#like lets all focus on whats important... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leclerc-hs · 3 days ago

Text

tides of us - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which you and lando have phd's in getting underneath each other's skin. warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, smut under the cut!!!, bad writing? word count: 11.4k.... author's note: surprise shawtyyyy. MY FIRST EVER LANDO FIC (pls be kind to me). i really went a little crazy on this piece. PLEASE let me know what you think. hearing back is what keeps me writing for y'all xoxo

taglist: @f1fantasys @n3versatisfied @alishamai

Lando is pissed off.

The morning had been difficult since the moment he woke; late, with his phone on low battery, and four missed calls from Max.

He groaned as he rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the day pressing on his shoulders before it had truly even begun. The chaotic rush to get out of bed, the frantic search for his charger, and the constant buzzing of his phone— everything, it seemed, was working against him.

“Max,” Lando snapped into the phone, voice low but clipped. “What time is it?”

On the other end, Max’s voice came through—slightly amused but with an underlying tone of urgency. “Mate, we need to talk. It’s important. Where are you?”

His feet barely made a sound as he strode through the hallway, phone pressed against his ear with a growing sense of irritation. His shirt was still half hanging off him as he stepped into the kitchen.

Lando’s gaze flickered over to you and Pietra, the laughter in the air making him feel more disconnected. He wasn’t in the mood for this. His gaze landed on you again, and for a brief moment, he just stood there, watching.

“Listen, I need to tell you about-“ Max began.

“What is she doing here?”

Lando didn’t know who he was asking. Whether it was you, Pietra, or Max, he wasn’t sure. Max’s voice became nothing but unheard chatter after the words ‘needs to stay with you’ were said into his ear as you finally turn around and met his gaze. And for a mere moment, everything seemed to stop. You didn’t look scared, or confused, but something in your eyes made Lando realize just how ridiculous this all was.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face with one hand, then muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “Forget it.”

Lando moved with a cold, almost mechanical precision, his frustration hanging in the air like a thick fog. His hands were steady as he reached for a water bottle in the fridge, but his mind was racing, thoughts darting between everything that had gone wrong that morning, the calls, the uncertainty, and now you.

He took a long gulp from the bottle, the cool water doing little to settle the heat in his chest from your mere presence. When he finally lowered the bottle, he glanced back at you, but your gaze was already on him. It was quiet now, the chatter between you and Pietra paused.

“Look,” he muttered finally, turning towards you, his voice lower than before but still carrying a sharp edge, “I don’t even care to ask what you’re doing in my kitchen.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to defuse the tension he felt deep in his bones whenever you were around. “Just stay out of my way.”

He heard Pietra’s exasperated groan from beside you, but it barely registered. His focus was solely on you. The sound of your laugh, the way you smacked Pietra’s stomach and shot him that big sarcastic smile.

His gaze locked on you, and for a moment, the world seemed to blur around the edges, like he was seeing through a fogged window. The anger, the frustration, the lust — none of it mattered. You had this effect on him, like his emotions narrowed into a single, overwhelming force, and it was as if nothing else existed when you were in the room.

He hated it. He hated how you could make him feel so raw, so exposed, with just a look or a word. But in that instant, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he’d been wrong. That maybe he’d overreacted— again.

But pride kept his mouth shut.

You smacked Pietra’s stomach with the biggest smile you could muster on your face. “Of course, Your Highness.”

His jaw tightened at the edge in your voice. It was always like this with you— too many layers of sarcasm, too many walls that kept him at a distance. He hated it, but there was something about the way you challenged him, the way you never let him get away with being too much of an asshole, that both irritated and intrigued him.

And ninety nine percent of the time, he’ll meet you right in the middle. But today— today, he didn’t have the energy.

He couldn’t deal with you, not today.

It had always been this way— tension, banter, sharp words laced with sarcasm, and that constant push-pull between wanting to tear each other apart or tear each other’s clothes off. The first time you met, it was a disaster. Lando had been too cocky, too full of himself, and you? You’d been the perfect counter to his arrogance. Quick-witted, just as stubborn, not willing to back down even a little. It was like two forces colliding, neither willing to give an inch.

And somehow, that collision had set the stage for everything that came after.

There were moments—brief, fleeting moments— when you’d find yourselves actually getting along. Moments when you could talk without that edge, when you almost felt like you could understand each other. But those moments always felt like they were just around the corner from the next argument or snarky remark.

It was a dance. One he was growing exhausted by, but couldn’t quit. Quite like an addiction. Something that kept him coming back, even when every part of him screamed to walk away.

The sound of the front door slamming was enough to rattle you and Pietra as you leaned back in your stool and looked at her with a shrug.

“You guys fight like a married couple.”

“Don’t ever mention me and Lando with the word marriage in a sentence again.” You feigned vomiting.

Pietra let out a loud laugh, rolling her eyes at your dramatic reaction. “Okay, okay, point taken,” she said, holding her hands up in a mock surrender. “But seriously, I’ve never seen two people who clearly hate each other but also can’t seem to stay away from each other.”

You glanced towards the door where Lando had just stormed out, the sound of it slamming still echoing in the air. Your eyes narrowed, your annoyance with him still simmering beneath the surface. The last thing you wanted was to be compared to a married couple, especially not with him. But Pietra wasn’t wrong, at least not totally.

To say that you and Lando never got along was somewhat of a lie. Sure, most of the time there was an undercurrent of challenge between you two. But if you were being honest with yourself, there were always moments that managed to slip between the cracks of your usual arguments.

It was post-Max’s birthday bash, and the night had taken its toll—everyone was absolutely smashed. The music had faded into the background, the party winding down, and now it was just you and Lando in the kitchen, standing side by side as you both rummaged through the fridge for something to soak up the alcohol. The usual tension between you two felt different tonight, lighter, almost non-existent— probably because of the drinks coursing through your veins.

The fridge light bathed the kitchen in a soft, yellow glow as you both reached for the last slice of pizza at the same time. Your fingers brushed against his, the accidental contact sharp enough to send a jolt through you. You both froze, the moment stretching out between you like a beat of silence. You could feel the warmth of his hand against yours, the proximity suddenly making the air feel thick.

You pulled your hand back first, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you leaned back slightly, trying to mask the awkwardness with your usual sharpness. “So, you were eyeing that, huh?” You said with feigned offense.

Lando wants to blame it on the alcohol. Wants to chalk up the rush of heat, the confusion clouding his thoughts, the throb he feels in his cock, to the drinks he’s had all night. It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? Easier than admitting it was you— the way your laugh slipped under his skin, the way your nose crinkled after pretending to like a drink, the way your eyes were heavy with that loopy, contented look, like you were floating in your own little world.

His gaze flickers to yours, and there’s something in it—something that makes your pulse quicken against your will. He raises an eyebrow, pulling the pizza closer to him like he’s staking a claim on it. “I mean, it was there, wasn’t it?,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a trace of something else behind the teasing. His gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, and for the first time, the playful banter almost felt real. “I think I deserve it more, anyway.”

You cross your arms, the fridge light casting a harsh glow against you, trying to look unimpressed. “Yeah? And why is that?”

He grins, clearly enjoying the banter. Then he leans in just a little closer, that confident smirk never leaving his face. “Because, unlike you, I’m a growing athlete.” He winks, as if that settles everything.

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.

“Well, you know you love it.” He says with a grin, his usual cocky confidence softened by the easy humor currently wavering between the two of you.

Before you can respond, he takes a dramatic bite of the pizza, his eyes dancing with mischief. “What?” He says through a mouthful. “I'm just making sure it tastes as good as it looks.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin that pulls at your lips betrays you. Yeah, it was definitely the alcohol.

Without warning, Lando brings the partially-eaten slice to your lips, his eyes locking with yours. There’s a dare in them, an unspoken challenge. Like he’s testing you. As if you would ever place your lips where his had just been.

But you’re not about to let him off the hook that easily.

You meet his gaze, a smirk tugging at your lips, and you lean in deliberately, pressing your mouth to the exact spot where he’d just bitten. Slowly, you take a bite, never breaking eye contact.

You pull back, making the moment drag out a little longer than it should. Then, as you pull the pizza from your mouth, you exaggerate the motion, letting out a playful, dramatic moan.The taste of the pizza lingers as your eyes stay locked on his. A small dot of sauce is left at the corner of your lips, the perfect bait.

Lando’s breath catches at the sight, his chest tightening as his gaze drops to your lips. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing until his thumb is moving toward your mouth, gently swiping the sauce away. His touch is soft, almost hesitant, but it lingers— just a second too long. His fingers stay there, a slight heat emanating from the contact, as his eyes darken, drawn to your lips like he’s waiting for something.

You find yourself getting dizzy when he swipes it up, waiting patiently for you to make a move. But your brain is short-circuiting as you stand there frozen like a deer in headlights.

Lando tugs the tiniest smirk on the corner of his lips.

“Open,” he said, voice low, almost hushed, as if the words held more weight than the simple request.

You froze for a moment, uncertainty flickering in your chest. But that hesitation was fleeting. Your mouth parted almost instantly—partly out of shock, but also because, deep down, you knew you wanted this. You’d known it for a while, even if you’d been too stubborn to admit it before. But tonight, with the alcohol swirling through your veins and the tension between you two reaching a breaking a point, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

His thumb, warm and steady, presses against the softness of your lower lip before sinking inside, brushing against your tongue. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine. “Suck.”

Oh my god.

It takes a moment to realize what is actually happening. That Lando’s thumb is really pressed against your tongue right now. That you’re innately curling your tongue around his knuckle without so much as a inkling of hesitation. What is going on?

The sauce is long gone by now, but you don’t want the way Lando is looking at your mouth to end. So you suck. Hard.

A deep guttural groan slips past Lando’s lips. Along with a soft “fuck”.

Lando pulls his finger from your mouth, smearing the saliva across your lips, before pushing it back in with a little more force than before, pressing your tongue down.

Its only when the unmistakable sound of a loud laugh echoes from the hallway, followed by the soft shuffle of feet, that the spell is broken. Pietra and Max appear in the doorway, wrapped in their own world, oblivious.

Lando’s thumb retreats suddenly, leaving a faint tingle where it had been. He takes a few steps back, his posture stiffening as he puts space between the two of you. The slice of pizza, once held so carefully, has fallen unnoticed to the floor.

“There you guys are,” Pietra giggles, her voice light and carefree, as Max leans heavily against her. He presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck, the PDA so natural between them that you and Lando have long since grown accustomed to it. “What are you doing?”

Your mind is still spinning, trying desperately to untangle fragments of the moment. It’s as if you’ve been pulled to an alternate dimension, struggling to regain your bearings.

Lando, a little too quickly, blurts out, “Pizza!” His voice louder than usual, almost too eager, and the sharp sound makes you flinch, jolting you into full awareness.

“Yeah, pizza,” you echo, your words clumsy, as you scramble to find a sense of normalcy in this moment.

You watch as Pietra’s gaze drops to the floor where the pizza slice rests, barely touched, and then back to you and Lando. Her eyes narrow slightly, but her smile remains in place.

The dinner party was in full swing, with guests chatting and laughing around the table, but at the far end of the room, Lando and you were locked in a standoff. The small, crowded space was a perfect breeding ground for irritation— just enough people to make it awkward, not enough to escape the tension between you two.

“You seriously had to make that comment in front of everyone?” Lando’s voice was low, dangerous, his jaw clenched tight as he stood rigid, his hands balled at his sides.

You didn’t flinch. You never did when it came to him. “What, didn’t think it was funny?” The words cut through the air like a knife, your tone dripping with its usual sarcasm.

Lando’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a tight humorless sneer. “It wasn’t funny. It was humiliating. But of course, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Always try to make me look like the bad guy.”

You take a step closer, your heart hammering in your chest, but your voice steady, if not a little venomous. “Excuse me? I didn’t hear you complaining when you were bragging to the guys about your revolving door of women.”

Lando’s face twisted, the smirk now gone, replaced by a bitter glare. “Some of these guys are my co-workers.” His voice was a low growl, the frustration pouring from him. “You love making a scene, don’t you?”

You met his gaze, unflinching, your words with the kind of anger you’d been trying to suppress for hours. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that pointing out the obvious was such a crime. You are a joke, Lando.”

Lando’s nostrils flared, his posture stiffening as he takes a step forward. The anger between you two was palpable, raw, like a wound that had festered for too long. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re so good at pushing people away, it’s no wonder you struggle to keep anyone near.” He spat, the words hitting you like a harsh slap.

You could feel your own chest tightening, the urge to fight back stronger than ever. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to push you away if you weren’t so fucking insufferable,” You shot back, your voice trembling with barely contained rage. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else—just because you’re the Lando Norris.” You say it with so much hatred in your voice, so much disgust.

Lando’s face turns red with anger, his fists tightening as if he is about to lash out. “You don’t know anything about me!” He hisses, stepping closer. “You don’t know anything. You’re too busy judging everyone, pretending like you understand.”

Liar.

“Maybe that’s because you’re impossible to understand!” You shot back, your voice cracking.

Liar.

Lando’s chest was burning, and for a second, you thought you saw something else in his expression— something deeper, darker. But before you could say another word, the sharp sound of Pietra’s voice cut through the tension, her words laced with frustration.

“You two are exhausting,” she muttered, her hands on her hips as she walks towards you, shaking her head. “Can’t you go five minutes without fighting?”

Max, standing beside her, gave you both a pointed, unimpressed look. “Seriously, take it outside or something.”

The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating, as you and Lando stood there, completely unaware of how much attention you were drawing.

With a frustrated sigh, Lando turned his back to you, muttering something under his breath as he took a step away, the coldness in his voice unmistakable. “No need,” he said with a forced smile, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

But you could see right through it. You could see the anger still simmering just below the surface, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might break. He had turned it on— flipped the switch to happy, charming Lando that everyone adored—but you knew better. You knew this wasn’t over.

You stayed frozen in place, staring at his retreating form, your blood still boiling, your heart still racing. The party resumed around you, as if nothing had happened, but the cracks between you two had deepened, and the weight of everything unsaid felt unbearable.

It was an unsettling realization— almost an entire week has passed without so much as a glimpse of Lando. Not that you were actively looking for him. Still, you were staying at his place for the time being, yet it felt as though he had vanished entirely.

The dinner party had been a mess— more than just the awkward silence that had followed after Lando’s sudden retreat, more than the strained smiles and forced laughter. It had felt like a pressure cooker, each moment pressing closer to explosion.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t mind the distance, that you needed it too. After all, how could you process anything when the tension between you two was so thick it felt suffocating?

The apartment balcony door creaks as you slide it open, and the cool night air hits you like a breath of fresh tension. You pause for a moment, taking in the city’s quiet hum from the balcony, when the sound of footsteps from behind you pulls you back into the reality of where you stand. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Lando.

