilla and amber perfume you created, which seemed to have an insatiable effect on him.

What the fuck did I put in that perfume? Oh my god..

Once you returned to your suitcases to finish packing, something felt off. You were forgetting something and you couldn’t figure out what. You stood there for a minute, furrowing your brows as you looked around the room until you realized you couldn’t find your perfume diary.

“Wait..where’s my notebook? The lavender one?”

“You probably packed it already,” Trent assured you. “You packed a lot of shit baby. It’s probably in one of these suitcases somewhere.”

“I don’t remember packing it though..” you said, tearing through your luggage as your frustration built. “I can’t leave without it..it’s got all the formulas for the collection I was working on. Fuck.. Where is it?” Trent came up behind you again, resting his chin on your shoulder as he lazily eyed the open suitcases, attempting to help you look. “Relax. You’ll find it.” You sighed, feeling panic rise. “I hope so..I really need that or else I’m going to have to start over. I only have the Rêveur formula on the sticky note. I can’t remember them all.”

You still hadn’t seen the love note he left you on the random page in your notebook. Little did you know, during the steamy makeout sesh, your precious notebook fell between the wall, out of sight, but not out of mind. You huffed and puffed, frantically searching for the notebook before eventually giving up.

“I’m telling you, I bet it’s in your luggage baby.”

You pouted, crossing your arms as Trent kissed the top of your forehead. “We’ll find it later..but we need to leave before Camille jets off without us. You know how she is.”

“Ugh. I know,” you sighed, still visibly anxious about your missing notebook. You zipped up the last suitcase, taking one last look before heading towards the door. “I really hope this gala goes smoothly. No drama, pleaseee.”

“With Jude there? Debatable.” Trent snickered, heading to the car with your bags to go to the airport.

After your arrival at the airport, you and Trent stood in front of the plane, finally uploading the ‘Tea with T ’ video across all your socials. Your heart started racing when you hit the post button on Instagram. Your hands were shaking slightly, you didn’t know why you were so nervous about a silly little video, it really shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. It was your idea after all. Next to you, an unphased Trent was already sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Seriously? How is he so unbothered with this? He’s so annoying.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t resist the urge to refresh the app multiple times, hoping to glance at any initial reactions. Trent looked over at you, nudging you with his elbow. “Chill. You’ll turn into a mad woman looking at those comments.” He reached for your phone, tucking it away in his pocket next to his phone. “Just enjoy the flight baby.”

“I knowww. I just want everything to be perfect.. but I also kinda want to know what everyone’s thinking right now.”

Trent leaned into you, placing a quick peck on your cheek as you walked toward the steps of the plane. “It will be perfect. Just go with the flow, we’ll look later if you really want to.” You bit your lip slightly, nodding as you walked up the steps to meet the crew.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander-Arnold,” the greeter said as you stepped on the plane.

“Huh?! Wh-Wait. that’s not.. Uh, we’re not—” your pathetic attempt to let the crew know you were not Mrs. TAA went unheard as Trent laughed, shaking his head. “Got a nice ring to it, yeah? Y/N Alexander-Arnold?”

“T, don’t start..”

The flight to Switzerland was surely going to be interesting. Trent was already getting on your nerves with his antics, and there surely was more to come with to all the different personalities on the flight—Camille, the twins, and Jude. Once the twins saw you walk down the aisle, Ezzie darted over to you, wrapping her arms around you and Trent. “Finally! I was starting to think we’d never meet!” She pulled back, furrowing her brow in deep thought as she eyed Trent, and then you. “Very aesthetically pleasing couple. I ship it.”

“Nice to meet you Ezzie. Hope I’m not hogging her too much.”

Ezzie rolled her eyes playfully, plopping back into her seat. “You kinda are..but it’s whatever. I’ll allow it for now since she looks happy.” She pulled out her phone, scrolling through social media before glancing up at Trent again, speaking in a deadpan tone. “I will drag you if you hurt her. I have a lot of followers y’know..”

Ziggy hung back, crossing his arms while he eyed you and Trent. In his mind, he thought he looked so scary, but the boy had the softest baby face ever. Nevertheless, he persisted, giving Trent a head nod without nearly the amount of excitement Ezzie showed. “You good?” he mumbled, shifting his gaze to Trent’s hand resting on your waist. Trent was unphased though, and offered Ziggy a smile. “Yeah, mate. I’m good. You?”

Ziggy shrugged, eyeing Trent up and down like he was trying to decide if he approved of him or not. “I guess we’ll have to see,” he muttered, slumping back in his seat with an agitated look. You shot him a squinty glance, mouthing at him to stop, but Ziggy smirked as he pulled the strings of his hoodie into a bow. “Just keeping shit real. I don’t know him like that” he retorted.

“Z..stop. Seriously” you huffed, fighting a grin. It was kind of adorable watching your brother act so protective over you. Him and Trent had similar interests, yet Ziggy couldn’t be bothered to strike up a conversation about any of that; He only wanted to size Trent up to see if he was good enough for you. His protective big-little brother act was endearing, yet hilarious.

“Just looking out for you,” Ziggy said, peering out the window as a different plane made its way down the runway.

“He’s fine, Ziggy. You’re worse than me,” Ezzie cut in. Ziggy rolled his eyes, shoving her in the seat next to him as they started mocking each other, marking the start of an incredibly dumb argument, making you and Trent laugh.

“For fuck’s sake, please shut up. Buy 1..Get 1 Free – you two are annoying me already and we aren’t even in the sky yet,” Camille rang out, entering the plane fashionably late with a wine bottle in hand, looking every part of a diva. Jude walked in behind her, flopping into one of the seats to stretch out his long legs. “Damn Camille, do you even know what economy is? This jet is fucking insane.” Camille cut her eyes at him, leaning against the seat—quick with a witty comeback, “Jude, babe, you can’t even drive without your mummy there, so is there really a huge difference between us?” She peered out the window, continuing to mock him, “Maybe I should’ve invited her instead. She’s a bit more stylish than you anyway..”

Camille and Jude were equally as annoying as Ezzie and Ziggy, arguing back and forth about who was more spoiled than the other. Truth be told, they were both extremely spoiled, but neither of them would ever admit it. Ezzie was excited about the gala, scrolling through Pinterest as she began gushing about the heels she was going to wear. “Mum finally let me order René Caovilla, I got the ones with the butterflies that wrap around! Also…a boy at school may have asked me on a date for next week,” Camille overheard the conversation, chiming in to dish out some girl talk. “Oooh, is he cute? Don’t let Z scare him away.” “Camille.. Do I look like a girl who would go on a date with someone ugly? C’mon..you know me.”

You laughed at Ezzie and Camille’s antics, knowing neither of them were girls who would hold back on their opinions. “So, does that mean you said yes? What are you going to wear on the date? And what’s his name?” you asked, continuing the conversation, wanting to know every little detail as the plane took off.

Ziggy was glued to his phone the entire time, until he finally looked up and bluntly switched his attention back to Trent. “Don’t fuck things up with my sister Trent. Or else..”

Jude chimed in, wanting to instigate the situation as he rummaged through the snacks. “I told him the same thing bro. Y/N can do better, huh?”

