#let me know if i need to adjust anything!

[ari-ana-bel-la]

OMG you're writing is actually so good, you're fics are the absolute. cutest

Could I please request more protective dad charles, maybe with teen daughter reader who is growing more independent and Charles is both proud and sad that his little girl is growing up and wants to spend even more time with her. I feel like clingy and protective dad charles would be cute but funny as the same time

His strong, independent girl

The first time Charles held Yn in his arms, he knew—without question—that nothing in the world would ever matter more to him than his daughter. Not his career, not the roar of the engines, not even the red car he had once thought was the love of his life. Yn was his heart walking outside his body, and from the moment she came into the world, she held that heart in the palm of her tiny hand.

It hadn’t changed over the years. Not when she took her first steps, not when she lost her first tooth, and certainly not now that she was eighteen and full of bright-eyed independence. If anything, Charles only loved her more fiercely. But with that love came a deep, gnawing ache—an ache he felt every time she left the apartment with her friends, laughing as she tossed a quick “Bye, Papa!” over her shoulder. She was growing up, slipping through his fingers faster than he could hold on. And while he was so proud of her, the thought of his little girl no longer needing him twisted something tight in his chest.

So when Yn asked him to teach her how to drive, Charles didn’t hesitate. If this was how he could hold onto her a little longer—by guiding her hands on the wheel, by being the one she turned to when she wanted to learn—then he would gladly give her everything he knew.

And if he happened to use his favorite car for the lesson? Well, she deserved nothing but the best.

---

"Are you serious?" Yn’s voice was filled with disbelief as she stood in front of the sleek Ferrari Pista Spider, its back paint gleaming under the warm afternoon sun. "You're letting me drive this?"

Charles leaned casually against the hood, arms crossed as he grinned at her. "What? You didn’t think I was going to teach you in some boring car, did you?"

Her green eyes widened as she shook her head. "I thought you’d make me learn in the Volvo or something!"

He laughed softly, pushing off the car to open the driver’s side door. "Please, ma chérie, you’re my daughter. You should learn how to drive properly. And that means driving the best."

Yn rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed how excited she was. "I’m not going to crash it, I promise."

"I know you won’t." He said it with such quiet confidence that it warmed her heart. No matter how much of a perfectionist he could be with himself, when it came to her, he always believed she could do anything. "Come on, get in."

She slid into the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the leather steering wheel as Charles moved around to the passenger side. When he sat down, the familiar scent of his cologne and the faint aroma of the car’s interior wrapped around her.

"Alright," he said, his tone soft and patient, "first things first—adjust your seat. You need to be close enough to the pedals but not too close that you feel cramped."

Yn wriggled forward slightly, testing the pedals under her sneakers. "Like this?"

"Perfect," he praised, reaching over to tap the steering wheel. "And your hands—ten and two. Seatbelt. Always. This isn’t a video game."

She laughed under her breath but did as he instructed. "Okay. What next?"

Charles leaned back in his seat, watching her with a mixture of pride and something softer—something that made his heart ache. "Put your foot on the brake. Then press the ignition."

Yn followed his instructions, but as soon as she pressed the button, the engine let out a sharp, sputtering noise before falling silent. She froze, a flash of panic crossing her face.

"I broke it," she blurted.

Charles chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "You didn’t break anything, ma chérie. It’s fine." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Take a breath. Try again."

She did, exhaling slowly before pressing the button once more. This time, the engine purred to life beneath them, smooth and powerful. Yn’s face lit up with excitement.

"There you go," Charles murmured, his voice filled with quiet pride. "See? You’ve got this."

And from there, he guided her through the basics with endless patience. Steering, braking, accelerating—every movement was accompanied by his calm instructions, his voice as steady as if they were simply sitting at the kitchen table rather than in a car worth more than most people’s houses.

When she pressed the accelerator too gently and the car barely rolled forward, he bit back a smile. When she jerked a little too hard while turning, he only said, "You’re doing great—just ease into it."

And when Yn got a little too confident and sped up along the empty road, Charles didn’t scold her. No—he laughed softly to himself, thinking that it wasn’t her fault everyone else drove too slowly.

---

After an hour, Yn had the hang of it. Her hands moved smoothly on the wheel, and her confidence grew with every turn. Charles couldn’t stop watching her, pride swelling in his chest at how quickly she was picking everything up. But beneath that pride was a pang of something bittersweet—because every mile she drove was another step toward a world where she didn’t need him to guide her anymore.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Charles finally directed her back toward their apartment. When she eased the car perfectly into a parking spot, he let out a long breath and smiled.

"You did it," he said, his voice soft with wonder. "You’re a natural, Yn."

She turned to him, her smile radiant. "I had the best teacher."

He laughed, but when he looked at her—really looked at her—he felt a lump form in his throat. When had she grown up like this? When had his little girl become this smart, capable young woman who didn’t need her father to hold her hand at every step?

Before he could sink too deeply into those thoughts, Yn threw open her door and rushed around to his side. Without warning, she flung her arms around him, holding him tight.

"Thank you," she whispered against his chest. "For everything, Papa."

Charles’ breath caught, and he held her just as tightly, his arms wrapping around her as if he could shield her from the entire world. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Je t’aime, ma chérie," he murmured. "More than anything."

---

Later that night, when they returned to the apartment, Alexandra was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. She glanced up as they walked in, raising an eyebrow at the wide smile on Charles’ face.

"So," she drawled, "how did it go? Is our car still in one piece?"

Charles scoffed, dropping onto the couch beside her. "Our car? Please. That car is practically Yn’s now. And she’s a genius. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone learn that fast."

Yn, who was grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, laughed softly. "You’re exaggerating, Papa."

"I’m not!" Charles insisted, turning to Alexandra with an earnest expression. "She’s incredible. So smooth on the wheel, completely calm—"

"You’re ridiculous," Alexandra teased, though her smile softened as she watched the way Charles practically glowed with pride.

"I’m right," he shot back. Then, his expression softened as he glanced toward the kitchen where Yn stood. "She’s amazing," he repeated quietly. "And I’m so proud of her."

And in that moment, Charles knew—no matter how fast time moved, no matter how independent Yn became—he would always be her biggest supporter. Because she wasn’t just his daughter.

She was his heart.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[princessflorida]

saying they've "lost their final bargaining chip" is so incredibly ludicrous and revolution fantasy to me honestly. no they didnt. their final "bargaining chip" is extortion and coercive force. it's how they got to where they are now. and force will be required to stop them. fascists dont just run out of bargaining chips. WE are the chips. and they're doing a very successful job at farming us. they wont run out.

if they truly had lost THEE FINAL bargaining chip for "keeping the masses working for them", then they'd lose. because we wouldn't be working for them. but we still are. literally no one has stopped. because we have to have a roof over our head and food, especially people that have kids. or people that have meds they HAVE to pay for or they die, etc.

IF they EVER lose "the final bargaining chip keeping the masses working for them" it will be because it was taken by force. the final chip is being allowed to stay alive. the final chip is not starving to death or dying from exposure.

i can tell when people say stuff like this they've never been homeless or lived poverty at best, and at worst are usually chronically online kids who have never had to pay bills and have never had to choose between having a roof or eating. i can telk they've never once had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, have never had to steal food to stay alive, had to do risky fucked up shit not to die in the heat or the cold, etc.

our compliance will not be rewarded with anything other than JUST barely getting enough food and sleep to stay alive. alive, not well or healthy. just alive. starve an animal and watch what it's willing to do to get food. itll do anything. so will we. our coercive forced compliance is rewarded with not dying. and the vast majority of people, especially those who have kids to make sure don't starve to death, will stoop to any level to make sure those mouths get fed. and i don't mean the snitch bitch from mcdonalds. she can rot. i mean that saying "theyve lost the final bargaining chip keeping the masses working for them" sounds like the chronically online teenage revolution fantasy from someone who's parents pay their phone bill, and their way through college, and bought them a car etc. like you're really not convincing me you've ever gone hungry once. clearly the masses are still working for them. nothing has changed.

the adjuster (luigi is innocent til proven guilty can yall stop saying he did it sybau snitches youre as bad as the mcds lady by doing that), whoever he is, did a heroic and powerful thing. and "the masses" simply ARE NOT willing to organize and follow in his footsteps. they'd rather keep working bc they need food and a roof NOW. until we combat that with community mutual aid and organization on a large level, their "last bargaining chip" is our lives.

think about what you're saying before you say it. seriously. the chronically online revolutionary fantasy shit pmo so bad. all i see nowadays trying to organize w people is that no one wants to ACTUALLY do anything, they just want to keep working for the masses while pretending that bitching online is some sort of radical revolutionary activist shit that actually does something (it doesnt). and those of us who actly are willing are so outnumbered and poor, disabled, sick etc that WE'RE the ones who need the fucking help. anyone above our tax bracket, middle class, who pretends to be into this shit when it comes time to try to do that? crickets.

let me know when yall are ACTUALLY ready to adjust the world in favor of humanity's sustainable survival ourselves. ill be waiting. ill probably die waiting. the adjuster has shown us we cant change the world alone. we need numbers. big numbers. enough of us that they can't just throw us in prison and make an example out of us.

bc right now the rich/elite/1%/politicians are sitting and laughing at dumbass tweets like this knowing the people posting them won't even break a single misdemeanor law much less do worse. they don't let the snitches in the club, and they know the people against them won't crash the club either. even losing 1 of their own, did that stop UHC? did it stop for profit healthcare? no. a lot more deaths will have to happen for any of that to stop, bc they will not stop for any reason other than being dead. and they know their club is untouchable both to snitch asskissers and those against them. bc we dont try. bc of the threat of violence and death. the end.

[peter-pumpkin-eater]

Bite

Caleb x gn!reader

summary: Sitting on Caleb's lap while sleepy might be a bad idea (you'll do it again)

warnings: slightly suggestive (nothing mentioned but hinted at), yearning, one (1) gendered pet name (pretty girl), biting

word count: 607

You were curled up in Caleb’s lap. Something was playing on the tv but you weren’t paying attention. Your half lidded eyes weighed heavy with exhaustion. It also didn’t help that Caleb’s fingers were running absentmindedly on the outside of your thigh that was tucked against him. Caleb dropped his head in the crook of your neck and stifled a yawn against your skin - the puff of hot air making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You melted further into him, his warmth seeping into your bones. He dragged his lips up your neck before resting behind your ear and taking a deep breath. Your scent flooded his senses and he wasn’t thinking, he was too tired and the feeling of you pressed against him was overwhelming. His lips ghosted back down your neck and the sleepy tilt of your head giving him a little more access was his breaking point.

He opened his mouth slowly and the feel of his teeth grazing across your skin set you on fire. You were suddenly wide awake. Before you could fully process what was happening you felt his teeth sink into your neck. It wasn't a hard bite, but you know that it’ll probably leave a mark.

“Ah~” You gasped before throwing a hand over your mouth. The sound you made not only startled you but also Caleb. He froze against you before you could feel the curl of his lips against your skin.. 

“You like that?” Caleb’s gravely voice chuckled against the shell of your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, still having a hand over your mouth. Caleb wrapped his arms tighter around your torso, the hand that was on your thigh snaking under it pulling you closer against him. 

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure Caleb could feel it through your back. His lips moved to your shoulder and you shivered. 

“Talk to me, baby.” He purred against your skin before sinking his teeth in again, gentler this time. You think you could feel his tongue run over the bite mark.

“Mm!” you moaned against your hand before dropping them to claw at Caleb's arm around you. You needed to get off his lap before you embarrassed yourself further. Another chuckle puffed against your ear. 

“Does my pretty girl like being bitten? Naughty.” He teased. 

“Caleb. Need t-” you gasped using both hands to try and peel his arm from you.

“Need to, what?” He spoke as he ran his nose against your pulse point. He was taking this too far. He should stop. He doesn't want to scare you away, but the way you're shaking on top of him and those oh so pretty sounds falling past your lips were a drug he will never stop trying to get now that he’s had a taste. 

You wiggle against him trying to break free. “I- I need to get up” You stuttered out.

Caleb had to let you go now. It was getting harder for him to control himself and if anything, this was a perfect test to see how far he could push you. He loosens his arms around you and you bolt from his lap and up the stairs. He sighs heavily with a smile on his lips and leans into the couch. He adjusted his sweats and was sure you had felt his own reaction to this against you. 

Upstairs you had locked yourself in the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. You looked up at yourself in the mirror and groaned at the very obvious bite mark on your neck. You were fucked.

[nightplvmes]

it'll be quick

sylus x fem!reader | nsfw, +18, MDNI!—explicit content, penetration, sex in public place | an : i don't know if I like this, any opinion is welcome... likes and reblogs are appreciated :)

"Sy..." She gasped feeling her breasts press against the wall in front of her. Her breathing was already heavy and it hadn't been more than a couple of minutes.

"It'll be quick," he murmured, kissing her cheek. She didn't stop there, too many things were going through her head at once. The place where they were. The bathroom door. Sylus' hands sliding under her dress to push aside her underwear.

"Someone can see us," she gasped again but she didn't even make an attempt to get away or stop from him, she didn't want to stop, she needed him as much as he did. Sylus placed a kiss on her bare shoulder and smiled. It was an auction or a fundraiser... or a fundraising auction, she wasn't sure yet. Sylus had been teasing her all night and she had barely paid attention to her surroundings. She didn't even want to be there, neither did he, he had mentioned how those events were nothing more than a farce but he needed people to see him.

And now there they were, in an empty bathroom (maybe), her boyfriend's hands on her and she was sure what would happen next. "Spread your legs." She complied and felt another kiss on her cheek. Someone could come in at any moment and see them like that, what would they do if that happened? Just die of embarrassment. "So pretty... embarrassed and needy." One of his arms went around her waist, pulling her close to him, and his other hand slid down to hold one of her thighs.

"We shouldn't do this," she repeated letting her head fall back, allowing Sylus access to her neck—sucking with the intention of leaving a visible mark.

"No, we shouldn't," he replied holding her tightly before sliding inside her. "So tight around me." He left a peak on her lips and began to thrust into her, trying to be fast without hurting her.

She moaned, holding on tightly to the wall in front of her. She had discovered two things about Sylus: He could be slow and gentle, careful as he whispered sweet things in her ear. But he could also be fast, he could be slightly rough without hurting her or making her uncomfortable. "Sy–ah..." She wanted to say something, the words were in her throat but she just wanted to moan and writhe in his arms. "Fuck, that's... so good."

"Shh" He gently cupped her jaw, causing her to turn her face towards him. "Someone can come in, remember?" She nodded, feeling dizzy from the pleasure. Her mind couldn't focus on anything else but her boyfriend's arms around her and the way he was thrusting into her.

Fast.

Slow.

Hard.

Then fast again.

"Oh god... Sylus-" She placed her hand against the wall and he took it to intertwine their fingers.

"I know." He nodded without letting her finish. He could feel it, the way she tightened around him. His hand dropped from her thigh but holding her waist tightly, his free hand sliding between her folds to her sensitive clit. She whimpered harder, bucking her hips against him. "So beautiful..." Sylus let out a growl and took her jaw again this time to kiss her in an attempt to silence her moans.

"Mmph!" She writhed in his arms, heat building in her body and it was only a matter of seconds before she finally came and felt her legs shake. Sylus stopped kissing her, held her hips tightly and thrust one last time inside her. His deep moans echoed in her ears as she felt her insides being filled. She held onto the wall again to avoid falling to the ground, it took her several moments to realize what they had just done... and where. "I couldn't believe we did this," she muttered after a few seconds, her breathing still heavy.

"I know." He smiled kissing her lips once more but this time it was a slower and softer kiss. He helped her adjust her clothes while leaving kisses on her cheek or forehead. She wasn't sure if anyone had seen or heard them, she hoped she hadn't been too loud.

Sylus held her in his arms to prevent her legs from collapsing. He helped her clean herself up, though not completely, as a reminder of what they had done. The rest of the night he didn't leave her side for a second, but that was normal. What was not usual was feeling the remains of his seed still inside her every time she had to move.

[littlcdarlin]

surprising dbf!Joel with lingerie

warnings: big girthy age gap (unspecified), Joel puts his hand on her throat (no choking), teasing Joel in public, Joel Miller rendered useless by a bit of lace, reader is sort of innocent

note: Can you tell I bought new underwear yesterday? It's crazy how much more confident I feel in it, I just needed to write this. Enjoy, my loves <3

Joel always insists he loves you in your cotton panties, he says nothing is sexier to him than you in your usual underwear

He won’t let you spend your money on expensive lingerie (‘don’t go wastin’ your money on me, sweetheart, I enjoy myself just fine. Sides, ‘s ‘bout gettin’ you out of your panties anyway’) and won't buy you anything himself because that can’t be comfortable, ‘s barely even a string

One night he fucks you in your white cotton bra dotted in cherries, your cheeks warming when you realise you wore your ‘bad’ underwear, and although he sure doesn’t seem to mind, you make a mental note to buy at least one set of hot underwear

So you go on an online shopping spree, picking what your imagine Joel will like the most — nothing too darkly sexy, but rather lots of lace, light and girly colors, cuts that are revealing in a teasing way, that leave enough to the imagination for you to be able to hear Joel’s groan in your ear already

You keep more than just one set, and when you put on a white lace thong and bra, you feel incredibly sexy. It's not too forward for you, teasing and still strangely innocent despite your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your bra and your whole ass being visible. It feels naughty to put on your usual clothes over it

Joel’s eyes are glued to your shoulder during a neighbourhood barbecue when he sees some lace peeking out under your shoulder strap — you adjust your shirt and he drinks his beer quietly, holding your gaze, brows slightly furrowed

Should’ve asked me before buying that yourself, sweetheart, I would’ve gotten it for you, he tells you when you have a quiet moment away from the rest of the neighbours. You can tell he feels guilty for you using your own money, he usually gets you anything you just vaguely mention you’d like

So you tell him you wanted it to be a surprise, a little disappointed he already knows you’re all dressed up for him under your jeans and top, but for the rest of the afternoon his eyes don’t leave your shoulders and you think that maybe the anticipation makes it even more fun

You start to play with him, subtly move your shirt so that the lacy strap is visible. When you go to the bathroom, you adjust your jeans so that the little bow at the front of your new thong peeks out just barely

Joel’s useless when he spots it, he excuses himself from a conversation with your Dad to go to the bathroom, and you think you’re not the only one adjusting your jeans in there

When everyone’s going home and he’s sure it won’t rouse suspicion, you get a text from Joel: my place, 5 minutes. Don’t change

You make up some lame excuse about sleeping at a friend’s place, and leave your parents to it. Joel’s house is only a few minutes away, and as soon as you unlock his door with the key he gave you, he’s in front of you, all 6’3 feet of him

He doesn't even look at your face, his eyes glued to the bit of white lace peeking out from under your shirt, and with any other man it would make you roll your eyes, but something about Joel not functioning the way he usually would makes you excited

Before you can say hello, he starts toying with the the shoulder strap of your top, moving it to the side, his thumb sliding under the lace, tugging at it, his other hand resting heavily on your shoulder and caressing the side of your neck

Already you can feel heat in the pit of your stomach at Joel's quiet admiration, and when he mutters Jesus fuckin' Christ, you clench around nothing and lean up to kiss him, his mouth insistent and impatient on yours. You feel wanted, needed, when Joel leads you to the living room without breaking the kiss, one hand gently wrapping around your throat to stir you in the right direction while you're rendered useless by his mouth

Joel breaks away when you're almost at his couch, wanna look at you, angel, and starts lifting your top for you. All of a sudden you feel nervous he won't like what you picked, that he's a practical man through and through and really does prefer you in your comfy cotton underwear, but his eyes widen and you think he stops breathing for a second when your bra is revealed

He drops your shirt to the floor, and drags his hands over your skin, taking in your tits, which are barely covered by transparent, white lace. His thumb moves over your nipple, and an involuntary whine escapes you, the sensation of his touch over the fabric intense

Fuck, you're gonna kill me, babygirl. Did this for me? His voice is strained, like he's keeping himself from ripping your bra off your body and you know if you were to reach down, you'd find him fully hard. You want him to see your thong before things get too heated, though, so you smile up at him, press a sweet kiss to his throat

Wanted to look nice for you. His fingers are still toying with the fabric of your bra, constantly moving over your body

Always look nice, baby, but this is...shit, I need to fuck you in it.

You pop open the button of your jeans, and Joel's eyes snap towards your crotch, his bulge right in front of it, when you drag the zipper down. His hands are on your hips in a second, helping you drag your jeans down

You shaved for Joel, and your new skimpy little panties barely cover anything. What little fabric there is, is already soaked, just from Joel looking at you all hungry

Again, Joel traces the fabric with his fingers, mapping it out on your body, and when he realizes just how wet you are for him, he presses down on your clit, rubbing tight circles with two fingers

Although it pains you, you gasp wait, and he stops, lets you step out of your jeans, only in your underwear now. You take a step back and smile, letting Joel take you in completely

Spin for me, babygirl, he orders and you obey immediately. You hear him curse when he sees the fabric of your panties practically disappearing between your asscheeks, and you've never felt so sexy

When you're facing him again, he squeezes your ass with one hand, and teases your clit with the other once again. Gonna make you come in these before I fuck you in 'em

It doesn't take you long at all, Joel praising you, calling you his good girl, holding you up, before nudging you towards the couch and laying you down on it

He just drags your panties to the side, slips two thick fingers into you, impatiently preparing you for his cock, which is still straining against his jeans

Something about dressing up in lingerie for Joel while he's fully clothed makes you positively ache. It makes the difference in age more prominent – Joel, a greying contractor wearing what he probably wore thirty years ago, and you, his pretty, young, soft babygirl

The contrast is exhilarating – lace against flannel, naked skin against rough denim, gruff groans mixed with soft whines

When Joel slides into you, the stretch is familiar, and you sigh at the feeling. Been waiting for it all day, you whisper, wanted you so bad at the barbecue

It makes Joel curse, fuck into you with more force, shit, baby, y'look so pretty for me

He fucks you deeply, eyes constantly on your bra or panties, watching his hands toy with your nipples, or his cock disappear inside of you, sliding against the thin fabric of your thong

It doesn't take either of you long to come, Joel forcing his cock all the way inside and holding it there while he spurts rope after rope of cum inside of you. You tremble around him, clench and unclench, dragging every last drop from him

Afterwards, he lets you lie on top of him the way you like, strokes your skin, toys with your bra strap and waistband, presses soft kisses into your hair

I've got a light pink set, too, you tell him and yawn, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, and smiling when you feel his spent cock twitch against you. I'll wear that to the next family dinner you're invited to.

Joel swats your ass lightly, and you laugh, feel his own chuckle rumble in his chest. You're gonna kill me, angel. Old man like me, I'll have a stroke.

You rest like this for a while, quiet, enjoying each other's warmth, but after a while Joel's lips caress the shell of your ear, his voice making goosebumps appear all over your skin when he speaks

You know y'don't gotta shave for me or put on something fancy, though, right? You tell him you do, that you just wanted to surprise him, give him something special because of how special he always treats you

I ain't complainin', baby, just don't want you thinkin' I don't love you just as much in those little cherry panties of yours.

[baniisharur0tte]

Thank You, Miss <3 (p.2)

(part one here)

word count: 3.4k of filth <3

content: SMUT !!! 18+ !!!! sub!Choso, servicedom!fem!reader, missionary P->V, oral (m+f!receiving), deepthroat, vibrator + butt plug (m!recieving) mild degradation, major praise, pet names (pretty, puppy, etc.) mommy/miss/mistress kink, creampie

authors note: AAHHHH!!!!! (i pull my hair out) I NEED HIM!!!!! (that's all. just fervor. happy reading, lovely! mwah!)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

he parts his lips from yours, quietly asking "can we try another one today?"

laying on your back, you push his chest gently so you can lean over and rifle through the bedside table.

"of course love. let's see what we have."

still wanting to ease him into the adventure, you pick something you think will be gentle for him. you decide on the black vibrating butt plug.

you turn back, holding it up between you two. he cocks his head, looking at it.

"do you know what this is?"

he thinks for a moment, inspecting it.

"i...i think so. when i saw it on the shelf i just thought 'she'll know what to do' so i brought it to you. i think it goes in your pussy?"

you giggle, shaking your head.

"no, sweetie. well, technically it can, but that's not what it's for today."

you click the button on the back, letting it buzz for a moment before turning it off again. his eyes flash, remembering how much he loved the wand. he sits back on his heels, you follow sitting up to face him.

"this goes in your ass, i can use it too but it'll feel better for you than it will for me."

his eyebrows furrow in confusion, muttering "in my... well i guess... i mean, i've never done anything like that...." before he finally lands on "if you want to use it on me, i trust you. i know it'll be fun" he smiles brightly, his eyes shining on you.