You hesitate before slowly turning, your pulse quickening just a little at the sight of him standing there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking impossibly composed—as if he hadn’t been anything but a stranger to you for the last week. His hair is messy, as usual, falling over his forehead like it always does when he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes lock onto yours, sharp and calculating. There’s no hint of the playful teasing that usually dances there— just a cold, clipped edge. A part of you feels the sting, but you refuse to let it show.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, as if waiting for something to fall into place. His gaze flickers down to your outfit, the sharp cut of your dress, the way it hugs your frame. His eyes linger, just a moment too long. Theres something unreadable in his stare, but its gone before you can truly grasp it.

His chest feels tight, the burn simmering just beneath the surface. It’s an ache he’s learned to ignore. You’re impossible to ignore.

His thoughts scramble, trying to piece together something, anything, to get him back on steady ground. It shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t even care.

But God, it does.

You straighten your posture, trying to shake the weight of his gaze. “I’m just about to head out,” you say, the words feeling almost too light for how heavy everything suddenly feels. You keep your voice steady, refusing to let the knot in your stomach show. He knows you too well to let any cracks slip by.

“Right.” His voice low, casual, but the way he says it doesn’t match the steel edge behind it. He pushes himself off the doorframe, taking a slow step forward, and the space between you feels too small, too intimate.

He tilts his head, his eyes scanning you with that familiar coolness. “Big night?” He’s not asking about the plans. He already knows the answer, or at least he thinks he does.

“Just dinner,” you say, but the words come out too sharp, too dismissive, like you’re avoiding saying anything else. Avoiding the reality that you’re stepping out the door, and he’s still standing there— distant, closed off, and, for the first time, entirely unreadable to you.

His hands are tucked into his pockets, the tension in his jaw hard enough to snap if he moved the wrong way. The silence between you is loud, almost deafening, a total opposite of the usual banter that defines the strange rhythm you share. You can feel him trying to hold back, just as much as you are.

His gaze flickers down for a second, and then he looks back up, meeting your eyes, and for the briefest of moments, there’s something close to what looks like vulnerability, like he wants to say more but can’t. Like he’s trying to insert himself into your brain and figure out what’s going on in your head. He doesn’t reach for the words he’s dying to say, and you don’t either.

You shift on your feet as you feel your phone vibrate in your hand. The last thing you want to admit is just how much the silence between you has been eating at you.

“Have a good night,” he says, and his voice is tight, the words formal, distant—as if the slight tension in his shoulders is something he’s trying to hide.

You pause, staring at him for just a beat longer than is comfortable, and then you nod, your throat tight as you force out the words, “You too.”

And with that, you step past him, brushing so close that your shoulder grazes against his arm. You had almost convinced yourself that you’d made it past the worst of it, that you guys were back to normal. But then, just as you’re about to step out of his vicinity, you feel it.

His hand.

It’s quick, a sharp tug at your wrist that halts you in place. His grip is firm, but not aggressive— more like a desperate plea.

You freeze. Lando’s fingers wrap around your wrist with an intensity that almost makes you forget where you are. He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t have to. His pulse is quick under your skin.

You turn to meet his gaze. His eyes are darker now, more intense, but there’s something softer too.

“There’s a spare key on entry table for you. Keep it.”

The sentence lands like a stone, cold and distant, when you’re hoping for something else. You were hoping for an argument, a confession, an apology— but not this.

An apology? From Lando? You laughed to yourself, but its bitter and dies in your throat. It’s almost laughable, the thought go him apologizing, like you could ever expect him to admit fault in anything. He’s always had a way of deflecting, of twisting words until they meant something else, until he was the charming asshole again and you were left wondering if you’d imagined everything.

Lando never apologizes. He never needs to. That’s part of the game, part of the push and pull that you two share. You fight, you argue, you tear each other down in the best and worst ways, but somehow, you always find your way back to the same place.

You nod, quick and sharp, a simple gesture to acknowledge the words, but it feels hollow.

“Don’t wait up,” You joke, the words coming out a little too forced, a way to reclaim some semblance of normalcy, erasing the awkward space with a quip.

Lando’s gaze softens just a fraction, a flicker of something familiar returning as his lips twitch into the faintest smirk. It’s not much—just the smallest shift— but it feels like a breath of air.

“Yeah, as if,” he replies, the sarcasm back in full force.

And with that, you step into the night, the door clicking shut behind you.

The restaurant buzzes with life, the clink of silverware and hum of voices filling the space as you sit at the round table with your friends. The sun is high, glittering through the windows and casting warm, golden patches across the wooden table. It’s the perfect lunch spot, lively and bright— but all you can focus on is Lando’s gaze burning your skin whenever you aren’t looking.

You try to focus on the conversation, on the joke that your friend just cracked, but every time you glance up, Lando’s eyes are already on you. His jaw clenches just a little when he takes a sip of his drink, and you can see the tension in his posture.

Another gaze at Lando, and it’s like you’ve been slapped back into reality. His gaze flickers quickly before he focuses on his phone again. His thumb taps the screen with purpose, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the furrow in his brow.

His fingers move quickly over the phone, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. Max chimes in then, pulling him deeper into a conversation.

Mia’s voice pulls you back, and you force yourself to focus on her.

“So, come on. Spill.” She urges, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “how was your date last week? We’re dying for more details.”

Pietra chimes in, her voice light and teasing. “Yeah, seriously. He was so hot. I can’t even—“ She catches herself, looking over at Max as he side eyes her. “Oh, you know I love you. Now hush.” Pietra waves him off playfully, but her eyes are still on you, expectant, waiting for you to continue.

Lando’s still playing the part, pretending like he’s not listening, but he can feel the irritation stirring in his chest at the mere mention of your date.

“Well…” You swallow, trying to keep your tone light as you picked up your mimosa, taking a quick sip before placing it back on the table. “It was nice. We had dinner, talked a bit…” You trail off.

It’s not like it was a bad date—far from it— but the way Lando’s eyes keep flickering back to you, the way his jaw clenches just a little tighter, it’s like everything’s suddenly wrong.

“Nice? Just nice?” Mia’s voice pulls back, her expression teasing as she crosses her arms, clearly unimpressed with your vague answer. “Come on. We need more than that!”

Max’s gaze flicks to Lando, and you notice the way his eyes narrow slightly, that familiar edge to his expression that suggests he’s just as aware of the growing tension between the two of you. You can feel him pulling away from the conversation. His fingers tap once again on the rim of his glass, but it’s harder this time— almost angry.

He didn’t care. He told himself that a thousand times. He hated you, or at least he was supposed to.

He was supposed to laugh off the bickering, keep things casual. That’s what it was supposed to be with you. A dynamic filled with nothing but playful jabs, insults, the kind of messy, tangled friendship that made sense to no one but the two of you.

But now? Now, every glance from you, every word you said, twisted something inside of him. It was a slow burn, the kind that spread through him quietly but powerfully, a pressure building beneath his skin. He tried to ignore it, tried to turn his focus back to the conversation with Max, but all he could think about was the way your laugh echoed in the back of his mind as you chatted with the girls.

He doesn’t want to care, but he does. Why?

He’s supposed to hate you. He wants to hate you. So why does it feel like something else is gnawing at him instead?

“It’s not like it will last long,” Lando adds, the words like a bitter aftertaste. They sting in the way only a deliberate jab can, meant to sink into your skin and burn as they make their way under your ribs.

The moment they leave his mouth, a silence settles. He doesn’t want to see the hurt flicker across your face, doesn’t want to feel anything that might suggest he crossed a line. And yet, his pulse quickens, a tight knot of unease forming in the back of his throat.

“Seriously, Lando?” Mia’s voice cuts through the silence, her tone sharp and incredulous. She leans forward, clearly annoyed by the bite in his words. Pietra follows suit, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern.

Everyone knew that the two of you fought, but Lando was never a dick like this in front of everyone. Your fights were usually more playful, more teasing.

“It’s fine. Ignore him.” Your voice comes out a little too quick, a little too sharp, but you don’t care. You force a smile, though it feels brittle on your lips.

Just another stupid fight. The same back-and-forth you’ve been doing for forever.

But it’s not.

Mornings are routine. You both rise at your own pace, not a word exchanged. The sound of coffee brewing fills the kitchen as you both move in sync, neither of you needing to ask for the things you want— Lando’s mug always pulled from the top cupboard, your cereal bowl set in the same spot on the counter. You don’t look at each other, but the air between you feels…habitual.

Sometimes, Lando will pull the milk from the fridge and hand it to you with no words. You just move around each other, existing in the same space.

Evenings are a little different. Lando will crash onto the couch, usually with his headphones on, diving into whatever he’s binge-watching. You’ll be in the kitchen, making dinner, the clatter of utensils and the hum of the stove filling the air.

Occasionally, you’ll both look up, catch each other��s eyes for split second, and then quickly look away.

Dinner, if it happens at the same time, is pretty quiet. Lando eats his food quickly, never really talking about the day.

Tonight, was a little different.

You’re curled up on the couch, lost in your book, one leg tucked under as you read with a concentrated frown. Lando, on the other hand, is sprawled across the other end of the couch, remote in hand, eyes glued to the screen.

“So, what’s the book about this time?” Lando’s voice is playful. He’s not really looking at you, more like staring at the screen, but he knows you’ll respond. You always do.

You don’t look up, eyes scanning the page. “It’s about a woman who solves mysteries while also balancing her dysfunctional life. You wouldn’t understand.”

He scoffs, but there’s a smirk on his face. “What, like you solving mysteries? I can barely get you to figure out where I left the remote.”

You finally glance over the top of your book, narrowing your eyes at him.

He wants to kiss you in this moment. It’s like an itch under his skin.

“I can find the remote just fine, thank you very much. It’s just that you leave it in the most random places.”

He turns to face you now, his expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Yeah, because the fridge is totally where I’d put it.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you spend majority of the day looking for it only to find it buried under a pile of laundry.”

“Don’t even start with me about laundry, Lando,” you shoot back. “If you less time working out and binge-watching every season of whatever show you’re obsessed with this week, maybe the laundry wouldn’t look like a crime scene.”

His grin widens, clearly enjoying this. “Oh, so now I’m the problem? Maybe if you did laundry instead of curling up with your book every night, we wouldn’t have to live in a mountain of socks.”

You can’t help but laugh, lowering your book just enough to shoot him a playful glare. “Well, maybe if you didn’t leave half your wardrobe in the living room, I’d have a clean place to actually read.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that this is your apartment too.” He says, raising a brow.

You roll your eyes, feeling your smile tug at your lips despite yourself. “I’ll be out of your hair in a week.”

A week. You’re leaving in a week. It’s so matter-of-fact, but in that moment, it lands like a punch to the gut.

Lando’s heart skips a beat at the thought. A week?

Did you get back together with your ex? Did you find a place so soon? A million questions ran through Lando’s brain.

“Wait, what?” His voice is quieter now, not his usual teasing tone.

You glance up at him, a raised eyebrow signaling curiosity. “What?”

“I—” Lando cuts himself off mid-sentence, the words faltering as he glances away, as if he's sorting through a million things in his mind, trying to make sense of it all. A quiet, nervous chuckle escapes him, but it’s strained, almost like he’s trying to laugh off something he doesn’t want to confront. “I mean… a week? Really?”

You pause for a moment, the question lingering in the air between you. You try to keep your expression neutral, but the unexpectedness of his reaction hits you harder than you want to admit. “Yeah. What’s the big deal?” you reply, tilting your head slightly, keeping your voice light, but the quiet edge of confusion still wraps around your words.

Lando hesitates again, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, clearly uncomfortable in a way you don’t often see. He seems to be weighing whether he should say more, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “I don’t know. Just… don’t rush it, alright? I mean, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

The room feels suddenly smaller. His words, unguarded, hang in the air like a challenge to everything you thought you knew about the dynamic between you two. You stare at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see the vulnerability that always hides beneath his sarcasm and bravado. The surprise in your eyes is so clear, it almost hurts. What exactly is he saying right now?

Lando clears his throat, breaking the tension for a split second, but his gaze flickers anywhere but at you. He shifts awkwardly, his voice losing its usual edge as he continues, his words trailing off like he’s unsure how to finish the thought. “I mean, it’s not like you’re in my way here. It’s your choice, but…” His voice falters. His entire demeanor feels rawer than usual, like he's exposing something that wasn’t meant to see the light of day.

You bite your lip, trying to swallow the shock, trying to make sense of what he’s just said. Your mind is racing, caught between wanting to ask more, to make sure you didn’t misinterpret his words, but at the same time, something inside you is afraid of hearing too much.

Lando rubs the back of his neck, clearly frustrated by the silence that’s settled between you. His usual bravado is cracking, his carefully constructed walls slipping just a bit. “Look, forget it,” he mutters, quickly backpedaling, the familiar deflection creeping back into his voice. But there’s a tremor in it, a slight crack that betrays the vulnerability he’s trying so desperately to hide. “It’s nothing.”

The weight of the moment lingers between you, heavy and thick. You’re fighting to keep your composure, but his words are chipping away at the routine, at the easy distance you’ve always maintained. You can feel something shifting in him, and if you're being honest, it shifts in you too.

You can't help but tease him, just to deflect from the heaviness he’s left hanging in the air. “Is the Lando Norris telling me that he’s actually okay with me in his personal space?” you ask, feigning shock, raising your brows in exaggerated disbelief. “Well then, I must! Thank you, Your Highness,” you add with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

But it’s a moment too late—Lando's lips twitch, and that familiar smile finally breaks through. It’s small, but it’s real. The tension dissipates, but something else remains. He looks at you, and for just a heartbeat, he lets his guard down, dropping the sarcasm. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, half smiling. “But I guess I’ll survive you for a little while longer.”

You don’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the third and fourth drink, the bitterness in your chest had started to settle into something darker, something more dangerous. You glance back toward to reserved booth, just for a moment—just enough to catch the scene that you already knew was unfolding, but still had to see for yourself.

Lando’s laugh, that easy, carefree laugh, rang out over the pumping music of the bar. He was practically hanging all over her—his hand on her thigh, his body pressed against her’s. It should’ve been something you could brush off. Something you used to actually pay no mind to.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the glass in front of you. The guy next to you, some acquaintance from the group, grinned at you. “Another round?” His voice was too loud, but it didn’t matter.

You nodded, trying to shake off the discomfort eating at you. “Sure, why not?”

The bartender slid the next round across the counter, and you downed the glass almost immediately, the burn of the alcohol hitting your throat like it might do something— like it might fix something.

Nick’s hand is now on your back, guiding you through the mass of bodies as you both step onto the semi-crowded dance floor. His fingers are light against your skin, but there’s something about his touch that feels different. But tonight, you don’t care. It’s not about him; its about the fact you cant stop thinking about the way Lando looked at the girl in the booth. The way he ignored you, like you were scum on the bottom of his shoe almost.

You find yourself pressing closer to Nick as the beat drops, your body swaying with the music, the alcohol in your system making everything feel a little more intense. He grins, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you in. His lips find yours before you even know what’s happening—fast, heated.

For a second, you find yourself getting lost in the moment, trying to silence the voice in the back of your head.

But then, a forceful shove breaks through the fog, and you stumble back, your breath catching in your throat as a hand reaches for you, steadying you. And you find yourself staring at the angry face of Lando.

“What the hell?” Nick mutters, his voice low but full of confusion.