“Ziggy. Jude. Fuck off” you exclaimed, shooting daggers at both of them. Jude cackled, throwing a snack over to Camille. Ziggy shrugged, not bothered by your reaction at all. “Everyone’s thinking it.”

You shook your head, turning to Trent to place a kiss on his cheek. “Well, unfortunately for you.. I don’t think he’s going anywhere anytime soon. So, you need to get over it.”

The rest of the flight was full of laughter and conversation as the plane cruised to a higher altitude. Jude and Ezzie got into a competitive game of mancala, though neither of them seemed to know what the hell they were doing, which made it even funnier.

“How the fuck do we play this? I’m so confused,” Jude scrunched up his face, looking over at Trent for some help. “Mate, I know you know how to play this. Are we supposed to count them or what?”

“Wait..where am I supposed to put the marbles again? How do we know who’s winning?” Ezzie said, looking just as confused as Jude.

Trent laughed at both of them, slinking out of his seat to join them and show them how it was supposed to be done. You sat in your seat, wine glass in hand, starting to wonder what people were saying about the ‘Tea with T’ video you uploaded before the flight. Your phone was in airplane mode somewhere in one of Trent’s pockets, but the feeling of not knowing what people were saying was eating you alive. It probably wasn’t healthy to feast off social media like that, but you wanted to know. You could only imagine the reactions from the various accounts online.

Somewhere below the plane, people were enjoying seeing you and Trent in a new light:

MamaTAA: Proud of you both! Can’t wait for Rêveur to launch!

LFC4lyfe_: This was hilarious! But we all know Y/N was behind this video. Trent could never think of this himself and neither could Tyler. 😂

VirgilFans: Y/N saying Ibou and Virgil are funnier than Trent! WE STAN A QUEEN WITH TASTE!

JudeBellingham: I want my own too Y/N. Call it Bellingoal 👀

EzzieBee: This is so cute 😍

ZiggyYLN: nah cool it with the gobble up comment..

footygirl2003: omg i defo thought this was a pregnancy announcement i almost passed away 😂

TeaWithT_stan: Can we make Tea with T a regular thing? This is gold✨

SpillTheBeansUK: Anything else you want to share with us Y/N & T? 👀

PerfumeBabe: Y/N really created Rêveur while getting swept off her feet. Need that energy for me

footiefan_66: I don’t care that something good happened to you, it should’ve happened to me instead!!

yntrent_stans: They literally spent the whole video yapping and giggling. Relationship goals frfr

ReveurRebel: The way everyone in this video is cracking up..this cured my depression

66_luvclub: saving this chat...

SpillTheRooibos: Hold onn.. where’s the tarot reader now? lmao she was WRONG this time 👀

IbouK: Where’s my Rêveur bottle? Thought we were brothers

miumiuofficial: Love with the look Y/N! Check your DM, we sent you something special✨💌

fanacct_taa: WAITTTT they finally follow each other now? Took long enough

bodylanguagexpert21: i watch a lot of videos on tiktok and the way his hand is on her knee? primal instinct. knee touch? he’s saying ‘she’s mine respectfully’. also they keep finishing each other’s sentences soo...they’re in deep

66DreamerCrew: She said ‘my man is my fav’ and I FELT THAT

From the looks of it, the video was a hit. People were loving the banter, the laughs, and the reveal of Rêveur, but you had no idea. You took in the view of the private jet. Being in the clouds made it feel like a world that was far removed from reality, but you were all sitting there chatting it up like it was just an ordinary day; the Swiss Alps blanketed the windows of the plane.

You and Ezzie were in deep conversation about fashion, she was showing you the various dresses she packed, asking for your opinion on each one. “What do you think about this one? Or..maybe this one?” she said, swiping through her phone. “What should I wear to the after party? Ugh. I really can’t decide.” Camille laughed, critiquing every piece like she was Anna Wintour. “That one is cute…but you’re definitely not going to the after party babe. You two talk way too much and it’s adults only.” Ezzie sighed, leaning back in the seat as she scrolled through her phone. “Just three more years..”

Meanwhile, Ziggy glanced up when he noticed you in Trent’s lap, he gave you a tender kiss with his arm around your waist.

“So you’re just going to do all that for everyone to see?”

You immediately rolled your eyes, pulling Trent’s arm away to sit back in your seat so Ziggy would shut up. “Will you stop? He’s my boyfriend. You have to get over it, my god.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to look at it.”

Trent glanced over at Ziggy before turning back towards you, smiling. “I think he’s warming up..”

When the plane started its descent to St. Moritz, you stared out the window, taking in the breathtaking view. Switzerland was so beautiful that is almost felt fake. The Alps stretched beneath the plane, its peaks powdered with snow. No picture could ever do this place justice, you had to see it to believe it. It was so breathtaking, it almost made you forget about the event that was waiting for you tomorrow.

Badrutt’s Palace Hotel stood on a hill, overlooking Lake St. Moritz like a scene straight out of a storybook. The peaks of the Swiss Alps framed the horizon with golden hued powdered tips from the sunset. This place was unbelievable and felt like something you would see in a movie. You were high altitude, yet the air was crisp and refreshing, every breath making you become one with nature. It smelled faintly of cedarwood and pine, like nature's own perfume wafting around you with every breath.

Right outside the hotel, streets were filled with a parade of the most expensive cars, each one more expensive than the last. The International Concours of Elegance event was also happening during the gala. You weren’t a huge car person, but you could tell these cars were out of the ordinary–cars that belonged to millionaires, maybe even billionaires. There was a Maserati with glossy paint that looked like it could tear through the mountain clad snowy roads with ease. Next to it was a classic Aston Martin oozing in luxury. A few spaces down was a bright red Ferrari Testarossa; it was the kind of car that would turn anyone’s head. The car that caught your eye the most was the Shelby Cobra parked at the end of the line, its candy red paint glistened under the reflection of light with intricate chrome detailing.

“Camille..you said this was going to be more demure this year,” you giggled, not believing what you were seeing. Her parents bought out the entire hotel for a couple of nights; They were extra as hell, but you knew their definition of luxury was a lot different from yours. You didn’t mind it though, they were generous and made sure all kinds of people got to experience the luxury they often basked in, this was what the charity gala was all about after all. “We did tone it down this year..we have half of St. Moritz to ourselves. That’s still pretty intimate” she chirped, entering the hotel.

Badrutt’s Palace was cream of the crop. It resembled a castle, the stone tapering points stretched towards the sky. Inside, the decor was posh with sweeping views of the mountain from every corner. You could hear the strumming of a harp playing from the lobby, where the staff greeted guests with trays of champagne and fondue. This was world class hospitality at its finest. You felt like you were stepping into a snow globe, feeling isolated in the best way possible. The spa was supposed to have the best view, and you knew you were going to have to take advantage of that during your short stay. This place was something you had to see to believe, no description did it justice.

“What do your parents do again?” Jude asked, intrigued by his surroundings as he double fisted two glasses of champagne. “This is the craziest shit I’ve ever experienced.”