"okay, love. c'mere, try to relax as best you can."

you lace your fingers into his, pulling him back down to lay on you. his face buried in the crook of your neck, you grab the bottle of lube on the nightstand and pour some onto the toy. you slip your hand into his underwear, find his hole and gently begin to push it inside him.

he yelps quietly and pushes his face deeper into your hair. "i-it's cold!!" he whispers, his voice high and tense.

you stroke his hair, soothing him. "it's okay, puppy. if it hurts i'll stop, but just try to relax. it'll warm up, love. don't worry"

"it doesn't hurt, i l-like it i think" he says quietly, squirming and whimpering as it reaches the base.

you pet his hair, rubbing his back as you lay together, letting him adjust to this new feeling.

he shifts his legs around, letting out small whimpers with every move. "i can feel it when i move, that's good right?"

you tilt his face up to yours, meeting his eyes. his cheeks are already beginning to flush, his big doe eyes looking up at you. "does it feel good when you move?"

he slowly pulls himself up and carefully grinds into your pussy, his cock trapped in his underwear.

"ooh!~" he quickly stops, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in your shoulder again.

"....y-yes, it does. thank you mommy" he whispers shyly into your skin, his breath ghosting over you sending a small shiver down your side.

"c-can i have the buzzing too?"

"if you feel ready, of course you can"

you reach down and push the button, the pressure pushing it ever so slightly deeper into him. between the small thrust and the sudden vibrations, his whole body jerks at the sensation. he lets out a gasp as he tenses on top of you.

"oh my god, that feels-hngh-oh my god" he chokes out, grinding into you without even thinking. with every weak roll of his hips, the toy bumps around inside him hitting something that feels so good. it was hard for him to understand, he felt it in his stomach and down the length of his cock, it was a pleasure that he felt deep in his core. it was unlike any other pleasure he had felt before. it was strange, it felt like the stirring in his stomach of needing to cum, but he wasn't close. was he? he wasn't sure, it was all so alien to him, his body feeling a little overwhelmed by all the stimulation. the buzzing of the vibrator was rocking deep inside him, it made his insides feel like jelly. with his cock slowly dragging over your pussy, your underwear clinging to your wet folds the head of his cock catching on the dip of your entrance with every thrust, it felt like he was being attacked from all sides. hearing your gentle moans as he rubbed himself on your clit, it fried his brain.

"this is- aahh- a lot for m-me i think~" he moans, almost painfully.

you grab his face, saying "if it's too much we can slow down. i want you to take this at your own pace."

he looks down at you, shaking his head. "i l-like it, i can take it. i want you to..." he trails off, dropping his gaze.

"what do you need, pretty?"

"t-to make it worse."

as a devious smile grows on your face, he begins to worry he made a mistake confessing his need to you.

you instruct him to lay on his back, stripping his underwear off him. every move he made trying to get comfortable only made him whimper and wince at the pleasure. he was most comfortable with his knees bent, feet on the bed.

perfect.

you find your place between his legs, slowly stroking the length of his cock. "aah~! fuck, thank you miss"

he grabs your wrist instinctively, squeezing tight as you begin to quicken your pace. his cock twitching and throbbing in your hands, dripping pearls of precum wetting him as you tease him.

"you want me to make it worse for you, puppy? you won't live to see tomorrow." you grin devilishly as you take his cock into your mouth and immediately thrust it into the back of your throat, your nose hitting his pelvis. a loud guttural moan rips from his throat as you fuck your face down onto his aching cock. his hands fly up tangling into your hair, holding you down on him.

you stay like this for a moment, feeling your eyes spill with tears as his cock throbs in the tight walls of your throat. you pull yourself back up, just enough to swirl the tip around in your mouth. his grip in your hair tightens as he bucks and whimpers, holding himself back from fucking your face the way he needs to.

"god, mommy your mouth feels amazing~ thank you for for swallowing my cock" he mewls and gasps, trying to talk coherently through all his pathetic noises.

you take him into your throat again, bobbing your head up and down as lewd gags and squelches of spit emanate around the room. he instinctively rolls his hips with you, every move he makes causes the toy to bump around inside, sending shocks of deep pleasure wracking up his spine. it feels so good, he can almost feel it behind his eyes.

"m-mommy can you- fuck!- can you p-push on it or something? i t-think i need more of the toy" he begs, so greedy for you to make him cum. his lustful curiosity of what it would feel like to cum with this toy in his ass was making him urgent and desperate. you reach down, one hand holding the base of his cock in place while you swallow it, the other holding the base of the butt plug. you rock it back and forth, putting emphasis on the 'up' motion, tilting it towards his stomach to massage his prostate. as you begin rocking the toy, his whole body shudders and his legs tighten, thrusting his cock deep down your throat. a strained cry rips from him, he babbles "oh fuck, oh fuck, yes miss thank you~ god that feels so good i think i'm gonna cum in your pretty mouth"

he begins fucking your face, desperate and crying out for more of you. his grip on your hair was pushing you down onto his huge, pitiful cock as you roll the vibrator around inside him, massaging his tight insides. every sharp thrust of his hips causes his body to tighten around the toy, as if his body were trying to milk cum from it. your throat squeezing around him, pulling him deeper every time you swallowed, it overwhelmed his poor pathetic cock. his eyes spilled the tears he had been holding back, whining and mewling as he came deep down your throat, his ass clenching hard around the toy. it felt like his whole body exploded. a deep sharp bloom of pleasure rocked from his stomach all the way up his spine, making his hands and feet tingle. he saw white, blinded by this overwhelming sensation. he shuddered and shook, his entire body tensing as he choked on his own orgasm. "m'cumming! i'm cumming for you mommy! fuuccckkkk aahhh~" he cried.

as his cock throbbed and twitched in your throat, you felt the muscle on the underside of his cock pump cum down into your mouth. his balls resting on your wrist as you pushed the toy deeper into his ass, tightened and squeezed as his orgasm ripped through him.

his shaking legs began to still, his gasping breaths and pathetic little whimpers died down. he slowly pulled you off his half-hard cock, turning your face up to look at him.

you were a fucking mess.

your red glowing face was covered in drool, your eyes wild and full of lust. your red swollen lips curl into slack-jawed smile as you looked up at him, only worrying him more. you just made him cum the hardest he thinks anyone has in existence, and you don't look like you are anywhere near done with him.

the vibrator still buzzing inside him, he is immediately squirming and overstimulated, his cock hard all over again.

you slink up next to him, pulling his face into your chest and cradle him, his arms wrapping around your waist. in nothing but your wet, clingy panties, his hot breath tickles the valley of your chest as he presses his face harder into you.

you pet his hair, praising him for how well he did trying something new.

he begins to squirm more, whimpering quietly into the soft squish of your chest. "i need more, it's still inside me and it's making me hard again. can you play with me some more, mommy?" he looks up at you, his eyebrows knitted together in sexual frustration, a small pout on his lips as he asks you quietly for more attention.

"you still hungry, greedy boy?" you tease him, poking his nose and giggling.

you are raring to keep going, holding back to be gentle with him and give him space to explore.

he begins placing small hesitant kisses on your chest, letting small whimpers escape as he continues to be bombarded by the vibrator inside him. pushing your tits together, he loses himself as he kisses you sloppier and sloppier, sucking on your nipples and biting your soft flesh. "i'm starving for you, miss." he growls lowly, a darkness in his eyes. his tone shift was juxtaposed by the pitiful mewls he kept letting fall from his lips, a desperate pull between a deep need to chase the pleasure you give him, worshipping and eating you whole, and the searing bite of overstimulation as his body clawed to recover from the brutal orgasm you just gave him. fighting with himself and losing, he trailed hot kisses down to your pussy. he began eating you out through your panties so desperately and passionately, he couldn't help but grind his hard, red cock into the bed to catch friction to ease the ache. he sits up for a moment to pull them off, not able to waste another second with anything between him and that delicious, beautiful pussy. you groan tossing your head back as he dove back in, slobbering shamelessly on your wet pussy. the squelching and wet smacks of his lips on yours rang out around the room, the sound revving both of you up even more. he is mumbling into your lips about how good you taste, how he wants to make you cum on him, he wants you to use him.the worship and praise he gives you gets you close already. his words alone were worth more than what he physically does to you. his low voice, heavy eyelids watching you intently as he aims to please you, his nose bumping into your clit as he fucks his tongue in and out of your squelching pussy, it was so good.

your sweet, perfect pet knew how to please his mommy so well.

you lace your fingers into his hair, pushing his face into you harder as you feel that stir in your stomach of your orgasm coming. he lets out a surprised "hmpf!" and his eyes roll back in pleasure as you force him to drink in more of you. his eyebrows knit together, nodding to encourage you to use him.

he laces his fingers over yours in his hair, squeezing your hands into his hair harder. he moans into your pussy as you pull his hair roughly, your thighs clamping down around his face. a string of babbling cries fall from your lips as you praise him, falling apart into his mouth. wave after wave of your orgasm crashes into you, gushing your creamy cum onto his face. he grips your thighs tight, pushing them into his face harder hoping you crush him to death as you cum.

he eases up as you come down, licking every inch of you clean so as to not waste a drop of your precious cum. he needs all of you, and he wont stop until he gets it.

he works his way back up your body, kissing and licking every bit of skin on his way up.

he pulls himself up, his cock smacking onto your slick wet pussy. he whimpers at the contact, unable to keep his hips from bucking into you. he bites and licks at your neck, humping you like an animal in heat.

"i n-need to keep moving, i need to f-fuck your sweet pussy, mommy. can i p-please have the privilege to fuck you? i'll-hahh- do really good, i promise. i j-just-fuck- need to feel you with this toy in me, miss" he gasps between grunts as he drags his cock across your squelching wet folds.

"you can fuck me, sweet boy. but," you grab the back of his head, pulling his long dark hair so his head angles up, exposing his sinewy neck to you. you lick a long stripe from his collarbone up to his ear, biting and sucking on his earlobe. a thick shudder wracks his body as you continue, "you can't cum until i do. if you don't satisfy me, you can't fuck me for a week." you threaten, your voice low and silky in his ear.

you pull back, looking into his eyes. "you'll be a good boy for me, won't you?" you say as you reach down to stroke his cock and angle him at your entrance.

he nods, his face red from embarrassment. he bucks his hips, thrusting just the very tip of his cock into you. you shift up quickly away from him, saying "ah, not until i hear you say it." you grab his cock, squeezing tightly and rubbing his tip against your folds. he silently chokes on the words, his head lolling down as you overwhelm him.

"im-im a-" he chokes out, gasping as he watches his cock spread your lips around.

"hmmmm?" you hum teasingly, squeezing his cock again.

"i-im a good boy" he whispers quickly, trying to get it out as best he can. his hips stutter into you, trying to work the head of his cock back into your tight little pussy.

"not good enough." you reply sternly, grabbing his face and pulling him down onto you, your foreheads touching. his panting breath tickles your face as he struggles once again to meet your demands.

"im a g-good boy for mommy, i-im gonna fuck you until you cum. i-im gonna please my mistress a-and earn the right to fuck you." he chokes out, louder this time.

"perfect." you purr, letting go of his cock and grabbing his hips, slamming his cock into your pussy. he collapses into you, immediately biting your shoulder to stifle a thick, guttural groan as his cock is plunged into your tight, wet hole.

his pelvis rams into your clit, sending a shock wave up your body as his thick cock stretches you and bumps your g-spot immediately.

you gasp, feeling his hot, tight body on yours. his rippling back muscles straining under your fingers, you pet the valley between his shoulder blades as he pulls back and slams into you again. he gives you hard, sharp thrusts over and over again, slowly letting you feel the stretch between each one.

with every roll of his hips, the vibrator massages his prostate. every time he fucks his cock into you, it feels almost as though he's getting fucked too. jostling and bumping the plug in his ass as he pumped his cock into your squelching little pussy made that stir in his stomach grow tighter and tighter. he was falling apart, crying and whimpering, sucking on your skin and drooling into the pillow as he drilled his cock into you like a desperate animal. his lewd moans and mewls were louder than your own, your hungry boy was a beast for you.

he pants and grunts as his pace quickens, rolling his hips lasciviously into you. he's a mess, letting a slew of babbling "thank you mommy"s and "am i giving it to you good?" spill from his lips. he begs for your praise, trying desperately to hold back from dumping his cum into your pussy, his loser cock not being able to keep up with your pussy milking him on top of the plug massaging his insides.

you give that praise to him, telling him over and over again that he's doing amazing, he's your special boy, and that he's so pretty.

"p-pretty?? miss thinks im pretty when i fuck her into the bed??" he pants and begs, needing you to tell him again how beautiful you think he is.

you were already close, but his words describing him pounding you into the mattress broke you. your pussy clamps down on him, your ankles hooking together plunging his cock deep into you as you gush around him, milking him for his cum you are screaming and gasping "yes! yes, cho-aaahhhhfuck- pretty! pretty boy fucks me soooo good~"

you grunt and moan as you cum, shaking and squeezing around him. he can't stop moving, you may have him locked deep into you, but he rolls his hips jostling his cock around inside you to keep up the friction. your screaming orgasm pushes him far over the edge, everything he has been holding back lets loose inside you. his entire body wracks and tenses as he cums deeply from his stomach once more. his ass clenching around the vibrator, his insides are overworked jelly. his balls clenching and squeezing as he dumps more of his pathetic fucking cum deep against your cervix, that muscle on the underside of his cock pumping and throbbing inside you.

he empties his balls inside you, humping you weakly as he goes limp on top of you, completely drained. you both come down, beginning to still as he whimpers and cries, asking tearfully "i need to take it out now, i can't take it anymore. can you please get it out of me?"

he squirms and pulls off you, his hand rubbing his stomach. it was so overwhelming, the buzzing never letting up well after he came.

you reach around to turn it off and slowly pull it out with a pop! and a squeak from him. he collapses back onto you with a huff of relief and a sniffle, completely exhausted.

"so what did you think of your new toy, pretty?"

he nuzzled into your neck, a small laugh bouncing in his chest. he takes a long deep breath, breathing in your scent.

"i um.... i really like it. can you use it on me next time too?"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[prettygirl-gabi]

A Day in the Life: Dating Azzi Fudd

Paring: Azzi Fudd x !content creator Reader

Fandom: UConn’s women’s basketball

Summary: who doesn’t love a good day in the life.

I wake up to the sound of my phone alarm blaring, vibrating aggressively on my nightstand like it’s mad at me for something. With a groan, I reach out blindly, slapping around until I finally manage to turn it off.

Before I can roll over and go back to sleep, I feel a strong arm tighten around my waist.

“Mm-mm, don’t move,” Azzi mumbles against my neck, her voice raspy with sleep.

I huff out a laugh, attempting to wiggle free. “Azzi, I gotta get up. You know my mornings are busy.”

She just hums, nuzzling closer like she’s trying to merge with me. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that yesterday, and we were late to breakfast,” I remind her, but my voice has already softened.

Azzi lets out a dramatic sigh before finally letting go. “Fine,” she mutters, rolling onto her back. “But I better see you before practice.”

“You will,” I promise, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She smiles, eyes still closed, and I take a moment to admire her before slipping out of bed.

Morning Routine + Content Creation

The first thing I do after brushing my teeth is set up my camera. My fans—my Pookies—need their daily dose of content. I prop my phone up on my tripod and hit record.

“Good morning, Pookies!” I say, flashing a bright smile. “Another day, another grind. Your favorite content creator, cheerleader, and Azzi Fudd’s personal headache is here to give y’all the vibes.”

I turn the camera toward my vanity, showing off my morning setup. “Today, we got a game, so you already know the routine—hair, makeup, and a whole lotta setting spray because I’m not trying to sweat this off during cheers.”

As I chat with my Pookies, I go through my routine, answering some of the questions in the chat from my live stream.

“How’s Azzi?” one comment asks.

I grin. “She’s good! Clingy as ever, but y’all know I love that about her.”

“Is she playing tonight?”

“Of course. Y’all already know my girl doesn’t miss a game.” I glance toward the door. “Matter of fact, if she don’t hurry up and get outta bed, she might miss breakfast, though.”

As if on cue, Azzi peeks her head into the frame, her hair wild from sleep. “Who’s talking about me?”

I laugh. “Pookies wanna know if you’re playing tonight.”

Azzi squints at the screen before waving. “Tell them to pull up. I’m dropping buckets tonight.”

I turn back to the camera. “You heard the lady. Now, let me finish my routine before I end up running late for cheer practice.”

Cheer Practice + Lunch Date

By the time I get to the gym, the rest of the cheer squad is already stretching. I quickly join in, adjusting my UConn cheer uniform as I settle into position.

Practice is the usual mix of high-energy routines, stunts, and nonstop movement. I love it, but by the time we wrap up, my legs are already begging for a break.

As I’m gathering my things, I feel a familiar presence behind me before I even turn around.

“Did I miss anything?” Azzi asks, her hands casually slipping around my waist.

I lean into her. “Just me looking cute as hell in this uniform.”

Azzi chuckles, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You always do.”

We head to lunch together, grabbing seats at our usual table. I prop my phone up again, going live to let my Pookies in on the chaos.

“Guess who finally decided to wake up on time,” I tease, turning the camera toward Azzi.

She playfully rolls her eyes. “I always wake up on time.”

I give the camera a deadpan look. “Y’all, should I expose her?”

The chat immediately blows up with YES comments.

“Wow,” Azzi mutters, shaking her head. “Y’all just love drama.”

I grin before turning the camera off, deciding to focus on enjoying our lunch. Azzi nudges my plate toward me when she notices me picking at my food.

“You need to eat more,” she says.

I sigh but obey, knowing she won’t let it go. “Yes, ma’am.”

Azzi smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Game Day Prep + Halftime Show

Back in my dorm, I set up another live. “Alright, Pookies, it’s game day! Y’all already know the drill—outfit check, hair check, and a whole lot of screaming for my girlfriend on the court.”

I show off my cheer fit and do a quick GRWM while hyping up the game. The chat is full of Pookies saying they’ll be watching, which makes me grin.

“Azzi better not make me look bad,” I joke. “I be hyping her up like she’s the GOAT, so she better perform.”

Right before heading out, I get a text from Azzi.

Azzi: You better cheer extra loud for me tonight.

Me: You better give me something to cheer for.

Her response is just a bunch of side-eye emojis.

The game is electric. The crowd is hype, the team is locked in, and from the sideline, I cheer my heart out. Every time Azzi makes a shot, I scream her name louder than anyone else.

At halftime, the squad performs, and I make sure to put my all into the routine. When I glance toward the bench, I catch Azzi watching me, a smirk playing on her lips.

After the game—which UConn wins, obviously—I rush onto the court, dodging people left and right until I reach her.

She wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. “Did I give you something to cheer for?”

I grin. “Barely.”

Azzi gasps, shoving me playfully. “You’re such a hater.”

I laugh, looping my arms around her neck. “You love it, though.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “Unfortunately.”

Late-Night Wind Down

Back at my dorm, I prop my phone up one last time for a late-night live.

“Pookies, today was a success! UConn won, I didn’t trip during halftime, and my girlfriend decided to show out for y’all.”

Azzi, already in my bed in one of my hoodies, peeks over my shoulder. “Are you still talking about me?”

I smirk. “They love you, girl. You should just start your own channel.”

Azzi shakes her head. “Nah, I’ll stick to basketball. You’re the content queen.”

I blow a kiss to the camera. “And on that note, goodnight, Pookies! Love y’all!”

As soon as I end the live, Azzi tugs me into bed.

“You talk to them more than me,” she teases.

I snuggle into her. “You jealous?”

Azzi rolls her eyes but holds me tighter. “Just a little.”

I grin, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “Lucky for you, you’re my favorite person to bother.”

She hums. “Good. Now go to sleep before I start charging you for cuddles.”

I gasp. “You would never.”

Azzi smirks. “Try me.”

I shake my head, smiling as I close my eyes. Another busy day, another W.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[81pastrys]

Driving lessons?

Summary— When Carlos Sainz III is old enough for his road license, who’s better than his formula one driver of a father to teach him how to drive?

Warnings— none

A/N— Carlo is his nickname, Viviana makes a small appearance along with Lando.

Translations— ‘Mi hija’ : daughter ‘Mi hijo’ : son ‘si, mi Amor’ : yes, my love

Carlos had feared this day for around 17 years. When his son would ultimately need to get a real drivers license and not one for a junior formula. He was acting fine, until his wife forced him to dish lessons to his son. Almost spitting image of his father. “Papa, I don’t want to crash your car!” His son argued.

“Carlo, you’ll be fine.” Carlos said calm, despite the anxiety levels rising in his body. “It’s only my Bentley mi hijo, and I’ll be riding with you.” He added. As if she knew there was something to tease her brother about, Viviana entered the room.

“Scared of driving?” She laughed. Carlos gave her a look. “What? He drives a formula 2 car, how hard can it really be?” She defended herself against her father’s look.

“I’d like to see you try.” Carlo said. The teenagers go back and forth a minute before Carlos interjects. “Papa, it’s different!”

“I know, so then let’s go.” Carlos encouraged. The boy rolled his eyes and followed his dad out the front door. “Mi hija, don’t forget your chores. Mama will be home from work soon.” The 15 year old rolled her eyes but went on to do her chores as asked.

Carlos, being as rich as he is, pulled into the reserved karting track for his son to practice driving. They swapped seats and Carlos felt his hands get clammy at the thought. His little boy all grown up and about to drive his luxury car around a karting track.

“First, I want you to adjust everything.” He sighed. “The seat, mirrors, anything.” His son did just that. Moving the seat to accommodate his tall figure and mirrors to see everything necessary. “Okay, to shift gears, press the break firmly.”

“How different is this from my racing car?” His son asked. The nerves slamming his emotions completely now. The thought was one thing, but he’s actually sitting in a driver seat.

“Not too different, you just don’t feel the constant air or adrenaline rush.” Carlos explained. The car hummed quietly as they talk about the differences more.

“Okay, press the break and shift?” Carlo confirmed. He got a nod from his father and did so, shifting into drive. “Do I change the gears?” He asked, foot still on the break.

“Not today mi hijo, that’s for another day.” Carlos chuckled. The car started rolling forward slowly. Carlo hit the gas lightly and felt the speed pick up. He stayed at a comfortable 30kph. “See it isn’t hard, just need practice.” Carlos reassured.

They drive the track until sunset when Carlos deemed it too dark. Carlos drove them home for dinner. A familiar car in the parking garage. “Wait why is Lando here?” Carlo asked.

“He is?” Carlos asked before seeing the McLaren. “Ahh Vivi probably called him for something.” Sure enough Lando got a call from the girl about being scared for her brother. Lando was always welcome, hence why he stayed for dinner.

“How was it?” He questioned. He knew Carlos had been shitting his pants over this moment for years. He asked the question casually, although Carlos saw the mischief in his friend’s eyes.

“It was so cool.” Carlo said. Lando smiled along with Carlos. “It really isn’t that different to be honest.” He admitted.

“Clear track right Carlos?” His wife had a condescending tone. Carlos did inform her of their whereabouts and the plan he had. They stuck to the plan, knowing if they didn’t they were both getting scolded.

“Si, mi amor.” Carlos responded.

I felt it right for his son to be the third.

We don’t talk about how this was posted for 6 hours without me noticing the wrong suffix was used 🤫🤫

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

when the party’s over teaser

fratboy!Jaehyun x f!reader

summary: it was only a matter of time until this conversation came up. Jaehyun only wishes he were better at putting his feelings into words before the conversation went down

teaser word count: 244

expected fic word count: ~5k

release date: Saturday, March 8

warnings: profanity, angst, fuckboy behavior, slut shaming I think, hurt and pain :))

a/n: nobody gets to complain! nobody gets to look at me! everybody gets pain! everybody gets hurt! Anyway! if you'd like to be added to the taglist you can comment, message me, or send me an ask :)

extra a/n: so upon some regular short n sweet by Sabrina Carpenter listening… the fic is unintentionally so Slim Pickins coded (I’m sorry) (no I’m not)

“What the hell is so horrible about the idea of me being your girlfriend? What is so bad about me?” You feel helpless as the question leaves your lips. Whatever he says you know you’re not going to like, but you need to know. Even if it breaks you.

“I just… I haven’t been in a committed relationship for such a long time. I didn’t have time to adjust from being free to being tied down to someone,” he explains with another sigh, this time of frustration.

And you snap, because what the hell is so frustrating about being with you? You who let this bitch ass fratboy lead you on for four months? You who taught this adult man how to wash his fucking bed sheets. You who taught him how to use separate shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You who taught this college student how to study. Fuck him. Seriously, fuck him. What does he even mean being fucking free?! As if you stopped him from doing fucking anything besides sticking his dick in anything warm with a pulse. “Being free? In what ways do I hinder you from doing anything you didn’t do before you met me?” You ask with your arms now crossed across your chest.

“You mean besides the obvious?” He asks with a quirk of his brow. Fuck, wrong move! Damn, his fratboy fuckboy instincts. This is getting ugly and messy and horrible fast. Much faster than he wanted. Fuck!

