#let me know if i need to adjust anything!

[l1tw1ck]

Consummation

Bottom!FTM Mydei x Top!Masc Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,370 ☆

Mydei finally fulfills his duty after his marriage to you

AFAB Language Used | Royalty AU

CW: Dubious Consent, Aphrodisiacs, Cunnilingus, Virginity Loss, Riding, Oral Sex, Cum Swallowing

“Don't forget that our union is merely for the benefit of the people.” Mydei pulls away from your ear and closes his eyes, giving you a small peck on the lips to fulfill his duty as a husband.

“Don't worry.” You turn your head and smile at the crowd of people.

“Now that you've been crowned, don't you think you should spend more time here? You have other things to prioritize over your bloodlust.” You watch Mydei remove his clothes. He doesn't feel any embarrassment about you seeing his naked body, he doesn't have any fear that you’ll touch him.

“Your job is to take care of those things for me.” He ties his hair up.

You follow him into the bathroom. “There's still a lot you need to do yourself, Mydeimos.” You stare at him as he bends over to adjust the water temperature. “One of those being, the consummation of our marriage. You’ve been stalling.”

It's true. He’s been going out to avoid that. “Does it matter? It's foolish to have children now.”

“The purpose isn't necessarily to have children, you know. Our marriage will be voided otherwise. You know it's the only reason you’ve been crowned. Am I the only one who has to care about our people?”

He growls and steps into the bath.

“It’s just one night. What are you so afraid of? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to practice.”

He growls again. “Fine. Just get it over with.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, now.” He crosses his arms and turns to you. “Hurry.”

You quickly remove your clothes and enter the bath. He stares at your cock with his brows furrowed. He turns and presses his hands against the wall as he bends over. You gently touch his cunt. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure it doesn't hurt.”

“It's not going to hurt.” He says, protecting his ego. “Do it.”

You sigh and slowly pump your length before entering him. He bites down on his lip. You gently rub his back. “You're too tense, I can barely move any further. I told you–”

“You're not trying hard enough.”

“Just relax your body, okay? Take a deep breath for me.”

His ears tinge red. He moves himself away from you. “We’ll do it tomorrow. You're annoying me.” He doesn't make eye contact.

“Okay, if that's what you want.”

“Mydei?” You walk into the room, surprised that he's laying in bed instead of sleeping against the corner of the wall. He's only wearing a robe.

“Do it..” His voice sounds soft. He moves the robe apart so you can have access to his body. “Hurry and get it over with.”

“You sound different.”

“My aide…gave me….” He sighs and spreads his legs. “Come on, you HKS…!”

“He gave you an aphrodisiac? Seriously?” You chuckle. “You know, it wasn't my fault. You didn't let me do anything.”

His cheeks flush red. “Then do it now.”

You climb onto the bed and bring your face close to his cunt. “You're already so wet, were you touching yourself before I got here?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Calm down, sweetheart. You should've been. I can't imagine how needy you must feel now.”

“I’m not needy—Fuck~!” He moans from the feeling of your tongue sliding up his folds. He bites down on his lip and looks down at you as you start to eat him out. You look like you're enjoying yourself. He subconsciously wraps his legs around your head. He does his best to not crush your skull. “I– wait—” He throws his head back as he orgasms, his walls fluttering around your tongue. He shoves you away with his foot.

You get off of the bed and wipe your face. You watch his body subtly twitch and his chest slowly rising and falling. His eyes are wide. “Tell me when you're ready.” You remove your clothes.

“When I’m ready?” There's a slight growl in his voice. “I'm always ready!”

“Mydei–”

He shakily gets up and shoves you onto the bed. He crawls on top of you and positions himself above your cock.

“Wait–”

“Look who's scared now.” He grins, lowering himself onto you. He throws his head back as his pussy stretches to fit you. It feels a little easier now but it's still painful.

Mydei lets out a sigh as his cunt fully absorbs you.

“Mydeimos..” You gently rub his thighs. “Don't move.”