“My dad works in private equity..my mum was a fashion mogul back in the ’90s..but now she just lives life,” her voice was flat, not really impressed by his question. She didn’t love talking about her parents’ careers because everyone always came to the worst assumptions, which she hated, being a nepo baby and all.

“Lives life?”

Camille shot him a glance, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. “She spends my dad’s money and I help with that..occasionally.” Ziggy perked up, not missing a beat in the banter. “Me and Ezzie spend Y/N’s money too.” You laughed, shoving your brother playfully. “No..it’s more like the both of you are robbing me. But I’ll get my lick back when you’re signed..don’t worry.”

After a few more minutes of conversation, the group headed to their rooms to relax. Everyone else had rooms on the opposite end of the hall, while you and Trent were furthest away in a suite–it was obvious why. Camille eyed both of you as you walked towards your respective rooms. “I’m guessing I won’t be seeing you two the rest of the night?” she joked, giving you a knowing look. “Honestly, I’m so tired. I’m probably just going to rest,” you replied, yawning.

When you entered the suite, you paused for a moment, looking around the room with your mouth agape. The room was huge and had sweeping views of the mountains, it also featured a balcony that floated above the frozen lake. Trent dropped your bags on the floor, coming up behind you to smack your ass playfully. “Trent!” you yelped, glaring at him while trying to hide your smile.

“Sorry, couldn’t stop myself,” he said with a smirk, wrapping his arms around you as he walked you outside to the balcony. You could feel his heartbeat thumping softly against your back while you took in the breathtaking view. “So beautiful, just like you baby,” he murmured against your ear, brushing his lips against your skin. “We need to come back when it’s not so cold so we can take full advantage of this balcony.” You giggled as his lips travelled down to your neck. “Mmm..I need to unpack..can you chill for a second” you tried to protest, but your voice became weak when he started nibbling on a spot on your neck that drove you wild. Trent turned you around, gently wedging you between the balcony and himself. He trailed soft kisses from your neck to your lips, his lips glistening. He licked your lower lip, grazing his teeth over them lightly.

“You’re sooo…” you breathed out, letting out a shaky laugh. You didn’t want him to stop, but you really did need to unpack. You had to figure out what to wear tomorrow, and possibly find the notebook that had seemingly disappeared out of thin air.

“Hmm? I’m what? Talk to me baby” he whispered between kisses, littering your skin with the softness of his lips. “We have plenty of time to unpack y’know,” He punctuated his words with the sweetest love bites down your neck, just enough to make you debate whether you really cared as much as you were letting on. He brought his lips back to yours and you could taste the sweetness of the champagne from earlier when he deepened the kiss. Eventually, you managed to pull away, taking a deep breath as you smiled at him. “If you let me unpack now, I promise it will be worth it later.” Trent smirked, giving you one last kiss before releasing you. “Oh yeah? C’mon then.”

You both sorted through your luggage, but you still couldn’t find the notebook. You frowned, crossing your arms. “Ughhh, I really don’t think I packed it.” Trent glanced over at you, getting up to search through one of your bags to help. After a couple of minutes of searching, he stopped, holding onto something with an amused look splattered across his face. It wasn’t your notebook, but he was surely intrigued.

“Y/N, what’s this?” he asked, holding up a vibrator. “You remembered to pack this but not your notebook?”

You tried to hold in your laughter but burst into a fit of giggles. “I pack that every time I travel” you said, trying to snatch it from his hands while he played with the settings. “Put it back!”

Trent held it up above his head, enjoying your slight embarrassment. “Why do you need this when you have me? I’m not satisfying you enough?” You put your hands on your hips, shrugging as you bit your lip. “Think of it as a teammate, not an enemy” you teased, winking at him.

“Oh yeah? I don’t think I need any help but we’ll see..”

You shivered at his comment, knowing full well tonight would be anything but productive. Camille and everyone else would definitely not be seeing you the rest of the night.

After a while, you and Trent decided to take a bubble bath together to enjoy your mini holiday. Lavender scented bubbles enveloped both of you as you leaned against the edge, closing your eyes to relax and enjoy the warmth of the water. Trent was across from you, his large hands massaging the arches of your feet. “You good over there?” Trent asked, smiling at you with a playful glint in his eye.

“Yesss, feels like I’m in heaven right now” you sang softly with your eyes still closed. “How are you so good at everything?” He gripped your foot tighter, laughing at your reaction. “Just trying to help you relax, my love.” You opened your eyes, smiling at the sight of the bubbles clinging to his skin under the low light. “I feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes..” you admitted quietly, but he heard you.

“What? Why would you say that?” He paused the massage, looking at you directly. You pulled your legs back, shifting slightly to sit up. “You’re just too sweet to me. I feel like I don’t do enough for you in return..I don’t know..”

“Nah, if anything I feel like I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. I’m always scared I’m going to fuck something up and lose you.” You pouted your lips at his words, shifting in the tub to crawl across the water and sit on his lap; He wrapped his arms around your hips, and you draped your arms over his shoulders, kissing him softly to savour the taste of his lips. “Well..if fate is on our side, that won’t happen, right?”

“Right. Nothing could ever keep us apart” he murmured back, brushing his hands against your spine as his lips connected to yours again. Your tongues danced with each other as you shifted against his body, you felt him harden against you, which caused him to let out a strained groan. “Baby, we gotta get out now. You’ve been killing me all day with this. I need you.”

You shifted back, biting your lip, “Oh? Then take me.”

“Famous last words..”

Trent stood up, bubbles and water cascading down his body when he stepped out of the bath. He lifted you out and carried you back to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed. By the look on his face, he was about to put you to bed. Literally and figuratively.

His fingers brushed the droplets of water on your body as slid his hand down to thumb over your clit in a teasing way; just enough to get the sparks going inside of you. “So wet for me already,” he whispered. Trent was stroking himself with his other hand, watching the sight of you damp and crumbling against him. He reached for the vibrator on the bed from earlier, turning it on and placing it against your clit with a buzz that made you arch off the bed moaning loudly.

“You like that? You’re soaking me already,” he groaned, pushing his dick into you as he began to thrust into your pussy rhythmically. “Not going to last long with you squeezing me like that,” he said, thrusting into you harder and faster. He was determined to make you cum first, always.

“Babyy! Oh my god, don’t stop. Feels so good.”

Each stroke was perfectly timed with the vibrator pressing into your clit. When he turned the setting up higher, your body tensed up as your orgasm ravaged through you, making you moan his name over and over again in a song of praise. His thrusts became erratic as he watched you cum, completely intoxicated by the view of you writhing and pleading for more. You knew he wasn’t going to last much longer once you felt the rhythm of his strokes weaken, so you gently pushed him off you to put his dick in your mouth. Trent’s hands immediately gripped your hair, groaning your name as he spilled his cum into your mouth. When you pulled back, both of you collapsed on the plush bed in a lust filled haze mixed with drowsiness as sleep pulled you into a state of unconsciousness. Trent watched you sleep for a while, gently stroking your hair and taking the sight of you in before he fell asleep too.

The evening of the gala arrived way faster than you wanted it to. You, Camille, and Ezzie were getting dressed in one dressing room, while Trent, Jude, and Ziggy were getting dressed in another.