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

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

Chapter Index:

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

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

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

Chapter 3- 'See You' | 'Aperture'

word count - 11.6k

‘I don’t want to play with you’ was what you had said to Trent outside in the corridor which was a lie to begin with but in the dark bathroom your body was already begging for his, desperate for any game he wanted. It was hot. Thick, unbearable heat as his grip tightened, pulling you into him. You let out a soft, helpless whimper as his fingers skimmed down, over your ass, to the backs of your thighs. Then—lifted. He lifted you effortlessly, turning, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, his body pressing flush against yours as he placed you onto the cool marble counter beneath you, the contrast of heat and chill making you shiver. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as felt the hard planes of him between your thighs. Trent stared at you, through you, his pupils blown, deep, rich, desperate, his lips slightly parted, breaths heavy. His fingers dug into your hips, his self-control slipping, shattering by the second. 

“No?” he taunted your blatant lie outside this room that felt like it was about to combust. His voice was drenched in something wicked. He was questioning your verbal rejection, his voice teasing because your body spoke a different language. But his hands—his hands gripped you like he needed you to breathe. “If you want me to stop…” He exhaled sharply, his control was slipping, his forehead nearly pressing to yours. “We don’t have to. You can take your hands off me. If you don’t want this.” He said it laced with genuine care but also in equal measure, it was taunting because you both knew you didn’t, you did want this. You watched as your hands slid down his chest, confirming you wanted them there, feeling the solid warmth beneath his black tee, feeling the heat, the tension rippling beneath the fabric, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. Then you flashed your gaze up to his and shook your head telling him you didn’t want him to stop as one of your hands found the cool metal of his chain, a finger hooking beneath it, while the other slipped to the nape of his neck, your nails raking over the fade of his hair. Trent inhaled sharply, his restraint unraveling thread by thread. His eyes squeezed shut for a brief second before snapping open again, burning with something lethal. “Tell me then,” he murmured, rough and breathless. “I need you to tell me you do.” Your lips parted.

“I do.” A breathless whisper tumbling out before you could stop it, greedy, pulling him closer to you with a tug on his chain. That was it. Trent had his verbal confirmation, consent, you were game to play with him, the very thing you had tried to convince both himself and you, you didn’t And the second the words left your lips, his smirk deepened, pure, male satisfaction flashing in his dark eyes. His hands—big, strong, burning through your skin—slid up your thighs, kneading the soft flesh with slow, deliberate pressure. The contrast of his rough fingertips against your sensitized skin made your head swim, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Yeah? Do I make you wet, baby?” The whisper was low, rasping, thick with something sinful, something that sent a full-body shiver racing through you. Then, his mouth—hot and teasing—brushed against the crook of your neck, his breath fanning over your pulse. Your head lolled to the side, giving him more, unable to stop yourself. The first press of his lips to your skin was like a live wire igniting every nerve in your body. Your stomach flipped, your chest rose with a sharp inhale, and even though you fought to keep yourself composed, your body betrayed you. You arched—just slightly—but he noticed. His hands moved higher, his thumbs dragging the fabric of your dress up, exposing more of your thighs, the smooth heat of his palms pushing against bare skin. One hand slipped higher, gripping the soft crease where your thigh met your hip, his thumb pressing, teasing, lingering dangerously close to where you ached for him most. Your breath hitched, the room impossibly silent save for the steady, muted thrum of bass vibrating through the walls. But inside this space—inside this moment—there was only him. The way his fingers teased, the way his mouth hovered near your neck, the way he was everywhere and nowhere all at once, keeping you in a torturous limbo. He leaned back just enough to look at you again, his lips curled in that smug, knowing smirk, his eyes dark with lust and amusement. “You gonna prove me wrong or something?” His voice was like silk, low and edged with mischief. Your mouth parted—intending to say something, anything—but nothing came. Because you couldn’t. You had never been this turned on in your entire life. He had stolen the air from your lungs, the words from your mind, leaving only the sharp, undeniable pull of him. Trent’s smirk deepened, understanding exactly what your silence meant. He leaned in to the other side of you, his lips ghosting over your ear, his breath hot and taunting. “Tell me your tight pussy isn’t dripping for me.” The words were a sinful whisper, a dark, husky promise, and the second his thumb dipped into the waistband of your lace panties, your entire body clenched. Still, no words. Just a shaky, shallow breath. Trent let out a quiet chuckle—not at you, but at himself, at his words, at the unbearable tension thrumming between you, at how much he wanted this. Needed it. Needed you. “C’mon, baby.” His voice softened, laced with patience, teasing but never pushing too far. “Just let this happen if you want me… I know I turn you on.” His thumb dragged the tiniest circle over the lace covering your core, and your thighs instinctively squeezed together, trapping his hand there, keeping him close.Your pulse pounded in your ears, your resolve unraveling strand by strand. You swallowed thickly.

“I never said you didn’t.” Your voice was weak, breathy, but there was a flicker of defiance there—a last stand. Trent’s brows lifted at your response, intrigued, amused. But more than that—thrilled. Because you were biting back now, challenging him in your own way. And he fucking loved it. You reached for him again, hands sliding up the firm planes of his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tee, tugging. He let you, let you have control for a fleeting second before he moved—stepping fully between your thighs again, locking you in place.

“I get it,” he murmured, voice molten, rough with desire. “You don’t have to say anything.” His smirk was slow, devastating. “Your body speaks for you.” Then his other hand slid up your side, dragging over your ribs, his touch featherlight but scorching, until he reached the curve of your boob. His fingers cupped you through your dress, thumb flicking over your nipple, teasing the sensitive bud through the fabric. A breathy whimper tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. Trent inhaled sharply, his pupils dilating at the sound, his control slipping just a little more. He loved it. He lived for it. But some part of him—some teasing, cocky part—was still playing the game. Because the second that bathroom door has closed, the second you let yourself want him, your walls crumbled. You weren’t resistant anymore. You weren’t immune to the effortless charm, the raw, unchecked attraction between you. He leaned in, his lips a whisper away from yours, close enough that you could feel his breath, taste the tequila lingering on his tongue. “Tell me you don’t want my hands on you.” His voice was a challenge, dark and honeyed, and it sent something desperate and needy crashing through you. Your resolve shattered.

“Please.” It was a whine, a quiet, desperate plea, your eyes wide and burning with need. And the second he saw it—that tiny flicker of surrender—his mouth twitched into a smirk, victorious. There it was. He had broken you down. He had won.

“Good girl,” he murmured. Then his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was all-consuming, a wildfire of hunger and desperation, lips parting, tongues brushing, hands grasping, pulling, taking. His fingers curled into your waist, dragging you against him, pressing you flush to every hard inch of his body. Your nails raked over his scalp, tugging at his hair, swallowing his sharp inhale. And yet, you never wanted it to stop. The air was thick with heat, the scent of liquor and faint perfume swirling in the dimly lit bathroom, the bass from the club pulsing through the walls like a heartbeat. Outside, Ibiza roared—laughter, music, chaos—but in here, it was just the two of you, a slow-burning inferno waiting to consume everything in its path.

And then, the roles reversed.

Trent had kissed a hundreds of lips, felt a hundred hands pulling him in, had women looking at him like they wanted to be devoured by him. But this—this was different. This was dangerous. Because for the first time, he felt like he was losing control. Kissing you felt like slipping into something intoxicating and unstoppable. Want. Need. A hunger that clawed at him from the inside out. Your moan vibrated against his lips as you reached for him, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, yanking him closer like you could somehow fuse your bodies together. Your hands slipped under the fabric, finding his skin, hot and taut over hard muscle, your fingertips trailing over the ridges of his abs. His stomach flexed at your touch, a shudder rolling through him as if he could barely take it. His mouth broke away from yours, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your jaw, along the column of your throat. But it wasn’t just kisses. No, he was marking you, dragging his teeth over your pulse point, sucking just hard enough to make you gasp. A little pain, a little pleasure. A promise. He groaned against your skin. “Fuck, you’re so sexy, baby.” Your fingers tangled into his curls at the top of his, then your nails scraped back down his scalp as you arched into him, helpless against the way he had you unraveling. His kisses trailed lower, over your collarbone, down, down, as his hands roamed your body like he was memorizing it—soft caresses that felt electric, possessive, worshiping. His hard cock pressed against your core through his trousers, the friction making your breath stutter, a desperate little whimper slipping from your lips. He felt it—how much you wanted him—how your body responded to every brush of his fingers, every teasing stroke of his lips. “Let me have you,” he growled, his voice raw, thick with need. You whimpered as his hands slid lower, gripping your hips harshly, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. His gaze was molten, sweeping over you in admiration before his lips found yours again. The kiss was desperate, sloppy—tongues tangling, teeth clashing, like neither of you could get enough. His hands roamed your body like they had no patience left, and your own were just as eager, yanking him impossibly closer.

“You have me,” you whispered against his mouth, your hips tilting up into him in silent invitation. Trent exhaled sharply, his restraint disappearing. His fingers curled around your thighs, pulling one leg up around his waist, pressing you tighter against him. “Please… take me,” you breathed. His grin was slow, lazy, drunk off you.

“Let me.” His thumbs dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs before they trailed up, up—until they reached the lace of your panties. His fingers ghosted over the fabric, and then, just barely, he brushed over your sensitive clit. The lightest, cruelest touch. Your breath hitched, your body instinctively jerking forward, seeking more. Trent’s smirk deepened as he watched your reaction, as he felt how wet you were for him. “Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his fingers over the damp lace again, slow, deliberate. “So fucking wet for me.” You shuddered, your hand flying up to his neck, thumb brushing over his sharp jawline, forcing his gaze to meet yours. And then there in that look, there was a silent confessional made - want. But with it, there was hunger there—the pure, unfiltered lust—made your stomach tighten, your thighs clench. His fingers slipped past the waistband of your panties, gliding over your slick folds, teasing, exploring. A sharp gasp left your lips, your body jolting at the first slow, lazy circles over your clit. “There you go,” he praised, voice husky. “I knew you’d be a good girl for me.” His fingers pressed deeper, spreading your slickness before one slid inside, pushing in slow, teasing you open. You clenched around him, a broken moan escaping as your head fell back against the wall. His lips found your neck again, biting, sucking, as he fucked you with his finger, slow at first, then a little faster, until he felt you relax enough to take another. His knuckle pressed against your entrance with every thrust, adding a delicious friction that had your thighs trembling.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hips rolling into his hand, desperate for more.“Oh my god, that feels so good. Right there.“ Trent’s smirk pressed against your skin as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that made your entire body jolt.

“Right there, huh?” he murmured, watching the way you came apart under his touch. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body shuddering as the pressure built, climbing higher and higher. His pace never faltered, his fingers working you open, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “That’s it, hmm?” His voice was velvet, coaxing. “Cum for me, baby.” And then—you shattered. Your orgasm ripped through you, waves of white-hot pleasure crashing over you as you moaned his name, your body convulsing against his, your nails dragging over his skin. Trent groaned at the sight, his fingers slowing, milking every last tremor from your body. Your chest heaved as you slumped against the counter, your legs weak, your body spent but still burning for him.

Trent pulled his fingers from you, slick with your arousal. He watched the way they glistened in the dim light, a flicker of something almost possessive flashing in his eyes before he brought them to his lips. His tongue flicked out, licking them clean. 

“Fuck.” You swallowed hard, watching him, utterly wrecked. He chuckled, dark and knowing. But the look in his eyes told you—he wasn’t done with you yet. The air was thick with heat, perfumed with sweat, sex, and the lingering scent of expensive liquor. Outside, Nikki Beach pulsed—music thrumming like a heartbeat, neon lights flickering, the bass so deep it rattled through your bones. But in here, the world had shrunk to just the two of you. Trent’s breath was ragged, his lips still glistening from the taste of you as he dropped to his knees, dark eyes burning with a hunger that sent a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core. “Taste fucking unreal, baby.” His voice was husky, thick with desire, and the sight of him there—cocky, worshipful, desperate—had your thighs clenching on instinct. But he wouldn’t allow it. Large hands gripped your legs, thumbs pressing into your soft flesh as he spread you open, his gaze locked onto yours with unrelenting intensity. “Need more of you.” His voice was a rasp, his words a promise. “Gonna let me have more of you?”  He asked you as he leaned in slowly, deliberately, his hands sliding up your thighs, fingertips barely brushing your skin as he took his time savoring the moment. You nodded desperately. 

“T please.” The anticipation was unbearable. This was not how you thought this was going to go.  Your breath hitched as his lips ghosted over your inner thigh, and then—his tongue flicked out, tracing the lace of your panties. A jolt of pleasure shot through you, a sharp gasp slipping past your lips. Trent smirked, keeping his gaze chained to yours, and then—rip. The delicate fabric tore in his hands, leaving you bare beneath him. The audacity. The sheer, unhinged need in his eyes. It sent shivers rippling down your spine. “Fuck,” you breathed. He groaned, low and guttural, before his mouth descended, tongue dragging over your soaked folds in a deep, possessive kiss. 

He devoured you.

The first stroke of his tongue was slow, teasing, dragging through your slickness before he lapped at you, tasting, exploring, like he had all the time in the world. A slow hum of satisfaction rumbled from his chest, vibrating against your core. Your fingers found his curls, gripping, tugging, hips jerking toward him, but his hands tightened around your thighs, pinning you in place.

“So greedy,” he murmured against your wet core before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking. A strangled moan ripped from your throat. Your head hit back against the mirror, the cool glass a stark contrast to the fire licking through your veins. He worked you like he needed this, and he felt like he did. You were like a class A drug he was trying for the first time and he was addicted from the first hit. He was drawing pleasure from your pleasure, like nothing had ever tasted sweeter than you on his tongue. His fingers joined the torture, slicking through your folds before one pressed inside you, curling, coaxing. Then another.

“Oh my God. Oh my fucking—” His pace quickened, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, the obscene, wet sounds of your arousal echoing through the bathroom, mixing with the muffled bass from the club outside. “Please.” Your voice was a whimper, breathless, wrecked. “Please, T. Oh my God, I’m gonna cum.” Trent didn’t let up. If anything, he worked you harder, holding you down as he feasted, his mouth relentless, tongue rubbing against your swollen clit in messy, eager circles. His lips were god like. Not only did they look good, they felt fucking good..  “I’m gonna—” Then you broke. Your body jerked, pleasure crashing over you in violent, shuddering waves. A cry tore from your lips, your thighs trembling against the broad expanse of his shoulders as he kept going, licking you through your orgasm, drinking you in like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. Your hands slipped from his curls, arms going limp as the last tremors of pleasure rippled through you. Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, your body boneless, trembling.

Slowly, Trent kissed his way back up, leaving a trail of wet, reverent kisses over your thighs, your stomach, his hands sliding up your dress, brushing over your tits. The fabric was thin, barely there, and his touch sent sparks racing beneath your skin. He finally reached your lips, hovering there, his breath mingling with yours, still tasting like you.

“So fucking good f’me,” he murmured. You grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand to your lips taking two of his fingers in between your lips. Tasting yourself as you swirled your tongue around them teasing Trent with the idea of you doing that to his cock until he pulled them out with a pop. He exhaled and leant forward, his forehead pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face as he looked at you—really looked at you. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Knew you’d sound so pretty when you cum.” Your heart clenched. Because it wasn’t just lust anymore. It was more. It was something deeper, something neither of you could name, something dangerous. And as his lips claimed yours in a searing, soul-stealing kiss, you knew—this wasn’t just a night you’d never forget. This was a man you couldn’t forget. Even when the music stopped. Even when the sun rose over the Ibizan shores.

And as you looked at him now, those deep brown eyes blown wide with desire, pupils eclipsing the warm dark hazel, you felt something shift. Something terrifying. Something that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the way he was staring back at you—like he saw something in you worth worshiping. It was more than attraction. More than just a need to have you. There was softness in his gaze, genuine interest, maybe even something close to love. And that was the scariest thing of all. Your chest still heaved from your orgasm, legs trembling when you decided to slide off the counter, trying to regain some control. But the moment your feet touched the ground, you wobbled, Trent’s hands found your waist, steadying you instinctively, as if they belonged there. As if they’d never let go. You needed to step away. To put space between you before you lost yourself in him completely. But when you tried, he caught your wrist. Not rough. Not demanding. Just a silent plea. A tether, holding you there—not just in this bathroom, but in this moment. Your eyes flashed down in an effort to not be guilted, but instead you caught sight of something that you’d been thinking about for two days now. The hard line of his cock straining against his pants, proof of just how much he wanted you. A thrill ran through you at the thought that just touching you, tasting you, pulling you into this hidden world had wrecked him like this. But there was that guilt, too. Because he’d given you everything, and you had given him nothing in return. 

“I have to get back,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why. You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince. Trent’s lips parted slightly, a soft exhale as your hand reached for him, drawn by some gravitational pull you couldn’t fight. Your palm cupped his cheek, thumb running across his full lower lip, swollen from his sins. His enviable lashes fluttered for a brief moment before his lips parted, tongue flicking against the pad of your thumb in a slow, torturous tease. He smirked then, the cocky bastard, because he knew. He knew you knew he was hard. But the way he looked at you now, the way he leaned into your touch—it wasn’t just about his arousal. It was about you. He was vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. All the filthy things he had just said, all the pleasure he had given you, now lingering in the air between you. Words he couldn’t take back. He was the one caught out this time. Not you.

“Just tell me something…” His voice was softer now, the bravado slipping, replaced with something real. “I make you feel good?” You swallowed, pulse stuttering.

“Yeah,” you murmured, barely audible. His gaze flickered over your face, searching, reading between the lines. He wasn’t just talking about the way he’d just torn you apart with his tongue. He meant being with him. Just being with him. And you meant it, too.

His fingers curled around your wrist, bringing it to his lips. He kissed the inside of it, right where your pulse fluttered wildly against his mouth. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because Trent wasn’t just sexy. He wasn’t just the boy you’d met on holiday or the man who had your head spinning. He was soft. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t lock the door or strip you down. He didn’t chase you when you pulled away, didn’t beg. He just… waited.

“Remember that,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “Think of me making you cum. Just… don’t forget, yeah?” His words should have sounded crass. Should have been cocky. But they weren’t. Because he wasn’t just talking about this. He meant more than that. ‘Don’t forget him.’ You nodded, biting your lip as you slipped past him, and this time—he let you go. Was he disappointed and mildly shocked you wanted to leave, yes. He wasn’t nearly close to satisfaction, he was aching for release. He wanted more, he wanted all of you, and yet, a part of him felt lucky to have even gotten a taste. 

-

The hallway swallowed you both back up, reality crashing in as the music roared back to life, vibrating through the walls, chaotic and frenzied. And it was in that moment you realized that even as crazy and famous as he was, cheeky as he was, he somehow managed to be a moment of quiet. Of stillness. Of something unexpectedly safe in a world that was anything but. The quiet was behind you, only chaos up ahead.  You had almost made it back when you felt him again. His touch. Trent’s large hands found your waist, pulling you back against him one last time, not letting you go back just yet, his fingers splaying possessively across your hips.

“C’mere.” The warmth of him, the scent of his cologne, the pure electricity crackling between your bodies—it was too much. You turned in his arms, facing him. “I’m gonna…” His voice was barely above a whisper, a nod toward the VIP section where his brothers and friends still sat, oblivious to what had just happened. A pang of something dangerous hit your chest. You didn’t want to leave this moment. And you hated that you felt that way.

“Gonna fuck someone else now?” you cheekily asked, keeping your voice light, but the question wasn’t a joke. It was a fear. You liked him. Not just for the way he made you come undone but for the way he had looked at you afterward. For the way he saw you. And now, all you’d done is wound him up and were about to push him back into a beach club full of beautiful women. But that didn’t matter. Not to him. Trent let out a low, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. He couldn't believe how certain he was in the answer he was going to give you.

“Nah.” That sound—his laugh—it sent butterflies swarming in your stomach, bursting like fireworks against your ribs. “Nah,” he repeated, smirking. “Gonna go back to the villa and probably have to have a wank now.” The honesty. The humor. It was so him— his smile lazy and lethal all at once. You laughed, shaking your head as your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into the curve of your ass as he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly brushed yours. “But if you wanna cum for me again tonight,” he murmured, voice dripping with sin. “If you want me…” His lips grazed your cheek, his breath hot against your skin. And the thing was, as Trent said those words, terrifyingly it occurred to him that he wanted you to want him. “You come get me. Yeah?” You swallowed, body betraying you with the way it leaned into him. Unbeknownst to Trent, and surprising to you all the same, the truth was—you did want him. You wanted to come for him again. You wanted him. But you didn’t say it.

“I’ll see you.” You whispered. And the way Trent looked at you then—like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was anymore, like you had just thrown his entire world off its axis—made your heart stutter. You were something he hadn’t expected. Something real. Your hands drifted up, fingernails scratching lightly against the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing you in, and when they opened, there was something dangerous in them. You were so close. Close enough to taste him. Close enough that one wrong move and you’d be back against the wall, back in his arms, back in a moment that neither of you would be able to come back from. But you knew better than to kiss him. Because you were scared. Scared that if you did, you’d drag him right back down the hall and sink to your knees for him. Trent smirked, but it was softer this time. 

“You’ll see me.” He murmured. Then he turned his head, looking away—because he wanted to kiss you, too. He really really did and he knew if he did, it wouldn’t just be lust. It would be something far more dangerous. Something neither of you were ready for. 

-

The night was alive, breathing, pulsing—thick with heat and wild energy. The bass thrummed through the air, a heartbeat in its own right, rattling through crystal glasses and rippling across skin slick with sweat and spilled liquor. The scent of expensive perfume, spiced rum, and something darker—something untamed—coiled around you, wrapping the club in a haze of sin and seduction. Dim lights flickered like fireflies, dancing across the crowds, casting fleeting golden glows over Trent’s face—the unfairly pretty face that, just moments ago, had been buried between your thighs, worshiping you like a man starved.

“Where the fuck did you go, mate?” Kieran asked, furrowing his brow, confused by Trent’s absence. Trent barely looked at him, instead watching as you slipped back to your friends, looking every bit the picture of mischief and satisfaction. The curve of your lips, the flush in your cheeks—you were radiant. And he was helpless against it.

“Was hungry…” Trent shrugged, voice lazy, but his gaze was locked on you, unashamed. The innuendo went over everyone’s head but Trent’s hunger was fresh in his mind as he stared at you. Marcel turned to him, expectant, suspicious, and when his eyes followed Trent’s line of sight—when he caught the ghost of a smirk threatening to spill across his brother’s lips—he knew. And you—damn you—felt it, too. The tether between you, humming beneath the music, louder than the club, louder than the crowd.

Your head turned, seeking him, as if pulled by some invisible force. And when your eyes met, a current crackled through the space between you, something unspeakable, something dangerously sweet. Trent smirked—slow, knowing—and shot you a wink, and fuck, it hit you like a shot of tequila straight to the veins. Your stomach flipped, a giggle escaping before you could stop it, as you reached for your half-finished bottle of Don Julio. You tipped it back, the burn of the liquor a poor substitute for the fire still licking at your skin, the memory of his mouth still haunting your body. And right then, you wished Don Julio was him. Wished it was his pillowy lips cushioning yours, not the cold glass of the bottle.

-

The late-morning sun hung high over Ibiza, casting golden light over the terrace where you and your best friends lounged, the remnants of last night’s chaos still clinging to your skin like the salty summer air. The scent of fresh oranges and sizzling chorizo wafted from the kitchen, mixing with the crisp bite of mimosas and the familiar comfort of laughter. The four of you were draped lazily around a white linen-covered table, oversized sunglasses shielding tired eyes, but nothing could dull the electric energy bouncing between you as you finally, finally spilled your secret. 

“He what?!?!” Delaney, Foster, and Campbell’s collective scream tore through the quiet hum of the brunch crowd, drawing more than a few curious glances from nearby tables. Not that any of you cared. You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you.

“He ate me out when I went to the loo last night. You heard what I said.” You took a sip of your drink, acting as if your world hadn’t just tilted on its axis as you looked at them through the blue tint of your Loewe sunnies [ref index]

“Oh my fucking god!” Foster practically shrieked, slamming her hand down on the table. The sheer volume of her excitement sent the group into another round of cackling, heads thrown back, laughter bubbling over like spilled champagne.

“So you did get fucked! Praise the lord!” Delaney grinned, raising her mimosa in a mock toast, her sunglasses sliding down her nose as she smirked at you.

“No! No…” you protested between giggles, shaking your head. “That’s not what I said! I said he ate me out.” You leaned forward, biting your lip, your smile turning impossibly cheekier. Campbell, ever the perceptive to you, eyed you suspiciously.

“So do you have plans? Are you gonna see him again?” She asked and your grin faltered for just a second. A small pause. A flicker of something deeper.