Lando doesn’t even spare him a glance, his eyes fixed on you. He looks pissed—furious, even—and there’s something dangerous in the way his eyes bore into yours.

“What the fuck is this?” Lando’s voice is tight, barely controlled, as his eyes finally flick to Nick.

“We’re just having fun,” you say, your voice a little too sharp, too defensive.

Lando’s eyes narrow, his posture rigid, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze lingers back to you like he’s trying to figure you out.

You can’t help but feel a little thrill in the way his attention is all on you.

“You don’t need to do this,” he mutters, his words a mix of frustration and something else—something you can’t decipher.

You know what he’s talking about. The drink in your hand, the kiss with Nick. It’s messy. It’s reckless. But Lando, of all people, should know that you’ve been drowning lately. That your recent break-up—hell everything—has been eating at you, pulling you under. And crashing at his place? It wasn’t just because you had nowhere else to go—it was because, your friends knew you needed someone around.

You try to look away, but you can’t. His eyes hold you captive, and for a moment, you swear you see something break behind them—longing? You’re not sure.

“I can do whatever I want,” you say, your tone more bitter than you intended, but you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

Lando doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans down towards you.

“Yeah, I guess you can,” he says softly, his voice almost dangerous. He looks down at you for a long, drawn-out second, his fingers flexing at his sights, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and drag you out of here. But instead, he steps back, his gaze softening, his jaw relaxing ever so slightly.

He gives you one last, searing look, before he turns and walks off, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, your mind reeling.

Nick glances at you, clearly unsettled by the scene, but you barely notice.

The music continues to pulse around you, but all you can hear is the sound of your own breath and the quiet pounding of your heart.

The night air is cool against your skin, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement as you and Lando stumble back toward the apartment. You’re both slightly drunk, more than a little tipsy, still in that pleasantly buzzed state where everything feels lighter, more carefree.

You both move to the kitchen, in dire need of a snack to soak up the alcohol. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you rummage through the fridge.

“You going to see Nick again?” He asks, eyes still on you.

“Yeah, I might,” you reply trying to sound casual, but theres an edge to your voice that you can’t hide. “What’s it to you?”

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of something passing though his eyes. None of which you see, you’re too focused on scanning the fridge. “Nothing. Just…” He begins, struggling to come up with a reason.

“I’m just having fun, Lando. I’m not yours to keep tabs on.” You turn to face him now, leaving the fridge wide open as you bask in its light.

The words are sharper than you intended, but they’re out before you can stop them.

Lando stands there, his expression unreadable, before he finally uncrosses his arms. He takes a slow step forward, his gaze flicking down for just a moment before he looks back up at you, his voice low. “I didn’t say you were.”

Lando swore he could’ve passed out right then and there. Not because of what you said, but because of the overwhelming sense of deja-vu that washed over him. He blinked, the scene in front of him shifting for a moment, and he was back there— a year ago, in the same kitchen, the same familiar silence between you two.

You stood there, just like now, same expression in your eyes, only this time there was no pizza sauce on the corner of your lips. But still, he remembered it.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake the image away, trying to clear his head, trying to prevent the hardening of his cock as he thought of your tongue wrapped around his fingers with an eagerness.

He dropped his head back, pinching his eyes shut, with a low groan.

He’s so fucked.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sparkling sea as the yacht cut through the water effortlessly. The salty breeze whipped through your hair, making you laugh as you leaned over the railing, the fresh air filling your lungs. You’ve been needing this— a break. Just a few days to recharge with friends, laughter, and some much-needed distance from everything else.

You were surprised to see how well it was going. Sure, you’d been hesitant about this trip, especially with lando on board. But so far? Everything felt…easy. You caught Lando’s gaze from across the deck as he cracked open a cold drink, his usual smirk pulling at his lips as he noticed you watching. His swim shorts hung low on his hips, his tanned skin glowing seamlessly in the sun with unbuttoned white linen shirt slung over his shoulders.

It was days of nothing but sunbathing, dinners, and resting. It was probably the most carefree you have ever felt.

The music from the speakers drifted lazily across the deck, and you caught yourself moving to they rhythm of it, not caring if anyone was watching. The sun was working its magic, loosening every knot of tension in your body.

“We should definitely black out tonight,” Pietra laughs, bringing a shot of tequila to her lips and then carelessly throwing her hands in the air to the sound of the music.

Lando couldn’t help but stare at the way your eyes crinkled as you smiled, and his chest tightened.

“You in, Lando?” She teased, her grin mischievous as the rather large group of friends littered the boat in shouts and squeals.

Lando blinked, a little too lost in the way you tilted your head back, taking the tequila shot and laughing freely. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, sure, why not?” He muttered, his lips slowly curling into a small smile.

The night had stretched on longer than you’d anticipated, the laughter and music fading into the background as the alcohol worked its way through you. The yacht was quiet now, with only the sound of the waves gently lapping against the hull. The rest of the group had scattered, some slumped on the couches, others finding spots to crash under the stars. You, however, were a little too tipsy to be completely asleep.

The hallway was dimly lit as you made your way past the scattered rooms. You had intended to go to your own—at least, thats what you thought until you remembered someone had made themselves at home there, sprawled across your bed with no intention of moving.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, peeping your head into all the rooms until you finally found an empty one. Without so much though, you pushed it open, your movements uncoordinated, and stepped inside before throwing yourself happily onto the empty bed.

“I always knew you’d end up in my bed.”

You barely registered the sight before sitting up with a small shriek that was quickly cut off as Lando grasped your wrist pulling you towards him and covering your mouth. “God, can you ever just be quiet.”

The room was bathed in soft shadows, the low hum of the yacht's engine barely reaching your ears as the night stretched on, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The alcohol buzz still lingered in your veins, but the proximity of Lando, the heat of his body near yours, made it hard to focus on anything else.

You blinked again, trying to shake off the fog, but his figure still stood out clearly in the dim light. His shirt carelessly thrown across the room and his shorts discarded at the foot of the bed only made him feel more real, more present in this moment. The way his body filled the space, the way his eyes burned into you—he was magnetic, and you couldn’t look away.

Lando caught your gaze, his expression lazy but full of something else, something you couldn’t quite name. A smirk played at the edges of his lips as he leaned back, watching you carefully, his posture casual but his eyes sharp.

“Someone’s in my room.”

Your heart was racing, and for a second, you couldn’t remember why you had come here in the first place. Not with the way he was looking at you. His voice, low and teasing, sent a shiver down your spine. But you couldn’t quite process it—everything in your head seemed clouded, tangled between confusion and something else that pulled at your chest.

You opened your mouth to speak again but the words were caught in your throat, your body reacting instead. You simply sat there, feeling the weight of his gaze, and the distance between you both seemed to collapse.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your moment of hesitation. “Right,” he murmured, pushing himself up onto his elbows, the light catching his bare chest as he leaned forward slightly. “And here I thought you just wanted in my bed.”

Your stomach flipped at his teasing tone, but you didn’t have the energy to argue or deflect. You were too caught in the pull of the moment. Too caught in the way his voice sent shivers through your body, the way his eyes held yours so intently.

“I didn’t…” you began, but your voice faltered, and instead of finishing the sentence, you just let out a long, unsteady breath. Without thinking, you collapsed next to him on the bed, your body sinking into the soft sheets. The coolness of the fabric did nothing to offset the heat that spread through you.

He didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze lingered on you, intense and searching.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you muttered, trying to steady your breath, the words coming out more like a half-baked excuse than a statement of fact.

Lando didn’t answer immediately. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes studying you, weighing something in the space between you. Then, his lips parted into a slow, deliberate grin.

“It means nothing,” he agreed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes darkened just the slightest bit, made it clear that he knew it meant something—even if neither of you were ready to admit it.

The thing about Lando is…his body has a mind of its own in the early hours of the morning. The sun has barely peeped over the horizon when he feels the throb of his cock against the band of his underwear. The pressure of something pressed against him that he involuntarily flexes his hips forward, a soft groan pushing past his lips.

You stirred slowly, on the verge of breaking a sweat from how warm it was. Why was it so warm?

You felt hot all over. Your nipples were hard, the pressure of a bulge grinding into your backside, and the warmth of a body brewed a seeping hot energy low in your tummy.

Your brain was foggy, barely aware of what was happening. All you knew is that you needed this.

A hand caressed your waist, slipping under your t-shirt, grazing along the softness of your skin until it reached the cusp of your breast, the pinching of one of your nipples had you pushing back into his groin with a soft moan.

It took a few moments for your body to fully understand what was happening. For your brain to catch up with your body as Lando slowly grinded his hips into you, his fingers toying with your nipples.

You both were too sleepy to care. Too horny to care.

“Wait,-“

“Shh.” Lando cuts you off, trailing his hand up to your neck, and squeezing it just enough to elicit a soft moan from you. “No thoughts. Just feel, yeah?”

Yes.

“This means nothing.” You moaned, your hand reaching behind your head, grasping the back of Lando’s neck to pull him closer, to cradle you closer.

His heavy breaths were hot in your ear, and only made you burn hotter.

He slipped his hand down further, his fingers trailing down and slipping past the band of your sleep shorts. It wasn’t until you felt his fingers press small circles to your lace covered core that it had you arching your backside even harder against his groin, your fingers tightening over the curls that fell on the back of his neck.

“This means nothing, yeah?” His voice was hot in your ear.

“My God, you’re fucking soaked.” He let out a guttural groan.

His fingers trail back and forth, spreading your slick, before he pushes a finger in. You’re a mess. Nothing but moans as he pulls his finger out, coating your clit, and pushing back in.

“Bet I could slip right into you,” His words are broken by heavy breaths, like he’s struggling to control himself. “Take m’cock so easily. Would stretch you nice and good, mm.”

You outright cried at his vulgar words, slipping your hand from the nape of his neck to the waistband of your sleep shorts and underwear, slipping them down enough to leave you bare. The cool air of the room did nothing for you as your skin burned against his touch. His fingers pushing in and out of your core with such a lazy pace, it had you pushing your hips onto his fingers to try to speed it up.

“Tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue. “So impatient.”

“Now look who needs to shut up,” You knit your eyebrows together in frustration.

“More.” You needed more.

He pulls his fingers from you, slipping his underwear low enough to finally free his cock from the tight fabric that was nearly suffocating him. “So demanding.”

Pumping himself a few times, you feel him slip his cock in between the folds of you, coating himself in you. Teasing you.

“Lando, I swear to-“

He pushes himself in a single thrust, bottoming out as you both exhaled sharply.

It started out with slow and lazy thrusts, both of you nothing but groans and sweaty bodies pressed together. The sun began peeping through the tiny window of the bedroom, casting a soft glow on both of you, tangled in the white sheets of his bed.

“That’s it…feel so good f’me,” His voice was like pure sex in your ear as he slowly thrust his hips into you.

Feeling your heat wrapped around him was something he never want to end. How your perfect cunt swallowed him up.

He hummed in your ear, pressing hot open mouth kisses to the crevice of your exposed neck for him as you laid on your side. So compliant.

It reached a point where neither of you could no longer take it. The force of Lando’s hips driving harder with each calculated thrust he could maneuver as he pushed your shoulder down into the mattress, hovering over your backside he fucked into you hard.

His hips were merciless, like he couldn’t slow down if he wanted to. You felt too good. You were too good.

His hand pressed into the back of your skull, pushing your face into the mattress as it muffled out your moans.

“You take it so nice,” He groans, his head lulled forward as he leans over your frame. Sweat begins to perspire on his skin, the veins in his neck more prominent as he works himself towards the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Full speed with no warning as you spasm around his cock, sending him tumbling over the edge to his as he pulls out quickly, hot spurts of it landing onto your lower back.

“Christ,” He breathes through a small laugh.

You lay limply on the bed, your eyes following as Lando collapses next to you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You open your mouth to say something as it finally dawns on you what just occurred but Lando cuts you off.

“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be,” He stares at the ceiling as he mutters the words, his eyes half-lidded in contentment.

You close your mouth.

“No thoughts, just touch.” You repeat his previous words. Like it’s some silent agreement. Some inside joke.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking car,” Max groans as he flops down onto one of the cushioned seats at one of the yacht’s dining tables.

You glance around, scanning the whereabouts of everyone, and everyone looks like a complete train wreck, to say the least.

The sky was a perfect shade of blue, stretching out endlessly above you, and for a moment you just smiled to yourself.

Lando was sprawled out across from you, lounging on one of the nearby deck chairs. He had on his sunglasses, his legs stretched out and his shirt unbuttoned, looking as laid-back as ever. His usual smirk was there, though this time is was softened.

Pietra called out from across the deck, her voice awfully cheerful compared to everyone who was hungover. “Let’s have a fucking day!”

Max groaned, burying his head into the crevices of his folded arms. “It’s gonna be a long fucking day, innit?”

The heat of the afternoon sun and the gentle rocking of the yacht had you longing for a cool dip in the ocean. After hours of lounging on the deck, you and Lando exchanged glances, both of you clearly getting restless as most of the others napped or played card games at the table.

“You know,” Lando started, his voice playful, “the water’s looking pretty great right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look but also nodding your head in agreement. You stood up, slipping your white cover up over your head with ease, before striding toward the edge of the deck, your feet already starting to get warm from the sun-kissed wood.

The skimpy black string bikini leaves little to the imagination as you wiggle out of the cover-up, and Lando swears he might just collapse at the sight of it.

Lando follows, a wide grin growing as he matches your pace, before reaches for the back of your legs and slips you over his shoulder with ease.

“Lando!” You shout. But it’s no use. You don’t even get to finish yelling his name before you are sent over the deck’s edge, plunging into the water with Lando glued to your body. “You’re insane!” You sputter, wiping salt water from your eyes, and though you’re furious, you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

“What? You weren’t gonna jump in?” He teases, his voice light, but theres a glint in his eye.

You both tread the water for a moment, floating side by side, as the sound of the ocean mutes the sound of your friends yelling over a deck of cards.

Lando smirks, tilting his head, his usual dark unruly curls, now slightly lightened from the days spent in the sun, is slicked back and dripping from the dive.

Your stomach flips as he draws a little closer, and for a moment you can’t help but think back to earlier this morning. The way he spread you out and filled you with his cock.

Lando reaches out, his fingers brushing your skin lightly, sending a shiver through you that you can’t quite shake off.

He notices the glaze in your eyes, the way the goosebumps form on your skin from his touch, and the way your nipples have pebbled through the thin material of your bikini. He leans in a little, just enough that his lips hover near your ear. His breath warm against your skin as he speaks, his tone almost a whisper, “Can’t stop thinking about earlier. Your cute little moans. Need to hear more of ‘em.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, and you feel a rush of heat spread through you.

“Come to my room tonight, yeah?”

You really don’t know what you were doing. The soft creak of the yacht’s deck is the only sound that accompanies you as you slip down the hallway, heart pounding faster than normal. The dim lighting in the hallway barely registers in your mind as you stop in front of Lando’s door, a quiet exhale leaving your lips. You’d convinced yourself you were just going to sneak in, just to talk for a little while, but now you’re here. Again.