“You’re kinda giving moon goddess, Y/N. Very on brand for you.” Camille teased from across the room as she lounged in a chair to get her hair done. You eyed yourself in the mirror, looking at the dress you chose for the night. It was one of the many custom pieces you ordered from Elie Saab – made of soft lavender chiffon that shimmered under the light. The gown was backless, faint hints of glitter trailed down your spine to mirror the stars. The stylist added soft waves to your hair to compliment the ethereal moon look you were going for. “You look so dreamy!” Ezzie chimed in, her eyes glued to your dress.

Ezzie was extremely excited about tonight, dawning a Giambattista Valli dress – soft pink tulle with butterfly embroidery. She looked like she stepped out of one of those whimsical tales where the main character is a fairy, leaving a trail of pixie dust everywhere she goes. Her René Caovilla butterfly heels had wings that wrapped around her ankles, sparkling with every step. Ezzie twirled around in the mirror, taking pictures of her outfit from every angle. “Do you think someone from Vogue will be here? Do I look like I’m ready for a modelling contract? That’s the look I’m going for.” You smiled, posing for a picture in the mirror with your younger sister. “You’re killing it babe. They’ll love it!” You both took a glance at Camille as her personal stylist walked around the room, putting the final touches together.

Camille’s outfit was an expected showstopper. She stunned in an over the top Alexander McQueen gown – deep shades of blue and purple, reminiscent of a twilight sky. There were tiny stars hand sewn into the top of the dress and the sleeves cascaded down her arms like shooting stars. Her heels featured twinkling crystals that glittered just like the night sky.

“You’re so fucking extra but I’m here for it,” you giggled, catching Camille’s gaze. She smirked, looking very Mariah Carey-ish. “To be honest, I was going to tone it down..but,” she bit her lip, showing her phone filled with recent text messages from Jules Koundé. “We’ve been chatting a little. Nothing serious but girl..I need him. Gotta pull out all the stops tonight.” You shook your head as you read the messages, fingers grazing over the cloud shaped clutch in your hand to pull out the vanilla and amber fragrance that was becoming your signature scent. “Ooh, I know Jules is going to eat everybody up with his outfit..like there won’t even be any competition.”

In the boys suite, the vibe was much more relaxed. Trent stood in the mirror, adjusting the lapel of a custom Tom Ford suit – deep navy that subtly shimmered under the light, with silver threads woven into the jacket to resemble constellations in the sky. The buttons to the jacket were gold and mimicked miniature suns as a nod to the ethereal theme of the night. His gold Audemars Piguet watch settled on his wrist, peeking through the sleeve of his suit. The smell of Rêveur filled the air as he sprayed his wrist and neck.

“Mate..do you think Y/N will like this?” he asked, turning to Jude who was lounging on a couch on the other side of the room. Jude glanced up from his phone and shrugged, “It looks fine, but what about mine? It’s different..”

Jude’s suit was a custom Louis Vuitton piece from a Virgil Abloh collection, a true work of art – an impossibly gorgeous purple fabric, featuring soft satin lapels embroidered with a cloud design. His lavender dress shoes were bold and intricate, making his outfit look sharp and well executed.

“Nah, it’s good. It’s supposed to be different I think. It’s like the Met Gala or something.”

Ziggy was silently fixating on his suit in the corner. He wore a Tom Ford suit, similar to Trent’s – a lighter shade of navy, with subtle golden embroidery around the cuffs to hint at rays of sunshine peeking through a cloud, emphasizing his dreams on the horizon. He wasn’t going to admit it, but Ziggy chose his suit specifically to mirror Trent’s. He secretly admired him, but wouldn’t let anyone know because he was still protective over you. He took a glance at Trent’s Rêveur bottle on the counter, reaching over to secretly spray himself with the scent. Wrists, then neck – just like Trent.

Back at the girls suite, everyone was finally ready. You slipped on your translucent heels that were oddly reminiscent of Cinderella’s glass slippers.

“Okayyy” Camille grinned, clasping her hands together. “Everyone ready?”

The theme for the gala was Elysian Reverie: A Night in the Clouds. Soft fabric flowed from the ceiling to create an illusion that the room was floating in a sea of clouds. There were pastel roses, orchids and wisteria cascading from the ceiling to add to the surreal atmosphere. The walls of the venue shimmered with varying hues of lavender, blush, and pale pink – to make you really feel like you were sitting up above the clouds in a daydreamer’s paradise. Glittering lights were scattered around to make it feel like you were walking through a starlit sky. There was a pianist playing the chords to Halo, soft and melodic to add to the dreamscape.

You and the group made your way to the VIP table, taking in everything around you. Camille’s parents were over the top, and every time you thought they couldn’t outdo the previous year’s gala..they always did. Trent’s hand brushed against yours as you sat down, and he leaned in with a grin, “Kind of feels like we’re in a dream.” You smiled back, placing a kiss on his cheek, “Right? I don’t understand how they do it. It’s insane.” A waiter handed you a menu, and your eyes quickly glanced over it before darting to the dessert section:

Wings of Dreams: A Celestial Feast

Starlit Prelude: - Oysters with Champagne Mignonette - Brie en Croûte with Cranberry Compote

Cloud Kissed Whispers: - Black Truffle and Ricotta Ravioli - Creamy Cauliflower Velouté Elysian Reverie: - Roast Quail with Madeira Jus - Charcoal Grilled Wagyu Beef with Miso Glaze - Lemon Sole Meunière with Brown Butter - Vegetable Wellington with Spinach and Goat Cheese

Heavenly Indulgence: - Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta with Raspberry Coulis - Swiss Chocolate Soufflé with Salted Caramel Crème Anglaise - Lavender Honey Crème Brûlée

“T..look at this,” you nudged him with your elbow, pointing to the dessert section. “Chocolate soufflé..and we don’t have to make it this time.” Trent laughed, shaking his head as he recalled the memory of the chaotic date that led you to where you were now. “I still can’t believe we burned it.”

Jude was sitting across from you, chatting up a girl from Gran Canaria at the next table. She was very clearly feeding his ego, giggling at everything he said and playing with her hair. Jude was soaking it all in, feeling like he was on top of the world, he even threw in some Spanish to impress her.

“Me encanta tu traje, eres muy guapo” she said with a flirty smile. (i love your suit, you look handsome)

“Gracias! Tu también te ves increíble.” (thank you, you look great too)

She leaned in closer, enjoying the attention he was giving her. “You play for Real Madrid, right? I’d love to go to a game…”

Jude, on cloud nine from drinks and an ego, flashed the girl a sly grin and reached for her phone. “Text me whenever. I’ll make sure it’s sorted.” He entered his number into her phone with ease, handing it back to her with a smile. She was still giggling, enjoying all the attention when he dropped one last line.

“Nos vemos en el Bernabéu, guapa.” (see you at the Bernabéu)

Camille was mid conversation, casually sipping on champagne when her eyes suddenly locked onto Jules making his entrance. Everyone was looking at him, he was wearing something that made every head in the venue turn. “Y/N. Oh my godddd. LOOK. AT. HIM.” she squealed, grabbing your arm to redirect your attention from Trent.