“I don’t have his number.” The admission sat between you like an unfinished sentence. You hadn’t thought about it in the heat of the moment—the tequila haze, the pulse of the music, the way he had made you feel. But now, in the clear light of day, it was glaringly obvious. You didn’t have his number. No plans. No promises. Just a memory. Campbell’s lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Do you want it?” She meddled knowing it was right in her messages a few days ago. Your instinct was to brush it off, to say no, to play it cool. But your friends knew you too well. Campbell, especially, saw through you like glass. You hesitated, twirling the stem of your glass between your fingers.

“No, he didn’t give it to me.” The way you phrased it sounded… bad. Like you’d been left behind, forgotten. And you hated that. You didn’t want to care. You wanted to be unbothered, unattached. But when Foster leaned forward with a teasing grin, you knew she sensed the shift in you.

“No, he just gave that pussy some yum,” she quipped, waggling her brows. You groaned, throwing a napkin at her, but it did little to distract from the truth pressing at your ribs.

“Stop! I don’t know…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair, the memory of Trent’s touch still ghosting over your skin. “There’s… something there. It’s weird…” The words hung in the air, light but laced with an undeniable weight. “I don’t know what it is,” you admitted softly. And for the first time since last night, the thrill of it all settled into something else. Something scarier. You couldn’t describe it to them but in your mind you knew what it was. It was chemistry The Ibiza heat pressed down on you, thick and heavy, but it wasn’t nearly as suffocating as the realization creeping in. You wanted more. And that? That was dangerous.

-

The sun blazed high above, glinting off the rim of your glass as you took another sip of your mimosa, the cool bubbles popping against your lips. The terrace buzzed with the lazy energy of a late-morning brunch crowd—groups of tanned holiday-goers nursing hangovers, the clinking of silverware against plates, the distant bass of a beach club setting the rhythm for another sun-soaked day. Your friends were still reeling, their laughter slicing through the air like a blade, sharp and amused.

“I’m sure his thirsty ass fucked someone else that night after we left anyways.” You smiled at them, shrugging as if the thought didn’t sting. The rim of your glass met your lips again, but before you could take another sip, Campbell reached out and pulled it away with a pointed look.

“You don’t mean that.” You tilted your head at her, silently pleading with her not to do this—to not look at you like she could see through the paper-thin defense you were trying to hold up.

“No, but for me, best to think it.” You flashed her a smile, one that was meant to end the conversation, but she wasn’t convinced.

“Fair,” Delaney chimed in, adjusting her bikini strap under her sheer cover-up. “But you should follow him on Instagram or something.” She knew you, understood your hesitations, but also didn’t want you to let the moment slip through your fingers. Before you could even react, Campbell and Foster cut in with a unified shriek.

“Fuck no!” The whole table burst into giggles, the tension dissolving into the warm air, but then—

“Ladies, sent for you.” A waiter appeared at the table, a pristine bottle of champagne cradled in his hands like something sacred. It wasn’t just any bottle—it was expensive, way too nice for a casual brunch. The four of you exchanged glances before Foster furrowed her brow, scanning the room with a smirk.

“From who?” she asked, already playing detective. Your curiosity got the best of you, and you turned slightly in your chair, following her gaze, eyes sweeping over the crowd—until they landed on him. Trent.

As if the universe had cast a spotlight just for him, he lounged effortlessly in the distance with his friends, the golden glow of the morning catching the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight curl of his lips, the quiet confidence in the way he sat back in his seat. His eyes found yours easily, as if he had been waiting. You sighed, shaking your head with a soft smile, mouthing a small, ‘No,’ though there was nothing in your expression that said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. Your glossed lips unable to stop from curving. His lips twitched, his dimple peeking through before he tilted his own glass toward you in a subtle toast. You turned back around and Trent silently groaned in his head seeing your exposed back again. He wanted to rip that dress you had on off, and the bikini underneath it. Back at your table, the waiter set down your freshly poured glass, but before he stepped away, he placed a folded napkin down next to you. Your brows furrowed as you reached for it, and the moment your eyes skimmed over the inked words, your breath hitched.

'If I never get to feel your lips again, it was an absolute pleasure, baby.'

You shook your head, but you were smiling, your fingers tightening around the napkin like it was something delicate, something worth keeping. Foster gawked at the message, jaw slack in astonishment. 

“Guess it was yummy, baby.” Campbell hummed into her glass, unsurprised but endlessly amused, while Delaney let out a giggle, sliding the napkin closer to examine it like it held the secrets of the universe. You should have rolled your eyes, should have dismissed it as nothing more than a cheeky playboy move, but you couldn’t. Because as much as you tried to fight it, there was no denying the truth—he didn’t feel like just some momentary thrill and you hoped this wasn't a goodbye as much as it was a see you soon.

–

Trent was cooked. Not by the Ibizan sun—though, yeah, that too. His tan was coming in nicely. But no, the real problem? You. You’d walked out of that brunch picking up your bill, your bag and your friends, and he prayed the napkin, without so much as a goodbye, just a soft, knowing smile that had done irreparable damage to his sanity. You could’ve said something cocky, thrown him a teasing remark, but no—you’d just looked at him like that, mouthed a simple ‘See you’ before leaving him there, heart pounding like some lovesick idiot. But that 'see you' meant confirmation for you. You didn't want never again you wanted a million times over.

Now, hours later, his friends were sprawled across the loungers by the pool, soaking up the afternoon heat, but not Trent. No, Trent was a man on a mission. Under the shade of an umbrella, a towel draped dramatically over his head to block the glare, he squinted at his phone screen. He should’ve been swimming, drinking, doing literally anything else, but instead, he was being a detective. Because Trent Alexander-Arnold did not just let a girl like you walk out of his life without a trace. Except, well—he kind of had. He didn’t have your number. Didn’t even know if he had your last name. Rookie mistake, mate.

But then—divine intervention. Or, well, Campbell’s Instagram story. He clicked on it absentmindedly, expecting to see the usual boozy brunch chaos, but then, in small white font, there it was. Your username. Finally. Thank you, Campbell. He should’ve sent the bottle to her just for her help alone fueling this delusional crush.  Trent hummed, narrowing his eyes as he clicked on your profile, resisting the urge to zoom in on your photos like a creep. God, you were fit. But something in your bio distracted him. A second Instagram handle. A name he recognized. Curious, he clicked. And just like that, the rabbit hole deepened.

Your work page was filled with sleek, polished images—portraits, editorials, behind-the-scenes glimpses of high-profile shoots. But most interestingly…Footballers.

Trent sat up a little straighter, scrolling with a sudden intensity. Did you work for a photographer? Was this someone else’s account? But then he checked the list of people it followed—only about twenty odd names, most of them industry professionals, and there you were again. Your personal account. Oh. Ohhh. He scrolled faster now, realization hitting him like a truck. You weren’t just working for a photographer. You were the photographer.

“Oh…” He said it out loud, eyes fixed on his screen, heart thudding for an entirely new reason now. There it was—your name credited under shots from a Louis Vuitton campaign. A behind-the-scenes snap of you on set. Another post, a carousel of work that included—Marcus Rashford? Trent frowned, his scrolling slowing just a little. How professional were these shoots, exactly? He didn’t really pin you like that and that made the thought of the question all the more embarrassing to him. He clicked on another Instagram dump of yours, searching for clues, for something—anything—to confirm that he wasn’t just another name in your mental archives. But the answer was clear.

Incredibly professional.

Painfully so, in your opinion. You weren’t just some girl who took photos—you were the real deal. You worked with some of the biggest names in the game, and yet… you barely let them get your surname. You were a shadow behind the lens, a quiet force in the industry. A name typed in an email from your agency, a friendly face on set but never more than that. And Trent? Well, he had been more than that. Right?

Trent was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. He’d started this whole thing with the upper hand—cocky, self-assured, confident. A cheeky line at a club, a wager sealed with a kiss, his name scrawled on a napkin like he was so sure you’d come looking for him. But now? Now, he was sitting under a goddamn poolside umbrella, towel over his head like some desperate gremlin, while you single-handedly ruined his entire summer holiday. He was jealous. Fucking jealous.

Of Rashford. Of the other footballers you’d shot. Of the fact that they’d had your full attention, maybe for hours, maybe days. That they’d been the focus of your lens, your voice giving quiet direction, your hands adjusting lighting, your eyes scanning them like they were the most interesting thing in the room. Meanwhile, he had barely lasted a night in your orbit. Still frowning, Trent kept scrolling, pulling your page down refreshing hoping for a sign of life and then—like the devil had it out for him—you posted.

A new grid post. He swallowed hard, thumb freezing as he took it in. A curated, sun-drenched montage of your trip, effortlessly cool and so you—a pitcher of sangria sweating on the table, Campbell mid-laugh, a perfect row of striped beach umbrellas, delicate gold jewelry scattered on a marble sink. It was the kind of post that made someone wish they were there, wish they’d been part of the moments. And Trent? He didn’t just wish. He ached.

But then—the last slide. He almost didn’t catch it at first, his mind still dazed from the photo of you stretched out on a lounger, back arched, sun dripping over you in a way that should be illegal in only a tiny tiny string bikini. His entire body reacted instantly—groaning, he tipped his head back against the chair, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe through the sudden rush of heat flooding straight to his length. Jesus. You were impossible. You were sexy, effortless, carefree—no calculated poses, no thirst traps, just you. Untouchable. And then, just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, there it was—the last slide.

A snapshot of the napkin he’d sent to your table. The one with his note, his number, flipped over, the embossed restaurant name a confirmation, the faint tint of his ink leaking through the otherside. Except now, you’d written on it too.

‘They can be yours… again. xx’

Red ink. Perfectly placed. A direct hit to his ego, his gut, his—fuck. Trent stared, his entire world tilting. The words were a play on his first line to you, stolen and thrown right back at him. He’d started this, thinking he had the control. A shot in the dark, a gamble at a club. But now? Now, he was crumbling. Because he’d once offered you his lips for the night. And now? All he could think about was yours.

-

Autumn arrived like a quiet sigh. September rolled in with its crisp air, golden evenings, and a silence that stretched between you and Trent like an unspoken truce. Neither of you reached out. Too proud. Too stubborn to be the first one to bend. Campbell had tried, of course. Tried to nudge, hint, flat-out push you into making a move. But you refused, pretending it was nothing, just a passing holiday fling. Trent? Barely remembered your name. That was the official line you both fed your friends. But it was a lie. Because Trent did remember your name. He remembered the way it felt rolling off his tongue, the way it sounded when you laughed. And he missed it.

He found himself lurking in corners of the internet he knew you might exist in—scrolling through comments on a footballer’s post you recently worked with just to see if you'd left one. Clicking through women’s fashion editorials, hoping for a behind-the-scenes glimpse of you at work. Embarrassing. He’d clear his search history before his mates came over, because God forbid they saw “Trent Alexander-Arnold + photographer + Ibiza” “London + photographer + Y/N + boyfriend” in the search bar.

And you? You were just as bad.

You, who claimed not to care, were now watching random Premier League YouTube videos about players’ favorite foods—just for a two-second clip of Trent laughing. You streamed his matches from your phone, curled up in bed on cold Tuesday nights, letting the sound of  Champions League commentators saying his name lull you to sleep like a damn bedtime story. But like anything worth waiting for, timing mattered.

And as fate—or fashion—would have it, September meant Fashion Week.

Trent was in Paris. Tired. Sore from the weekend’s match, legs still heavy from a knock he’d picked up. He was sprawled across the sofa in his hotel room, waiting for room service, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. His algorithm had changed—his usual feed of football highlights and music clips replaced with… well, you. Not directly. Not at first. But it had started slow. A fashion week recap here, a vogue clip there, the kinds he usually ignored. But not now. The more he lingered, the more the app fed him exactly what he wanted before he even admitted to himself that he wanted it. And then—there you were. A street-style video. Travis Scott’s voice thumping over muffled reverbed bass. You, yesterday, walking down Rue Jean Goujon.

Golden hour draped over you like a personal spotlight, turning your skin radiant, turning you into something straight out of a daydream. You were wrapped in more layers than he preferred—tragic, really—but even under the high fashion, he saw you. Saw the sharpness of your cheekbones, the slight pout of your lips, the effortless way you moved. Trent let out a slow breath, thumb frozen on the screen. He envied the sun outside his window. Because it got to touch you, while he was stuck inside, watching from a screen.

Trent swallowed hard watching you walk down the Parisian street with all the ease of someone who belonged there. Your tiny exposed waist still visible as the wind blew open your coat [ref index], your heels impractically high, opened toed and potentially making your feet cold. Oh my days was he really worried if you were cold, he shook his head but continued watching the video again and again to see you carry yourself as if the world were tilting to accommodate you.

-

Trent had never been the type to dwell. He prided himself on his ability to let things roll off his back, to keep moving forward without getting caught up in what-ifs or maybes. But this—you—had settled into his mind like an imprint he couldn’t shake. It had been weeks since Ibiza, since that night at the club, since brunch, since you’d walked away without so much as a lingering glance. And yet, here he was, lying on the couch in his Paris hotel room, his mouth going dry trying to remember the taste of you. He shut his eyes for a moment, willing it back but it had been too long. 

He hadn’t seen you in motion since Ibiza, hadn’t been forced to reckon with the way you moved, how you existed so unbothered, so self-assured. His memory had failed him—because this, this was worse. You were stunning in a way that made his body tense. His thumb hovered over the screen. And then— without thinking, without hesitating, without stopping himself—he hit ‘save video.’ The realization struck him a second too late. His stomach dropped.

"What the fuck am I doing…" Trent groaned, immediately opening his camera roll to delete it. His fingers hesitated over the screen before he dropped the phone into his lap, dragging a hand over his face. He needed to get himself together. This was ridiculous. And then—laughter. A quiet, amused sound from across the room.

“I think she’s too bad for you, bro.” Trent’s head snapped up. Marcel was lounging in the chair near the window, watching him with open amusement, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. Trent exhaled sharply. 

“Who are you even on about?” He kept his voice level, uninterested. A lost cause. Marcel merely shook his head. 

“You can pretend all you want, but it’s not like you don’t have a way of seeing her.” He stretched out lazily, as if he had all the time in the world to pick Trent apart. “You stare at her Instagram every week. Just follow it.” He shrugged. “You’ve got mutual friends. It’s not creepy, mate. You’re gonna run into her at some point.”  Marcel explained earnestly to his older brother too wise for Trent to stomach. Trent clenched his jaw.

“Fuck off, bro” Trent curtly replied shifting in his place. 

“She here?” Marcel tilted his head, sharp as ever. “Is that why you’re spinning out?” He asked. He hadn’t seen the video Trent was just watching, he’d seen enough. He knew what was on the screen or who rather.

“I’m not spinning out. Maybe she’s here, maybe she isn’t but it doesn’t matter.” Trent’s voice was firm, a clear dismissal. “Marce, we didn’t hook up. I don’t know the girl.” Trent explained frustration creeping in as he sat up straight. 

“Yeah but you told me you did.” Marcel raised a brow. Trent’s jaw tightened. Mistake. “You did get to know her…” Marcel really wasn’t pestering. Trent knew that but it was easier to pretend he was. He had confided in Marcel once, admitted that breakfast in Ibiza with you was different, that it had turned into something unexpected, something that had stuck with him far longer than it should have. That he made you cum in the toilets of Nikki Beach. But that had been a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment. He should have known his brother wouldn’t forget.

“I said I did,” Trent muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, “but I didn’t mean it. Just wanted you off my back.” His voice was edged with frustration because that wasn’t what had happened at all and they both knew it. “Drop it, mate.”  Marcel didn’t argue. He just sat there, watching him with that same infuriating expression, the one that said he saw right through him.

“Trentski—” Marcel tried to say more. A knock at the door. Room service. Trent didn’t think he had ever been more grateful for food in his life. He exhaled through his nose, standing up, ready for the distraction, for anything that would pull him out of this spiral. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him, how a brief encounter had turned into something that clung to the edges of his mind like an echo. It made him sick to think that maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t given him a second thought.

“It’s cool, bro,” Trent said, reaching for the door handle, forcing nonchalance he didn’t feel. “I’m cool.” It was a blatant lie but they both just accepted it for now.

-

The Louis Vuitton show was tonight, and Trent sat in his hotel room, high above the hum of Parisian streets, hands resting on his thighs as a stylist crouched to lace up his sneakers. He should have been thinking about the event, about the cameras and the seats filled with people who mattered. But instead, his mind was somewhere else. On you. A stupid smile tugged at his lips before he even realized it. He caught his reflection in the mirror, the gleam in his own eyes betraying him. What the fuck am I doing? This was getting ridiculous. He was acting like some lovesick teenager over a girl he’d barely spent time with. A girl he’d met in a club. A girl who, by all accounts, had walked away from him first. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Enough. This had to stop.

If—if—he saw you tonight, it wouldn’t be fate. It wouldn’t be some cosmic sign that you were meant to be in his life. It would be a game. And games had to be played in order to be won. If he saw you, he’d make his move.  The game was only on merely so it could end. He wanted to fuck you into the mattress and never see you again because he never wanted to save another Tik Tok, and he definitely never wanted to get butterflies in his stomach or see that stupid smile  on his face again.

He’d get you beneath him, he’d fuck you into the mattress and never see you again. Make sure that you’d never forget the name Trent Alexander-Arnold. And then, that would be it. No more saved TikToks. No more scrolling through the depths of the internet for traces of you. No more fucking butterflies in his stomach because he never wanted to see that stupid smile again. He repeated it to himself like a mantra, like a lifeline. 

And when the show began Trent’s eyes remained forward, his posture composed, his face unreadable. He nodded along as models passed by, keeping his mind disciplined. Jacket, shirt, pants, shoes. Jacket, shirt, pants, shoes. A cycle. A rhythm. An exercise in focus.

I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. But his heart had other plans.

-

The crowd was thick, a sea of bodies moving in waves, all trying to funnel out of the venue. You had no interest in the madness of the main exit, the flashing cameras, the shouting press. You just wanted to slip away unseen. So you took a quieter route—through a back hallway, down a side passage meant for press and staff. Your press pass let you move freely, let you weave between security and through a door meant for celebrities who wanted to dodge the chaos. But even here, in the so-called quiet exit, there was a crowd. Not the screaming kind, but the important kind—editors, models, designers, people waiting for private cars to take them to afterparties hidden behind wrought-iron gates and velvet ropes. You exhaled, shifting on your feet, glancing down at your phone. Maybe you should just take the Métro. This was insane.

And then—it happened. A shift in the atmosphere. A pull at the edges of your consciousness. Trent saw you first. The moment his eyes landed on you, his pulse kicked into something frantic, something desperate. His stomach clenched so hard he thought he might be sick. He hadn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t planned for you. Not out here. Not now. For a split second, he hesitated. The crowd was too thick, the timing was wrong. He hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say yet. And then, his body moved before his mind could catch up.

Through the throng of people, past the blur of conversation and laughter, like some invisible force was pulling him to you. His feet carried him forward, slinking through the crowd with the precision of a man who had spent years anticipating movement before it happened.

And then, there you were standing at the edge of the street, just before an alleyway, huddled with a small group of people you didn’t know, scrolling through your phone. Unbothered. Unaware. He leaned against a lamppost, watching. A smug smile played at his lips, slow and knowing, the kind of smile that belonged to a man who had already made up his mind.

Game on.

-

Paris was a living, breathing entity—golden light from the streetlamps pooling on the damp cobblestones, casting soft halos on the glistening streets. Conversations hummed around Trent, overlapping in a symphony of French and English, punctuated by the low purr of engines as sleek black cars crept along the curb. The air carried a slight chill, the kind that settled deep in the bones, yet Trent barely noticed. At first, it was just a flicker, a passing glimpse of someone impossibly familiar. But then his gaze focused, sharpened, and suddenly it was you standing at the edge of the crowd, head tilted down, your phone balanced in one hand, the other absently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The movement was effortless, thoughtless, and yet Trent felt it like a physical thing—a tether drawing him forward.

The world around him blurred, his pulse tightening in his throat as he took you in. You were in a green miniskirt [ref index] that skimmed high on your thighs, your legs disappearing into over the knee heeled boots that made your posture impossibly poised, effortlessly confident. The dim glow of the streetlights kissed your skin, accentuating the soft curve of your cheekbone, the delicate slope of your nose, the barely-there part of your lips as you focused on something unseen. There was an ease about you, a quiet self-assurance, but Trent saw what others wouldn’t—the slight furrow of your brow, the way your gaze flickered along the line of cars, scanning, searching. You were looking for an escape. The realization settled like a stone in his stomach. Of course you were. You always seemed to slip away just before he could catch you, leaving nothing but the ghost of your presence in your wake. And yet—he moved.  He didn’t think, didn’t second-guess. His body acted before his mind could talk him out of it, guiding him through the clusters of people with the quiet ease of someone used to navigating chaos. His breath stayed steady, his hands loose at his sides, but his pulse was a different story—wild, erratic, pounding in a way that made his fingertips tingle.

Close enough to catch the faintest hint of your perfume, something warm and feminine and so achingly familiar it sent him reeling as he leaned up against that lamppost, waiting  just a moment, allowing the anticipation to settle, to stretch, to coil between you like a taut wire before finally—finally—he spoke.

“Work or play, beautiful?” He asked. It was effortless, a line laced with that easy confidence that had always come naturally to him. But underneath it, beneath the charm, the bravado, there was something else. Something raw. Something desperate. Because he wasn’t sure what would happen if you turned, if you met his gaze and looked at him the way you had all those weeks ago. He wasn’t sure he could survive it. And yet, the moment you stiffened—just a fraction, just enough to betray your awareness of him—he knew he was gone. You turned slowly, deliberately, and his world tilted. The moment stretched, seconds bleeding together as his gaze drank you in. Up close, you were even more devastating. He didn’t forget how you looked up close but he forgot what it felt like to have you up close. Your lips parted on a quiet inhale, the barest flicker of something unreadable flashing across your face before you smoothed it away with a well-practiced ease. But he caught it. He felt it. A thousand things must have been racing through your mind—shock, hesitation, maybe even something close to regret—but you hid it well. Too well. Instead, you smiled, a slow, measured thing that barely curved the corners of your lips but still managed to shake him to his core.

“Working,” you answered lightly, though Trent didn’t miss the way your fingers flexed against your phone. A lie. And not even a particularly good one. You got invited because of work, yeah, but working as in getting paid, and taking photos, no. Not the case. You felt stupid and flustered like a teenage girl with a crush. You turned your head to look down the street as if you could single out your ride in the long line of blacked out suvs.  His gaze flickered over your face, his smirk deepening. He should call you on it, push back, make you squirm. But he couldn’t. His gaze had already dropped, locking onto the bare skin of your arm as if magnetized, and then—he touched you.

“You have any say in the invite, then?” He stepped closer—not enough to overwhelm, just enough to test.  It was instinct more than intention, his fingers wrapping around your forearm, thumb brushing over the delicate skin just below your wrist. It was a fleeting thing, just a squeeze, but it was enough to make your breath catch, enough to send something molten rushing through his veins.  You looked down, lashes lowering, and something in your expression shifted. It was subtle, but he felt it. He watched as you registered the touch, as memory took hold, as your breath hitched just so. Trent watched it unfold in real-time, watched the way your eyes lingered on his hand, how your lashes fluttered just slightly as memory took root.

Ibiza. The press of his hands against your skin. The heat of it. The slow, unrelenting pressure. The way you had melted beneath him, unraveled in his arms, undone by the very same touch you were staring at now. A slow, sharp ache coiled deep in his stomach.But then—you looked up.

“No, sorry.” You exhaled with a barely there smile. You said no. ‘Leave Trent’ was the thought in his head. But you also said sorry, like you wish you had, like maybe you wished he was here. Trent swallowed hard, pushing the thought aside. He should let you go. He should be the one walking away. But he didn’t know you did wish he was here. You just weren’t sure why that want was so scary to you. Why the desire was causing you to feel more hesitant with him. And when your eyes met his, steady and unwavering, suddenly, he was drowning and he didn’t want to come up to the surface.

The noise of the street faded. The weight of the past month settled heavily on his chest. He had spent weeks trying to convince himself that this thing between you was fleeting. That the pull he felt was nothing more than lust. That if he saw you again, he could play the game, win it, end it on his own terms. But standing here, caught in your gaze, he knew the truth. He had already lost.

It was unfair, the way your gaze locked onto his, steady and unwavering, peeling back every ounce of control he had built around himself. The world blurred into a simple ache. The silent war raging inside of him, one he had no hope of winning.