Everyone left to go out on the land, while you and Lando decided to hang back. No one suspected a thing, not that it mattered if they did.

Lando shifts on the bed, his eyes still fixed on the TV screen, as you quietly close the door behind you. You take a few steps forward, just close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating from where he’s lying.

Lando finally glances over, a lazy grin spread across his face as he watches you slip into his bed. “Wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, making yourself comfortable, leaning back onto the bed and propping yourself up on your elbow. Lando all but gives you one minute, before he’s pulling you closer, and tucking you under his arm. His body heat mingles with yours, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It just feels natural—like this is the way it was almost meant to be.

“You seriously think that was a good ending?” Lando’s voice is incredulous. “That was such a cop-out! It doesn’t make any sense. That’s just lazy!”

“Lazy?” You laugh. “It’s a story about life, Lando. About how not everything can be wrapped up in a nice little bow. Sometimes, you don’t get closure. Sometimes you don’t get any answers. That’s the point!”

Lando pushes himself up. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Whats the point of it all if the story doesn’t actually go anywhere? It just—ends.”

Your heart is pounding now, you don’t even know how something as simple as a movie ending resulted in you two fighting. But it was no surprise. You guys loved to argue.

It was almost like your own version of….foreplay?

“You’re so stubborn,” You spit, releasing a sarcastic laugh. “You can’t just let something be, can you? You always have to control it, make it fit your idea of how things should go.”

Lando reaches towards you, his eyes never leaving yours, as he corners you up against the plush pillows of his bed. “And you think you’re any different?” His voice is low, dangerously calm now. “You think you have all the answers to who I am, hm?”

“Fine,” You snap. His chest is just centimeters from yours. “Maybe I don’t. But at least I’m not acting like the world owes me something. Maybe that’s why you’re always so angry.”

He leans forward, his breath hitting your face. “I’m angry?” Lando’s voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe I’m angry because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to you.”

Your heart skips a beat. You blink, suddenly aware of just how close you are, how he’s looking at you with something completely different in his eyes now.

“Maybe I’m angry because the only time I’ve managed to get your slutty little mouth to shut up was by having my fingers in it. Or with my cock shoved up your cunt.”

And then, without warning, Lando moves. It’s fast, but not reckless. He reaches for you, one hand grasping the back of your neck as he leans in, just close enough to where your lips can brush against each others.

“Tell me you want this again.” His voice is low, rough.

Your breath catches in your throat. You try to speak, but the words come out as nothing but a shaky exhale. You want to tell him yes, to beg him to close the distance, but you’re paralyzed. Is this really happening…again?

Lando brushes his lips against the apples of your cheeks before bringing them to the crevice of your ear.

“C’mon, tell me you want this as badly as I do, yeah?”

You nod. “Please.”

And then, in a blur of movement, he’s there—his lips against yours, hard, desperate, and all-consuming.

It’s not a kiss; it’s a collision— a meeting of two forces that have been fighting against each other for far too long. His mouth is warm, and when it presses against yours, its with such an intensity that you feel the world shift. He’s taking, but he’s giving just as much. His hand slips down to the crevice of your waist, squeezing whatever he can get his hands on.

The kiss deepens, and its not soft anymore—its needy, frantic, each of you chasing something that’s been building for ages. The fingers of his other hand curl into your hair, tugging you even closer, until you feel like you might melt into him. You respond in kind, hands moving to his chest, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, your palms feeling the heat of his skin. You want more.

You’re not quite sure how it happened but one moment you’re pressed against the plush material of the mattress clothed, and the next your clothes are strewn across the room with Lando pressed between your legs.

Lando lowers his face, and you’re happy to find that the curls of his hair tickle at your face when his lips meet yours again.

He kisses you like he has all the time in the world; like he should be doing nothing else but kissing you for the rest of his life. His hands move to your hips as his tongue glides our from his mouth in-between your lips, to meet with yours.

You taste sweet against his tongue and your gasp is muffled by his tongue as he presses his hardened cock right into your warm center. You tighten your legs around his hips, and buck up against him with a small moan stuck in your throat.

He pulls apart from your lips, much to his dismay, but still hovers over you and trails his lips across your face, down to your neck.

“You argue too much with this mouth,” He mutters, raising his arm over his head to remove the black t-shirt that adorned his body.

You feel flustered and hot all over as you nod in agreement, pulling at the fabric of your lacy bra that was left on.

His thumb traces the pout of your lips, a dribble of saliva smearing over them from your recent make-out. “Should put it to other uses, yeah?”

Your eyes lock with his as you nod. Utterly speechless but the clench you feel in your stomach and the heat between your legs more than enough for you to realize just how turned on you are.

“Would you like that, baby?” Lando lets the pet name slip mindlessly, it stirs a swirl of butterflies in your tummy. “Just let me shove my cock in your mouth whenever I need you to shut up? Anything to fill your throat up, yeah?”

You audibly moaned at the thought. Yes.

The smirk that tugs on his mouth is almost lethal and you swear he might just be your undoing in this moment.

“No thoughts. Just touch?”

“No thoughts. Just touch.” You confirmed.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #lando norris angst #lando norris x y/n #lando norris #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #lando x reader #lando x you #lando x y/n

1K notes · View notes

how-do-i-write-that · 8 hours ago

Text

I do feel like this post gives solid base adivce but lacks some context that is helpful to understand why certain choices work. I would recommend beginner writers to try to understand what effects certain choices have, or rather, what sounds good to them personally when reading! And once you've figured out what sounds good to you, replicate it in your own writing.

I'm just going to put some of the points in a bit of context (in regards of my own personal opinion!) to hopefully help with understanding how they work.

1. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" is not showing, it's idiomatic. it still works better than using "she was sick with shock" as it draws more of a picture for the reader to imagine in their head. If you truly want to show and draw a bigger, more detailed picture, you can combine idiomatic language with some telling elements i.g. "Her breath was stuck in her throat and though her feet were frozen in place, it felt as if the floor shifted beneath them." Makes it easier for the reader to imagine what exactly is happening without saying "yeah she's shocked"

2. I have no gripes with scene breaks but for the love of god, do not put several asterisks or other random ass symbols in a row. They are a nightmare for screen readers, so if your writing is supposed to be read from a screen just don't use them. Put only one single one if you absolutely must (or if whatever you're using to upload/publish allows you to use dividers that can be parsed by screenreaders use those instead). Also if you really have to use them, be mindful that you're not breaking up paragraphs and topics that belong together. I personally also believe you don't have to rely on extra visual cues to inform your readers about a pov or scene change. Use words. Use line breaks and paragraphs. That's more than sufficient.

5. Don't end every chapter on a cliffhanger but always give a glimpse of what's next. You can conclude an entire subplot at the end of a chapter, with no action that needs to be cut right there and simply letting your character say something like "I managed to do X, now the next step is Y." Getting a bit of a glimpse of what's happening next without detailing it will help raise your readers' curiosity.

6. and 7. Yeah, you should focus on the important stuff in a scene instead of every single detail that lead up to it, but GoT is a great example why always subverting expectations might not be the wisest choice. Adding to point 10 here: just write whatever is fun to write to you. If you have fun, it is likely going to reflect in your writing. And if that means writing your character going grocery shopping and all goes according to plan, then so be it. Your readers might find it boring, true, but not every single little scene has to be the most interesting and impactful scene if you're just starting out.

8. Epiphets are not the devil, but you should only really use them for characters that have not yet been introduced or whose names will never be revealed. You wouldn't talk to your friend about "the blonde man" if the blonde man was your mutual friend Max you've both known for years. You'd just talk about "Max". So if your character's name is known, use it. If not, epiphets that describe the new character's most prominent features are fine.

Overall, write whatever is fun to write for you, no matter how well received it is, particularly if you're just starting out. If you want to improve on a technical level, read books from different time periods, different genres, different authors, different cultures and see what you personally like about them. Read fanfiction. It doesn't matter. You don't even have to read the whole thing if you end up not liking it or not finding enough time. But figure out what you like and then try to replicate that. (Be it sentence structures, usage of many/few adjectives, certain phrases, how chapters are structured, narrative voice, dialogue, how characters are described or characterized, etc. etc.)

No matter how small it may be, if you find a certain something in a writing you find awesome, try to write in that something, too. And if it's about your cat making a big meow meow fuss because food!! then that's fine, too.

tldr; read shit + find out what makes it good to you -> try to write something with theGood -> own writing sounds good to you -> happy + fun (-> reader also happy and fun)

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

#general #advice #i derailed a bit in the end sorry #i also mean no hate with this i just believe it isn't as black and white with some of these points

6K notes · View notes

hivemuthur · 2 days ago

Note

If you’re comfortable, can I request Viktor dating hcs where reader has adhd? If not, that’s fine!

Hi Anon! Here's your HCs!

ViktorXADHD!Reader HeadCannons

viktorxgn!reader general, fluff and again we have Viktor setting impossible standards for real-life partners (for me, I'm the partner :v)

author’s note: I wish I was this kind of partner guys :')

word count: 0,8K

—

✧ Viktor notices almost immediately that your mind moves fast—sometimes faster than even his own. He finds it fascinating, the way your thoughts jump from one topic to another, connecting things he wouldn't have considered.

✧ When you start rambling about a new hyperfixation, he listens intently, chin propped in his hand, soft smile on his lips. If it's something he can research, he’ll surprise you with a fact about it later, just to see your face light up.

✧ “You know, I read something about that,” he says casually, and the way you snap to attention fills him with warmth.

✧ He isn’t bothered when you interrupt him mid-sentence; he knows it’s because you’re engaged, not because you aren’t listening. That being said, if he really needs to get a point across, he’ll gently cup your face and say, “Lásko, let me finish.”

✧ If you forget important things—appointments, meals, deadlines—he doesn’t scold you. Instead, he subtly helps. “Did you eat today?” he asks while placing an apple in your hand. “You have an appointment tomorrow morning, yes? I will set an alarm for you.”

✧ He understands how frustrating it is to want to do something but not be able to focus on it. If you’re struggling with executive dysfunction, he sits with you, offering quiet encouragement. Sometimes, just knowing he’s there makes it easier.

✧ You tend to leave things half-finished, starting a new task before completing the last. Viktor doesn't mind; he simply places a bookmark in your abandoned book, keeps your projects organised, and gently reminds you where you left off.

✧ “You were working on this earlier,” he says, nudging a notebook toward you. “Shall we finish it together?”

✧ If your hyperactivity manifests physically, he lets you fidget with his fingers, his cane, even the hem of his sleeve. He likes it—it means you feel safe enough to do so.

✧ On days when your thoughts feel like an untamed storm, Viktor grounds you. He speaks softly, rubs soothing circles into your palm, and reminds you to take deep breaths.

✧ Viktor notices when you’re upset before you even say a word. Your usual energy dims, your gaze lingers unfocused, and your hands fidget more than usual. He doesn’t press you to talk—he knows that sometimes, finding the words is the hardest part.

✧ “We have three options,” he says, brushing his fingers against yours. “We talk about it now, we do not talk about it at all, or I will check in with you again in an hour.”

✧ The relief you feel is instant. He doesn’t need you to spell out what you need; he gets it. And when you squeeze his hand in silent gratitude, he simply squeezes back.

✧ Viktor doesn’t complain about your habit of draping half your wardrobe over the back of the chair. To him, it looks chaotic—but to you, it’s a system.

✧ “Why do you not put them away?” he asks, genuinely curious.

✧ “Because they aren’t dirty, but they aren’t clean either,” you explain.

✧ He nods as if that is the most logical thing in the world. “Ah. A liminal space for clothing. Understood.” And he's never brought it up again.

✧ Keeping the house organised is a delicate balance between Viktor’s methodical nature and your tendency to misplace things.

✧ He has congratulated himself more than once for coming up with transparent food containers.

✧ It's a small gesture, but got you tearing up. “You brilliant, brilliant man,” you say, bewildered, stacking them up in the most visible spots on your kitchen shelves.

✧ At some point, Viktor realised that opened food items exist in a strange limbo in your mind—neither fresh nor expired, just schrödinger’s groceries.

✧ His solution? A red marker pen, always within reach.

✧ Every milk carton, juice bottle, or half-used sauce now has the date of opening scrawled on it in his precise handwriting.

✧ “You are absurdly efficient,” you admit, watching him carefully mark the oat milk.

✧ “Efficient?” He smirks. “No, I simply dislike the phrase ‘I don’t know if this is still good, smell it for me.’”

✧ You fall asleep best when there’s something playing in the background—a podcast, an audiobook, even a video you’ve watched a hundred times.

✧ At first, Viktor found it odd, but now? He’s grown used to it. If anything, he finds the murmur of voices comforting when you fall asleep curled into him.

✧ He even takes the time to pick something out for you if you’re too tired to choose. “I selected a lecture on quantum mechanics,” he says with a small smile. “I expect you will be asleep before the introduction is over.”

✧ He doesn’t see your ADHD as a flaw. He sees you—brilliant, creative, full of energy and passion. And he loves you for it.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x f!reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #viktor x gn!reader #viktor fluff #viktor x reader fluff #viktor headcannons #arcane headcannons #viktor hcs #arcane hcs #requests

206 notes · View notes

ivesambrose · 1 day ago

Text

Heard the astro weather of March is supposed to be intense but I don't want to perpetuate that. I intend that you still make the best of it regardless of circumstances.

So I did something new for change 🤍

Have a good month ahead retrogrades or not xx

To book a personalized reading with me in regards to the coming months or any query you have in mind dm or email me at [email protected]

Click here for services offered

Tips are appreciated 🧡

Picture 1

For you,

March whispers secrets to those who listen.

This month, you stand at the edge of knowing. You might find yourself looking through a hazy veil initially but it won't mean that you're being blinded. Will you trust what you feel before you see?

Your intuition will sharpen and dreams will whisper answers.

You will have no other choice but to nurture yourself from within. Be it eliminating certain foods or fluids or adding them. You will also be reminded that growth is quiet before it flourishes. Something within you (an idea, a love, a version of yourself) will begin to blossom into fullness.

You'll feel as though some event has cleansed your path, there will be a reckoning that brings clarity. What was once uncertain will its rightful balance. Whether you believe in karma or not it feels as though a karmic justice will play out for you.

You shall be offered emotional steadiness, either from someone or it will come within yourself. A sense of emotional maturity. You'll find yourself being less reactive or in simple terms 'less crash outs over circumstances'.

Where once there was confusion, there is now control. You hold your heart like an anchor soft yet unwavering.

Subconsciously, you're being asked to dance with change. March brings shifts, but they do not shake you. They will teach you rhythm instead. You will juggle choices, emotions, and revelations, but you will not longer feel lost.

What does March bring?

A deepening. An unfolding. A knowing. This is the month your soul speaks, and for once, you listen.

Picture 2

For you,

March arrives like a storm and a sunrise all at once.

Spring cradles you in abundance and here I want to remind you, where you focus dominantly, whatever it is, will see an increase. Remind yourself this each time you find yourself wavering to a thought that feels unfavorable.

You'll find your mind being sharp as well.