Jules Koundé? He was a visionary – a jewel. He wore a Balmain suit – deep blue fabric nearly radiating from the shimmering lights above. The jacket featured handwritten dreams of French children from the Wings of Dreams charity embroidered in silver and gold thread along the lapel and vest:

Voyager le monde (travel the world) ~ Liberté (freedom) ~ Devenir footballeur (become a footballer) ~ Rencontrer ma maman au ciel (meet my mum in heaven) ~ Avoir un lit à moi (have a bed of my own) ~ Pouvoir acheter des fleurs à ma maman tous les jours (buy flowers for my mum everyday) ~ Faire du cinéma et devenir un grand acteur (become a famous actor) ~ Je souhaite la paix dans le monde (I wish for world peace). His suit had an asymmetrical avant-garde edge to it which made him stand out amongst the crowd. His entire look was the embodiment of a daydream, and Camille was definitely lost in a daydream of her own.

“Oooh! He’s taking it!!! He looks so good. I knew he was going to turn heads,” you said excitedly, giggling with Camille. “Best dressed hands down. He’s so wrong for coming in here and clearing everybody like that.” Camille was staring..well fawning at this point. “Tomorrow is not promised. I need him tonight..and I’m being so serious right now.” she said in a dreamy, dazed voice.

Trent kissed his teeth, leaning back in the chair with an annoyed look. “You both gas him too much.” He was noticeably jealous at the attention Jules was receiving. “That’s a regular suit. Mine’s better.”

“Nah, man. He’s got us beat,” Jude chimed in, double fisting multiple glasses of champagne again. “I’ll admit it.” He took a long swig, unbothered by his ‘competition’. You glanced at Trent, raising a brow. “Aww baby, are you jealous?? You look good too, so, so handsome.....but Jules’ look is really creative. Maybe we can think of something next year for you if you’re really up for some competition?” Camille laughed loudly as the servers brought everyone’s food over. “Would love to see that.”

The twins were eying everyone in the room, bored out of their minds but still trying to soak in the environment like your parents wanted them to. Ezzie was moving across the room gracefully, chatting with anyone who looked remotely important, especially if they were fashionable. Ziggy was more calculated, scanning the room to try to figure out who looked the richest so he could convince them to donate more money to the charity. They may have only been 15, but they knew how the game worked..thanks to your parents.

After a while, Camille pushed her chair back, standing up. “Time for my speech,” she announced. As she made her way to the front of the room, it grew quiet. The only thing that could be heard were her heels clicking against the marble, hushed chatter, and a strangled cough here and there. You looked over at Jules from across the room, noticing his gaze fixed on Camille.

Oh I know that look, you thought to yourself.

“Hi everyone,” Camille's voice rang out through the venue. “Thanks for being here to support Wings of Dreams tonight. This charity is really special to me.” Her gaze softened as the light caught the emotion in her eyes. “The goal is to make dreams come true for kids who may otherwise never have the chance. Whether it’s becoming a footballer, or simply having a bed to call their own. Every dream matters.” The audience erupted into applause, nodding along with her words. “And tonight we’re doing something a little special..” Camille smiled, looking over at you and Trent. “My talented best friend Y/N, and her equally amazing boyfriend, Trent Alexander-Arnold created an exceptional new fragrance, ‘Rêveur’ that they want to share with the rest of the world. It’s available now and all proceeds go directly to Wings of Dreams. If any of you walked past Trent tonight then you know just how amazing it smells. It’s a dream!”

You smiled at Trent, leaning in for a kiss as the applause grew louder. This was it. The big moment. You felt excited, but nervous. You could see people pulling out their phones, placing orders. Trent got up to talk to a couple of people, suddenly in a mood to yap about Rêveur. People were talking to you too, but for some reason you were feeling anxious. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the attention, but your intuition just felt off. Eventually, you got up to go to the restroom before dessert was served. It felt strangely calm compared to the lively ambience of the gala. You looked at yourself in the mirror, retouching your makeup when a woman approached you.

“Y/N? Just wanted to say I ordered over 30 bottles of Rêveur to send to family overseas! I was so excited when I heard about the launch! I’ve wanted to smell it ever since Trent mentioned it in that interview. I’m shocked it’s not sold out yet! It’s gone viral!” You blinked, furrowing your brow as you tried to process her words.

“30 bottles?”

There was supposed to be a limit of two due to the limited release batch. Something went wrong, terribly wrong. “Yeah! I wanted to snag some before they were all gone.” She pulled out her phone, showing you her order. Yup, she definitely ordered 30 bottles, no doubt about it. She was unaware of the panic rising within you, but you tried to keep a cool head. “That’s...so nice of you. Thank you so much!” you forced, even though your heart was racing. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. You were losing control again.

You politely ended the conversation and rushed out, pulling out your phone. Your hands were shaking when you tried to log in to the site to see what was happening, but it wouldn’t load properly. “Shittt. C’mon..c’monnn” you muttered under your breath. You were cursing yourself for not double checking everything before the launch. You rang Tara, but it went straight to voicemail; When you tried Ember’s there was no answer. You could feel an anxiety attack creeping in – your vision tunnelled, your brain felt scrambled, voices echoed around you, and you felt like you were walking on unsteady ground. In a hurry to get some fresh air, you bumped into someone. “Oops, so sorry!” you apologized, looking up.

“Hey! Y/N right?” Jules stood next to you, smiling. “You’re Camille’s friend?”

You steadied your breathing, smiling even though you were internally in a tizzy. “Yup. That’s me.” Jules leaned in slightly to hear you better since the gala was too loud for a proper conversation. He could smell the vanilla and amber scent that saturated your pulse points. “Damn. Which perfume of yours is that? It smells amazing.” Whatever you put in that perfume was giving femme fatale – enticing all types of men the entire night. You had much more to worry about though.

“Um..thanks. I’m still working on it.” you smiled again, but your voice was a bit strained. Every word felt like a struggle and you honestly just wanted to get out of there; Jules didn’t seem to notice at all.

“T’as dead ça (you ate that/did good), it smells really good. But..uh, I wanted to ask..how’s Camille?” Jules leaned in closer. He was so close that if someone were to take a glance your way, it wouldn’t look exactly innocent. “She still single? I’ve been thinking about asking her on a date. Think she’d be down?” His tone was casual, but he was unmistakably interested in Camille. The conversation continued a lot longer than you wanted it to, but you couldn’t break down here. That would be embarrassing.

“Oh she’d definitely be down. Why wait, though? I think you should.......”

Across the room, Trent was seated with Ziggy, who finally decided to open up to him. He was sharing stories about growing up with you.

“And that’s why I’m protective over her. She always supports me in everything,” Ziggy said in a vulnerable tone. “If it weren’t for Y/N..I wouldn’t even be playing footie. She made it all happen. Mum and Dad weren’t for it until she convinced them.” Ziggy was pouring his sweet little heart out, but Trent was barely listening. His focus was locked on you and Jules across the room. He saw the way Jules leaned into you, how you laughed at something he said, how your fingers lightly brushed against his suit jacket while you read the written dreams from the children. To him it looked like you were genuinely flirting, and he didn’t like that. Was it the locs that had you so interested? His smile? His voice? The accent? What was it?