“Why not?” He slaps your hands.

“Because I want you to. Your duty as my husband is to listen to me, right?”

“I’m the king. You're just a consort!” He tries to raise his body but gasps as his sudden movement causes him to realize why you didn't want him to in the first place. Having something inside him is too foreign and you seem to know your stuff. “Fine. I’ll listen to you. Only for tonight.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You gently stroke his cock.

“I didn't— mmh- give you permis—iuh~” His eyes roll back as he comes again. “Again–”

“Yeah? You want me to make you come again, sweetheart?”

“Don't toy with—” He shudders as your hand returns to his cock. “Yes— yes~!” He groans, rolling his hips. Having your cock inside him feels amazing now. His pussy just keeps fluttering around your cock. He grabs your wrist and forces you to keep touching him.

“Does that feel good?” You coo. “I feel good.”

“Of course you feel good, I’m amazing.” He moves your hand away and calms down. “Is that it?”

“Technically, no, but I’m sure all the servants outside our quarters can attest to our consummation.”

“Then what is technically it? I finish what I start.”

“May I show you?”

“Fine.” He allows you to hold his waist. His mouth hangs open in surprise as you lift him upwards. He didn't think you were strong enough. You slowly move him up and down before ascending to a faster pace. He starts moaning again as your cock hits all the right places inside his sensitive, creamy walls.

His lips curl into a smug, blissed out grin. He already feels his peak approaching.

“Huh?” He furrows his brows as you lift him off of you. “What do you think you're doing?”

“You don't want kids yet.” You look at his pissed off expression. “I’ll finish on my own..”

“What?!” He gets up and grabs you. “Do you think I’m not good enough at this?”

“Calm down. This isn't a competition or a display of strength. I'm just respecting your dislike towards me.”

“I…I don't dislike you.” He tugs you closer to him. He stares at your throbbing length. “Just…Just tell me what I have to do.”

“Well…are you gonna hit me if I tell you what I’d prefer you to do?”

“I won't.”

“Promise?”

He sighs dramatically. “I promise. But if it's weird you have to do that again. Deal?” He points at his cunt. It's still tingling.

“Deal. So…can you get on your knees?” You ask sheepishly. He raises an eyebrow but kneels anyway. You comb your fingers through his hair. “Can you open your mouth?”

His ears turn a fiery red. It’s a good thing it blends in with his hair, his pride is still intact. He opens his mouth and lets you slide your cock inside it. He pushes aside his embarrassment and maintains eye contact.

“You're so pretty..” You mumble, slowly thrusting into him. “Just a little more..”

He feels the heat from his ears travel to his cheeks. Heat from a different source fills his mouth.

“You can—” You’re interrupted as he swallows your cum.

“Eh.” He isn't sure how to feel about it. He stands up. “C’mon then.”

You smile and kneel, once again flipping your positions. Mydei stares down at you with curiosity and soon understands as your lips wrap around his cock and your fingers slide into his cunt.

“Fuck yes-” He groans. “Good boy.” It only takes a couple seconds for him to come again. He shivers as you clean up his thighs with your tongue. “You're not so bad.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m honored to be not so bad, my king.”

[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.

-💙🦋

[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.

[hitomisuzuya]

Wanderer stumbling upon reader bathing in hot springs alone after an exposition and joins? (nsfw) but with breast praise/service

wanderer (scaramouche) x fem!reader. smut. nipple play. clitoral orgasm. praise.

to be honest, i wasn't sure what you meant by exposition 😅 forgive me.

there is just something about a quiet, open air bath in a hot spring. the peace to soak in the warm water alone with no one else around is unmatched. you hadn't counted on any intrusions, being as late as it was at night.

wanderer was trying to find a quiet tree to hang out in. he didn't know the true meaning of the word temptation until he saw you, standing naked in the hot spring, your back turned to him, letting water cascade down your body.