You'll also learn to establish firm boundaries. I feel as though some of you may have been feeling like their authority is being challenged or are being subtly bullied, I want to remind you that you will emerge victorious not those attempting to dim your glow. They feel threatened by that's their problem to solve, not yours.

There's softness and steel, both alive within you. And you see that clearly now, even if that clarity isn't necessarily comfortable.

You will be shown the knots of your own making, fears that have kept you still. But March is not a month for stagnation for you.

You will surge forward confidently. It is important to hold your ground if you believe in something even if it's just you. You might consider travelling or make plans for the same this may not be a short distance travel either.

This month, whatever falls was never your foundation. Let it crumble, and you will find yourself standing stronger. It's okay.

At the root of it all, I'm seeing you build a wealthy foundation for yourself. Instead of slaving away for money, learn to harness it for what it is that is, energy.

What does March bring?

A breaking. A building. A reclamation. This is the month you take your power back.

Picture 3

For you,

March turns the wheel.

The tides shift

where you were once waiting, now momentum sweeps you forward. You'll find yourself being aligned with destined moments. A lot of quick confident decisions or communication will take place. I feel some of you might be musically inclined and this month will be significant when it comes to that. Since it's a general reading I can't be too specific but music plays a crucial role for you this month be it literally or symbolically.

Be mindful of what you tell yourself as well as the media you consume. You can feel a certain emotion but not make it a part of yourself.

Your once empty cup will overflow, offering love, renewal, or a heart cracked open in the best way.

Your desired business or career will begin to flourish as well. Expect wealth. A good amount of it. Beautify yourself and your surroundings please. Your environment plays a very important role in attracting what you seek and becoming who you desire to be.

I want to remind you that your patience has not been in vain. You are moving forward now, with no hesitation. You are ready.

At the core, this month reminds you that good things take root in time, it's already inevitable so why worry? What you have sown begins to bear fruit.

What does March bring?

A turning. A revelation. A harvest. This is the month your patience meets its reward.

#free readings #tarot community #divination community #pick a card #pac #March forecast #March 2025 #pick a pile

148 notes · View notes

luigilore · 1 day ago

Note

Hiii i’m having an awful flair up because i’m on my period, and reading anyyyyything lu + pain related would be so great. either he takes care of us or we take care of him or visceversa. esp if it’s like vulnerable and tender. thank you so much mwah <3 also no pressure if this isn’t something you wanna write today :D

luigi x reader with chronic pain, taking care of you (a/n: i am sorry this took so long also i hope you're feeling better!! i kept it vague re the exact pain but i really hope you like it <33)

luigi enters your shared bedroom quietly, just in case you’re sleeping. you're not– your pain instead spreads throughout your body and invades your mind like a parasite.

“i got the heating pad,” luigi murmurs, holding it up with a soft smile and what you can tell are analytical eyes, silently assessing your state.

"thank you," you mutter halfway into your pillow.

“a hallmark of a strong relationship is a shared heating pad,” he jokes, bending down to plug it in. when he stands up, a hand comes almost instinctively to intertwine with your own.

“i grabbed some epsom salts when i picked up your medicine- if you want a bath later," he adds.

sometimes you feel like luigi is so unfairly good that maybe you don't deserve him; deserve his tender patience or the energy he's put into researching remedies. but he always rejects those worries flat out, he knows how you feel, because he feels like that too sometimes. luigi always makes a pointed effort to how strong you are and how much he loves you whenever you have bad flare ups.

right now, you just want to pull him closer and let him hold you and forget everything else, an enticing offer, but your pain makes your mind focus on other more consuming things.

“what if it doesn’t go away,” you whisper, avoiding his eyes as he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you.

“then we’ll deal with it. if that happens,” he says carefully. you sometimes go back and forth with each other like this, trading reassurances. it just sounds so much better coming from luigi than it ever could from the voice in your head. it's always 'we' and you're glad that it is. he gently turns your chin to look directly into your eyes, hazel flecks from the sunlight streaming in through the windows, “right?”

"yeah," you say eventually, a bit distantly, "sorry."

luigi scoffs indignantly, "what could you possibly be sorry for?"

"i dunno. moping, making you cancel your plans." luigi had plans this afternoon to go to a yoga class with his friend but your flare up made him cancel- even though you still encouraged him to go.

luigi frowns and raises his brows. "first of all, you're not moping. second, shockingly, you're a bit more important to me than a yoga class, even with the cancellation fee."

"just a bit," you echo.

"yeah," he laughs, warm thumb rubbing across your palm, hands still interlocked. “you know i love vinyasa.”

you smile up at him and the silence between you is comfortable, like it always is.

“i just-" you start and struggle to find the right words, luigi doesn’t interrupt you and waits patiently, “feel like a bit of a burden.”

you cringe slightly at how vulnerable your voice sounds, something only luigi would get to hear. he smiles sadly, “i get it,” he starts slowly.

you look up at him with an equally sad look, taking an opportunity to fill a second of silence, “i wish you didn’t.”

luigi hums, like what can you truly do. “but, you're not a burden. not to me. or anyone. plus i like feeling useful and taking care of you," he says, which you know is true. your wide smile at him makes his cheeks burn red- even after years together.

“did you eat while i was gone?” he asks after a few beats of silence, looking at you expectantly with raised brows, knowing the probable answer. you look at him sheepishly and that’s enough of an answer for him.

"you still have to eat even when you’re hurting," luigi says disapprovingly with knitted brows. he stands up and you frown as your hands break apart. "i can go get us something," he checks the time on his watch and laughs lightly, “we can have an early dinner.”

"i just want you to stay here," you say honestly, maybe a bit desperately, voice hoarse.

“let me make you something then,” he says easily, “we need a grocery trip but i’ll get creative.”

you smile and he does to; sometimes the amount of love he looks at you with overwhelms you in a really nice and tender and precious way. a feeling you want to hold onto for a long time. "thank you," you whisper.

“you do the same for me,” luigi says. like it's simple- and maybe it is.

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fluff #luigi mangione imagine

82 notes · View notes

legendofmorons · 2 days ago

Text

Written in the stars (forever on loop) Chapter two - Catch my breath (what else can I do?)

Pairing: eventual Poly! Chain x reader, platonic Wind & reader

Series Rating: T

Summary: Day two with the chain has its challenges. Thankfully, Epona and Wind are there to make things better. Four and Sky have a heart to heart while a late night talk with Warriors leaves you with some questions and thoughts.

Warnings: grief, cursing

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

Previous masterlist. Next

Breakfast is your saving grace in the morning, especially because you need something to do that isn't focusing on everything that happened yesterday.

You sit by Sky again, though Wind sits on your other side.

Sky looks exhuasted, blinking blearily and having to stifle a yawn every so often. He's got puffy eyes... has he been crying? Maybe it was just a bad day...

No one else speaks to you or sits near you, though. There's a tense atmosphere you could cut with a very dull butter knife.

"So, what do you do back home?" Wind asks before stuffing a bite of his food in his mouth.

You smile politely, "I work, I listen to music, I talk to my friends and family. Nothing exciting. What about you?"

"I like to sail a lot." Wind says.

This isn't a surprise. He gives off pirate gremlin energy anyhow. It's good to know it is from a hobby and not just your own interpretation of what is apparently more than a video game.

You smile a little more real this time. "That's good, it's important to have hobbies. Do you live near the sea?"

"You know about the sea!" Wind declares excitedly.

You laugh a little, "Of course I do."

You can feel the way all the others look at you with strange gazes and furrowing brows or outright glares.

You focus your gaze on Wind, blocking out the others.

Wind looks absolutely delighted, though, his grin wide and bright. "No one else but Wild knows. You do, though!"

"I do." You agree easily.

The young teen is adoreable in the excitement that causes his ears to twitch a little.

Sky smiles too, "He's a fan of the sea."

"Maybe we can visit it." You offer.

Wind cheers, beaming at you. "I hope so!"

Time clears his throat to get everyone's attention. The air goes thick again around you.

You turn your gaze to the oldest, wondering yet again why he has the fierce diety marking on only half his face if he has them at all.

"We're going to keep looking for a town today, we need to get our new friends some supplies since they were caught unawares." Time says.

He hasn't looked at you. Most of them haven't looked at you. Not really.

You feel your face heat up a little. Embarrassment floods your being.

If you had known you were going to end up here, you would have prepared more!

"We should also probably see about finding a river or something soon." Warriors adds firmly.

The others agree with both sentiments.

Wind elbows you playfully, "Don't worry, we all got caught unawares at least once. I started my adventure by hitting things with sticks."

The teen gives a wink at the end, like he's telling you a secret.

You laugh, recalling that sequence in Wind Waker. Immediately, you feel guilty simply for having loved and played the games.

Apparently, the world of Hyrule is real.

Oh.

Right.

This is all so bizarre.

You played through what were probably horrible quests and memories for fun. (You didn't know! If you had known - breathe. You remind yourself to breathe.)

Last night's dreams were weird.

Everything is so different

"Don't overthink." Sky chides lightly although, it sounds like it's something he says on autopilot, his face twisting with an unreadable emotion.

Grief, maybe? But worry, too.

"Okay." You manage.

"Twilight, Wild, Wind, Legend, and Sky, you'll all look for a river. Warriors, Four, Hyrule, and I will take (Y/n) and look for a town." Time says.

No!

You don't want to leave Sky and Wind. They are the least tense!

At least you'll be with Four and Hyrule. They are far less intimidating than Time and Warriors.

"Don't worry," Wind whispers to you as he nudges your side lightly. "They're all big softies."

He gives you a dramatic wink.

You crack a weak smile. "Really??"

"Really." Wind assures.

"Thanks." You say softer.

The teen grins at you. He looks pretty eleated in general.

"Alright, when you are ready, we'll head out." Time says to you. He's finally looking at you, but his face is stony.

You acknowledge his words and work on finishing your food.

After you've eaten and everything has been packed up, the groups split up.

You are flanked by four men as you walk. Warriors and Four on either side of you with Time in the back and Hyrule beside him.

None of them talk except to tell you if you're turning. Their eyes never seem to be on you, but you swear they're watching.

The silence is strange. (Some strange subconscious part of you rails against the tense air around you. This is wrong!)

"So... uhm... what's with the portals?" You ask after a good twenty minutes of walking.

This seems like a solid start point. The silence is too much anyway.

The others seem to share a silent conversation around you. None of them look at you.

Warriors looks at you as he answers. "There is a Sahdow opening them and letting lose monsters of different eras."

You nod. That sounds like some Legend of Zelda stuff right there... You should probably stop thinking of this as a video game world.

Four sighs. "Of course we're all here because we're heroes."

"That makes sense... why am I here?" You ask, feeling as if you're in free fall without a parachute as far as information goes.

There's a beat of silence.

The men exchange glances around you, yet another silent converstion exchanging in seconds.

"We don't know." Time says evenly, a measured tone flowing in his voice. His gaze is still too heavy on you, as if he's daring you to do something.

"Okay." You manage.

Four offers you a slightly strained smile. "We'll figure it out."

His smile is wrong. His eyes are wrong. He dosen’t believe in what he says, does he?

"I hope so."

Hyrule hums once. "Are you a hero where you're from? That might make it make sense if you are."

You laugh a little, startled at the notion. "No. No, my life back home is... boring enough."

Four and Warriors both look spooked by your laugh, looking at you with frowns. The latter looks a little angry, too, with pinched brows.

Okay. Maybe it was rude to laugh?

"Oh." Hyrule says.

"Boring can be good." Warriors offers after a moment, face fixing itself into an overly polite mask.

You smile weakly. "I guess so."

"Are you a royal then?" Hyrule asks.

You laugh again. "No. I'm definitely not."

The silence comes back, heavy and awkward. You don't bother trying to break it again.

There's something wrong in the air. You just can't place it. You have barely interacted with any of them!

At least Hyrule and Four just seem to avoid watching you. Or maybe it just feels that way because Warriors and Time won't stop - even if you don't catch them, you can feel it.

What is it with these heroes and the staring problem?

Yeesh.

Hopefully, when you see Wind again, He can lighten the mood.

-------

The trip to town was awkward, stilted, and almost painful. When you're dropped off at an inn to what for the boys to get the others, you are relieved.

You've gotten a travel pack with a place for your bed roll. You've also been given a few spare clothes, which is nice.

You are apparently to share an inn room with someone tonight.

Hopefully, it's Wind or Sky. They haven't glared at you or made you feel unwanted.

You settle on one of two beds, wondering what you have done to earn their cold shoulders. Did you... over step somehow?

Maybe they know about the video games? They aren't self-aware in the game, hopefully?

Nothing makes sense anyway.

There's a knock at the door before someone calls. "Hey, it's just me! We're roommates!"

Wind.

Thank goodness.

The door opens to reveal a grinning Wind.

"Did you have fun?" You ask.

The teen is practically bouncing. "I did! It was great, oh my goodness! Wild and Sky got tangled up in some roots, and we had to finish a mini dungeon!"

"That sounds... busy?"

"It was fun! We got some rupees, too."

"That's good!" You say a bit more cheerily.

The boy grins.

He asks you about your trip, and you just say it was okay, a little awkward, but not horrible.

Dinner is quick, and every time you try to make conversation with anyone but Wind they look pained by the attempt, and it peeters out.

Even Sky seems a little skittish about you during dinner, although his eyes look puffy again. Maybe he's going through something?

You sigh, deciding to go see Epona. Maybe she'll let you pet her?

Epona is at least less scared of you. She just sniffs your hand curiously.

As soon as she sniffs you, she's pressing her face into your hand insistently, as if asking for attention. Who are you to deny her?

She's sweet, at least.

"Such a good girl you are." You coo to Epona sweetly.

She isn't at fault for the tense atmosphere of the boys.

Petting her mane gently is relaxing in ways you hadn't quite expected. She's all but leaning into it, a few soft snorts here and there but otherwise seemingly content to be near you.

"Aw, I wish I had something to give you, sweetheart."

Epona just leans a little more into your touch.

"I'll just keep an eye out. Maybe we can find an apple or something for you."

You can feel a few others watching you, but you don't turn. It's much nicer here with Epona than with the heavy silence and strained attempts at conversation provided by the boys.

Although Wind is certainly picking up some slack there, he deserves some cookies or something.

"How'd you get to be so sweet, pretty girl?" You muse.

It's a nice break from havin to be around anyone. Epona is so gentle and sweet, at least with you. She's happy to let you pet her man and sctach behind her ears gently.

Animals are amazing.

-------

Sky and Four take to their room, both looking forward to getting away from the painful reminder you are. They know it's not your fault, you seem nice, but still...

Grief is funny sometimes.

The moment the door closes, Sky's carefully polite face is falling into twisting grief.

Four just flops himself onto his bed. His head hurts, pounding like a horribly novice out of step marching band is playing their show inside his skull.

It's too much.

Sky just leans against the door, sinking to the floor with his head leaning back.

"Why couldn't they look different?" Sky asks in a shaking whisper.

The question escapes his mouth on accident.

Four turns over, so he's staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know."

Sky dosen’t turn. Instead, he just closes his eyes.

"It's not their fault." Four says, staring at the ceiling.