“What you doing tonight?” he asked, keeping his voice smooth, steady, even as his heart hammered wildly in his chest. You hesitated. It was so slight, so fleeting, but he saw it. And for that split second, hope flickered in his chest—reckless and stupid and all-consuming. And then, from the corner of his eye, Trent saw movement. A sleek black SUV rolled up to the curb, a friend leaning out the window, waving you over. Your way out. He knew it the moment your gaze flickered toward the car, knew it when your weight shifted just slightly, when your fingers brushed against his for the briefest moment before—you stepped back. Just enough to break the contact. Just enough to remind him who was in control. And then you smiled—slow, knowing, devastating.

“Maybe you,” you murmured, voice light, teasing, as if you hadn’t just shattered something inside him. And then, because you were cruel, you winked. Before he could react, you turned, heels clicking sharply as you made your way toward the waiting car. As you scurried down the alleyway, the clatter of your boots against the cobblestone echoed between the narrow walls, a hurried rhythm to match the wild thrum of your pulse. The SUV door was open, your friend waiting inside, but something—someone—pulled at you like an unseen force.

Just before climbing in, you turned, glancing over your shoulder, and in the low golden glow of the Parisian street lamp, you found him. Still standing there. Trent. His expression unreadable, caught between frustration and something softer, something raw. The kind of look that could haunt someone if they let it. And then, without thinking, without meaning to hurt—because you hadn’t fully understood yet that you could—you mouthed it.

"See you." Two simple words, weightless in sound but devastating in meaning and in memory. And just like that, it wrecked him. Because as much as Trent tried to convince himself that he didn’t care, that you were just a passing thing, just another pretty girl he could let slip through his fingers without a second thought—those two words sent him hurtling back. Back to Ibiza.

To the way you left him then, slipping through the crowd and into the night like a ghost, like something beautiful and fleeting, something never meant to be his. He remembered standing there, watching you go, the cool ocean breeze doing nothing to soothe the burn of wanting. And now, here you were again—turning away, disappearing into the city, leaving him standing exactly where he swore he’d never be left again. It hurt. More than he was willing to admit. More than he had prepared for. Trent exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face as a quiet, incredulous laugh slipped past his lips.

“What the fuck…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Somehow, without even realizing it, he had ended up playing a game he could never seem to win. Worse still? You didn’t even know you were playing.

-

The hum of the city was muffled inside the car, the low murmur of voices and the occasional honk of impatient drivers fading into the background as you exhaled, pressing your head against the cool glass. Outside, Paris moved on—oblivious to the storm raging inside you. Your fingers absentmindedly dipped into your pocket, finding the familiar weight of your Contax camera. A habit. An instinct. You weren’t working tonight, yet here you were, capturing. Framing. Freezing a moment you didn’t understand. Through the tinted window, your lens found him. Trent stood alone in the dimly lit alleyway, his head dipped low, one hand raking through his curls in frustration, in disbelief—in something you didn’t want to name. The glow from a nearby streetlamp cast his silhouette in sharp relief, highlighting the tension in his shoulders, the way his mouth parted slightly like he was about to say something—to call after you—but he didn’t. And you took the shot. The shutter clicked, quiet yet deafening in your ears. A single frame, a flicker in time that would soon exist on film, tangible and unchangeable. But why? Why did you just take that photo?

You swallowed, gripping the camera tighter as a strange, unfamiliar weight settled in your chest. You wanted to remember him. That much was clear.  It was like you wanted to remember him, but he wasn’t going anywhere, you likely were going to the very same place. But why did it feel like he was already slipping away? You were the one who had left. The one who had turned, who had run like some teenage girl with a crush too big to hold. You had thought yourself clever, cheeky—leaving him with that parting line, a playful wink, a final act of control in a game you weren’t even sure you were playing. You began to wonder if it was cringey you just said that at all. And now? Now you weren’t so sure. Because even as the car rolled forward, even as the alley faded into the distance, you felt it—that strange, sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach. The feeling of having lost something before you ever even had the chance to hold it.

And maybe that was the very thing neither of you understood. This wasn’t about winning or losing. It wasn’t a game. It never had been. This was a person. A moment. An imprint on your life, whether you wanted to remember it or not. And you could feel it happening—something irreversible, something already set in motion. The film would develop. It always did. A latent image, unseen yet already there—waiting. Trent had poured himself into your world like chemicals in a darkroom, slipping into your bloodstream, into the spaces between memories you weren’t ready to claim. And now, whether you wanted it or not, the picture was forming.

Permanent. Unchanging. Completely insensitive to the light.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

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

Next part - Chapter 4 Coming Soon!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[christopherisfoive]

Cold Burn (Chapter 4)

!idol reader x Seungmin; enemies to lovers

Word Count: (It literally won't let me move it from here lol)

Note: I wrote this super late last night and tried to edit my best but sorry if there are any mistakes, going back to drafting on docs because tumblr hates me. It has been a long week. Thank you for reading, I appreciate it <3 (it will eventually make sense i promise)

Masterlist

The city was alive with the midday rush, bustling streets and flashing signs lining every corner. It should’ve felt freeing after being cooped up in venues and hotels for the past few weeks, but even with the fresh air, I still felt off.

I adjusted my mask, letting my hood cast a shadow over my face as I followed behind my group.

It was supposed to be a day off.

But my mind was still playing back every mistake I’d made on stage during the tour.

I should have been enjoying this break. But instead, I was still holding onto every mistake, every moment that made me feel like I was losing control.

And then, like perfectly timed chaos, I heard it—the sound of cameras clicking.

Whispers turned into excited calls.

I instinctively pulled my hood lower, keeping my face neutral as the others started interacting.

A group of fans and paparazzi had spotted us, and before I could even process it, they were already approaching fast.

"Oh my god, it’s Stray Kids and Stellar!" one girl squealed, phone already out.

The energy shifted immediately.

Han, Hyunjin, and Leah engaged easily, smiling and waving. Bang Chan answered a few quick questions, even as security started stepping in to maintain a barrier.

Then came the actual questions.

"Y/N! Can you talk about your solo stage? People said it didn’t seem like your usual energy!"

"Is it true you don’t like performing live?"

"Are you okay? You seemed out of sync in the last show!"

I ignored them.

I always ignored them.

Instead, I kept walking, keeping my gaze forward, shoulders tense under my hoodie.

That was all it took to shift the crowd’s mood.

People started stepping in front of me, blocking my path, shoving phones and cameras in my direction.

The excitement turned to pushy persistence.

"Why won’t you say anything?"

"Y/N, just one word for your fans?"

I clenched my jaw and sidestepped them, but it was too late.

Someone moved in too close.

Before I could react, a fan—a girl, maybe late teens, wearing a hoodie with our group’s name on it—stepped right into my space.

"Why do you always ignore us?" Her voice was sharp, demanding.

I took a step back, my pulse spiking. Too close. Way too close.

She didn't stop. "Other idols talk to their fans. What’s your problem?"

Before I could respond—before I could even process how uncomfortable I felt—she lifted her phone closer to my face, snapping a photo at point-blank range.

I barely kept my composure, my breath hitching as I turned away sharply.

Security finally stepped in, blocking her as one of our managers started ushering us forward.

But the damage was already done.

I could already hear the murmurs.

"What’s wrong with her?"

"So rude."

"Seungmin would never act like that."

And of course—there he was.

I glanced up just in time to see him smiling effortlessly, answering questions, personally greeting every fan that came up to him.

Easy. Natural. Everything I wasn’t.

I could already feel his judgment from across the crowd.

To him, I probably looked like the worst kind of idol.

What he didn’t know was that I had my reasons.

And I wasn’t about to explain myself to him.

The second we finally got away from the crowd, I could feel the weight of the encounter still pressing on my chest. My steps were quick, my head down, but I could still hear the lingering whispers, the judgment heavy in the air.

I wasn’t sure if it was my own overthinking or if they were actually talking about me, but it didn’t matter.

The damage was already done.

As we turned the corner onto a quieter street, I felt someone fall into step beside me.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"You could at least pretend to care."

I exhaled sharply, barely sparing Seungmin a glance before looking ahead again. "Not in the mood, Seungmin."

"Oh, I know," he said, voice casual but laced with something sharp. "You’re never in the mood, right?"

I clenched my jaw. "Drop it."

But of course, he didn’t.

"Seriously, what’s your deal?" He scoffed. "You act like it’s such a burden to interact with people who support you. The rest of us can handle it just fine. Why is it so hard for you?"

That did it.

I stopped walking, turning to him with narrowed eyes. "You have no idea what you’re talking about."

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. "Don’t I?"

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "Not everything is as easy as you make it seem, Seungmin."

"No," he agreed, "but being decent to the people who made your career possible isn’t that hard."

The words hit me harder than I expected.

I had spent years learning how to brush off the criticism, how to let things roll off my back.

But for some reason, hearing it from him—someone who already thought the worst of me—made my blood boil.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You don’t get to judge me."

"Then give me a reason not to."

The challenge was clear in his expression, in the way he refused to look away first.

I had so much I wanted to say.

But I knew it wouldn’t matter.

Not yet.

So instead, I just exhaled sharply and turned away, continuing forward.

"That’s what I thought," Seungmin muttered behind me, before falling back into step with the others.

I didn’t look back.

But the anger sat heavy in my chest, burning quietly.

-

The hotel lobby was quiet, save for the occasional footsteps of staff moving around and the faint sound of music playing from the lounge area. Most of the others had already gone up to their rooms or found their own ways to unwind after the long day.

I had planned to do the same.

Instead, I found myself sitting in the corner of the lobby, scrolling through my phone, letting the harsh glow of the screen burn into my eyes.

I knew I should’ve put it away.

I knew I shouldn’t have been reading any of this.

But my fingers kept moving, my screen lighting up with headlines, forum posts, and brutal opinions dissecting everything about me.

"Y/N is proof that visuals matter more than talent in the industry."

"Best 4th Gen Dancer my ass."

"She’s not even the best in her group—why does she get so much attention?"

"I heard she got her spot because of connections, not skill. Makes sense why she’s so stiff on stage."

"You really think she made it this far just by ‘working hard’? LMAO, be serious."

My stomach twisted, and I could feel my pulse in my fingertips.

The accusations weren’t new—I had heard whispers like this for years. But somehow, seeing it laid out so blatantly, with thousands of likes and shares, made it feel heavier.

Worse.

Like no matter what I did, no matter how much effort I put in, there were still people who would never respect me.

I barely noticed when someone sat down in the chair across from me, but I did feel the weight of their stare.

"You still look at that stuff?"

I flinched slightly, my thumb freezing mid-scroll.

I glanced up to see Jeongin, leaning back in the chair across from me, arms crossed.

I quickly locked my phone, shoving it onto the table. "It’s nothing."

"Didn’t look like nothing."

His voice wasn’t accusing, just matter-of-fact.

I sighed, running a hand over my face. "Just people talking. Same as always."

Jeongin didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, watching me like he was waiting for me to be honest.

After a beat, he exhaled, shaking his head. "You know none of that’s real, right?"

I let out a small, dry laugh. "Yeah, sure."

Jeongin frowned, his usual playfulness gone. "Y/N."

I forced myself to meet his eyes, but my chest felt tight.

I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now.

So I shrugged. "It’s fine. Doesn’t matter."

Jeongin studied me for a second longer before pushing off the chair, leaning forward to grab my phone.

Without asking, he flipped it face-down on the table.

"Then stop looking."

His tone was soft but firm. A simple statement, not a suggestion.

I swallowed, my fingers twitching slightly.

Jeongin sighed, his expression less teasing than usual, more serious. "Don’t let them win, Y/N."

And with that, he stood up, walking off toward the elevators.

I sat there for a moment, staring at my phone, my reflection faint in the dark screen.

I should’ve let it go.

But the words were still burned into my mind.

And I wasn’t sure if I knew how.

-

The burn in my throat started a few nights ago. Subtle at first, just a scratch that I figured would go away with enough water and rest.

Except, there was no rest.

Not when we were on back-to-back schedules, traveling city to city, rehearsing between shows, barely enough time to breathe, let alone recover.

I pushed through like always.

Now, standing in the middle of the rehearsal room, sweat clinging to my skin, I felt off.

The usual ache from training felt heavier today, my limbs sluggish, my breath coming shorter than it should have.

I rolled my shoulders back, ignoring the way my vision blurred for half a second.

I was fine.

Across the room, Jeongin watched me.

I caught the way his brows furrowed slightly, the way his gaze lingered as I moved through the choreography.

I knew that look.

I ignored it.

"Let’s go again," Chan called out, already stepping forward to reset the formation.

I exhaled sharply, steadying my stance, locking my body into position as the music cued up again.

But the moment I took my first step, I felt it.

The slight dip in my balance, the way my head felt lighter than it should have.

I corrected it immediately, moving into the next beat as if nothing had happened.

But Jeongin saw.

And so did Seungmin.

I felt his gaze before I even turned his way, a glance quick enough to catch the way his expression flickered—something almost unreadable flashing across his face.

For once, he didn’t say anything.

I wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the room or my own body turning against me, but every time we restarted the routine, my chest felt tighter.

I took a deep breath, forcing air into my lungs, willing my body to cooperate.

I couldn’t stop now.

Not when I had spent the last few weeks feeling like I was slipping. Not when people were already questioning whether I deserved to be here.

I needed them to see me succeed.

So I kept going.

Even when my legs felt heavier than they should have.

Even when my head felt like it was filled with static.

Even when I knew—knew—I was moving on sheer willpower alone.

I felt the weight of Jeongin’s stare first.

He wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore—I could see him watching between reps, his usual easy-going expression replaced with something more cautious.

But he didn’t say anything.

Neither did Seungmin.

I caught his gaze in the mirror, just for a second.

He was standing off to the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed just slightly.

For once, there was no smirk. No sharp remarks.

Just quiet observation.

I ignored them both.

I had to.

The music started again, the pounding bass vibrating through my body, rattling in my chest.

I moved on instinct, letting my muscle memory carry me through—each step, each transition, each sharp hit of the beat.

But something was off.

I felt it before I saw it.

The moment my foot landed wrong, I knew. The angle was off, the weight uneven. My body moved a fraction of a second behind my mind, and suddenly—

I was out of sync.

Just for half a beat.

But in this world, half a beat was everything.

I immediately corrected, snapping into place, but the mistake had already happened. I could feel the eyes on me.

Someone spoke. "Y/N, what was that?"

I blinked, chest rising and falling faster than it should’ve been.

My mind scrambled for a response, but the words weren’t there.

I wasn’t fully there.

"I—" My voice sounded strange, distant, like it belonged to someone else.

Across from me, Ari’s gaze sharpened.

She saw it.

But she didn’t get the chance to say anything.

I sucked in a breath, forcing my posture straight, willing my body to hold itself together.

"Let’s go again," I said quickly, pretending nothing happened.

I needed to shake this off.

I needed them to see me succeed.

Even if my body had other plans.

The music thundered through the speakers, vibrating through the stage beneath my feet.

I kept moving. Kept pushing.

Every step felt heavier, like my limbs were fighting against me. My skin was damp with sweat, but I felt cold.

It was getting harder to breathe.

The stage lights burned hot, casting everything in a hazy glow. The air felt thick, each inhale tighter than the last.

And then—

The misstep.

The dizziness.

The moment my body finally gave out beneath me.

The floor rushed toward me, the sharp gasp of someone nearby cutting through the ringing in my ears.

The music stopped.

Someone called my name.

I barely heard them before everything faded to black.

The moment my body hit the stage, everything exploded into chaos.

The music cut off instantly.

Footsteps—rushed, frantic—pounded against the stage floor as voices overlapped in panic.

"Y/N!"

"Someone get the staff!"

I felt hands on me—someone kneeling beside me, another hand brushing my hair back, the fabric of my sweat-soaked clothes sticking to my skin.

I was aware of it all, but everything felt distant. Like I was watching it happen from the outside, my limbs too heavy to respond.

"Is she breathing okay?" Ari’s voice was the sharpest, her usual calm cracked with pure fear.

"She’s burning up," Leah’s voice trembled. "We need to get her offstage—now."

Someone lifted me slightly, supporting my upper body. The movement made my stomach turn, a weak groan escaping before I could stop it.

"She’s conscious," Jeongin said quickly, relief barely masking the tension in his voice.

A shaky breath. My lips parted, but no words came out.

Through the haze, I caught a glimpse of Seungmin standing a few steps away.

Frozen.

For the first time since this tour started, he looked…unsure. His usual sharp eyes were wide, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

But I couldn’t focus on him.

Because my head was spinning, my skin was on fire, and the weight of every mistake, every moment I ignored my body’s warning signs, had finally come crashing down.

And now?

I wasn’t in control anymore.

The coolness of the backstage area barely helped with the heat radiating off my skin.

I felt cold and hot at the same time, my limbs too heavy, my breathing uneven.

Voices blurred together.

"Her temperature is high."

"She needs fluids—has she eaten today?"

"She’s completely burned out."

I tried to speak to tell them I was fine, but my throat felt raw. The most I could manage was a weak, halfhearted shake of my head.

"Don’t try to talk," Ari’s voice was there, close, softer than before. "They’re just checking your vitals."

I swallowed, eyes flickering open.

The faces above me were blurry, shifting in and out of focus. A few staff members kneeled beside me, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead, speaking in hushed tones.

Ari, Leah, Jeongin, and Lee Know were still there.

Lee Know stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

I tried to sit up, but the second I moved, my head spun.

A sharp inhale.

Lee Know was faster than Ari this time, pressing a hand to my shoulder and easily keeping me down.

"Not happening," he muttered. "Just rest, okay?"

Leah crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

I didn’t answer.

Because I knew the truth would only piss them off more.

Before I could gather enough strength to argue, the managers arrived.

Their voices were firm, no room for negotiation.

"She’s not performing tonight."

The words hit like a slap, and suddenly, the heaviness in my body wasn’t just from being sick.

I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the pounding in my head as I looked between them. "No. I can still do it."

"Y/N," Leah warned, eyes flashing with frustration.

But I wasn’t listening.

I turned to the managers again, pushing past the ache in my limbs. "I’ll be fine by showtime. I just need—"

"You just collapsed on stage," Ari cut in, arms crossed. "There’s no debate. You’re sitting this one out."

No.

No, no, no.

I had spent weeks proving myself, clawing my way through every performance, every mistake, every doubt.

I wasn’t losing my spot now.

"I can do this," I tried again, my voice hoarse. "I just—"

"Oh!" A voice interrupted, and I didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to.

Mira.

She strolled into view, faux concern plastered all over her face, hands clasped in front of her. "If she can’t go on, I can step in."

The air shifted.

For a split second, nobody spoke.

Then, one of the managers nodded. "That could work. You already know the choreo."

My stomach twisted violently.

Mira turned to me, her smile oh-so sweet, but her eyes telling an entirely different story.

"Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll take good care of your part."

I felt numb.

The room was still spinning, but the real sickness sat in my chest.

I should have fought back. I should have said something.

But the moment Mira tilted her head, smiling like she had won, everything inside me just… shut off.

I went blank.

Ari’s head snapped toward Mira, eyes narrowing. "You’re really volunteering that fast, huh?"

Mira turned to her, expression perfectly innocent. "What do you mean? Someone has to do it."

Ari’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t buy it. I could see the irritation tighten her jaw, the way her hands fisted at her sides.

She wasn’t the only one.

Lee Know, who had been mostly quiet until now, finally spoke.

"You sure you can handle it?" His voice was flat, unreadable, but there was something pointed underneath.

Mira smiled wider. "I mean, it’s not that complicated, right?"

Ari let out a sharp breath, like she was physically stopping herself from saying something she’d regret.

Lee Know just stared at Mira for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he turned to me.

"Y/N."

I blinked, but I couldn’t force words out.

What was I supposed to say?

Mira had already taken my spot.

Nothing I said would change it now.

So I just looked away.

-

The moment Mira stepped away from me, I could already hear her faking concern as she walked over to the others.

"Guys, change of plans," she said, voice just loud enough for me to hear from where I sat. "Y/N isn’t performing tonight, so I’ll be taking her place."

The reaction was immediate.

Kat’s face twisted in confusion. "Wait, what? Since when?"

Mira sighed dramatically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Since about five minutes ago," she said. "The managers agreed, and I already know the choreo, so it just makes sense."

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered toward me, his concern obvious. "And Y/N’s okay with this?"

Mira didn’t even hesitate. "Well, she didn’t argue."

Ari scoffed. "Yeah, because she’s half-conscious."

The room tensed.

Mira only shrugged, smiling just a little. "Either way, we should start getting ready."

Lee Know, who had been watching the whole thing in silence, finally spoke. "Just don’t mess it up." His tone was neutral, but his expression wasn’t.

Mira’s smile didn’t falter. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got this."

And with that, she turned away, ready to steal the show.

I barely registered the conversation.

I barely felt anything at all.

Because the second they all turned away, the second I was left sitting backstage, my chest tightened in a way I couldn’t control.

I blinked up at the ceiling, forcing back the burning in my throat.

I had lost my spot.

After everything I had fought for—**after every moment I forced myself to push through, to prove I was worth something—**I was still replaceable.

And the worst part?

Mira was making sure I knew it.

My hands curled into fists, nails pressing into my palms. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the feeling of failure from swallowing me whole.

I had fought so hard.

And it still wasn’t enough.

-

By the time the show started, I was watching from the wings, still too weak to stand on my own.

The lights hit the stage, the energy buzzing through the arena as Stellar performed without me.

And then, it happened.

Mira did my move.

Not just any move—my signature move. The one I had created, the one I had made my own.

The audience cheered like nothing was wrong.

Mira beamed.

And I?

I felt sick for a whole new reason.

The energy backstage was still buzzing, staff members congratulating each other, the usual post-show adrenaline filling the space.

But I wasn’t part of it.

I sat off to the side, still too weak to stand properly, watching as everyone came back from the stage.

And Mira?

She made a beeline toward me.

She tilted her head, still in full makeup and costume, wiping sweat off her brow like she had just saved the whole show.

And then she smiled.

"That was fun," she said sweetly. "I mean, I wouldn’t want to replace you permanently or anything, but… I did fit in pretty well, don’t you think?"

She let the words sink in, let them cut.

Then, with a final smirk, she turned and walked off.

And I sat there, feeling like I had lost everything.

I needed to get out of here.

The post-show energy, the voices, the flashing lights from the screens playing encore footage—it was too much.

I pushed myself up, ignoring the way my legs wobbled beneath me.

Leah and Ari noticed immediately, their heads snapping in my direction, but I didn’t give them time to stop me.

I kept my head down and moved, weaving past staff and dancers, making my way toward the private restroom backstage.

My hands were trembling by the time I pushed the door open.

The second it closed behind me, the weight I had been holding in collapsed all at once.

I braced myself against the sink, sucking in sharp, uneven breaths.

Everything hit me at once.

The exhaustion.

The humiliation.

The sharp, suffocating feeling of being replaced so easily.

A ragged breath tore from my throat, and I gripped the edges of the sink, my vision blurring as my chest heaved.

I couldn’t do this.

I couldn’t—

A soft knock at the door made me freeze.

My stomach twisted.

For a second, I thought it was Leah or Ari coming to check on me.

But then—

"Y/N."

I went rigid.

Because that wasn’t Leah.

Or Ari.

Or anyone I would’ve expected.

It was Seungmin.

I gripped the sink harder, willing my breaths to even out, willing myself to stay silent.

Maybe if I didn’t answer, he’d take the hint and leave.

Seconds passed.

Then—

"I know you’re in there."

His voice was calm. Not sharp, not teasing—just even.

I clenched my jaw, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes. Flushed skin. The complete opposite of the image I was supposed to keep up.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat.

Silence.

Maybe he’d take that as an answer.

Then he spoke again.

"So that’s it?" A slight shift in his tone, like he was testing the waters. "You’re just gonna sit in there and pretend nothing happened?"

My fingers twitched against the cool porcelain.

That’s exactly what I was going to do.

Pretend this wasn’t happening.

Pretend I wasn’t falling apart.

Another pause.

Then, softer this time—"You don’t have to pretend with me."

Something in my chest tensed.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the sink even harder.

Why was he still standing there?

And more importantly—why did it sound like he actually meant that?

A long beat of silence stretched between us.

I refused to move. Refused to speak.

But Seungmin wasn’t leaving.

Instead, he let out a slow exhale, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, less guarded.

"You know… I thought you were stronger than this."

Something in me flinched.

His tone wasn’t mocking, wasn’t sharp—just honest. And that somehow made it worse.

He shifted outside the door, and I could almost picture him standing there, arms crossed, debating what to say next.

"All this time, you’ve acted like nothing gets to you. Like you don’t care what people say." A pause. "But you do, don’t you?"

I sucked in a quiet breath, my grip on the sink tightening.

"You care too much."

Another pause.

Then—"That’s why you don’t fight back."

My stomach twisted.

Because I hated how close to the truth that was.

I stared down at my reflection on the floor, my own exhausted eyes staring back at me.

And still, I didn’t say a word.

Seungmin shifted again, like he was about to say more—then stopped himself.

A beat of silence.

Then, his voice dropped to almost a murmur.