he knew he should've fucked off the moment he saw you, but he is frozen in place. his eyes drawn to the curve of your ass, the side peek of your breasts as you bent down to cup more water into your hand.

he considered just quietly going up into a nearby tree to watch you bathe unnoticed when you suddenly turned around. he'd been too distracted by the teasing curve of your hips.

clearly startled to see him, you immediately sank into the water to cover yourself, putting your arms over your chest. "oh my, you scared me. there usually is no one here at this time," you exclaimed, the flush on your cheeks wasn't caused by the warmth of the hot spring.

wanderer wore a similar one. "sounds like a you issue and not a me issue," he scoffs, crossing his arms. "i'll just turn around and walk back the way i came," he didn't want to. and he wouldn't. he knew the perfect tree to hide in so he could keep shamelessly staring at you.

you shook your head, looking away shyly. "you don't have to leave. you can come in if you want. this is a public hot spring," you cutely huddle further down into the water. "besides it's probably nothing you haven't seen before. the human body is a very natural thing, after all," you have a habit of talking a lot of when you are flustered.

you have always seen this boy wearing a glare that made your heart pound in ways you didn't even think were possible.

"oh yeah?" wanderer could tell you are fighting the urge not to look at him as he took off his clothes, "then why are you trying to hide it?" he teases as he gets into the hot spring.

"because it's more dignified that way. shut up," you bat some water at him with your hand.

"i gotta say, you are cute when you are shy and angry," it is so satisfying to him to see the blush on your cheeks darken as he settles into the water next to you.

for wanderer, time seemed to stand still for him. and he didn't quite notice when time returned to normal again, with you straddling his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck while he tongue devours your mouth.

water sloshes quietly around you as he adjusts you in his lap. your pussy had just brushed against his cock, filling him with the overwhelming need to feel tucked between your folds. "you know," he murmurs, pulling away to nip at your lower lip, "i always thought temptation was a very human word. until i saw you," he snatched your lips up in another deep, open mouthed kiss, swallowing a groan as his cock throbs against your pussy.

you tangle your fingers in his hair, opening your mouth for his tongue. you moan softly into his mouth as he grinds his cock on your pussy. seeking more friction, you move your in hips to meet him halfway. you shiver as his tongue glides against yours. "your lips are so soft," you marvel, a little dazed as he pulls away again.

grinding into his lap, you move your head down for another kiss. wanderer smirks as he scoffs softly, "pretty, needy thing, aren't you?" he puts a hand on your chin to stop you. the soft whine you let out at being stopped made his cock harder against your pussy.

"being up against you just so happens to feel good," wanderer can absolutely tell your blustering nonsense to cover up how shy you feel. you probably have never done anything bold like this before. it is genuinely adorable how easy it is to work you up.

his eyes travel to your tempting breasts. "i think i'll indulge myself," he cups your breast, skimming his thumb across your nipple, "you just keep moaning all pretty for me," the tip of his tongue flicks out across your nipple.

you sigh shakily, arching your back to bring your chest to his mouth. taking this as an invitation to do as he pleases, he swirls his tongue around your nipple. "so soft," he marvels, squeezing your breast before giving your nipple a gentle pinch.

he quickly scoops your nipple into his mouth. the way his tongue flicked against your sensitive, hardening nipple as he sucked felt like he was exploring the sensation of it on his tongue. the way your body shivers as he pinches your other nipple is intoxicating to him.

you whimper, seeking friction from his cock on your throbbing clit. "you sound as pretty as your body feels responding to me," keeping an arm braced around your back, he kept your chest anchored over his mouth as he moved to your other nipple.

he greedily wants more from you. you just sound too fucking sweet, whimpering touch starved with need for him. his hand lingers, groping on your breast before it drops into the water. he is eager to feel and hear how you would sound if his fingers were working your clit over.

you couldn't stop your moans as his fingers rub and pinch your clit. your thighs tremble as you grind into his fingers. "that's a good girl," he moans, wagging his finger across your clit, "let it all out."

wanderer's sucks are eager on your nipple. the more you twitch and tremble in his hands, the more he pursued you. his cock aches to feel you shake while you cum. he chuckles hearing you moan a little louder when he praises you.