"No." Sky agrees. "It's not."

"I feel so bad for them." Four manages.

He does.

Against the grief and the anger and the stupid hope that twirl around his lost love, there's sympathy. Sympathy for the unexpected start of an adventure.

Sympathy for the lost look in their eyes at unfamiliarity scripts of hylian writing.

"Goddess... They looked terrified when they first saw me." Sky whispers into the room.

He uses that expression of terror to ground himself. It sounds bad. He knows it sounds bad.

But your terror is proof that you aren't his beloved sunshine.

His sunshine... never looked at him like that. They were never scared of him. Not when they saw him seal the imprisoned. Not when they saw him fight Demise.

They were never scared.

The expression of terror on your face chafes at his soul, but it helps him remember you aren't anyone else but a stranger in a scary situation.

"I think they're scared of Time." Four says.

Sky laughs weakly. "He is intimidating..."

"It's uncanny... They're identical in looks and personality."

"I know."

"How do you do it? I can barely look at them."

"I - can barely look away." Sky laughs, though it almost sounds like crying.

Four hums once, thoughtful mostly. His entire being, all of his colors, struggle under the grief you've stirred up. His empathize for his soul brothers is endless.

His grief is even more vast.

"Goddess. They'd be ashamed of me." Sky admits, "Dancing around a stranger trying to keep everything under wraps and falling apart as soon as the door shuts."

Four narrows his eyes, pushing up to lean on his elbows. His glare is trained on Sky. "Don't sully thier memory by assigning your shame to them."

"What?" Sky swallows, looking at Four with wide eyes.

The hero of skies looks like a kicked puppy, glassy eyes, and shaking form.

Four dosen’t care. Not now. Not when the memory of their soulmate's memory is being treated so poorly.

"They wouldn't be ashamed of you for doing your best in a hard situation. They wouldn't blame you for having complex feelings. Your own guilt shouldn't be projected onto their memory." Four says, or maybe that's Blue and Vio in control for now. Who can tell?

They all miss you. Every piece of him misses you.

"How could they not be?" Sky asks. "I'm messing everything up!"

"Legend hasn't stopped glaring at them, Time just stares silently, I can barely look at them. Sky, you're being more normal about this than anyone!"

"Wind is doing much better."

"Wind hasn't lost them yet. Of course, he's doing better." Four rolls his eyes, pushing down the envy.

"I know. I... Why does he still have them when no one else does?"

"He's fourteen. There's plenty of time for him to get fucked over like the rest of us." Four snaps.

"I didn't mean- I just miss them."

"I know." Four sighs, closing his eyes. "I know... I think we all do."

Silence falls over the room, heavy but not uncomfortable. It's the silence that falls over loved ones when they've had a hard conversation and need to think but still feel safe together.

Four falls back against the bed, trying to remember the way his lover once held him. Perhaps it's self destructive, but when it helps him cope, he dosen’t care.

He can feel the colors, his head is still pounding.

Blue is restless as ever, a rage at the reminder that you're gone. Anger that Sky could speak of your memory so poorly.

Green and Red are trying to calm it all down. They're trying to focus on the better times they had with thier lover.

Vio... is Vio. He's focusing on the facts again.

Like always.

Four focuses on his breathing, pretending that it's them here counting it instead of him.

Who knew trying to keep himself together would be so hard?

-------

You're outside trying to get some air after having the same dream from last night. The argument and lead up to something horrible in the dream is - draining.

The night air is chilly, but it's a nice relief from the stifling feeling of the bed.

Stars above you make out patterns you shouldn't be able to recognize, but you swear you see a set of stars that's supposed to be a harp. It isn't the harp constellation from your world, though. It's different.

You sit on the steps that lead up to the inn porch, leaning against the banister.

There's some sort of spinning string instrument tune stuck in your head, unplayable as the origin of the second and strange harp constellation.

There's the sound of the door opening and closing behind you. Probably another person in search of some air.

"What... are you doing our here?" Asks a man.

You turn, looking over your shoulder to see Warriors, still in his entire outfit, chain mail, and all.

His gaze is heavy, not as bad as Time's but strange as ever.

You sigh, trying to avoid tensing up at the sight of him. "I needed some air... I guess you do, too."

Warriors sighs, "You could say that."

"Don't let me stop you." You say, turning your head back to facing forwards and gazing out at the small town before you.

A lazy night breeze blows across you, ruffling your hair a little.

Warriors is silent behind you, a large presence. He's unmoving.

You're left wondering if he's still there for a moment.

It seems rude to check, though.

How he can be so still is beyond you, but you suppose that's probably a skill he picked up from the war. (A war you're not meant to know about.)

Warriors moves finally, walking until he's beside you. He stands there, unmoving again as he stares up at the stars.

"You shouldn't be out here without a weapon." He says finally.

You glance up at him. "Why? It's a small town."

"Ambushes can happen anytime anywhere."

"I can't say that's something I've had to worry about much." You admit. Which is true, for all the creeps and killers of your world... none of them are literal monsters.

Besides, you don't have a weapon right now. Why would you need one while traveling with the group?

"Count yourself lucky." Warriors tells you, "You should start worrying about it, though. Our group gets ambushed often."

You take a slow breath, trying to decide if you're supposed to respond or not. What do you even say to that?

He looks at you, face carefully neutral in a way that feels vaugley threatened. "You... aren't a fighter, are you?"

"Not the way you guys seem to be."

"You've never fought a war... have you?" Warriors asks in a soft voice.

He sounds- he sounds like your answer is important to this question. He sounds like you have some huge sway over what happens with this answer.

His face is still carefully blank.

"No. I've never fought in a war." You say slowly, trying to make sense of whatever this is.

Warriors let's out a slow, heavy sigh. "I hope it stays that way."

"Me too." You say.

You mean it, too. How could you not? Who hopes to get pulled into a war? Not you.

Moments pass, and thick silence seems to press in on you.

"I'm sorry." You say finally.

Warriors looks at you, face still unnervingly calm.

What life has he led that he's so good at neutral poker faces?

"Why?" He asks you.

That's a great question. Why are you sorry?

There's so many reasons.

You're sorry you played their games and enjoyed them.

You're sorry that you're here and slowing them down.

You're sorry that you came unprepared, and they had to step up.

You're sorry he's lost so much.

"I'm sorry I've been such a pain." You settle on. "I know I slowed you guys down and that you stepped up yesterday to help make sure I'm set up for whatever it is we've all been dragged into."

Warriors sighs while something heavy flashes through his eyes before it disappears. "You don't need to apologize. We weren't going to kick you aside."

"I guess. I'm still sorry."

"Do you know how many times I've heard these kinds of apologies?" He asks.

You shake your head. "No."

He looks up to the sky again. "Too many times. Too many people have told me they're sorry for things they can't control. That they're sorry for me doing something simple."

"Oh."

"Don't waste time or words on things like that." Warriors tells you with a stern look.

You would imagine it's a look he picked up as a captain.

"Okay." You breathe out softly.

"I mean it, (Y/n)." He says, though he sounds far away. It's like he's actually speaking to someone else.

Someone he lost.

"Okay." You say again softer.

-------

#misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu written in the stars au #lu written in the stars (forever on loop) au #written in the stars au

68 notes · View notes

sunsbaby · 3 days ago

Text

❝ de. i think i'm stuck... ❞

❝ sam will you help me! gosh... ❞

⋆ dean w. & sam w. x photographer .ᐟ reader

ever since you began hunting with the boys, their life went in a new direction. they found themselves appreciating the little things a bit more—such as taking photos, just on their phones and not a huge camera. sam had taken more of an interest than dean, following you around and secretly 'learning' from you. dean, however, he didn't care for it, but somehow he always took the best photos. albeit some are rather embarrassing, like you with pie all over your face, but they were fond memories and a way for him to relive the moment again.

"biride, hurry up. we don't have all day." dean groaned, his head falling back as he dramatically rolled his eyes.

sam stood on the side-lines, too busy in whatever lore he was reading to focus on the important matter at hand—important in your words. there was a beautiful bird high up in a tree, one that you had to climb in order to get close enough; that's how you ended up perched on a branch, camera held tightly in your grasp as you shot a look down towards dean.

"de, do not distract me or so help me god i will break this camera on your head!" you threatened in a hushed whisper as to not scare away the creature in front of you. "and you will buy me a new one."

"yea right, birdie. you won't do anything, and i'm not buying you anything." dean teased, sam let out a sigh—he gave dean 'the look.'

somehow sam thought this was the perfect moment to take a picture of, their birdie trying to take a photo of a bird. he let out a chuckle as his finger pressed the button on his phone, a snapping sound echoed through the trees when you both clicked a button at the same time. the bird flew away, but you were successful. celebrating your victory with a little dance—to which dean face-palmed at.

when you attempted to get down, you realized something was off. you quite literally could not climb down. your lips pursed and you tried to come up with a plan inside your head—which was filled with song lyrics and what else you could take a picture of. not helpful, so you resorted to your only other option. sam and dean!

"de. i think i'm stuck..." your voice was almost quiet, which dean took as an opening to tease you.

"huh? what was that birdie? i can't hear your chirping from down here." he said, that dumb grin etched onto his face—a face you couldn't wait to smack.

"sam, will you help me!" you almost yelled as a pout formed on your glossy lips—no dry lips around here! "gosh..."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

after that stressful part of the day, you settled into the backseat of baby while the boys sat in the front. people might think that you're being forced to sit in the back—no, it's actually the opposite. who wants to sit between two men, especially ones who spread their legs like they're the only ones sitting there. at least in the back you can lay down, and not think about the sexual activities that have gone down. it makes for a great way to take pictures of them with out their knowledge.

"can we stop at a gas station, i want snacks." you asked as you poked your head into the front, turning up the music in the process.

"i could go for some too." sam joked, his eyes focusing in on yours.

a soft smile played at his lips—he couldn't imagine life without you. you'd just walst into it and changed them for the better. no matter how far you went, your wings always brought you back.

"i guess, birdie..." dean grumbled, he knew good and well that he couldn't say no to you. neither could sam. "shut up, bitch." dean joked with sam, a genuine smile forming on deans stubbled face.

"jerk."

the sun faded in the background as you sang out into the sky, the wind tangling in your hair. another day spent with your boys and memories made. that was what a good day is to you.

sunny yaps! HIII EVERYONEE! 👯‍♀️ photographer!readers first little story/drabble! i hope you guys like her and pls share your thoughts and opinions! I LOVE HEARING THEM!

special tags! @bluemerakis @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @sunsettsam @h8aaz @deansbeer

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

126 notes · View notes

fall0utmind · 2 days ago

Note

thinking about marc never having had aftercare before pr maybe just never having it after valentino was angry with him that everything was always meaner after marc misstepped on track

pecco realizing that that little 22 year old with starstruck eyes was being treated like shit back then

marc being like uhm ill just head out and pecco going no??? sit down you can barely stand??? and marc just not understanding

OUGH

Yes!!!! Omg anon, yes!!!!

So this is 100% what I'm thinking. Marc never got aftercare with valentino. Back in 2013, their hooking up was never cruel. But after the ranch visit, it took a turn, bitterness seeping in. And marc knew no better, so he just took it, and it was HOT. But their was no aftercare, as things got worse, Valentino would just leave (or make Marc leave), or ignore marc. Would degrade him, but never follow it up with praise, would bruise him, but never soothe him after. It was cruel. Vale didn't even realise what he was doing was awful, but he was gradually getting worse - bitter and jealous about marc. Until, finally, it all came to head and sepang happened, and then nothing, no more hooking up, no conversations, no acknowledgement at all from Valentino.

So, Marc, poor, doe-eyed marc just thought it was all normal, didn't realise that he needed aftercare. He was just left floaty and adrift after sex- sore and slightly humiliated, even as he dragged himself back for more. (Valentino, as per usual, was completely insane about it all - didn't think about the consequences, too busy convincing himself that Marc was evil).

Now imagine, just like you said, pecco realising what happened. Maybe one of the first times he and Marc try that dynamic - pecco accidentally makes marc all spaced out; Marc underneath him babbling incoherently, his eyes glossed over.

Afterwards, not 5 minutes after Pecco has rolled off him, marc goes to get up, his eyes still glassy, legs unstable. Pecco watches as he stumbles to his feet, blinking rapidly as if trying to get himself to focus, reoreintaring himself in reality.

Pecco reaches out a hand automatically.

To reach out. To stop him.

"Hey, hey, where are you going?" He asks.

Marc wobbles, turning his wide eyes to pecco.

"Um, I'm going. Thats what you want right?"

Pecco gapes, unsure of what to say, what part of his behaviour had given marc that impression.

He properly reaches out, then, standing up only to tug marc back into his arm, pulling them both onto the bed.

"I can't let you go like this, angelo" he hums, the nickname slipping out. It only serves to drag marc back under, blinming slowly at Pecco.

The younger man sighs, running a hand through his hair and resisting the urge to press their lips together again. He doesn't want to overstep.

"Why not?" Marc slurs, even as he does, pecco notices the way his body relaxes subconsciously, sinking into Pecco's embrace.

"Because you're still completely out of it, it would be irresponsible, I need you to come back to me properly. Come on let me clean you up" he pauses,

"Let me take care of you," he whispers, holding his breath, waiting for the negative reaction he is sure will come.

Marc frowns, it's endearing when he's like this, still deep into subspace. Pecco is slightly shocked he can talk.

"But, what? Normally, I just left. You don't have to do this"

"Do what, marc? Because to me this is important."

Marc frowns harder, "be nice to me" he whispers.

Pecco's heart shattered. Then he registers marc's earlier statement.

"Hold on? You said that you used to leave. Leave who? Did someone let you go like this, with no aftercare?" He asks, trying to tamp down his rage.

Marc tilts his head, and yet again, it's incredibly endearing. Oh fuck, pecco thinks. He doesn't want to let Marc go. Like ever.

Before he can get too far down that habit hole, marc answers.

"Vale. Also, what's aftercare? And what do you mean you cant let me go, " He says softly.

Which firstly gross. Pecco does not want to think about Valentino right now. Expect, secondly, he kind of does because WHAT THE FUCK. Vale used to do this, let Marc go after and by the sounds of it never give Marc aftercare. Well suddenly a lot of things make sense. Anger bubbles inside of him, but he pushes it down.

Marc is staring at him, guileless and sweet. And pecco just can't, not right now.

"Don't worry about it, amore. Stay for me?" He begs.

And marc, he simplt agrees, content to be held for some tkme longer.

Pecco will deal with the other things later, for now, he has Marc In his arms, satiated and content. That's enough.

----

Well I just kinda wrote that???