The more he watched, the more it made him feel suddenly possessive over you. His jaw clenched while your brother’s words went in one ear, and out the other. Trent stood up, cutting Ziggy off mid sentence to storm over to where you were talking to Jules.

“Right in front of my face, Y/N? You're serious? Class act you are,” Trent’s voice cut through the conversation, demanding and overly confident. You turned, frowning your face. “Wh–what? Trent, what are you talking about? And who are you talking to?” His tone was kind of startling and out of character; you didn’t like it.

“You and Jules..what is this?” he asked, gesturing between the two of you.

“Whoa, man. I was just asking about –”

“Trent, you’re not serious are you?” you snapped, cutting Jules off. “What is wrong with you? We were just talking about–”

“Talking? It looked like you were flirting. I saw you touch–”

You frowned, waving your hands around while the words tumbled out of your mouth. “You’re not even listening to me! What the fuck is your problem?”

“I am listening,” he shot back coldly. “My problem is you.”

Tears pooled in your eyes, your hands were shaking, but you were far from sad. You were pissed. You couldn’t believe he said that. “Me?! Are you stupid or are you dumb? I’ve been nothing but good to you. Why would you even think I’d do something like that? He was asking me about Camille!” Trent’s jaw tightened and his hands instinctively reached for your waist when he stepped closer, like they always did. Except this time it didn’t feel comfortable at all, it felt suffocating. “People are watching, Y/N..” he hissed quietly, his voice commanding, as if you should’ve known better. Suddenly, your vision tunnelled, memories flashed of your ex reprimanding you at a similar event for not being up to par to his future ‘trophy wife’ standards.

~ “You’re embarrassing me. Put that pretty face to good use and lose the attitude” ~ “You wouldn’t have made it through the door without me.” ~ “You’re the problem.”

His words were so vile and wrapped around your heart far longer than they ever should have. They were embedded within you like thorns from roses; he wanted you to fit into the mould of his little world just like your parents did. His hands were constantly on you too, but only to parade you around, never out of affection. He only did it to remind you he was the one with power. Trent wasn’t aware of the way those words made you feel. How could he? You only ever told him enough info for him to have a general idea, but Trent’s words still made you angry. You vowed to never let a man speak to you in that way again.

Rage boiled over you like a volcano, words tumbled out quicker than you could control – fueled by a cocktail of anxiety, frustration, and anger. “Oh?? Are you afraid I’m going to make you look bad? We can’t have that can we? Always on your best behaviour for the media, huh?” You tore into him because right now, he represented everything cornering you. The pressure was too much. “I’m not the one making a scene Trent, you are. Read the fucking room..maybe you’re the problem.” You tore yourself from his grip, your body shaking from anxiety and anger. “And don’t fucking touch me. I can’t do this. I really can’t.”

One of your heels caught on the floor with you pulled away from him, but you couldn’t care less. You needed to get out, away from his suffocating presence, and away from prying eyes. Trent watched you go, and a part of him wanted to call out to you, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He glanced at your heel and bent down to pick it up. Both of your worlds felt like they were spinning off course.

Fate brought you together, but right now it felt like you were being pulled apart thread by thread. He followed behind you slowly, his anger turning into regret. Trent knew he fucked up the moment the words left his mouth. He wasn’t stupid, but it stung watching you talk to Jules. He had no right to be jealous, you never gave him a reason not to trust you, but seeing you and Jules talking set something off in him. Something irrational, but still there. He was competitive in everything and watching you talk to another man, triggered something in him that he wasn’t proud of. The fear of losing you scared him, making him react in ways he could’ve handled a lot better.

Somewhere else in the venue, Jules had made his way over to Camille after walking away from you and Trent, the gold and silver threads from his jacket shimmered beneath the light. “Ah, look who it is. The Queen of the night! So….this afterparty..you need a ride? Kefa ce soir? (wyd tonight)” Camille’s gaze flicked over to you and Trent across the room before she settled back on Jules. “Bah..en fait.. ouai! (slang for well actually yes)” she replied, pushing her concern for you out of her mind. She figured the two of you were probably arguing over something dumb. Probably some stupid disagreement that would be sorted within the next hour or two. There were much better things to focus on, like the absolute stunner in front of her. She meant it when she said she needed him tonight.

Jules leaned in to Camille, his locs shifted and brushed up lightly against her face. “Or,” he began, voice smooth like the finest silk, “we could take a detour?” The words hung around the air, leaving just enough room for intention with unspoken words that made Camille’s mind race. A detour? What could that possibly mean? Maybe a late night ride driving around St. Moritz in an expensive car before heading to the club? Was it something more private? Did he want sex?? What could they possibly do on this little detour?

Who knows, but Jules left it open ended on purpose to keep her guessing. He wanted to draw her in. “Vasy.” (ok, lets go)

Jude on the other hand, was completely oblivious to everything going on with everyone else; he was having the time of his life chatting with people, dancing, and taking random videos in a buzzed haze before finally settling into a conversation with Camille’s mum. “That car out there..the Maserati? That yours?”

Camille’s mum laughed, charmed by Jude’s boyish interest in cars. “No.. much too fast for me. My husband’s driving his Cielo for the Concours of Elegance event on the lake tomorrow..but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you borrowing it for a joyride if you’re interested?”

“The ICE?! With all the ultra rare cars? That man must be a legend!”Jude exclaimed in shock.

Camille’s mum nodded, enjoying the excitement radiating off of him. “It is quite an event, isn’t it?”

“Yeah..I’d love a joyride but umm..” Jude trailed off, reality hitting him immediately. He scratched the back of his head, making a face. “I uhh..I can’t drive. I usually just get people to drive me around.”

Camille’s mum stifled a laugh, eyeing him with a motherly glint in her eyes. “A young footballer like you can’t drive? Are you only useful on the pitch? Tragic.”

Jude paused, thinking for a solution. He wasn’t giving up the chance to ride passenger in an absolute rocket of a car. “Uh, maybe I can get Trent or Y/N to drive me?”

Camille’s mum set her drink down, pulling out a stylish business card out of her clutch. “You have a face for more than football sweetheart. If you ever have any extended time off the pitch, give me a call. I know some people.” she said, handing him the card with a motherly smile.

“Me??” Jude blinked, staring at the card. “I mean..I did hear you’re an expert so..”

“I am,” she replied confidently, patting him on the shoulder before turning to the valet counter. “You should really get that surgery, dear. But don’t worry, I’ll let them know there’s a passenger prince waiting for his ride.”

Back at the table, Ezzie and Ziggy were quietly taking in the scene with curiosity and concern. “I hope it’s nothing serious” Ezzie muttered, glancing at her twin with a worried expression. “They were happy earlier.” Her fingers fidgeted with a napkin, the vibe making her feel anxious. Ziggy shrugged but his face told a different story. He wasn’t as indifferent as he was pretending to be, something in the back of his mind was being pieced together the more he eyed Trent. “Dunno. Could be nothing, could be bad. Hard to tell..”