"my pretty, pretty girl. i think i'll keep you," he swirls his tongue around and around your nipple, "a delicate pet all for me," he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers.

overwhelmed by pleasure, your thighs tremble as he coaxes your orgasm into building up. the only thing you could do was helplessly moan while he experimented on your body, sussing out what made you moan the loudest.

"how obedient, practically cumming already for me," he purrs, increasing the pressure on your clit. it throbs underneath his fingers, fraying the knot of your orgasm apart suddenly. he drinks in the fucked out haze clouding your eyes, your body quaking in his hands from the intensity of your orgasm.

panting, your head drops down onto his shoulder. "wanna go home with you," you murmur softly, nuzzling your cheek against his neck as he rubs your clit through your orgasm.

wanderer has already made up his mind though. you weren't going to spend the night doing anything else but being impaled on his cock.

[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!)

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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?"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[neeeooon]

hii idk if this has been done before but can I request for bllk boys x picky eater reader / reader with sensory issues esp when it comes to food (or even reader with arfid) 😅😋😋?

Any characters you want to write for, but pls pls pls include my bbg rin😴🥺🙏

ofcccccc i gotchu 💛 thank you for the request

when you’re a picky/sensitive eater ;

bf bllk x gn!reader. cw: angst in rin’s, mentions of ed’s

itoshi rin

-> when you were diagnosed with arfid, things finally made sense. you were teased for your picky palate growing up, and now you finally had a reason; a disorder, but a reason

-> no one understood why you couldn’t bring yourself to try new foods. why you ate at the same three restaurants over and over again, ordering the same items. rin didn’t completely understand, either, but at least he tried

-> “i’m sorry,” you choked out, humiliated and on the brink of tears. two of the items on your plate touched, and now in your eyes, it was all contaminated and inedible

-> rin reached for your hand and brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “it’s okay.” “it’s not! i’m too old to be this picky, i know that, but i can’t help it.” he just continued stroking his thumb over your hand. “you’re okay.”

-> you left the little cafe soon after that, and rin continued comforting you until you arrived at the drive-thru of your most reliable eat-out place. you ordered and they greeted you with a warm, familiar smile at the window

-> you ate together, with rin sneaking food from his meal into yours when you weren’t looking. “thank you for understanding. i know it’s annoying.” “it’s not annoying. i don’t care where we go as long as you’re comfortable and healthy.”

barou shouei

-> maid barou cafe??? he knows how to cook

-> when you start dating barou, you reject his proposals to cook for you because you’re embarrassed by your eating habits and don’t want to offend him

-> however, when he sits you down and asks “y/n, why won’t you let me cook for you?” with concern in his voice, you crack and tell him how picky you are and how much of a hassle it is

-> barou isn’t upset. if anything, he’s relieved. still sitting together, he creates a new note on his phone and asks you to tell him everything you can and can’t eat, how you like things prepared, what textures bother you the most, etc.

-> he lets you hover as he cooks for you, accepting every one of your little comments, adjustments, all of it

-> “like this?” “mhm. a-and those need a little more time in the oven… i’m sorry.” “don’t apologize. into the oven they go.” “thank you, shouei.” “you’re welcome, baby.”

itoshi sae

-> sae doesn’t make any comment when you pick at your food at dinner. when you subtly try to hide it with your napkin and ask about dessert too early in the night

-> he can’t ignore it when he’s laying with you in bed, head on your stomach, listening to the little growls of hunger. when he pulls you up by your hands and props you up on the kitchen counter as you stare at him in sleepy confusion. “what are you doing?” “i’m going to cook you something.”