So i hope you like it haha!!! Lmk

#motogp #marc marquez #motogp rpf #rosquez #my fics #valentino rossi #asks #pecco bagnaia #marcnaia #2025 teammates fic

76 notes · View notes

foreverisntenough · 7 hours ago

Text

‘Aperture’

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

Chapter Index:

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

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

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

Chapter 4- 'After After Party' | 'Aperture'

word count - 14.3k

[Unforgettable - French Montana 🎶]

The afterparty pulsed with a kind of decadent chaos—the kind only Paris could conjure. A dimly lit lounge attached to a luxe hotel, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and cigarettes, the murmur of conversations in a dozen different accents blending into the bass of an unrelenting track, and the shake of cocktails. Faces blurred together, awash in the low golden glow of lights, opulent fabrics shimmering under the light. Here, everyone was someone, yet Trent felt like a ghost. A body moving through the motions, standing still inside his own mind. Because you were here. You had to be. Or maybe he just needed you to be. He barely remembered arriving, hadn’t listened to a single word his brother had said since they walked in. Someone—someone important, though he couldn’t remember their name, someone he really should have been paying attention to—was speaking to him, and yet their voice was nothing but static. Trent’s world had narrowed to a singular point, a fixation he couldn’t shake, a longing he couldn’t reason with. And then—there you were. Not walking towards him. Not looking for him. Not even scanning the crowd, searching for the very thing he’d convinced himself you wanted. Instead, you stumbled—gracefully, but still—a misstep in your over the knee boots, laughing softly as you emerged from a coat room with two men at your side. A chill slithered down his spine. His stomach turned. He felt stupid.

Stupid for thinking that the moment he walked in, you’d feel it too. That you’d be searching the crowd with the same feverish desperation that he was. That you’d be waiting, just like he had been, for the inevitable pull of gravity that always had landed you both in the same place. But you weren’t looking for him. Not at all. Trent clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides as the spiral began. The dark thoughts, the ones he hated—the ones that whispered maybe you weren’t the girl he thought you were. Maybe you were just like the rest. Maybe all those footballer shoots weren’t just business. Maybe Ibiza had been just that to you—a fleeting encounter, forgettable. Maybe he didn’t know you at all, like he said to Marcel. Maybe he genuinely was no one to you.

And yet, you were dying inside. Because you were looking for him. Searching in every passing glance, every flicker of movement. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be obvious. Couldn’t let it be known how badly you wanted him to see you first, to make the move, to chase. You weren’t this girl and yet when it came to him, you found the girl looking back at you in the mirror reapplying lip gloss and adjusting her tits for the fifth time, someone you didn’t recognize. You weren’t fearless—not when it came to him. Not when it felt like wanting him this much was akin to giving him every piece of yourself. You had even gone so far as to ask a friend of a friend who worked for Louis Vuitton—the kind of favor that made you cringe—to check the guest list for his name. That was how badly you needed to see him. How badly you wanted this. And the coatroom? The two men? None of it was what he thought. Just an innocent exchange, a favor in return for a favor. Helping someone retrieve a forgotten phone from their jacket pocket before slipping out, right into his line of sight. But what Trent didn’t know hurt him. And what you didn’t know was that he was already drowning in you.

Because he remembered your parting words—’maybe you.’ The way you had thrown them over your shoulder with a smirk, as if they hadn’t undone him entirely. As if they hadn’t settled in his bones, thrumming through his veins like a slow-burning fire. And now, here you were, existing in the same space but still feeling so achingly far. And Trent didn’t know how to close the distance. Didn’t know if he even should. Because he wasn’t sure if you meant maybe him in a cheeky way or that you had so many options tonight, it potentially could be him. He didn’t like being one of many and he didn’t think you were like that. Was it hypocritical? Probably but he’d never really cared enough to be hypocritical before. He thought you were different, that you had a standard that he was trying to crack and yet he worried you might’ve already been cracked.

The atmosphere was suffocating in its extravagance— Louis Vuitton dripping from every person seated on the velvet sofas low on the group, table lamps that glowed orange, a disco ball that was ironic and a dj, the sound of ice clinking against crystal glasses as servers weaved through bodies pressed too close together. Laughter, too loud, music, too heavy, the air thick with smoke and exclusivity. And somewhere in this sea of indulgence—you. Trent had known you were here before Marcel whispered it in his ear, he saw you when he wished he hadn’t, but hearing it confirmed sent an involuntary heat up his spine.

“So Campbell and Foster’s friend is here,” Marcel muttered as they elbowed their way toward the bar. The crowd was dense, bodies moving in slow waves, and finding anyone felt impossible. Marcel had opted to keep your name out of it—maybe for discretion, but more so for the amusement of watching Trent pretend not to care.

“Yeah, saw her.” Curt. Dismissive. A blatant lie. Trent had done nothing but look for you since stepping into the party, his eyes scanning every darkened corner, every gathering of people, every turn of a delicate wrist that might be yours. He thought he could handle this. Be unaffected. Play it cool, let it go. But the truth was, it hurt. It hurt because the last time he saw you, you had left him with nothing but a smirk and two words that had haunted him ever since: Maybe you and a fucking wink. And now, you weren’t looking for him.

Meanwhile you were flitting from group to group, industry acquaintances, old contacts, friends, laughing at conversations he wasn’t a part of only wishing he was in them. You were purposefully getting lost in the crowd, only in effort to hopefully brush past him. He tried to reason with himself—maybe if he fucked you, he could get it all out of his system. He wouldn’t say no if you made it easy, if you came to him. But it wouldn’t be because he wanted you. It would be to forget you. But he knew that was a lie, too.

“No,” Marcel laughed, eyes glinting with something too knowing. “You were staring at her, bro. You’ve been looking for her all night. Gonna say something to her or just brood?” Trent exhaled sharply, fingers curling around the sweating glass in his hand.

“I don’t know if I want to be around who she’s with… like, all this.” His voice was lower now, edged with something unspoken. Disgust? Maybe. Resentment? Definitely. He was lumping you in with the crowd of the party to make it easier to say he didn’t want you. Deciding you were just like the rest; cigarettes inside places they weren’t allowed, names said deliberately wrong. He didn’t like this world—the pretentious, self-indulgent spectacle of it all. The way everyone here carried themselves with a careful kind of apathy, a curated coolness that meant nothing was ever that deep. And more than that, he didn’t like the thought of you in it. The coatroom. The two men. The possibility that you were someone different from the person he wanted you to be.

“Yeah, but you’re here, too.” Marcel didn’t bother softening the truth. “This is your life, just the same.” And Trent hated that he was right. That the reality was this was his world too occasionally, just like it was yours. That people could exist in spaces that were too cool even if they were kind. It was unfair for him to fault you for your invitation tonight when he had received one too.

Amidst another trip to the bathroom to check how your hair was and reapply your perfume, you found him, after the adjustments, thank god. His side profile, sharp under the ambient lighting, jaw set in quiet contemplation as he listened—half-listened—to Marcel. Trent’s eyes narrowed in the sea of people in front of him, ignoring his 5 o’clock i.e you approaching from an angle. You weren’t sure why your feet moved toward him, why you suddenly felt emboldened to slip through the crowd, dodging wayward drinks and whispered conversations. Maybe you just wanted to be near him. Maybe you wanted to see if he’d been searching for you, too. But before you could reach him—before he even realized you were closing the distance—you heard the words that made you freeze, breath hitching.

“Yeah… Don’t know. She just might be more of a risk than a reward.” It was a simple sentence. No weight to it in his voice, no hesitance. Just a passing thought, as if he were discussing a business deal. A calculation. And that was all you heard. A risk. Not a reward. That’s all you needed to hear. Your stomach dropped, your heart lurching as if it had been yanked from your chest. It was an effort not to react, not to let the breathlessness of rejection show on your face. But your expression betrayed you—your lips parted, brows knitting together in an instant of unguarded hurt before you forced yourself to move, pivoting sharply as if you had never intended to go in his direction at all. Like you had never been reaching for him. Like you hadn’t spent the entire night waiting for him to find you. And Trent, unaware that you had been close enough to hear him, didn’t even notice.

“Shit.” You muttered, your martini nearly spilling onto your corset as you fumbled back through the crowds. You set the drink down on a random table feeling your bottom lip begin to quiver. Feeling stupid. You grabbed a few cocktail napkins and wiped your hand dry. You shut your eyes tight and you exhaled before you beelined for another room of the party. It was fine. ‘It is what is’ you told yourself. You didn’t know him, maybe it was all best left in Spain.

[You Doing Something To Me - Smi.le 🎶]

The night had melted into something heady and liquor-drenched, the kind of haze that blurred time and consequence. Call it the after after party. People had left, people had arrived, and with them came new indulgences—the kind that kept the party breathing well past its natural lifespan. It was fashion week, after all, where excess wasn’t just expected, it was curated. And maybe that’s what unsettled Trent. Not the party itself, but you in it.

He didn’t understand this world. He was included in bigger events like this, but as a whole, day to day, no. He rarely bothered unless he was asked. He wanted to be included in nights like tonight but he never understood why it all needed to be this way. Not the price tags of clothing or the celebrity of it all, that he understood, or at least he thought he did. But why party favors had to come in little tiny baggies. The untethered decadence, the way everything felt just a little too slippery, too impermanent, too far removed from reality. He didn’t get how you fit into it. Maybe that’s what bothered him most—that you were here at all.

He sat in an offshoot of the party, some dimly lit side room where time felt even more warped, where too many girls lingered and too few guys enjoyed the imbalance. Marcel was occupied with someone draped over his arm, and Trent, absent-minded, watched the ice in his glass slowly succumb to warmth, swirling lazily, disappearing. He was only still here so he could say he stayed. But he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about this party. He didn’t care about this room. He didn’t even have it in him to find someone else to entertain him for the night. Unfortunately, he still cared about you. Where the fuck were you? He hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the night. Had you left? Was that why he stayed, hoping you’d reappear? You had vanished like you were never there at all. Maybe he’d finally done what he never truly wanted to— lose you. But that was all only because you were avoiding him after finding out you were a ‘risk.’ You were hurt. You were the one that tried to avoid the games in an effort to not get hurt. To not feel all the things he made you feel but instead you were more invested in him than ever and it felt like someone had duped your martini on your heart and held a lighter to it. You were burning for him and yet you felt so burnt by him. And in a moment of self invalidation, Trent’s thoughts paused, interrupted by a voice cutting through the room, sharp, invasive.

“Bro, if you’re not gonna participate, you gotta get the fuck out.” Trent didn’t even look up. He didn’t need to. Trent could feel that the comment was directed at him. The voice wasn’t familiar, but the tone was—the entitled drawl of someone who thought they owned the night, who had long since mistaken indulgence for importance. The key in the man’s hand, the quick wipe of a model’s nose beside him—yeah. Trent got it. With a slow exhale, Trent nodded. He really, truly, did not give a shit. Not about this coked-up entitled waif that’s for sure. But you? He couldn’t shake but maybe it was time, he went home. Time he retired. And then, like some cruel trick of the universe, there you were. Standing in the doorway. The sight of you sent his world tilting. A blink. Another. Like his brain needed extra time to process that you were really here, that he wasn’t just conjuring you up in his mind because he’d spent all night wanting to. His brow furrowed but your gaze wasn’t on him—it was locked on the guy who had spoken, your expression unreadable but your presence alone carrying enough weight to silence the room.

“Hey, want to not be a dick?” Your voice was smooth, effortless. You weren’t here for Trent—you had come to find someone else, but instead now you had found him. Your heart thudding as you heard the boy—Martin, some nepo-baby with that carefully cultivated, malnourished Victorian look the industry loved so much— threw some shitty comment at the person that made your feet feel like boulders the second you stepped in the room. It felt like you had walked into a glass door but you were reacting on instinct. And Trent? He was already standing before he could even decide to, like his body was magnetic to you. Martin grinned around his key, sniffing roughly looking back at Trent. Unfortunately, you did know Martin well, but he was amused by you intervening.

“Get girls to fight for you always?” He taunted, eyes flicking to Trent with the kind of sneer that was meant to bruise. “Bet you’ve never caught a swing either, huh, pretty boy?” You turned then, really looked at Trent for the first time since you walked in. He wasn’t even reacting, just shaking his head, unimpressed, detached. It was such an absurd comment, coming from a model type, and Martin was just being rude to be rude, his niche Swiss boarding school accent of european wealth mocking for the fun of it. But before you could say something more, before you could stop him—

“All good. I’m out.” Trent replied. Simple. Unbothered as he placed his drink down on a table. But then—then. You expected him to step past you without pause, to brush by like you were just another body in the room, just another part of a night he was leaving behind. But instead, his hand found your waist. Low. Gentle. Firm. And then his voice, quieter now, softer than you ever expected. “You wanna come with me?” He hadn’t planned to ask that. Hadn’t planned to feel this way. He had spent all night trying to tell himself that he didn’t care, that he was fine, that he could just forget you. But now, with his fingers pressed against the curve of your waist, with you standing in front of him like you had been written into this moment, he knew. He didn’t want to leave without you. He was entirely off script and entirely not himself, but he was okay with that when you nodded, silent but sure.He felt something settle deep inside him. The realization that you felt nothing like a risk and were seeming to feel much more than a reward.

The hallway was hushed, a liminal space between indulgence and escape. The bass from the party throbbed in the distance, a muffled heartbeat behind closed doors, while the glow from the dimmed overhead fixtures flickered gold against polished marble. Beyond the other end of the hall, the entrance to the hotel loomed—dimly lit, an invitation to somewhere more private, more dangerous. Him. You. The choice in the space between. Trent’s palm burned against the small of your back, his fingers flexing idly over the curve of your spine. The heat of him seeped through your skin, anchoring you in place even though part of you wanted to run—because the way he looked at you made escape seem like the safer choice. But you weren’t sure if you wanted safe, not when he’s hands on you felt like this.

“He can be an ass,” you spoke first, voice soft, thick with something unspoken. “Sorry. It’s lame they even still do that stuff.” You felt embarrassed, like you owed him an apology for a world you were a part of but never partook in.

“Nah, no worries.” His voice was low, smooth, that honeyed Liverpool drawl curling around the words. His hand didn’t move. He didn’t let you go. “Let ‘em. Not interested.” That word. Interested. It cut, subtle but sharp, because hours ago, you had heard him say the opposite. Heard him tell his brother that you weren’t worth it, that you were a risk, not a reward. And now? Now his hand was on you, staying on you. His touch felt like a brand, his voice was a shade rougher like maybe he wasn’t so sure anymore. You exhaled, glancing away down the hallway the opposite direction back towards the party roaring on, mentally preparing yourself to go pretend again; pretend like you wanted to be anywhere besides in his arms, pretend like you could forget him.

“Yeah… not interested,” you echoed, but your voice gave you away, featherlight and uncertain. You expected him to step back then. To let go, to end whatever this was before it could unravel into something too real. But Trent didn’t move. Instead, his hand only pressed deeper, drawing you into his side until your chest barely brushed against him. The shift made you look down towards your chest feeling less sure about your decision but you could feel his gaze was already on you—narrowed, searching.