Ezzie paused, biting her lip as she glanced back in you and Trent’s direction. “But they look like they’re made for each other, right?” Her words trailed into awkward silence, a feeling of teenage angst and telepathic thoughts only twins could have. They just wanted you to be happy.

The twins got up to leave shortly after, grabbing the untouched chocolate soufflé from the table. They didn’t realize it was meant for you and Trent. Not that it mattered anymore, it wasn’t like you were in the mood for dessert after everything. Ezzie and Ziggy made their way to the exit, muffled sounds of the argument filtered through their ears. Neither you nor Trent noticed the twins leaving in the heat of your argument.

Ezzie glanced back once more, catching the moment you pulled away from Trent. “I hope they figure it out. You remember what happened last time…”

“Yeah..I do.” Ziggy said, protective anger laced in his voice. “Trent’s not like him. He won’t treat her like that..he’s kinda cool.”

A childhood memory resurfaced in Ziggy’s mind when he took one last look at Trent. Ziggy was maybe 5 or 6 years old, not really old enough to fully understand anything but old enough to remember things to form a memory. You were fidgety and on edge being at home, so you took them to the park. Ziggy and Ezzie thought you wanted to escape from being bored, but they had no idea you just hated being at home.

Thinking back on it, Ziggy realized why: your parents.

You were trying to escape in any way you could. It wasn’t until recently that he figured out those outdoor adventures you took them on were more for you, than them. You were just a teenager, trying to survive your parents unreasonable expectations.

One of those days stuck with him specifically, years before Trent entered your lives in the way he had now. Ziggy had a eureka moment, and could picture the memory play by play. The sun was shining, the air was fresh. You took them to the park like you always did when you wanted to get away from home. To Ziggy, it was just another day of kicking a ball around. That day, you were somewhere else, lost in your thoughts, lazily picking at the grass while you sat on the ground.

An older boy with a football under his arm came up to Ziggy, maybe a little older than you. He was playing with a group of friends and noticed Ziggy struggling to keep up with the ball. He jogged over with a smile, the same one you grew to love a decade later. Ziggy didn’t know who this boy was at the time, neither did you. He passed the ball to Ziggy, joining him in an impromptu drill. It was a moment that stuck with your brother forever, it was the reason he wanted to play footie at all. The memory of the older boy stuck with him when he stepped onto the pitch at every match. Your parents didn’t want Ziggy playing football, but you convinced them because he never shut up about it.

“Mate, wait a minute..” the boy said, bringing the ball back to his feet. “Do it like this. Don’t let the ball control you.”

Ziggy looked at the older boy, mesmerised by his footwork. “Like this?” he asked, trying to mimic Trent’s movements and failing. He had the coordination of a 5-6 year old, paired with short bowed legs, but he tried anyway. Trent laughed, amused with Ziggy’s determination. “Nah, but that’s close. Watch me” He took the ball, demonstrating the right movements. “Try it again. You got this bro.” Ziggy’s little legs worked so hard to keep up with the ball, but he finally managed to get the hang of it after a while. “I did it!” Ziggy glanced over at you, pure excitement in his voice. “Y/N, look what I can do!”

Looking up from where you were sitting, your tired eyes met Ziggy’s and you smiled softly. “Good job, Z” you said with just enough excitement to satisfy a small child. You glanced over at the boy helping Ziggy – it was Trent. You saw him around the park before, but never really paid any attention, your mind was usually elsewhere on the days you came to the park. He gave you a small wave, grinning casually. You waved back, thankful he was keeping your brother entertained while you hid in your thoughts. It was so nice of him to help a little boy who was just learning his way around the ball.

Ezzie was off to the side, squatting down in the dirt with a stick in her hand; probably drawing stick figures with little dresses and bows on them. She loved fashion even at this age – she was always doodling something. Ezzie was in her own world humming songs, unless someone said something that made her want to share her opinion.

Trent gave Ziggy a pat on the back, pulling him into a playful hug. “See? You got it, I told you! You’re a natural.”

Ziggy looked up at Trent with wide, childlike eyes – like he was his personal superhero. “Umm..can you play with me again next time? I wanna learn more!” he asked shyly, with puppy dog eyes. Trent shrugged, a heartfelt smile on his face. “Yeah lil bro, sure! Keep staying consistent and you’ll be better than me. We’ve got the same legs!” Ziggy giggled at the idea, it was too big for his little brain to grasp at the time, but the words eventually became ingrained in his memory.

From that point forward, Ziggy started talking about football nonstop. It was a growing obsession. He was always talking about the older boy at the park while he kicked the ugliest ball you’d ever seen around the house. You never told Ziggy the real reason you convinced your parents wasn’t just because of supporting his newfound passion. He kept talking about the boy; he was so relentless and determined about football and whoever this older boy was; it annoyed the absolute hell out of you. Your parents didn’t think football was a good choice for their only baby boy, but you convinced them because you couldn’t stand the endless whines from him begging to play football, you had enough of it.

One day, Trent gave Ziggy a new ball, a pair of boots that were way too big, and told him to never stop improving; he was actually getting really good at playing. Ziggy only saw him a few more times after that day – until now; he stopped going to the park after joining a youth football club. He kept the ball all these years like it was a sacred relic. At 15, he could fit the boots now; they were his favorite despite having many others. That ball and those boots meant everything to him, he carried the worn things nearly everywhere just in case there was a field to play in. Every time your brother stepped onto a pitch, the memories of the older boy from the park fueled him to be better. Now, Ziggy realized Trent was the one who gave him the ball. He unknowingly inspired him so many years ago, and now Trent was a part of his life again.

The story you were writing together had been drafted long before, without you ever knowing. But that’s the thing about serendipity – you never know where it begins until you trace the threads. Maybe it started with a smile on the train? Or maybe a random day at the park?? Maybe somewhere else entirely.

Moments always seem so ordinary..until they’re not.

When you got back to the suite, you slammed the door behind you, your chest heaving from the tears spilling. You looked in the mirror at your reflection, stopping dead in your tracks – makeup smudged, tears freefalling, stressed beyond belief.

I look so pathetic. Definitely not a cute look.

You choked back a sob and a strangled laugh, gripping the marbled edge of the sink.

What can I fix tonight? Nothing. What can I do??

Thoughts stirred around your head, but there was only one solution that seemed logical in your mind, for now anyway: get drunk.

Fuck this. I’ll worry about it tomorrow, there’s nothing I can do right now and I’m not letting an open bar go to waste.

You exhaled, wiping away your tears and reached for your makeup bag. It was damage control time. You turned on a playlist from your phone, Pink + White by Frank Ocean playing softly in the distance.

‘It’s all downhill from here.’ ... ‘And make it out when the sun is ruined’

After washing your face, you redid your eyeliner, relined your lips, applied a gorgeous lip combo, and took a long deep breath. The anxiety and anger was still there, but at least you didn’t look like you were on the verge of breaking down anymore. You looked hot.