-> you can’t hide your anxiousness. despite sae’s assumptions, you don’t have an eating disorder. you’re picky, especially when it comes to textures, and struggle to voice your issues aloud, so you avoid it. try to avoid it

-> “cook me something? why..?” “because you’re hungry.” “i’m not—“ “you are. don’t lie. what can i make you?” “… grilled cheese?” you have a few safety dishes, and grilled cheese, minimally golden brown, is one of yours

-> nodding once, sae grabs everything he needs to make two grilled cheese sandwiches. when you asked why two, he said one was for him, but was making enough for you to have seconds

-> “you’re too good to me.” “this is the bare minimum, y/n. if you’re hungry, i’ll feed you. i’ll learn what you can and can’t eat.” “… i love you.” “i love you, too.”

mikage reo

-> despite all the cooks reo has, the fancy restaurants he can take you to, the unlimited supply of groceries in his kitchen, you pack a lunch every time you visit your boyfriend

-> you grew up with an extremely sensitive palate. your parents loved this, bragging to people how you’d grow up to be a renowned sommelier, but you hated how crazy you felt when you couldn’t eat certain foods because you could taste things others couldn’t

-> “are you getting hungry? want me to order something—“ “no, it’s okay! i have my lunch, but you should get something if you’re hungry.” and he gives you a look before sighing. “are you mad at me?”

-> you’re confused. “mad?” “you never want to eat or go out to places with me :/ are you upset?” and you feel really bad cause he got it all wrong. “no, i’m not upset. i’m just… picky…” “oh. well, what do you like? i’ll make a list!”

-> “it’s not exactly… it’s hard to explain.” “try. i’ll listen!” so you tell him about your palate and reo takes notes as he listens. “okay. so only use this brand of salt. anything else?”

-> reo takes you to the store after that, letting you pick everything you enjoy, before taking you back to his home and asking you to show him how you like to prepare your meals

-> “this is too much…” “it’s not. i have a list now! no more packed lunches, okay?” “.. okay <3”

if you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, here are a few resources that may help if you don’t feel comfortable reaching out to a trusted friend/family member: international helplines and support

[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 🤫🤫

[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.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[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!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[hvnsinureyes]

𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇. . . | luka dončić

summary | you’re trying to adjust to your new life in la, bottling up your feelings despite the hurt you feel. too bad luka won’t let you.

warnings | none! just an angst to fluff fic <3

author’s note | this is basically my own way of coping. luka please we miss you 💔

the past few days haven’t felt real.

one day, you were celebrating after purchasing your new home with your husband. next thing you know, you’re on a one way flight to los angeles, hand and hand with luka. deep down, as the camera lights flashed from the paparazzi, you hoped that maybe, adam silver would pop out of nowhere with a whole camera crew, yelling out “it’s a prank!”

maybe your plane ticket would magically turn into a roundtrip back to dallas, where all your friends, family, job– your life was. yet two weeks later and still nothing. you feel horrible thinking it, knowing that he’s going through so much more, but it’s not fair. the way he found out, the way you watched him hold in everything for hours until he broke down in front of you, leaving without a proper goodbye, and the fake, soulless smiles for the camera.

give it time, they say, you’ll get used to it– yet everything you do, you say, those rare moments of silence where you’re alone with your rushing thoughts, you think of dallas. you think of home and how it was ripped away from you in seconds. you never thought this would ever happen to him, but here you are.

it's a party hosted by the laker’s organization. they wanted to “welcome him to LA!” the “right way”, with a bunch of shareholders and names of people you can’t bother to remember. the whole team is present as well, also some wives and girlfriends. you’re sitting alone with your glass of…something, when a voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“you okay?”

not just any voice, but his voice. the only one that matters. luka doesn’t hesitate to sit next to you, grabbing your hand and tracing circles on your skin. you know what this is, he’s trying to comfort you. a pang of sadness hits you, making you realize your selfishness. this is the last thing he should be worried about. this isn’t about you, you think. you signed up for this.

“i’m fine,” you smile, tightly, trying to convince him (and yourself). it’s obvious it doesn’t work, because luka just sighs and deadpans. “be serious.”