"You know, you’re not the only one who’s ever felt like this."

I blinked.

My breath hitched just slightly, but I caught it before it could be heard.

I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say, but… not that.

Something in his voice was different now.

Less sharp.

Less detached.

More like he actually… understood.

I swallowed, my chest tightening with something I couldn’t place.

And yet—I still said nothing.

I heard him shift once more, but this time, he hesitated.

Then, after one last pause—I heard footsteps.

He was leaving.

But somehow, it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the beginning of something I wasn’t ready to face.

The room was quiet again.

No more footsteps.

No more words.

Just me.

I stayed where I was, back pressed against the cool tiles, knees pulled up to my chest.

My breathing had finally evened out, but my mind was far from calm.

Seungmin’s voice still echoed in my head.

"You know… I thought you were stronger than this."

"That’s why you don’t fight back."

"You care too much."

I wanted to ignore it. Pretend like none of this happened.

But I couldn’t.

Because somehow, for the first time since this tour started, Seungmin didn’t sound like my enemy.

And that thought alone terrified me.

I exhaled, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, just thinking.

Minutes passed—maybe longer.

Eventually, my legs felt steady enough to move.

I pushed myself up, straightened my hoodie, and finally unlocked the door.

The hallway was empty now.

No one waiting.

No one lingering.

And yet, as I stepped out, the weight of what just happened still clung to me.

The venue had mostly cleared out by now—staff moving equipment, dancers heading back to their dressing rooms, the energy finally settling after the chaos of the night.

Seungmin was off to the side, stretching out his shoulders, his expression unreadable.

Jeongin had been watching him for a while.

And he was done staying quiet.

He stepped up beside him, arms crossed. "I know what you’re doing."

Seungmin barely glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

Jeongin let out a sharp exhale through his nose, shaking his head. "You and Mira. You’ve been messing with her this whole time."

That got Seungmin’s attention.

His expression barely shifted, but Jeongin knew him too well to miss the way his jaw tensed.

Still, he played it cool. "You sound paranoid."

Jeongin huffed, not buying it for a second.

"You think I didn’t notice?" He tilted his head. "The mic feedback. The ‘accidental’ positioning mistakes. Mira shifting in formations just enough to throw Y/N off. You might think you're being slick, but I see it."

Seungmin’s hands curled into loose fists.

But Jeongin wasn’t finished.

"And tonight?" His voice lowered. "You let Mira take her spot. You watched her steal Y/N’s move. And you didn’t say a thing."

Seungmin’s eyes flickered, but he kept his face carefully blank.

Jeongin took a step closer. "Tell me this, hyung." His voice hardened. "At what point does it stop being funny?"

Silence.

For a moment, Seungmin didn’t respond.

Then—"It was never funny."

Jeongin’s brows furrowed. "Then why?"

Seungmin exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck, but he didn’t answer.

Because maybe—for the first time since this started—he wasn’t sure anymore.

Why had he gone along with Mira’s games?

At first, it was easy. It was just harmless frustration, just a way to get under Y/N’s skin—because she annoyed him, right?

That’s what he told himself.

But now?

After seeing her collapse on stage, after watching her lose everything she worked for while Mira stole her place without hesitation?

It didn’t feel like a game anymore.

And suddenly, he wasn’t so sure who the real problem was.

Taglist: @victoriaaf @mirophobic @minhosprettywife @peskybirdysya @littlewolfieposts

[harrywavycurly]

Narry as dads!!!😍💕

Hiii babes!! Ohhhh I love thinking of Harry and Niall being besties so therefore any kids they have will also be friends! So I hope you enjoy this little blurb!!💖

-want in on ask night? Look here✨

*I went with you just being their bestie! Hope that’s okay also the names of their kids are very random*

Summary: You join your two bestfriends for a day at the park with their kids✨

“You want me to put my daughter who can’t even crawl yet on the slide? Yeah-not happening Horan.” You stare at Harry who has both hands on his hips, sunglasses in his hair keeping it out of his face, his daughter Grace securely strapped to his chest but most importantly he has a hard glare aimed right at the blue eyed brunette standing next to you.

“Harry it’s a slide what could possibly happen to her while on the slide?”

“She can’t sit up properly so how do you want her to even go down the slide?”

“She’s strapped to your bloody chest Harry! So just go down the damn-”

“Niall James!” You shout his name at the same time you reach over and give the back of his head a nice smack making Harry chuckle while Niall lets out a groan as he turns to look at you.

“What was that for?” Harry rolls his eyes at Niall’s question as he reaches up to slide his sunglasses down over his face.

“Watch your mouth we are at a public park with children around you can’t say things like that.”

“M’sorry but he’s drivin me mental with the helicopter dad routine.” Niall points towards Harry while his attention is still on you. Harry lets out a scoff as he reaches a hand down and gently adjusts the little hat that’s snug on her head keeping her ears warm.

“I’m not a helicopter dad.” You run a hand over your face as Niall turns to give Harry all his attention so they can start the all too familiar argument about if Harry is too protective of his daughter or if Niall isn’t protective enough with his little girl. “I just make sure she’s safe and cozy at all times that’s all.”

“Harry her feet haven’t touched the ground since she was born and that was four months ago.”

“That isn’t true she sits on the floor for tummy time and on her play mat with the fishes she likes to stare at before bed and besides didn’t Angelina trip over a rock the other day and needed not one but two Elsa bandaids for the cut on her knee?”

“Yeah she’s three. She trips. S’what kids do.” As if on queue Niall’s daughter runs over from where she was playing on the jungle gym and tugs on Harry’s pants.

“Hello love.” Harry’s voice has zero hints of annoyance or defensiveness like it did just a moment ago as he looks down at the blue eyed little girl who is smiling up at him with pigtails and a dimple popping out of her cheek.

“C’n she play yet?” Angelina asks in her usual soft sweet tone that normally will get her whatever she wants. Harry looks away from the little girl and down at Grace who started wiggling her fingers and kicking her legs as soon as she heard Angelina’s voice.

“Maybe we can see how she feels about the swing? Would you like to do that?” Angelina just nods quickly before turning around and running off towards the swing set making Harry laugh and Niall turn his focus on watching her to make sure she doesn’t trip over anyone or anything on the way.

Before Harry can take a step in the direction of the swings you walk the short distance over to him and place a hand on his arm. Niall already knows what’s about to happen so he heads off towards the swings so he can help Angelina get comfortable on one and help push her for a bit.

“Let me take her.” Harry doesn’t try to argue with you or tell you no, he just smiles and begins unbuckling her from the carrier so he can hand her to you. “Hello my love how are you? Has your daddy been hogging you all day? I think he has and that’s just rude of him isn’t it?” You coo making her giggle while Harry watches with an amused smile on his face as his bestfriend walks off with his little girl towards the swing.

[joeliz99]

“You, Always.”- Danny Ramirez

Warnings: Slowburn, Friends to lovers, RPF fic, Fluff, Multi-part series

(In case you missed the first four chapters, click here)

Part Two

Where we begin again

Fifth Chapter

Three months after NYC. A summer in Miami. No time like the present.

Danny was back in his hometown for two weeks, a short but much-needed break before diving back into work and a massive new project that awaited him. The first few days were spent with family, relaxing and recharging. But as his second and final week approached, he couldn’t shake the thought of (Y/N), who now lived in Miami as well. He hadn’t heard from her since he’d texted her his number, and since both of them were over-thinkers, they hadn’t managed to spark a real conversation over text.

That night, lying in bed, Danny couldn’t help but reach out, sending her a text message before he regretted it for good.

"Hey (Initial)! Hope you're doing well. I’m in town for a couple of weeks and thought it’d be nice to catch up if you're up for it. Let me know what you think. See you soon! :)"

When (Y/N) saw his message, she froze for a moment. It had been a while since they last spoke, and she hadn’t expected him to reach out after sometime. She’d wanted to respond right away, but her schedule was packed. Hours passed, and though she saw the ‘read’ status on her phone, she couldn’t find the right words or moment to just do it.

Danny, after noticing hours had passed, began to doubt himself. Maybe he had misread the whole scenario. Perhaps she really wasn’t as interested in reconnecting as he’d hoped.

In reality, it wasnt that she wasn’t interested. She was just busy and, honestly, a little overwhelmed by it all. The next evening, after mentally editing her response a few times, she hit ‘send.’

"Hey! Sorry for the late reply. I’ve been caught up this weekend, but let’s plan something for the week. What are you in the mood for?"

Thursday of that same week, (Y/N) hurried through the streets of Miami, trying to get to the ice cream shop on time. Of course, today of all days, everyone at the office had needed something from her, pushing her lunch break nearly twenty minutes late. Now, someone was already waiting for her.

As she neared the shop, she slowed her pace, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. Outside, Danny sat at a table, focused on his phone, his posture relaxed. (Y/N) adjusted her purse and walked toward him, catching his attention as she approached.

“Oh hey! You made it.” A smile spread across his face as he stood, greeting her with a side hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so, so sorry. Work’s been crazy today—I hope you don’t mind the change of plans.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head. “Not at all. I’m chill with whatever. It’s good to see you.”

(Y/N) smiled as they headed inside, scanning the array of ice cream flavors.

“You eat anything yet?” Danny asked after a beat.

She shook her head, still focused on the options in front of her.

“Want to grab something else first?”

“What? No, no. I’m good. Ice cream’s better than real food anyway.”

Danny shot her a half-smile, clearly unconvinced. She caught the look and glanced back at him.

“I like your hair,” she said, changing the subject. “It looks longer than the last time I saw you. Actually, I think this is the longest I’ve ever seen it on you.”

“Oh, yeah.” He ran a hand through it absently. “I have to shave it all off for a project, so I figured I’d just let it do its thing for now.”

“Are you serious? What a waste of good lucious hair.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head as they paused to place their orders.

Outside the day felt warm and with a thick scent of freshly baked waffle cones wafting from the shop behind them. (Y/N) and Danny sat down on a bench and entertained themselves in a casual conversation while the occasional murmur of passing conversations mixed with the distant hum of traffic.

“So, I’m kind of curious… Where do you work again? I don’t think we ever talked about that.”

(Y/N) pulled the spoon from her mouth, tilting her head as she considered the question. “I work at a marketing agency as a Content Production Assistant. I handle all the audio editing for their productions and stuff like that.”

Danny hummed, nodding as he swirled his spoon through the melting edges of his ice cream. “That sounds cool. Do you like it?”

She hesitated. “I guess… yeah. It’s not exactly where I want to be, but I don’t mind it. It pays the bills, I’m getting real-world experience, and I’ve gotten more comfortable with my work. I just wish I had more time for my own projects.”

Danny took a slow breath, his gaze drifting toward her, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ll get there,” he said. “When I got out of college, I struggled bad. At one point, I was juggling three jobs while still trying to stay on top of auditions and callbacks. I was desperate for anything.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It took me a long time to get to where I am now, and honestly? I still feel like I’m barely getting by.”

“Shut up.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’re doing amazing.”

Danny turned to her with a smirk, tapping his spoon against his cup. “Yeah? So that means you’ve seen me on TV?”

Her posture stiffened. She licked her lips, suddenly more focused on her ice cream as she stole a quick glance at him.

“Ohhh, so you have!” His grin widened.

“Uhh…” She stayed quiet, gauging his reaction. “Actually… I haven’t. Like… at all.”

Danny’s smile faltered. “Wait, are you serious?”

(Y/N) bit her lip, suppressing a laugh when she noticed the slight flush creeping onto his cheeks.

“This is embarrassing… Why would you say I’m good if you’ve never seen me?!”

“Because!” She laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “I’ve seen you in your element. I know you’re good.”

Danny exhaled dramatically, slouching back against the bench. “Okay. I’m done with this conversation.”

“No, no! Wait.” She nudged him again, her grin playful. “I actually do want to know what you’re working on. Are you gonna tell me about your next project?”

Danny turned his head slightly, giving her an exaggerated, unimpressed look before shaking his head.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a baby, Danny. I said I’m sorry.” She playfully punched his arm, and though he said nothing, a small smile crept onto his face.

“Well, it’s good that you’re sorry… but I really can’t say anything for legal reasons.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him.

Danny smirked, barely holding back a laugh.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait until it’s out in theaters.”

(Y/N) was about to fire back a playful remark, entertained by the easy rhythm of their conversation, when her phone started to ring. She ignored it at first, hoping it would stop on its own. It did—only for a series of text messages to pop up on her screen.

Her eyes scanned the messages quickly, and as she reached the last one, her expression shifted.

“Are you serious?” she muttered, exhaling sharply as she read it again.

Danny, catching the change in her demeanor, leaned slightly toward her. “You have to go?”

She nodded with a frown. “Yeah… Apparently, my lunch break was supposed to be shorter today whether I wanted to or not. We have a last-minute client meeting, and I have to be there.” The disappointment was clear in her voice. “I’m really sorry, Danny.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” He smiled, already standing up and taking the empty cup from her hands to toss it in the trash. “At least we got to hang out for a bit. We’ll plan something next time I’m in Miami.”

“Right… Sure.” She tried to return his smile, though it came out a little sheepish. Leaning in, the girl gave him a small hug. “Thanks for reaching out. We’ll stay in touch, alright?”

“Sounds good to me. Now go before they call you again.”

(Y/N) nodded, waving once before hurrying back toward her job. Danny stood there for a beat, hands in his pockets, watching her go before turning in the opposite direction.

But as she walked, something nagged at her. It had all felt too short and too fast. Even more-so when she had taken her sweet time to actually plan something decent with him. And now, the reality settled in—she probably wouldn’t see him again for months. Maybe longer.

Before she could overthink it, she pulled out her phone and dialed his number.

Danny glanced at his screen, momentarily confused. Had she called by mistake? Still, he answered.

“You butt-dialed me or something?” His laughter was the first thing she heard.

“No, not really.” She hesitated only for a second. “When exactly are you leaving Miami?”

“In two days.” His tone shifted slightly, curiosity creeping in. “Why?”

“Are you busy tomorrow afternoon?”

“Uh, no, not really. I was just gonna spend the day with my mom. Why?”

“Would she hate me if I stole you for a couple of hours?”

Danny let out a chuckle. “I doubt she’d hate you for any reason in the world, to be honest.”

(Y/N) smiled, knowing damn well he was right about that.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow after five. I’ll send you the details later, okay?”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss (Initial).”

“See you tomorrow. Bye.”

As she hung up, a smile tugged at her lips, her chest suddenly feeling lighter. What she didn’t know was that on the other end of the call, Danny felt the exact same way. After all, maybe going back to being friends wasn’t going to be as hard as it seemed.

The next day rolled in, and thankfully, (Y/N) was on time and much more relaxed than the day before. She waited at the park, casually snacking as she watched people stroll by, some walking, others riding bikes along the path. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the scene, and the usual Miami heat had softened under the evening breeze.

Just as a new playlist started playing in her earphones, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She pulled out one earbud and glanced over her shoulder.

“Hey,” Danny greeted her with an easy smile.

“Oh, hi!” Her own smile mirrored his as she took a quick look at him from head to toe, checking if he was dressed for the occasion. He was—comfortable athletic wear, a hat, and, as always, the same chain resting on his chest.

“Let’s go. We’ve got places to be!” she announced, already starting to walk.

Danny chuckled, shaking his head at how naturally she spoke to him, as if they had just seen each other minutes ago. He followed her lead, still unsure of their destination, until they stopped in front of a rollerblade rental shop.

“You’re kidding.” He looked from the skates to her, eyebrows raised. “Are we roller skating?”

(Y/N) nodded nonchalantly.

He let out a laugh. “Did it even cross your mind that I might not know how to do that?”

“You don’t?” She tilted her head, though she didn’t seem all that concerned.

“I do,” he admitted. “But you didn’t know that.”

“I guessed.” She simply shrugged. “ I don’t, by the way. Figured it would be a good time to try it out.”

Danny stared at her, half amused, half baffled. “Bro, what? Are you crazy?” He laughed again, shaking his head. “I cannot wait to see how this ends. You’re unbelievable.”

(Y/N) finally laughed, not bothering to argue as she went ahead with the rental process. Before he could protest further, she handed him a pair of skates and dragged him back toward the park, just steps away from Miami Beach.

They sat on a bench, helping each other lace up their skates. Danny stood first, testing his balance before extending both hands toward her.

“Alright, come on,” he said, steady and sure. “Let’s see if you survive this.”

(Y/N) took his hands, already laughing as she wobbled to her feet.

The moment (Y/N) was fully standing, she realized she had made a mistake.

Her feet wobbled dangerously beneath her, rolling in opposite directions as she clung onto Danny’s hands for dear life.

“Oh—oh no, wait—” she stammered, trying to steady herself.

Danny, already grinning, barely held back a laugh.

“Oh, this is bad” he said dramatically, his grip tightening to keep her upright. “I thought I was gonna have to help you a little but you might actually die.”

“Shut up!” she whined, struggling to find her balance. “This is harder than it looks!”

Danny, completely at ease on his skates, skated backward while still holding onto her, making it look effortless.”

“See, the key is—”

Before he could finish his sentence, (Y/N) yelped as her foot slid forward too fast, and just like that—bam—she hit the pavement.

For a split second, there was silence.

Then, Danny lost it

“Oh my god—” He doubled over, laughing so hard he had to brace himself against his knees. “That was amazing. I wish I had my phone out.”

(Y/N) groaned from the ground. “ Can you please not?! “

“No, no, I’m motivating you,” he said between chuckles, offering her a hand. “Come on, get up. Let’s try this again.”

She took his hand and, with his help, got back on her feet. This time, she lasted about ten seconds before her legs betrayed her again.

Thud.

Danny clutched his stomach, laughing even harder.

“I swear—” (Y/N) glared at him from the ground. “If you laugh one more time—”

“Sorry, sorry!” He wiped a fake tear from his eye. “I’m done, I swear. Come on champ. Get up.”

He held out a hand again, and after a second, she narrowed her eyes at him but took it anyway.

“Alright,” This time Danny pulled her closer so she had no choice but to hold onto his shoulders for support. “We’re gonna take this slow. No sudden movements.”

(Y/N) nodded seriously, gripping onto him like her life depended on it.

“Good.” He smirked. “Now… say ‘Wheee!’”

She blinked. “What?”

He suddenly pushed off, skating forward with her clinging onto him.

“Danny, NO!”

Her scream echoed through the park as he burst out laughing all over again.

Two very long hours passed—and after an embarrassing number of falls—(Y/N) finally started to get the hang of it. She still wasn’t graceful, and Danny never missed an opportunity to have fun with it, but at least she could move without immediately wiping out.

By the time they returned their skates, both of them were starving. So, without much thought, they walked to a nearby burger spot, grabbed their food, and made their way to the now-dark beach.

The sound of the waves filled the quiet space as they sat down on the sand, shoes off, letting the night breeze cool them down. Danny took a big bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully before turning to (Y/N).

"Alright, I’ll admit it," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him. "That was way more fun than I expected. Even if you’re all bruised up and traumatized after it.

(Y/N) scoffed, nudging his arm. "You know what? You’re actually a hater. There’s no need to mention that stuff.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. But seriously, this was great. We need to do it again."

(Y/N) smiled, resting her chin on her knee as she looked out at the water. "I’d love to. Just gotta figure out when we’ll actually be in the same city again."

Danny hummed in agreement. "Yeah… schedules are a pain. But we’ll make it work. Even if it takes months, we’ll plan something.”

"Deal," (Y/N) said, holding out her pinky.

Danny grinned and locked his pinky with hers without hesitation. "Deal."

For a moment, neither of them said anything, just enjoying the cool breeze and the comfortable ease between them.

However long it took, they both knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

————————————-

Still wanting to read more? Here are some other Danny’s shots to read. You’re welcome!!!

[onlyforyoukook]

what love left behind

— 005 i just want to talk

The campus is already buzzing with energy when you arrive, the usual morning chaos amplified by the latest gossip. You can feel it before you even step through the gates the lingering stares, the quiet murmurs, the not so subtle glances thrown your way. It’s suffocating, but you school your features into indifference. You’ve dealt with worse.

Yuqi walks beside you, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie as she sighs dramatically. “You do know that everyone thinks you and Haechan are fake dating, right?”

Haechan, on your other side, scoffs. “Excuse me, fake? The way I see it, I upgraded Y/N’s reputation. Now everyone thinks she has taste.”

You roll your eyes. “So, you’re saying you upgraded me?”

“Exactly.”

Yuqi snorts, nudging you with her shoulder. “I hate to agree with him, but you did post that picture out of spite. The execution was flawless, but c’mon, babe, you could’ve at least kissed his cheek or something. Give the illusion some life.”

“I would’ve let her,” Haechan adds smugly.

You ignore him, focusing on the pavement ahead. “It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.”

Yuqi side eyes you. “Chenle and Rheya made it a big deal. That picture of them went everywhere. The moment you posted with Haechan, people lost their minds. And now—” She gestures vaguely at the students around you. “You’re basically the main character of campus drama.”

You don’t respond.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It was just a petty response. A way to even the playing field, to show that you were fine. That you weren’t affected. That you weren’t still thinking about the fact that you had blocked Chenle on everything and left without a word. That you weren’t still reeling from what you had been too much of a coward to tell him.

Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag.

“Alright, this is where I leave you,” Haechan announces as you near the front of the main building. He grins, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Try not to miss me too much, babe.”

You shove him off with a scoff, and he laughs before disappearing into the crowd. Yuqi lingers a second longer, studying your face with a knowing look.

“You good?” she asks, quieter this time.

You nod. “Always.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go. “Text me later.”

And with that, she heads off, leaving you alone.

You exhale slowly, adjusting your bag before making your way through the courtyard. You can feel the eyes on you, but you ignore them. You just need to get to class. You just need to—

“Y/N.”

Your feet halt.

It’s like a reflex—like your body knows that voice before your brain can even process it. A voice you haven’t heard in so long. A voice that used to feel like home.

You don’t turn around. You start walking again.

Chenle steps in front of you before you can get far. His presence is so sudden, so familiar yet foreign, that you almost stumble. He looks the same, yet different his sharp features framed by slightly messier hair, his usual self-assured expression now laced with something unreadable.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

You stare at him, heart pounding. It’s been too long since you’ve seen him this close. Too long since he’s looked at you like this.

You don’t say anything. You move to step past him.

“Y/N.” His hand catches your wrist, and for a second—just a second—you freeze.

It’s the smallest touch, barely there, but it sends your mind spiraling back to every moment before this. Before everything fell apart. Before you left.

“Let go,” you say, voice quiet.

He does. But he doesn’t back off. “You blocked me on everything. You disappeared. And now you—” He exhales sharply, eyes searching yours. “Can you just listen to me for a second?”

Your fingers curl into fists. You can feel the weight of everyone watching, feel the way the entire campus has come to a silent standstill. People are taking pictures. Recording. Waiting to see what happens next.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you see her.

Rheya.

She stands just a few feet away, perfectly put together, her gaze cool and unreadable as she watches the scene unfold.

Something in your chest snaps.

You don’t wait for Chenle to say anything else. You turn and walk straight toward the nearest building, shoving open the bathroom door the second you get inside. You grip the edge of the sink, breathing hard.

Outside, Chenle is still standing there, jaw tight.

Rheya steps beside him, watching you disappear into the building before turning to him. “Who is she?” Her voice is smooth, almost pleasant.

Chenle doesn’t even hesitate. He exhales, shaking his head like the answer is obvious.

“No one.”

His voice is steady. Believable.

But Rheya doesn’t look convinced.

Instead, she pulls out her phone and texts her friends, to look everything up about you.

masterlist - previous - next

- taglist ; @serenedreamscape @haechology @spacejip @chenlesfeetpic @413ktz @galacticpurpl3 @slayhaechan @bananinhazz @jaeminnanaaa17 @flaminghotyourmom @iraa567 @toroufriteh @vrsexles @joneborder

[theflashdriver]

Summer in Winter (A Silvaze + Sonamy Fanfic)

The soggy splash of a boot disappearing into wintery slush sent a fresh chill down Amy Rose' spine. She could see Tails' workshop up ahead, she'd almost made it the whole way without freezing herself to the bone, only to stumble during the final steps. Her fists clenched, her brow hardened, but the pink hedgehog pushed forward despite the disgust. She was on the cusp of freedom from this icy nightmare, she couldn't let the cold stop her now!

Every winter she thought it would be different, that finally she'd spend the early nights by an open fire with hot chocolate in hand and her beloved by her side... but each and every time, her fantasies had revealed themselves to be delusions. No matter how she tried to deny it, Amy was a Summer girl. She longed for the warm touch of sun on her skin, the taste of strawberry ice cream, and, more than almost anything, getting to go out without freezing her toes off!