You eyed the Mugler dress laying on the bed – short, red, very femme fatale. It was the kind of dress you could wear to let your boyfriend know what he would be missing tonight. If he wanted to be an asshole, fine. Two could play that game. You wanted to make a point. Seeing you in red was Trent’s weakness. Whenever you wore red, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you. It made him feel like you were his, in each and every way. You smirked as you slipped into the dress. The red contrasted beautifully against your glowing complexion. He was going to feel your wrath tonight, you weren’t backing down. He questioned your loyalty, he acted like you did something wrong. But tonight? He was going to see exactly what that mistake cost him. This wasn’t just an afterparty anymore – it was his red card moment.

You grabbed your Loewe sunglasses from a nearby table, sliding them on top of your forehead. Was it dark outside? Yes. But you wanted to give off the look of being unbothered, even though you were far from it. Just as you were spraying your perfume, you felt the tension you always felt when Trent was nearby. You froze for a second, but you knew it was him. You didn’t have time for his shit. Trent stepped in slowly, eyeing your dress. He looked conflicted, with maybe a mix of regret, frustration..and even admiration. You cared but you also didn’t, he was being dumb and you wanted him to feel it, so you gave him the cold shoulder.

“Y/N..” he started, his voice low.

“Don’t.” you snap, cutting him off before he had the chance to get any other words out. You weren’t in the mood for any explanations, and you definitely didn’t need any half assed apologies after his little tantrum. You slid your sunglasses down to your eyes, strutting past Trent and out the door, the scent of your perfume encased him and pulled him in, even though you were walking away. You knew that scent made him feral, left him craving you. But tonight? It would be a cruel reminder that he fucked up; leaving him in the clouds with you just out of reach.

Trent’s gaze followed your every step, every sway of your hips. He shook his head as the door shut behind you, your heel from earlier still in his hand. “Fuck..she looks so sexy right now,” he muttered under his breath, looking around the room. He wasn’t used to this, usually he was the one doing this to others. He sighed deeply, looking over his clothing options. If you were going out like that, he needed to step his game up too. He needed to match your energy, and he knew exactly how to. Trent knew you loved him in white and cream – he picked a crisp white tee, paired with a Prada co-ord of trousers, a jacket, and Prada Cloudburst Thunder trainers. He looked himself over in the mirror after getting dressed, spraying Rêveur on his pulse points again.

It was like the two of you were doing a mating call, trying to get each other’s attention without backing down. But who would win?

Downstairs, Jude was waiting for you, leaning against the Maserati Cielo with keys in hand. His smirk turned into a bright smile when he saw you storm out in your red revenge dress. He really didn’t need to ask what happened, he could feel your fury from afar, but he still asked anyway.

“You alright?” he said, handing you the keys as he approached the driver’s side to open the door for you. “If looks could kill…”

“Shut up Jude. Let’s just go.” you command, sliding into the driver’s seat as he closed the door.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.. Guess an angry chariot awaits me.” he said, snickering.

“Oh my goddd, just get in the fucking car Jude.”

You were getting increasingly irritated by the fact that you were the one driving. Jude slipped into the passenger seat while you tapped your nails impatiently against the wheel. Driving was not something you wanted to be doing right now, especially while being anxious and beyond irritated. You didn’t even drive, being a passenger princess was the lifestyle you were living. But of course, so was Jude, except he didn’t have a licence – and you did. You didn’t want to go with Trent, and Camille was busy with Jules doing who knows what. So.. it was down to you tonight. There was no way you were driving back though, the mission was to forget this night even happened. Jude settled in the seat next to you, sprawling his long legs out in a manspread while playing music from a playlist on his phone. You deadpanned on him, scowling. “You really need to get a licence,” you mutter. “This is so fucking stupid Jude! YOU should be driving ME.”

Jude laughed, shaking his head. “Why am I catching strays? What’d I do? You know I can’t drive. Lay off me, yeah?” You rolled your eyes, slamming the car into gear, pulling out into the road with more speed than necessary. This car was fast. Jude leaned in his seat, jamming to the music, very unbothered by your irritation with him.

“I should’ve made you walk,” you say, glaring at him. “You and your friend, I swear..”

After pulling up to the afterparty, the valet took the car and you strutted inside, Jude lazily strolling behind you with his hands in his pocket. All eyes were on you, people whispering as you walked past:

“Mate, that dress… she’s fucking killing it.”

“She’s with Jude? Where’s Trent?? I saw them arguing earlier..”

“Nah, they’re fine. Jude just can’t drive himself.”

“She could step on me in those heels and I would thank her.”

“Bro, if my girl came out looking like that we’d never make it inside.”

“I like her energy, she’s giving unbothered diva.”

“Trent’s in for it tonight…”

You heard every comment, every whisper, but you weren’t fazed by any of it. If anything, it fueled you into having the night you were determined to have. Let them speculate and talk all they want, who cares? Not you..or did you?

The heavy bass of the music reverberated through the floor, a relentless beat kicked in with precision, making the entire room pulse to command all attention. Each step you took toward the bar was synced with the thumping rhythm, every head turning as you passed by. The beat was sharp, almost downright arrogant. Jude looked around, dapping people up as he trailed behind you.

“Lemon drop shots for me, please. Make ’em strong.” you say to the bartender before jerking your head in Jude’s direction. “Get him....something. I really don’t give a fuck what it is.” The bartender nodded, laughing to himself while preparing the drinks. As soon as the lemon drop shots were placed in front of you, you downed two immediately and surveyed the crowd.

Where the hell is Camille? Jules??

Your head turned to the door, seeing Trent walk in. He was on point. The white caught your eye immediately and you scoffed in disbelief. He knew you were down bad for him in those colors.

OH? That’s what we’re doing?

He wanted your attention, but you weren’t willing to give it to him, not after the way he reacted at the gala. No. Don’t be that easy, even if he does look good.

Both of you locked eyes from across the bar while the beat pounded in the background. Trent’s gaze never broke from yours; you both were playing a game without saying a word. Jude was watching the whole thing unfold, downing whatever shot the bartender gave him while he silently clocked the situation like a spectator with front row seats.

You turned back to your last shot, picking it up for another round. While Trent and Jude’s eyes were on you, you dragged your tongue slowly along the sugared rim before tossing the shot back, a sweet burn hit your throat and travelled down to warm your stomach. You licked the remaining sugar from your finger, feeling Trent’s gaze sear into you while you made your way to the dance floor without giving him a second glance. You knew he was watching. That’s exactly what you wanted. Your hips swayed to the beat as you danced with other friends, knowing he was observing every move. He lost control of this little match the minute you slipped into that red dress. You gave him his red card. Now he was stuck watching from the touchline.

Jude strolled over to Trent, more drinks in hand. He was trying to hide the enjoyment emitting from his face while watching his friend's predicament. Neither of them had ever seen you like this, but Jude knew how this was going to play out. He knew Trent wasn’t going to win this time. He handed Trent a drink, unable to hide the smile on his face any longer.

“Mate..you fucked up, didn’t you?”

honestly, if you made it this far you're a real one and i tysm. lmk what you think, and where you think Camille and Jules went bc i haven't decided 👀 song inspo:

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold x you #trent alexander arnold angst #trent alexander arnold smut #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #taa x reader #trent alexander arnold fanfiction #fem!reader #footballer fanfic #footballer imagines #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold imagine #Spotify

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