“i am!” he scoffs at your protest, rolling his eyes. “i’m your husband, you know. you’re not fooling anyone but yourself.”

you don’t say anything back because he’s right. painfully right. but still, you put back on your smile and reassure him once again.

because that’s what a “good and supportive” wife does. smile through it all.

it doesn’t feel suffocating in your new house anymore– just unfamiliar. like every hallway and room isn’t really yours.

sitting down on your shared bed, you take each heel off, finally feeling something throughout your body. exhaustion. but that’s better than feeling nothing at all. when’s the last time you felt actually at peace? you can’t remember, and don’t bother to. it’ll cause more problems. you can see luka enter from the corner of your eye, a determined look on his face.

you can already feel what’s coming next.

“you haven’t gotten away with this.” he sits next to you with a soft ‘thud’, “really, talk to me, baby.” you smirk, looking up at him. “was there something to get away with in the first place?” obviously, luka isn’t amused at all, seeing past your act. he stares you down with a serious look, expecting the truth. but you don’t know if you have the strength to tell him.

“i…” you trail off, thinking to yourself. “i just need time to process things. i’ll be fine.”

“but you don’t have to be fine.” you frown, looking at him confused. what? he continues,

“i don’t expect you to immediately get used to everything.” he says, softly, “that wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“but this whole situation hasn’t been fair to you, luka. this isn’t about me–”

“that’s exactly what i mean. yes, this has been the craziest past few weeks for me and you. it’s about us. you can’t–” he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to find the words to say. “you can’t act like this isn’t hurting you. i see you, all the time, lost in thought. i know what you’re thinking about and i feel the same way. but you’re taking this on by yourself and you shouldn’t have to.”

you don’t say anything, simply listening to him. even after his rant, he doesn’t press you for answers. you’ll come around eventually, and when you do, he’ll be there.

“i’m here, for you. i made a promise to be by your side forever and i’m going to keep it.”

you don’t even notice you’re crying until luka wipes away your tears with his thumb, holding your jaw as if you’re the most precious thing he owns. with a smile, his eyes shine with pure adoration, reminding you that you are loved and seen. it’s this moment where you realize that you truly aren’t alone in this.

not even if you wanted to be.

[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!!!

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

I don't know if you're still taking requests from the drunk love confessions but I adored #8 (let's wait until tomorrow with the surgery) and #17 (I sent you my love, did you not get it?) with my personal favorite Pedro boy, Mr. Marcus Moreno, superhero. Please please please? 🥰 Ty!

Drunken Love Confessions prompts l Marcus Moreno

8. "I…I want to give you my heart. It belongs to… to you. How… how can I give it to you? I don’t want it anymore." "Let’s wait until tomorrow with the surgery."

17. "I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?" "You’re not doing anything." "But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?"

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a/n: one of my favorite people sent me a request and how could i say no. thank you for being here! you know how much i love your comments. you're the best, sweetie! I hope you like it.

warnings: alcohol, few bad words, Marcus is sweet as always, just fluff I guess

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You looked at the three moving dots that suggested he was writing you a message, but nothing appeared. But when you lifted your eyes, you saw his face staring at you among the people.

Damn, Marcus was handsome. Even more so now - after a few glasses of champagne, at a party with sponsors, in a beautiful and elegant room in one of the best hotels.

A few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a beautiful neck, sleeves rolled up on strong shoulders, dark eyes shining and focused on you. But something was still wrong...

You looked at your phone screen again and read the last message from Marcus:

"I'm not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?"

The three dots were still moving, but he wasn't writing anything. Finally, your fingers ran across the screen, tapping out a message to Moreno.

"You're not doing anything."

You raised your head again and saw Marcus glance at the screen, his brow furrowing. The message he had read must not have been good for him, because he quickly started replying. Three dots and finally the reply appeared on your screen:

"But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?"

You chuckled and covered your eyes with your hand, shaking your head in disbelief. He was amazing.