Her teeth were chattering as she hiked the last steps of the hill, why did it have to be so wet?! Around her wasn't the winter wonderland she longed for yearly, but a world claimed by grey sludge where icy spittle and frozen winds endlessly threatened to throw the hood from her head. The world simply refused to grant her the delicate tumble of snowflakes, caught on gentle winds; enough to prompt Sonic to pull her close rather than complain about being wet.

Arriving at the workshop's doorstep, the pink hedgehog kicked her heels against the thick metal wall. She patted herself down, wiping wet snow from her puffer jacket, before adjusting the bag at her side. Today she would wait no longer for that perfect winter day; today they would escape to a land of Summer!

Amy burst through the door only to be met with a room just as cold as the outdoors. Sonic and Knuckles were sat on opposite ends of a couch, bickering and kicking as both tried to lounge. Nearby, a young yellow fox was tinkering with a large ring made from metal and attached through various wires to a purple emerald on a plinth.

"Tails, is it ready?" The pink hedgehog immediately asked, gripping her elbows as a fresh shiver rocked her core, "I need out of this cold. Now!"

"Chill Amy," She could hear the smirk in Sonic's tone, "Everything's cool."

"That's the problem, and you know it," Amy huffed at him, "If you'd just kept me warm I wouldn't have had to turn to such a dramatic course of action. We could be all huddled up, sipping hot chocolate, but-

"You know he wouldn't sit still for that Amy. He's been antsy all week, running in and out of the wet," Knuckles cut her off, "Every time he shows up he looks even more pathetic, soaked to the bone and sneezing."

"At least I have the sense to come back inside," Sonic snapped back, "How long were you sat up on your island, letting yourself freeze? It's a good thing Rouge caught you when she did."

"I've toughed it out before!" The echidna hissed.

"Yes, and I'm sure you've enjoyed it every time," Amy strode across the room, waving the duo to separate, "Budge."

Their limbs untangled and Amy took her spot between the boys, setting her bag on her lap. Looking to her left, she found the Knuckles had brought a small green sack on a pole down from the island with him. A glance to her right showed the Sonic had nabbed a towel from Tails rather than bring his own; an inflatable ring was already around his waist. Neither of them looked nearly as prepared as she was.

"It's almost done Amy," Tails called from the midst of his toiling, "This is delicate work. If things are off, even just a little, we could end up anywhere; we could even teleport to the wrong dimension."

"I know Tails, but I've been looking forward to this all week. I can't wait a minute longer," Catching Sonic slouching, the cunning girl slipped an arm around his shoulders and a hand onto his chest, "Well, at least I've got my darling Sonic to keep me warm in the meantime."

"Amy, you're soaking!" He was so quick to fluster, "Freezing too!"

"That's because you haven't been keeping me warm," She singsonged back at him, leaning in closer still, "Let's make up for lost time."

"Do you two have to flirt right next to me?" The guardian shuffled further away.

"We're not flirting; she's crushing me! Knuckles, help!" Sonic foolishly called aloud.

"You did this to yourself, it's karma," Amy fizzed, "If you'd just come when I called, you'd be warm all year."

The heat radiating from the blue blur was undeniable, "If I came on those dates I'd be boiling all year, you'd be wrapped around me twenty-four seven."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Amy teased further, "We both know you'd enjoy-

A knock at the door prompted Knuckles to stand, "That'll be Cream and Vanilla, I'll leave you lovebirds to get cosy."

"Knuckles, don't leave me," Sonic whimpered.

"Don't worry, I'm still here my darling," Amy relaxed, pulling back just a little to claim some of Knuckles' vacated space, "I'm surprised you agreed to come to the beach, daring to wander so close to the ocean... it's because I'll be by your side, isn't it?"

"Better warm and wet than cold and wet," He snorted, "Besides, it's a new place to run."

"I suppose I might join you," Amy batted her eyes, "If you'll take me for ice cream afterwards."

"As long as you don't expect me to join you in the sea," Without Knuckles to mock him, the blue blur seemed to have relaxed a little, "Your bag's way too full, you must have something planned."

"Some of us need more to get by than a stolen towel," Amy huffed, poking the inner tube around his gut, "And a floaty, of course."

"Hey now, Tails designed this. It's a life preserver, not a floaty," Sonic feigned offence.

"Floaty,"Amy repeated, sticking out her tongue at him.

"When I have to swim out to save you, you'll see just how useful it is," He fake huffed.

"You say that like anything involving your belly-donut could be classed as swimming," She poked the tube once more for emphasis.

"Miss Amy!" A familiar call and the sound of footsteps pulled Amy from her teasing.

"Cream, Vanilla!" Amy beamed, "You made it!"

The rabbit pair looked to have been about as drenched as Amy, with slushy splats on their warm looking trench coats and dripping from their boots. They were plainly better prepared than Sonic and Knuckles, a full looking duffle bag was slung over the older rabbit's shoulder. If Amy had forgotten anything, she could certainly count on Vanilla.

"We were snowed in this morning, I had to call the Chaotix," Vanilla informed the room, beating the winter off of her coat, "I invited them, but Vector insisted that they'd deice the entire house... I'll have to bring them back some sort of reward..."

"I'm sure he's already regretting that choice," Sonic smirked at Amy knowingly, "I'm surprised Charmy didn't tag along."

"He was really enjoying himself in the snow," Cream explained, "Mister Espio didn't look so happy, but he said something about mastering discipline and self-control. He was meditating in the garden with an icicle hanging off of his horn..."

"He'll miss seeing Silver then," Knuckles commented through chittering teeth, "Tails, are we ready?"

"Almost..." With a loud clunk the purple emerald started to glow, "There! That should do it!"

With a spark and a swirl the ring first filled with flickering purple light before stabilising. While no visual of the other side was provided, the sound of waves splashing immediately filled the space. With a deep breath through a cold and slightly snotty nose, Amy immediately recognised the salty scent of the sea.

"The dimensional tunnel is secure, we're good to go!" The fox announced.

"And not a moment too soon!" Faster than even Sonic could rise, Amy leapt for the portal.

The transition was instantaneous, in less than a blink she went from shivering in a freezing shed atop a hillside to sweating in her heavy coat. It was all perfect- the warmth of the sun, the sound of the sea! Ahead of her stretched bright yellow sand sand and perfect aquamarine ocean all the way to the horizon. There was barely a cloud in the sky, scarcely a breeze in the air, and only a handful of confused looking koala onlookers.

Amy threw off her jacket and kicked off her boots as she dashed across the sands, fully acclimatising. Revealed beneath the former were the shoulder straps of a swimsuit she'd managed to pick up cheap during the winter. The one piece was styled like an inverted strawberry, with a leaf green miniskirt obscuring her upper thighs. Immediately she felt that warm summer comfort she'd so desperately sought; vitamin D at last!

"Blaze? Silver! Are you guys here?" Amy called across the beach, scanning the horizon.

"Wrong way, Amy!" A familiar voice called from behind.

She turned back to the portal just in time to see the others emerge, while a certain white furred psychic poked his head around the warbling disk of purple energy. The pink hedgehog rushed back, zooming past her friends once more. Before the hedgehog could react she'd pulled him into a hug, grasping low to ensure that she hoisted him off the ground.

"A-Amy, it's me, Silver!" The time-traveller wheezed, "Sonic's over there!"

"I know you big oaf, I'm not that blind! It's just been so long," She went from teasing to serious in a blink, still holding him, "While I've been freezing in the present, I see that you've been sunning it up in another dimension."

Silver's usually sun kissed muzzle was a full shade darker than she recalled, surely owing to time spent by the beach. His quills were pulled back into a neat ponytail, but they were almost certainly shorter than when Amy had last seen them. Those differences aside, the flip-flops he was wearing and the unbuttoned mint-green mini-coconut covered shirt were the real smoking gun- just how long had he lingered in this dimension?

"I've only been back for a couple of days, honest!" He professed.

"A likely story,"Amy chided, setting him down, "How's Blaze doing?"

"She's fine," He'd answered much too quickly, did Amy detect a hint of panic? "We set up a little further off, we brought some longing chairs and drinks and stuff down from the palace- but, I take it we shouldn't leave the portal alone," Now he was rambling, "I'll go grab her and the stuff!"

The hedgehog quickly flew off, fleeing the pink hedgehog's inquisitive gaze. Amy had concocted a rather fantastical view of the pair's partnership- ever since she'd learned that the two got along and that he frequented her reality, the thought of them sharing romantic rendezvous in the quiet depths of the palace had rather solidified in the romantic's brain. Already her sixth sense was was buzzing; something more than aesthetic had changed since she last saw Silver...

"Amy, don't tell me you scared him off already," Sonic teased from behind her.

As the pink hedgehog turned back she couldn't stop herself from laughing. To accompany his floating donut, the hedgehog had slipped into a pair of blaze orange inflatable armbands. As if that wasn't bad enough, a set of flippers had taken the place of his shoes and a snorkel was strapped to his forehead.

She fake swooned against his shoulder, "Every time I see you, you're more handsome, my darling."

"Laugh it up," He retorted, "I've seen this world's tropical storms, I'm not taking any chances- the last time one caught me I woke up on the shore," Sonic turned his attention to the sea, "I wonder if Marine's nearby..."

"She's going to show me how to surf!" Cream appeared around Sonic's side, kitted out in a full wetsuit.

"And I'm certain she'll have new ships to show us," Tails concurred, currently in the process of setting up a cone barrier around the portal- to prevent anyone accidentally falling into a much colder reality.

"It sounds like you all have full days planned," Vanilla emerged, having folded her coat away to reveal a beautiful white sundress, "I think I'll just catch some rays for now."

"If you wouldn't mind sitting by the portal, I'd really appreciate it," Tails chirped, "I was going ask Knuckles to guard it but..."

The fox had gestured out to sea- a set of tussled red quills could be seen occasionally breaching above the water, following the pattern of an intense butterfly stroke. The calmness of the waves meant that he was making good headway, soon he was little more than a speck on the horizon. He knew this was a nation of islands, didn't he? Perhaps he planned to swim to one and back? Well, working out atop a frigid Angel Island must have been difficult- maybe this was the first chance he'd got to train in a while...

"I'm more than willing to fill in until he's back," She smiled, before nonchalantly stating, "Ah, here come some flying chairs."

A swarm of deck chairs, made from dark wood with white fabric seating, were sailing their way across the sky in a cyan psychic sheen. One by one they descended to land on the sands surrounding the portal, arriving like highly convenient meteorites. Accompanying them descended Silver, carrying a large trough filled with ice and bottled drinks, and a grill to barbecue over with various equipment.

"Good morning," A new yet familiar voice sounded from one of the landed chairs behind Amy, "I'm glad to see you all arrived unscathed."

Lounging as if she'd always been sat there was Blaze the cat with a book in hand. She was wearing a sundress not dissimilar to Vanilla's, though a broad sunhat topped her head. Her garb was a warm mustard colour and, based on the thick dark straps on her shoulders, she'd done the logical thing of wearing a swimsuit underneath. A set of dark sunglasses sat on the edge of her nose, completing the outfit.

"Blaze, it's so good to see you again!" Amy beamed, pulling the cat into a hug, "It's been so long!"

"Likewise," Her tone was professional as ever, but Amy felt her briefly return the cuddle before she was released, "Feel free to make yourselves at home; the forecast is as perfect as we could have hoped for."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sonic approved, "And good to see you're doing better with heights now, nice show with the chairs Silver!"

"Oh that was nothing, you should see Blaze soar! We've been flying a lot lately," Silver began to retell with a grin, "There are some brilliant views out across the islands. Just last week we made it out to-

"I can speak for myself, Silver," Amy caught the hedgehog grimacing as Blaze suddenly interrupted,"But yes, I'm much more comfortable with heights now, I've been spending time to overcome that failing."

"Well, uh," Even Sonic looked perplexed at Blaze's utter frankness, "That's great, congrats!"

An awkward silence spread amongst the group, punctuated only by the lapping of waves and Tails continuing to place his barrier around the portal. Something was going on, as Amy's drama detector was ringing she caught the eye of a perturbed Vanilla. Blaze's attention seem to have dropped back to her book while Silver was tugging at his chest fur, neither were looking at the other!

Were they fighting? Was that allowed? What would they even fight over? Amy's imagined late night visits through bedroom balcony windows were quickly turning to dust!

"I'm going to go a walk and pick up some driftwood for the barbecue, does anyone want to tag along?" Silver cut the quiet, resting a hand on the grill.

"Sounds like it'll keep me out of the water, count me in," Sonic offered.

Silver's head cocked to the right, "You've got all that on, but you're not going to swim?"

"It's in case he gets swept out to sea," Amy answered, "I'll come too, to help keep him grounded."

As the white and blue pair started to head off, Amy quickly threw a pleading glance to Vanilla. The mother rabbit rolled her eyes but gave an understanding nod. She was willing to act as the portal's bodyguard and the romantic's spy at the same time! With a mouthed thank you Amy rushed to catch up with her fellow hedgehogs.

"Some of Marine's ships wrecked off the coast near here, so there's usually some good wood around..." Silver said, quickly seeming to catch himself, "Oh, that sounds bad, she's fine! Blaze makes sure at least one of us always with her when she's testing a new vessel and usually they don't crash... most of the time."

"She's still up to her old tricks then," Sonic chuckled, "Cream and Tails are excited to see her again."

"I think she'll be around shortly, she wanted to make a big show of her arrival," Silver recalled, "Expect a big boat and maybe some kind of explosion," The psychic forewarned, squinting at the horizon, "Oh, that looks like a big chunk of boat over there! It looks pretty familiar."

As the trio made their way over, Amy couldn't help but notice that Silver was still tugging at his chest fur. He'd found this task to busy himself but still his mind was elsewhere. Had he left it behind with the rest of the group; was he dwelling on one person in particular? As they arrived at the flotsam he did pull himself from a daydream enough to psychically tug a great portion of wood away from the water's edge and to their feet.

"Amy, would you like do the honours?" Sonic proposed.

"Scared you'll pop a floaty?" She snorted, manifesting her hammer with no more than a gesture and slamming it down, "Marine built this thing tough, I'm surprised it wrecked."

The wood had splintered but not broken, "Yeah, she was pretty proud of this one. I think she crashed it trying to set some kind of ocean speed record using wind alone. Naturally that meant going out in a storm. The whole thing flipped and we had to bail. Must have bounced off a bad wave- it felt like we'd hit something."

"Did she break the record?" Of course Sonic asked that; she cut off the time traveller's answer with another hammer swing.

"So, Silver," A section broke free with her third strike, "How's life in this dimension? You've been visiting for a while, right? You must be a local by now."

"I guess I sort of am yeah, with the future always in flux it's nice to have somewhere stable to sleep," He recalled aloud, psychically separating the section she'd chipped off.

"Oh? Where do you stay while you're here?" He'd taken the bait, he was on the hook, "With Marine, or?"

"There's a guest room in the palace I usually use. It started like all the others, but," He seemed to catch himself, his hand returned to his chest fur, "It's been redecorated a bit."

"You seem like the kind of person who'd own a lava lamp," Sonic stupidly snickered, "Am I right?"

Amy pulled back for another swing, "I'm sure Silver has enough sense-

"Two," It was a good thing that Silver interrupted, "No, wait, three now. I found another in the last future I visited."

Sonic's smug grin would have been cute if he wasn't distracting from Amy's investigation, "I guess you must see more of Blaze than almost anyone else then, right?"

The scandalous implication drew a raised brow from Sonic, while Silver still tugged at his fur, "She's usually busy with her duties and meetings; almost everything she does has to be scheduled, even today."

"Ah, but what about the early mornings and evenings?" Amy's hammer came smashing down once more, "I suppose that's when you found time to give Blaze some flying lessons."

"We might have found some hours around sunset when things aren't too busy," He finally admitted, "It's not a common thing though."

"Right, of course. Not a common thing," Amy agreed, continuing to hammer.

That was proof enough, the two had absolutely been dating- Amy was convinced, but something must have changed recently. Maybe rumours of their relationship had spread and Silver's lowborn status, let alone him not being a citizen, had proven too great a faux pas than the public could accept. Perhaps some shady suitor had proposed an alliance too bountiful for Blaze to deny, resulting in the cat sacrificing her relationship with Silver for the good of her people. Their split could have even owed to a combination of the two; with distinct perspectives surely weighing on them so thoroughly!

"Woah, Amy, I think that's enough!" Lost in her thoughts, she'd rather gone wild on the remains of the ship- rendering a chunk into splinters.

"It's okay, kindling is important to get the fire going," Silver responded, casting psychic light over the larger chunks, "If you guys handle that, I'll bring the big bits back to the barbecue."

"You got it," Sonic swept up some sticks in his arms, careful to keep the pointed ends away from his inflatables.

Amy gathered some kindling too, banishing her hammer, but caught the blue blur's eyes in hers as she did so. With a nod of her head, Sonic caught her drift. Soon the two of them had slipped away from Silver as he gathered, wandering ahead and just out of earshot.

"What do you know about the political situation here? Do you think Blaze sees many suitors..." The pink hedgehog asked, only to be met by a thoroughly perplexed frown.

"Amy, we're here to have fun and relax," Sonic sighed, "Don't work yourself into some kind of investigation. When we planned today, I was sure you were going to focus on-

Dropping more than a few sticks, Amy pushed a finger to his lips, "What if there's some law that princess can't marry a non-citizen! Could she overturn it?"

"You don't even know that they're a couple, let alone on the verge of getting married," The speedster groaned.

"Oh, I know that they're not a couple now, but they certainly have been and more than likely will be again," Amy insisted, "You're not seeing the full picture. If such a law exists, and she can't overturn it, then she could never be seen with him. The impropriety it would imply is simply too scandalous..."

"You've been watching too many movies," He tutted, "Let's just dump the firewood and then you can try to drag me out to sea," She could hear from his tone, Sonic knew she wasn't listening, "Come on, you came all this way in a swimsuit. It'd be a waste not to splash around a little."

"Perhaps later," By the sound of psychic whirring, she could hear Silver catching up, "For now, I've got an informant to meet with."

While Cream and Tails had moved on to create sandcastles, the former with traditional tools while the latter seemed to have brought some kind of mini-excavator for the task. Where once his barriers were only served to protect the portal, they now also cordoned off a sand focused building site. Regardless, Amy found Vanilla and Blaze still lazing on their chairs. She needed a method to separate the older rabbit and cat...

"Mister Silver!" Was Cream about to create an opportunity? "Can you use your power to create sandcastles?"

"I don't think I've never tried," The hedgehog set down the broken chunks of ship, "Maybe later we can give it a shot Cream, I need to set up the-

"I can set up the barbecue, go have fun," Amy waved him off, taking head position above the grill.

"You're sure?" Silver blinked, "It's really no problem, I can-

"I insist, I've barely brought anything to share, it's the least I can do," Amy pushed, ignoring Sonic's rolled eyes and shooting a look to Vanilla.

"Oh, ok," Silver accepted, "Thanks!"

The mother managed to avoid Amy's stare for almost a full minute before finally rising. She started to slink her way over, looking just a little frustrated. To disguise the clandestine effort the pink hedgehog quickly stacked a few of Sonic's kindling sticks into a small pile beneath the grill. By the time Amy popped back up Vanilla was looking over her, practically blocking out the sun.

"Miss Rose, is there something you wish to discuss?" The mother sweetly asked.

"Oh, you know," Amy tried to lean casually on the barbecue, "I was just wondering how our mutual friend is doing?"

"We didn't speak much, she seemed a little tense," That was unsurprising, "It's difficult to tell where she's looking, those glasses are too dark, but she was barely reading. I think she was watching you all instead..."

"Not all of us, just one..." Amy hypothesised aloud, as she quickly remembered she should have been building a pyre, "Did she mention anything strange?"

"No. We just talked about her schedule, the poor dear really is being run ragged," With a sigh, the rabbit's tone shifted to become somewhat more serious, "I think we should just let her relax and people watch if she wants."

"I promise I won't bother her," Amy got her message, still stacking wood, "I just need to get to the bottom of this."

"Need to, or want to?" Vanilla's motherly tone retained a hint of ice

"Both,"Amy squeaked, before realising she didn't have any matches, "Um, Blaze- can you shoot us a light?"

The feline didn't respond, Amy followed the approximate angle of her sunglasses lenses only to estimate she staring at something quite marvellous. In the brief time that Amy had semi-successfully stocked the grill, the psychic had proven that his powers did indeed work on sand. Between that effort, Tails' excavator, and Cream's sandcastle creating experience, the three had rapidly shaped what could only be described as a grand palace.

Columns of sand with toothed tops reached for the sky, each of them carved and stylised to give the appearance of brickwork and bearing shield shaped windows. At the centre stood a great square building, evidently strong enough to hold the weight of Tails' excavator as he shaped decorative features on what was supposed to be the roof. Currently he seemed to be styling something of a rooftop garden made of sand? Perhaps it was set to be decorated with shells...

Atop the closest spire were Silver and Cream, the former's hands still aglow. On the advice of the young rabbit, he was still expanding the palace grounds. The sand beneath the pink hedgehog smoothed and patterned itself with no more than a wave from him, taking on the appearance of hexagonal cobblestone. As she watched the pattern spread, her eyes were drawn back to the feline- now she was certain the cat was focused on her psychic companion.

"Blaze!" Amy called louder.

The feline flinched as if snapping out a daydream, flipping a page of her book before quickly turning to Amy.

She gestured to the grill, "Would you mind?"

Wordlessly, the cat snapped her fingers and sent a spark tracing across the sands. With no more than a point she guided the ember to bounce to and fro before making a final leap into the pile of wood at the base of the grill. As the flame enlarged Amy curtsied, receiving a sitting bow from the princess in response. The cat looked down to her book but, shortly after Amy had drawn some skewers from the barbecue equipment, her gaze seemed to have raised once more- had she and her beloved locked eyes?

"Hey, Blaze! Do you want..." The hedgehog seemed to catch himself, Amy swore she saw him grimace as Blaze flipped another pack of her book, "Never mind, we're fine!"

A glance back to Blaze revealed that her tail was sweeping up a sandstorm, had that always been the case? What had he wanted to ask her? What was going on between them?! Before awkwardness could claim reality once more, the blare of a foghorn filled the air.

"It's Marine!" Cream called out, waving out to sea from on high.

"About time," Sonic sounded from over Amy's shoulder.

Somehow, Amy had forgotten that her hero was stood right there and that he'd surely overheard her clandestine rendezvous with Vanilla. Come to think of it, he hadn't quite taken to the summery island in the way Amy had anticipated. She'd rather expected him to act like Knuckles had, only a good bit more landlocked.

"Oh darling," Amy fluttered her eyelashes, "Would you mind taking over on the grill? I haven't seen Marine in so very long..."

"Are you really going to abandon me again to meet up with one of your spies," Sonic huffed, "In your hands, Marine will practically be a double agent."

"Well, you can be my eyes and ears on land," Amy cooed, before realising, "Are you jealous?"

"What? Me? No," He said, like a very jealous hedgehog.

"We've got plenty of time, my love," She stepped away from him, only to look back over her shoulder in the most theatrical way possible, "I'm sure we'll have time for a swimming lesson before the sun sets..."

With no more than a teasing wave, the pink rascal slipped away from her beloved to round the castle. She regained her view of the sea just in time to see a puff of smoke and hear a detonation. Launched as if from a canon, skirting upon the ocean's surface like a thrown stone, was the shape of a small form clinging to a surfboard. Rather than riding the waves properly, the figure skimmed back and forth- creating sprays of froth with each bounce. It was only as the form drew close that Amy realised it would not stop in time- a surfer shaped torpedo was about to crash into the sandy palace!

Psychic energy thrummed above, generating a cyan glow upon the sands. Amy watched as the earth at the water's edge rose and fell, creating a series of bumpy waves reaching out to sea. One by one they cushioned the incoming surfer, gently lowering her speed until she came to an inevitable splashing halt by the shore's edge.

Amy looked up to the psychic, "Did you know you could do that?"

"Yes?" He didn't sound at all certain.

"Sorry I'm late, mates!" Marine so casually chirped from upon the water, "Strewth, that castle is almost as big as yours Blaze!"

The overexcited raccoon seemed to entirely ignore Silver's saving her life- instead rushing around to greet everyone with her usual overenthusiastic glee. She was dressed in what could best be described as a midpoint between pirate cosplay and a wetsuit, plainly of her own design judging by it's mixture of bright green and orange shades. As Silver sent Cream down to say her hellos, Amy seized the opportunity to grab the rabbit youngster by the shoulder.

"Cream," Amy leaned down close, "Do you know what Silver was going to ask Blaze? When you two were up on top of the castle?"

"Oh, he suggested making a statue of her to go with the palace. He was going to ask her to do a pose he could copy," The youngster answered, "Then he remembered, she's really focused on her reading- she doesn't want to be interrupted until it's done."

The youngster was released to bounce around with Marine. How very suspicious, why would that give him pause? The cat wasn't reading, she'd been staring at him the whole time. Her reading couldn't possibly be the reason he'd changed course, had he forgotten something else? Was he avoiding her?