You and Marcus had been dating for a few months, but it was all top secret and no one at the Heroics headquarters had any idea. The secrecy was so effective that at the company party you were assigned to separate tables and all you had left was to stare longingly at each other and send messages that were getting more and more irrational with each glass of champagne.

You rested your chin on your hand and looked fondly at the man staring at you from a distance. His dark eyes now looked like the sweet gaze of a puppy.

Damn, you lost your head for him a long time ago. Marcus was everything you needed and wanted, and now all you wanted was to be with him in the room upstairs and make up for lost time.

You finished the last glass of champagne, gathered your things and stood up, seeing from the corner of your eye that he did the same. You said your last goodbyes to the guests and headed towards the exit, then through the lobby straight to the elevators. He followed you, even if you couldn't see him. His eyes were fixed on your figure hidden in one of the sexiest dresses he'd ever seen on you. Finally, he stopped next to you.

"Hi." he greeted, as if you hadn't been staring at each other all evening.

"Oh, hi." you replied, smiling and adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "It was a long evening, wasn't it?"

Marcus nodded, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks, which nicely emphasized his hips. He leaned slightly towards you and mumbled quietly. "You look stunning."

A pleasant, warm feeling filled your chest. "Thank you, you too." You replied just as quietly.

A quiet bell rang above your heads and the elevator doors slid open. You entered first, Marcus right behind you, leaning against the wall. You slowly made your way upstairs to the guest rooms.

"Did you get my message?"

"I'm not sure which one."

He smiled slightly and shook his head. You both decided that it would be best for you to keep your relationship a secret for now. You spent a lot of time together, your toothbrush lived in Marcus' bathroom, and a few of his perfectly ironed shirts hung in your closet. However, situations like these made you realize how much you wanted to be able to talk openly about what connected you. Furtive glances and polite exchanges of comments weren't enough for you.

But now, you rode in silence and only the sound of another bell informed you that the elevator had stopped on your floor, Marcus had a room a few levels above.

"Good night, Marcus." You said as you passed him.

"Good night."

The door didn't close though and you didn't take more than a few steps before you heard his voice again.

"I...I want to give you my heart. It belongs to... to you. How... how can I give it to you? I don't want it anymore."

You closed your eyes and bit your lip trying to stifle a laugh. God! Did he have to be so damn cute when he was tipsy? Not only did he look like a walking sin, but he was also so fucking adorable...

You turned around and looked at him with dreamy eyes. "Let's wait until tomorrow with the surgery." You said calmly. "I wouldn't want the leader of the Heroics to get hurt."

"You're my kryptonite." He replied and let go of the elevator doors.

"Good night, Superman."

The doors closed and you headed down the quiet hallway towards your room. You had only managed to take off your heels and jewelry when a knock on the door reached your ears. You glanced at your watch. It was well after midnight and you only hoped it wasn't some drunk coworker who had mixed up rooms.

You grabbed the handle and opened the door. It was your coworker, and he was drunk.

"Marcus..." you sighed, his name filling your lips sweetly. "What are you doing here?"

"Bad time to visit?" He glanced down the empty hallway and then looked at you, raising an eyebrow. "I thought since everyone was still downstairs, I could... I could tell you more about that message I sent you."

"Are you sure?" you leaned against the door, you already knew you had lost "I wouldn't want anyone to see you sneaking out of my room in the morning."

"I think I would really like to see the faces of all of them when we show up for breakfast together." Marcus leaned towards you, you smelled the pleasant scent of his cologne, the one you bought for him "Holding hands. What do you think?"

You analyzed his words for a moment. You weren't sure if he was telling the truth, or if the bubbles made him so bold with his words. Finally, however, you reached out, intertwined two fingers through the buckle of his belt and pulled him towards you.

"I think I'd like to see their faces too, Mr. Moreno." you said.

The door closed quietly behind you, and the next day, when you showed up for breakfast, Marcus kept his word. His large and warm hand held yours, nothing was a secret anymore.

Drunken Love Confessions prompts

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