"Alright, time for surfing lessons and showing off," Marine boldly announced, returning to the water's edge, "Tails, Cream- hop on board!"

"I think that surfboard's only built for one, maybe two at most, Marine," Tails called out, still working on the castle, "I'll come see the ship later, you two have fun!"

"My boards can totally handle up to eight real heavy folks," The raccoon fumed, plopping down on her surfboard, "Silver, are you coming?"

"I'll stay here to catch you both," Silver suggested, only to catch a dirty look from Marine, "Just on the off chance that history repeats itself."

"Well, if they's space going spare, I'll certainly join you," Amy quickly offered, slinking toward the board.

"Strewth! Have you ever surfed before, mate?" The raccoon asked.

"Once or twice, I've mostly just paddled," Amy lied, not wanting to steal the little girl's thunder.

"We can teach you, Miss Amy," Cream chirped, taking her spot behind Marine.

"Silver, if you're not going to come, can we at least get a push?" Marine pleaded.

Before Amy could really prepare herself, the board lifted itself from the shore. The pink hedgehog leapt onto the back of the surfboard, wrapping her arms around the two smaller beachgoers and grasping the wood for stability. With a sudden jolt the trio were pushed out to skim across the water's surface, bouncing twice before settling into a more natural yet accelerated drift- free of cyan cowling.

As the sound of splashing calmed, they found themselves close to halfway toward Marine's boat. The ship was truly gigantic, it was a shock that she'd seemingly sailed it all the way out here by her lonesome. With three massive sails and a figurehead that looked like a sabre wielding version of the raccoon herself, it seemed like it'd be capable of transporting close to a hundred sailors. On the side, Amy could see the massive cannon she'd clearly used to launch her and the surfboard.

"Did you see Mister Knuckles in your travels?" Cream queried, breaking the hedgehog's pondering, "He swam out to sea a while ago."

"I don't think so..." Marine confirmed, before frowning, "Hope I didn't hit him..."

"If you had, you'd have known about it. I'm certain he'd have started hammering at your ship," Amy confirmed, "He seems to be in an exercising mood; would probably have enjoyed the challenge."

A quick glance to the surrounding waters yielded no sight of the red echidna. They said that time flies when you're having fun, but had the guardian already reached another island? She had no idea he was such an adept swimmer. Still, since they were out here with only Cream capable of eavesdropping...

"So, Marine," Any pretence of subtly sank beneath the waves, "What's going on between Silver and Blaze?"

The excitable girl's expression said so much and yet so little. She looked as if Amy had offered her an impossible ultimatum and countless lives hung in the balance. For a solid minute her cheeks puffed and her brows furrowed, as if she was doing some ludicrous calculation. Finally, the raccoon's ears dipped as she finally averted her gaze, having made her choice.

"I'm sorry mate, I really am," Marine bleated, "But I can't tell you anything; they made me swear not to!"

"But that means they are keeping a secret," Amy wedged, "Can you really not tell me anything?"

"Not if I want..." The youngster realised she'd been caught out, "What I've been promised."

"Has someone bribed you?" The hedgehog processed before gasping, "Did they bribe you together? What is the price of your silence?! I'll double whatever they're paying!"

"C-Come on mate, let's just focus on surfing," The raccoon turned back around and started to paddle.

"I'll triple it Marine, please!" Amy paddled too, as if that might somehow close the Cream shaped distance between them, "Just-

A geyser tore skyward, splitting Marine's ship in two and sending a giant wave surging toward them. On instinct, Amy conjured her hammer and used it as a paddle to spin the surfboard. Banishing the mallet once more, she grasped the edge of the board.

"Hold on tight!"Amy commanded.

Cream and Marine hunkered down just as the wave caught the back of the board. They'd gone from being launched in one direction to being shoved in the other! Harnessing what surfing experience she had, once they were in the grasp of the wave, Amy clambered to stand. Having glanced up to estimate the collapse of the wave, Amy started to lean with all her might. The board angled to cut along the forming curve of the wave, sparing the three of them from spilling out as they surfed in a more typical manner.

On the shore she could see panic erupting, all of her friends had gathered to be cloaked in Silver's psychic aura. Quickly they were flying as a cloud, soaring close- plainly on the offensive and ready to get revenge for the sunken ship. Despite their reactions from the far side of the wave, Amy had no idea what had destroyed Marine's boat!

"Keep holding on!" Amy commanded the youngsters, timing their movements.

With a well timed swivel of the surfboard, the three of them slid up the wave and into the air! Above the whooping of Marine and the surprised squeal of Cream, the pink hedgehog heard the whir of psychic energy convalescing around the three of them. Still on the board and well above the water, they found themselves in flight between in inflatable laden Sonic and a Blaze seemingly unfazed by her airborne position- being levitated toward where the ship has been split.

Emerged from the water, looming between the sinking halves of Marine's masterwork, was a ludicrously large robotic creature. Though Amy already expected Eggman would be responsible, the presence of his insignia grinning across the face of a great metal whale was more than proof enough. In the water surrounding the false mammal, a series of large inflatable rafts enlarged to float on the surface, escaping from the gaping holes in Marine's sinking creation.

"At least the lifeboats are still shipshape," The raccoon moaned, "I was really exited to show you all that boat..."

"They'll work as platforms," Tails quickly analysed from somewhere to the back of the floating bundle, "We can attack from them!"

"Silver!" Blaze called out.

"On it!" All of a sudden, they were in sync again!

Amy felt her stomach lurch as they all shot forward faster, closing in on the scene. On top of the great whale a familiar figure was hunched over and actively pummelling the ground he stood upon. As they drew closer Amy noticed a series of great gashes in the hull of the machine leaking water, and quickly intuited just what had happened. Knuckles' swim had been interrupted by a vessel after all.

It was only as those details became discernable that the enemy's maw stretched open. Attached to a red mechanical tongue, sat within a glass domed cockpit, was another familiar face. Eggman was fiddling with dials and levers, quickly this variation of his egg mobile was both guarded and flanked by a series of further tongue-like mechanical arms wielding a variety of ludicrous weapons.

One of the life-rafts was quickly cloaked in cyan and tossed toward the doctor. All at once the mechanical limbs began to slice, dice, tear at the dingy. Despite the danger the armaments seemed to pose, they were struggling to break through the thick rubbery material. Marine built everything way too tough; it gave the perfect opportunity for them to land! Amy watched as her friends were launched toward the awful machine.

Blaze was sent down first, landing to the right of the great maw. Flames erupted from her hands, immediately scorching the side of the great whale and starting to warm its darl metal to orange. Sonic was sent down next- despite being laden with floatation devices, he quickly set to work combating the metal arms that were breaching the life raft. Tails was a lot more tactical upon landing- grabbing one of the metal limbs Sonic had dispatched and using it to strike the metal Blaze was heating. Already more holes were opening on the whale, perhaps they could sink it...

Silver repositioned to hover within earshot, "Where should I put you down?"

With the kids alongside her, Amy was in a difficult situation, "Set us down on top of the whale with Knuckles. We'll find a way to harm it from up there!"

There was a risk the machine's top could pose a distinct threat, but Knuckles seemed to be uninterrupted in his pummelling. Up there they'd be away from the lashing tongues and on solid ground. When their foe was defeated they could either jump for the lifeboats or have Silver sweep them up.

Psychic energy whirred as the three of them were sent to land atop Eggman's machine. Immediately Amy set to work, conjuring her hammer and striking down hard. She could hear Cream and Marine getting to work as well, but judging by the sharp pain in her forearms this whale was tougher than the doctor's usual machines. It was only as she got to work that Amy noticed Vanilla had been stranded up here too- Silver must have accidentally brought her along! Well, with her watching the kids, the rosy rascal could go all out!

"What are you all doing here!?" A scream sounded over a tannoy, "Finally I decide to make my glorious unanticipated return to this dimension, without my worse-half no less, only to find you all here waiting for me?! What's even the point!"

The sound of rubber tearing filled the air, the mechanical arms had fully broke free of the life raft. Amy rushed to the edge of the faux head just in time to see Sonic, still dressed in all his floaties, spin kick a sharp looking blade free from the limb wielding it. The gleaming weapon flew through the air only to catch in the side of the whale's head! An opening had been created, a point she could strike! Amy rushed over and brought her hammer down; in one strong swing the blade penetrated to disappear inside the machine, leaving a gash in its wake.

With her newfound method in mind, the pink hedgehog rushed toward the sound of another clang. She found a saw blade embedded just beneath her level. With a well aimed swing the pointed disk was sent spinning down the edge of the robot and down beneath the waterline. As it disappeared, out the corner of her eye she spotted a rather scorched looking spear spinning through the air. Amy leapt and, timing the swing perfectly, spiked the point into the ground beneath her. With a second strike that weapon too completely vanished into the mecha-whale's interior.

"Well, looks like it's now or never!" A frustrated yell blared from the cockpit bellow.

A loud metal clunk turned Amy's eyes right only to see a new opening on the top of the whale- a blowhole! She ran for Cream, Vanilla, and Marine, expecting to defend them from some kind of attack, only to end up watching as missile after missile flew free from the hole. In mere moments, a barrage of almost thirty gigantic rockets were shot into the air! They were flying as a volley, cutting quickly through the sky on an arc toward the shore. Was Eggman aiming for the beach or the palace? The missiles could have been heading for the town!

"I've got them!" Silver yelled, taking off once more and chasing after the explosives.

"Amy, what do you want us to do?" Vanilla asked, her arms around the two girls.

A sigh of relief breached Amy's lips, "I think we're safe up here, but be ready to jump for the rafts at any moment."

Before Marine could pipe up with some adventurous scheme, Amy was on the run again. She cleaved her hammer down onto the quickly sealing opening where the missiles had emerged. With three good swings the metal was buckled and broken, surely incapable of reopening to unleash another salvo. Despite four further strikes, she wasn't able to smash her way through- to tear things up from the inside.

At the edge of her vision Amy sighted a great band of cyan hanging above the beach, Silver had succeeded! With the missile threat paused, they could really focus on sinking Eggman. The hammer wielding hedgehog spiked what looked to be a redirected cannonball back down onto machine that had produced it, doing annoyingly little damage.

Eggman's voice crackled through a speaker, "Oh, what a shame, Silver stopped my missiles..." A flash of light at the shoreline spun Amy, "Good thing I can detonate them mid-flight!"

The flash of light was quickly followed by the sound of a cacophonous explosion. Silver's psychic grasp was replaced by a line of red flame cutting across the sky. The force was severe enough to render the sand palace into a mere pile and shake the seas. In its wake, Amy saw a mote of cyan tumble toward the ground.

"Silver!" The cat screamed in panic.

Amy caught Blaze's stare, "Go to him, we can deal with Eggman!"

The cat first leapt for the great metal whale, her body alight as she bounced off its iron shell and into the air. In the aftermath a glowing mark was left; another weak point to strike! Amy took advantage, swinging her hammer and breaking a hole into heated metal. When Eggman sunk, his ship would never resurface!

As Amy pounded and tore at the melted opening- she saw the feline soar as a burning meteor, blazing across the sky to land amongst the collapsed castle. Soon the cat was completely out of view, the pink hedgehog could only guess what was going on at the shore. The best thing she could do now was-

"Well, it's not the victory I wanted, but it'll have to do!" As Eggman laughed, she felt the craft beneath her shift.

Was he intentionally diving?! The water was rapidly approaching, either the machine was sinking or the doctor had made a play. Did he have something else planned? By the time Amy turned to look for her three allies, they were already jumping from the whale without hesitation.

"Knuckles, we need to go!" Amy called out.

She saw the echidna finally rise from his pummelling position as she leapt after the kids; before the craft could fully disappear beneath the waves, he too had landed on a floating platform. Bubbles thundered to the surface as the metal whale dove- surely a result of the various holes they'd torn in the device. Amy was beginning to think the doctor had foolishly sealed his own fate; that was until green light flashed beneath the waves. In its wake, the great shadow beneath the waves was gone. Eggman plainly had no intention of going down with his ship- he'd made it to this dimension after all, it made sense that he had preplanned a way of escaping it...

"Is everyone okay?" Amy called out.

Sonic had somehow made it out without bursting any of his floaties, Knuckles seemed more frustrated than anything, and Tails looked simply exhausted. Of Marine's six rafts only two had survived the conflict, though one of them was much worse for wear. Soon the group had piled onto the better looking craft.

"I can't see Mister Silver or Miss Blaze on the beach," Cream bleated, her eyes to the shore, "I think he might need help."

"The portal should still be standing. If he's hurt we can take him straight into my workshop, I've got a first aid kit in there," Tails suggested.

"Or I could run in and grab the kit, if moving him's a bad idea," Sonic proposed.

It took the most mature of them, Vanilla, to notice the issue with their plans, "How are we going to get back to shore?"

Quiet claimed the group as they realised their method of getting here and their companion, newly confident in her flying capabilities, were both on the shore. Tails could fly, but the distance to beach was sure too great for him to cross while carrying all of them. Despite how large and bulky the life raft was, there was no sign of any motor or paddles to row with. All eyes fell on the creator of this craft, who was herself looking around the very barren floor of the giant life raft.

"Where are the oars?!" Marine slapped her forehead, "I knew I forgot something when I designed these..."

"I can drag a raft back, but it won't be quick..." Knuckles offered.

"We'll probably go faster if we used my tails like a propeller too?" Tails piped up, "But Sonic, could you run across the water?"

The hedgehog hopped from foot to foot, the rubber of their pontoon shifted on the water, "I can't get a proper running start, even if the ground was stable- there's not enough of a runway..."

Amy's eyes caught on Marine's surfboard floating on the water and an idea flashed in her mind. She couldn't get all of them to shore, but she had the skill to navigate over the waves. If Silver was hurt, speed was a necessity.

"You two get started on that, but in the meantime," Amy fished the board closer using her hammer, "Sonic, get ready to kick!"

"Huh?" The hedgehog blinked as she grabbed him.

Amy stepped out onto the board, "I said I'd give you a swimming lesson, it's time!"

As the blue hedgehog was sat at the rear of the surfboard trepidation didn't so much as touch his face, "You got it, Ames!"

He swivelled onto his belly, grappled the sides of the surfboard, and began to kick with all his might. A spray of water leapt up behind them as they rocketed forward, Amy swayed at the sudden burst of speed but managed to keep her footing. Soon the two of them were well ahead of their allies, heading toward the coastline at breakneck speed.

"Thank you, Sonic. I know this isn't easy for you," She called back, "Even if you can't keep going, we'll make it to shore and see that they're okay, I promise!"

"Are you doubting me Amy? That's a first," He tutted, maintaining his cocky attitude as ever, "Of course we'll make it, I've got you watching my back!"

They ramped off of a forming wave, hitting the water and bouncing like a skimmed stone. As her knees bent in response and she reached down to stabilise, her hand grazed the back of his head. As their board made contact with the water it suddenly veered hard to the right despite how Amy was leaning! As she rose to focus more of her weight their board curved without issue.

It took pink hedgehog a moment to hypothesise just what had happened. She leaned down again, reaching her fingers to mess among Sonic's quills. A tussle to the left made the board shift right, a tug on his right swept them out to arc left. With that, her experiment was an instant success.

"Amy, is now really the time?" Was he blushing?

"Don't worry about it, my little motor," She continued to tease his quills, "Let's just focus on getting to shore!"

Using Sonic's head to control the rudder, Amy quite easily steered their vessel around the choppier waves. As the board made landfall the two of them were sent tumbling over each other. She landed on top of him, straddling his belly. If the situation were any less dire she would have taken the opportunity to tease him some more, but there was no sign of them on the beach- just the crumbled remains of the previous sand structure.

"Come on, they have to be nearby!" She stumbled off of him.

"Right behind you," She heard him mutter, for once lagging behind.

The pink lass conjured her hammer as she approached the great mound of sand that'd once been the castle. She swung the weapon back and forth, excavating a path through the remains in search of where Blaze had landed and that psychic light had fallen. Soon she found herself in something of a clearing- her eyes fell upon a pile of purple and white.

Among the largely collapsed remains of the sandcastle, though still obscured from their surroundings by its ruins, the time traveller was laying with his head in the princess' lap. He looked a little worse for wear, quills tossed and fur dirtied by sand- his cyan symbols dulled- but ultimately mostly unharmed. He was reaching up, about to tuck an errant strand of hair back into her ponytail... that was, until, the cat took his fingers in hers and brought his knuckle to her lips.

Amy's mind was racing. Had that really just happened? Had she just kissed his hand? Had Blaze the cat, princess guardian of the Sol Emeralds, just kissed Silver the hedgehog, time traveling psychic?!

"What is going on in this dimension!" Amy screamed, turning both of their heads, "I thought you two were fighting!"

For a beat, the pair looked back to each other- as if now psychically communicating, trying to come up with some kind of rational explanation. Blaze's tail had gone completely stiff, her ears had folded back, and she was completely avoiding the pink girl's stare. Silver meanwhile looked as if he had just been scolded rather than kissed, his quills drooping and pleading stare undeniable.

All at once Amy put the pieces together- the secret flying lessons, their brief squabbles, his palace guest room, Blaze's sunglasses, Marine's secret, even Silver's tan! The two of them had been keeping a distance from each other to avoid suspicion, only to rouse hers. They weren't fighting, not remotely. The reality was quite the opposite- oh how romantic summer love was...

"Ames? Have you found them?" Sonic's voice called from behind.

"Oh darling," Amy turned around, rushing to meet him, "I believe the situation has been handled."

"What?" His head tilted, he tried to look past but Amy stepped into his way, "Is Silver okay?"

"He's more than okay, he's great," She began to push him out of the ruined sandcastle, "Blaze is too. Let's leave them be for now," A broad smirk crossed her muzzle, "Time to cure your jealous streak."

"Jealous? Who's jealous?" He huffed, turning as he allowed himself to be shoved back toward the water.

The two would be free emerge whenever they were ready, no explanation needed. After all, Amy had known the truth all along. They were fools to try to hide it!

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Day 1: Welcome Home ↠ Charon

➼ Word Count » 1.5k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Slice of Life, Platonic/Romantic

"Hey, Charon?" You called from the top floor in the Megaton house the two of you had somehow managed to snag. "Can you remind me to pay Moira for decorating the next time we visit her?"

His tired and monotone eyes trailed their way over to where you had begun to come down the stairs, "Sure." He croaked, moving to pocket a handful of caps.

Inevitably, when you went to see the shop owner, you'd forget to actually bring the caps you owed. You always did. Something about how growing up in a vault never required you to keep any kind of currency on you at all times, and it was a force of habit for you to forget. But it wouldn't matter because he would already have them on his person. An easy enough task for him to complete and a part of him found counting the aluminum fun in its own right.

You zigzagged around the house, grabbing at anything you might need before you left. You rummaged through drawers and snatched things off shelves until you finally felt ready enough to complete some of your errands around the town.

"Do you wanna come? It shouldn't take too long. I just need to visit a few people." You smoothed your hands down your shirt, peering up at the rugged man before you as you spoke.

You smiled when you saw him give you a small nod. You quickly holstered your gun to the side of your belt, and then the two of you were off, Dogmeat panting at your heels.

There were many times in the vault when you'd wonder about how the outside world looked compared to the steel of 101, but as you walked out into the blindly bright sun, you found yourself wishing to go back to those simpler days of artificial light.

You brought your hand up over your eyes, desperate to fend off the blaring rays that shot straight into your retinas. You felt yourself adjusting to the sudden change as you squinted your eyes at the environment around you.

"Hey, kid!" Jericho's painfully familiar voice rang out as he noticed you step out, "Keep your problems out of Megaton. We've already had a few Enclave members come askin' about you, and I don't like lying for you."

You let out an amused breath, "You? Not wanting to lie? Be serious, J."

You intended the words playfully, but you doubted he picked up on that. He never did. Everything had to be a fight with him.

"I am being serious." He sneered, clearly annoyed by your joking attitude, "Next time, I'm telling them to torch your house."

You saw Charon's lip twitch ever so slightly at the sound of his threat, but he never got the chance to say what he wanted to say as Jericho adjusted his gun to be in his hands, and left down toward the entrance of the city.

The only bad thing about your home that still rings true is your one neighbor. Not only is he one of the most overtly friendly people you've ever met, but his house is a dump.

Every time you pass it, there's garbage littering the outskirts of the building. You'd complain if you weren't so afraid of him shooting you for it. Honestly, he couldn't make it look any worse if he tried.

Charon didn't seem to like him either. The one time you asked him about it you were met with a dry chuckle and a subtle roll of his eyes.

"He's... probably not being serious." You chuckled nervously, trying to lighten the ghoul's mood. He didn't answer you, though, keeping his gaze locked onto the former raider.

----------

You had envisioned how your life would look a few times back in the vault, but never had you imagined that you'd be living with a ghoul in a dirty old house, directly outside 101. It almost felt taboo, especially knowing that everyone you grew up around only lived a few feet away.

An odd feeling, but an even odder way of life. You supposed it was for the best. Even though you were 100x more at risk of dying, you found yourself much happier than you would've ever imagined yourself being had you stayed.

And happy you were as you lounged on your couch with the ghoul. Your feet in his lap, not because you put them there, but because he moved them on top of him when he sat down.

You peeked over the top of your magazine at him in curiosity. He'd been getting more and more comfortable ever since he agreed to move in with you. Sure, a part of it was his job, but there had to be something else, right? Maybe he was finally allowing himself to be more relaxed?

"What?" He grunted, looking up from where he was tinkering with his gun to stare at you.

"Nothing, nothing." You waved dismissively, going back to reading Grognak on the couch.

----------

"Have you ever gone sightseeing downtown?" You asked from where you stood in the kitchen.

"No." He answered, "There's nothing to see."

You hummed in thought for a moment, before speaking, "We should go some time. I bet we could find something worth looking at."

He only grunted, coming over from the couch to sit at the dinky dinner table that sat cramped in the corner of your impossibly small kitchen.

One of the biggest things you missed from the vault was that the kitchens actually worked. You didn't even want to think about how long it took you just to catch a flame on the stove.

"It's dangerous downtown," Charon muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

"Since when has that ever been an issue for you?" You teased, stirring the mutfruit you had sprinkled in your pan around. "Maybe when we start heading back to the Citadel we can explore a few extra places."

You didn't know what it was, but you found the city to be one of the prettiest places in all of the Capital Wasteland. If nothing else, then how populated it must've been before the war.

So many people in one place must've been exciting to see and you only wished you could've been around to see it before it went away.

Your head turned at the flurry of quick knocks on the door. You turned the dial down to a lower setting and wiped your hands, as you followed Charon toward the front to answer it.

"Oh, uh, hey there." Gob rasped when he found himself face to face with the bodyguard.

"Gob!" You greeted, pushing past the massive ghoul to hug the other, "How are you? It's been so long since you've last visited!"

"Heh, yeah," He chuckled awkwardly, "Well, I'll probably have a lot more time on my hands now."

"Really?" You asked, "Why's that?"

"You didn't hear? Moriarity was found dead last night. Security's searching for the culprit right now, but I don't think they're trying too hard."

You feigned shock at the news, turning to stare into Charon's blank expression with slight mischief.

"I wonder who could've done that." You wondered out loud, knowing full well what you and you're roommate had been planning for a week prior. "So, you own the saloon now?"

"That's what I've been told." He replied, scratching the back of his head, "Well, I'll leave you alone now. Just wanted to try out this new freedom thing."

You hummed thoughtfully, grinning widely at the bartender who stood before you.

"Why don't you come inside for a little bit? We can celebrate!" You cheered, already pulling him inside your home before he could answer. You poured three drinks for all of you as you spoke, "I've almost finished making mutfruit omelets if you want one."

"Ah, no thanks, this drink is more than enough," Gob answered, sitting hunched over on the couch.

----------

"Ah, hello!" Moira greeted excitedly, pulling you quickly into a tight embrace before pushing you back, hands still firmly planted on your shoulders as she spoke, "Did your gun break again? I've been thinking about it a lot and may have found a more reliable and permanent solution to the problem! All that's left is to test it!"

"Aw, thanks! But no, I'm here to finally pay you what I owe." You said, patting yourself down for caps, although, you paled when you didn't feel any. You felt yourself freeze in place as you tried to think up an excuse as to how you forgot to bring the amount needed. Charon's rough hand on your shoulder broke you out of that, however, as he dropped them into her open hand.

"Thank you!" She beamed, "I was about to start charging interest! So, you're lucky you brought it now!"

"Y-yeah, well, you know how I t-try to stay uh... reliable." You stuttered. You weren't even sure what you were saying. All you knew was that you were so incredibly relieved that you didn't have to make a fool of yourself.

You shot a grateful glance back at the ghoul, his emotionless gaze feeling more and more reassuring every time you met them, and you felt that they'd only continue to comfort you the longer you were around him.