“Hey, what you going shy for?” His voice was quieter now, teasing but tender. Trent’s opinion that you might’ve been this world and not simply a part of it was shaken the second you attempted to stand up for him and completely vanished when you left with him. You barely had time to answer before his fingers tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. “You stay back in that room without me?” He teased, lightening the tension with a soft smile. But that touch. His touch. A simple graze of his thumb over your lips, and you swore the air in your lungs turned to smoke. Your stomach dipped—not from nerves. From need. Trent swallowed. His words were light, easy but inside he’s wheels were turning. He was thinking, deciding. You watched his throat bob, watched his pupils bloom wide as his gaze flickered down—to your mouth, to the way your lips parted instinctively for him, to the leather corset hugging your body like a second skin, the corset [ref index] pushing up the tits he’d been dying to see for weeks now, to your thighs peeking beneath the hem of your skirt, the skirt that hid a pair of panties he’d do anything to tear off you. And maybe that was where this should have stopped. But then he looked back up, and fuck—he saw you. Not just your body, not just the way you fit against him perfectly, like you were never a stranger, but just you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just lust clawing between you. It was recognition. A sharp inhale filled the space between you. Your fingers magnetic to lay against his chest, a slow, testing press. Trent exhaled at the contact, his breath unsteady, his chest deflating beneath your touch. Relief? Or restraint? You didn’t know. You only knew you wanted to try. You had to.

“I’m happy I found you,” you whispered. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, like your words did something to him he wasn’t ready for. And then—that smirk. Lazily, it curled at the edges of his lips, soft and utterly smitten. The kind of smile that made your breath catch because it looked real. Trent hummed low in his throat. He stepped into you at the same time, he pulled you in close, closer. Fuck plans. Fuck restraint. Fuck pretending this wasn’t happening. His hand slipped from your chin, tilting to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping slow over the heat of your cheek. You melted. Then— a shift, an inhale, and his hands were on your ass, dragging you deeper, pulling your skirt higher. His touch was rough and sure, fingers kneading, claiming, teasing. You silently gasped, and he fucking smirked. A reminder—this was the same man who had caught you in the club, dragged you back to reality. And yet, here you were, letting yourself fall into him but not without an attempt at composure. “Big risk…” you murmured, teasing, taunting. Trent stilled for half a second. A flicker of something in his eyes—shock, realization that you heard him earlier. Both your hands slid up his chest, slow, deliberate, trailing heat in their wake. Fingertips brushing along his collar, his jaw, curling lightly around his throat. His eyes darkened. And then—his voice, thick with something fatal.

“Bigger reward.” A whisper against your lips. And then—he kissed you. The kiss was a slow, molten thing at first—a testing of limits, a savoring of the moment that had been building for too long. But it didn’t stay that way. It couldn’t. Trent moved against you like a man starved, his mouth slanting over yours with a need that unraveled something deep inside you. His fingers curled at the nape of your neck, tilting your head to his liking as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, hot and impatient. You sighed into it, your whole body melting into him as if you had been built for this moment, for him. You barely registered the way he walked you backward, his hands greedy—tracing, gripping, learning you. He was everywhere all at once, his touch burning through the fabric of your clothes. You wanted him to take them off your body immediately. His hand splayed over your lower back, pressing you closer, making you feel every inch of him, the strength in his arms, the way his body fit against yours like a perfect puzzle piece. Then, suddenly—the wall. You gasped as your back met the cool surface, but Trent didn’t falter, didn’t stop. He groaned, the sound reverberating between you as he trailed his mouth from your lips to your jaw, to your neck. His stubble grazint your skin, leaving a path of heat as he kissed and nipped at the delicate column of your throat. You tilted your head, baring more of your neck for him without thinking, surrendering to the pull of him.

“Someone could see us,” you whined with no real intention of doing anything about that as your fingers gripped his shirt, tugging just enough to make him groan. The sound shot straight through you, pooling low in your stomach.

“Don’t care and you don’t either,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough, edged with something dangerous, something aching. And you agreed, you didn’t care, still, even with the cheek, Trent got the sentiment. You barely noticed how you had started moving again, how your bodies had begun a slow retreat from the open hallway, lips clashing, hands grasping, breathless and desperate. You were barely aware of how you fumbled blindly with a door handle, how Trent's hands slipped down your waist, gripping and guiding you through the threshold until the world narrowed into a dimly lit, intimate space—the coat closet.

[The Party and The After Party - The Weekend 🎶]

The air was electric, charged with the kind of tension that made it hard to breathe. The closet was dim, the sliver of light from the cracked door casting shadows over you both, flickering across sharp jawlines, parted lips, the anticipation strung so tight it could snap. The scent of leather, wool, perfume, and faint traces of cigarette smoke clung to the walls, but all Trent could smell—all he could feel, taste, want—was you. But none of it mattered—because the moment the door shut behind you, it was just him. Just you.

“Always look so fucking sexy,” Trent rasped, forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and uneven against your lips. His hands, rough and sure, traced slow circles over your hips. “You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted this tonight.” You felt it—the heat, the tension that had been simmering for far too long, threatening to boil over. His voice was thick with longing, with something dangerously close to confession. The weight of it made your stomach clench, made your fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, needing him to close the gap again. But then—hesitation. A flicker of something in his eyes. His gaze shifted, sharp and searching, his grip on you tightening slightly. His head turned, taking in the coats surrounding you, recognition settling over his features. "Baby… You kiss anyone else tonight?" The words came out rough, unfiltered, something almost possessive lingering beneath them. His jaw tensed. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, and you hadn’t even processed where you were let alone the question before your mouth acted on instinct—pouting, just slightly, unintentionally. Trent exhaled, something flickering in his eyes at the expression. His thumb reached up, dragging across your lower lip, his jaw clenching but his body still pressed tight against yours.

“Did you?” You muttered back not meaning to sound smart. You just were unsure what was happening. Trent’s brow furrowed but his face stayed serious. He shook his head ‘no.’ slowly. His answer completely earnest. Then it hit you—that this mattered to him. He didn’t want sloppy seconds, he wanted you, for him. The relief flooded you before you could stop it, warmth pooling in your chest. He cared. He cared. He had been burning for this just as much as you had. You couldn’t help it—the small, breathless giggle that bubbled up past your lips, giddy and unfiltered. Trent didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. His hands flexed against your hips, his grip possessive. He needed you to say it. Say it. Tell him he was right about you, that you were what he thought, what he wanted. You went quiet with a sympathetic smile and an exhale. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, but dragging it out ever so slightly just so he knew that he was the one asking for reassurance before you finally answered, breathless but sure.

“No…” Your lips parted on a whisper. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the way he held his breath. “I’ve been waiting for you all night.” The words settled between you, tangible, electric. You smiled, soft, teasing, a little drunk on him in a way alcohol could never compete with. Trent exhaled sharply, his head rolling to the side for half a second, like he was both relieved and amused at himself for caring this much. His tongue flicked against the inside of his cheek before his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and focused.

"Thank God," he murmured. You giggled but it was muffled when his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, deeper with more urgency, more hunger. His hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling you tighter, harder against him. The pressure of it made your breath hitch, made you dizzy with how much you wanted him. His fingers curled into the hem of your mini skirt, dragging it higher, his touch branding your skin, claiming. “Been waiting,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing back to your jaw, your throat. “Don’t wanna wait anymore.” You shuddered, your hands moving blindly over his chest, his shoulders, mapping every inch of him as your back pressed into the wall of coats.

“You never had to wait for this,” you breathed. Trent groaned—low and guttural and desperate. Knowing that you would’ve let him have you had him reeling. He kissed you as if he could consume you, as if he could make up for all the lost time in this one perfect moment.

The air was thick, heavy with heat and want, the dimly lit closet swallowing the rest of the world whole. It smelled of expensive cologne, of leather and silk, but beneath it all—him. That intoxicating scent, the one that had been imprinted in your memory long before you ever had the right to crave it. Now, it was all-consuming. It was dark save the dim light slipping under the door barely reaching into the corners of the room, where heavy coats hung like shadows, muffling the outside. It was just you and him, lost in a space that was dangerously small and dangerously intoxicating. Your lips found his ear, warm and teasing, your breath a whisper of wicked intent.

“Have you been thinking about me, baby?” Your voice was nothing more than a purr, a featherlight tease against the shell of his ear. The words melted into his skin as your teeth grazed his earlobe, tugging just enough to make him inhale sharply through his nose, a slow, deliberate act of seduction. A hum of confirmation vibrated low in his throat as his lips found the sensitive curve of your neck, branding you with slow, open-mouthed kisses. His lips still mapping your throat. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you close as if he were afraid you’d disappear. He was drinking you in, the scent of your skin, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Fuck. He had been thinking about you. Too much. Too often. “Hmm?” you prompted, voice dripping in mischief. You felt like you might’ve finally been gaining some control. Trent exhaled more than sound, too immersed in you. In the way your perfume wrapped around him, how your body pressed against his, every curve fitting into him like you were made to be there. Like this was inevitable. Then you pulled back—just enough for him to chase you, to leave him lingering in the heat of where you just were. And God, he hated it. And yet, he loved it, being lost in you—the way your skin felt against his, the way your perfume clung to the air between you, the way you touched him like you knew exactly how to dismantle him piece by piece. "Been thinking about you a lot," Your breath was cold, minty mixed with vodka and him, your tone weightless but devastating, each word a slow, delicious unraveling. Trent exhaled sharply through his nose, his restraint hanging by a thread. Because fuck, he had been thinking about you. More than he wanted to. More than he should have. You were the spark to gasoline, the match to an already burning flame. Every single thing about you set him alight. But Trent’s eyes were darker than ever now, heat pooling in his pupils, a storm barely contained. His hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you, but you could tell—he was unraveling and you wanted to pull that final thread to undo the woven composure he carried so effortlessly but it wouldn’t be easy, not with Trent. He wouldn’t let that happen, not to him.

“Yeah?” His voice was deeper now, husky with something dangerous, something wanting. He was unraveling, true, but he’d try to convince you otherwise. You didn’t answer, not with words. Rather with a slow, deliberate push. You backed him into the edge of a wooden shelf, the thud of his body meeting it barely registering because his mind was too consumed with you. Even as his spine met the edge, instead of annoyance, his lips curled—a wicked, greedy smile, sharp enough to cut. **Your hands, your lips, your scent—**he was drowning in you, and he didn't want to come up for air. His eyes gleamed in the low light, dark with desire, with relief. The movement was firm, decisive. Bold. He liked that you were taking control. That you wanted this. “What have you been thinking about?” He asked, smug but hungry, his fingers digging into your waist, like he needed to feel your answer. You hummed as if you were mulling it over, trailing your hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling his breath stutter beneath your touch. He was solid beneath your fingertips, his muscles taut, every inch of him tensed like a wire about to snap. Your lips ghosted over his jaw, pressing just enough to feel the way his pulse kicked up beneath your mouth. He smelled like clean skin and spice, a hint of sweat, something uniquely him—and you wanted to be suffocated by it, the distraction that was him, until you realized your fleeting kisses had got your lips to his ear again..

“I shouldn’t tell you,” you whispered, barely there, barely anything, but the way his whole body reacted, the sharp inhale, the way his grip on you tightened—it was everything. Trent tensed, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. He huffed out through his nose a light laugh and a cheeky smile trying to remain calm, cool, sexy. His jaw shifting as he gripped your waist more securely to ground him in the moment but all it did was spur you on. You were two people that knew game strategy but you were struggling to put in practice. It was an ebb and flow of power, in your hands one moment, his the next. One of your hands drifted lower, lower, lower, Trent’s heart rate picking up, until your fingers teased along the waistband of his trousers, slow, torturous. His abs flexed under your palm, and the way he sucked in a sharp breath, **a single muscle in his jaw twitching—**it made your stomach flip. His head dropped back against the shelf for half a second before he looked at you again, eyes heavy-lidded, dark, filled with nothing but want. A breathy laugh left him, though it was barely amused. It was wrecked, on edge like his smirk still in place, though it was faltering at the corners.

“Alright, baby.” His voice was a rasp, thick with lust but also cheek. He wanted to play too. The word baby was a low murmur, almost a groan, rolling off his tongue like silk. It made your stomach drop, your thighs clench, made you ache for more. You pulled back just enough to look at him, to see the way his gaze had darkened, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension so tight it was suffocating. “Can you show me then?” His voice was low, coaxing, full of something both soft and sinful. His hands slid lower, rough palms gripping the curve of your ass as he pulled you flush against him so you could feel just how much he wanted you to show him. You exhaled a small, breathy hum, your lips ghosting over his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, teasing every inch of him as his hands traced fire down your spine. You weren’t sure where you ended and he began, only that you never wanted to step away from this. From him.

Your kisses trailed lower, tracing the dips and ridges of his toned chest, your lips teasing over his shirt, before you pulled the fabric up as you descended down kissing over his momentarily exposed skin, warm, addicting, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His scent—clean, rich, perfect cologne mixed with something purely him—filled your lungs, making you dizzy, drunker on need. Trent’s eyes narrowed on your figure sinking in front of him, this was dream worthy, no, better than. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it out of the coat room and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Fuck off,” Trent muttered in disbelief, voice rough, his breath catching as he looked down at you. You batted your lashes up at him, a feigned innocence in your gaze as your fingers teased at the waistband of his trousers, your touch deliberate, slow. You saw the way his jaw flexed, the way his broad chest rose and fell faster beneath the weight of anticipation.

“You want me to stop?” you asked, lips curling in a taunting smile as your fingers worked open his belt, knuckles brushing against the heat straining beneath his trousers.

“Nah, nah, nah.” He let out a breathy laugh, more at himself than anything. His hand came to the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair, not pushing—just needing to feel you there. “I want you to show me exactly what you’ve been thinking about.” Your nod was slow, deliberate, as your hands slid lower, freeing him from the confines of his trousers. He sprang free, thick, heavy in your palm, already leaking, already aching for you. Trent groaned, his head tilting back slightly as you parted your lips and let a slow stream of saliva drip onto him, watching it glisten, watching him twitch in response. “Fucking unreal,” he muttered, letting his head loll back, his grip in your hair tightening ever so slightly as your fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him with an excruciating slowness. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction from his reaction. You were trying to be composed but he was feeding your ego, making you feel things you hadn’t expected and it had you wanting more. You wanted to please him.

“Do you want me to suck your cock, baby?” you asked, voice sultry, teasing, but your eyes never left his—challenging him, taunting him. He shouldn’t have but he loved this. He loved that after he broke you down, pulling you into a toilet in Ibiza, you’d gotten him into a coat closet in Paris begging for you, no different than you had for him. Trent exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling as he fought for control. His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice almost a growl. “Show me how much you want it.” You needed no further encouragement. Leaning in, you flattened your tongue against the swollen head, tasting the saltiness of him before sinking down, your lips wrapping around his length, taking him inch by inch. Trent let out a broken groan, his hips jerking forward slightly, instinctual, primal. His fingers tightened in your hair as you worked him deeper, your tongue swirling, teasing, hollowing your cheeks as you took him further. The weight of him, the heat, the slight pulse against your tongue—it sent a thrill straight through you, a wicked satisfaction at the way he was coming undone above you. Trent’s breath came in harsh, uneven pants as you set a slow, torturous rhythm, your hand pumping the base in sync with the wet slide of your mouth. His head fell back against the shelf behind him, his muscles tight, his abs flexing with every stroke of your tongue. “Just like that.” His voice was rough, laced with pure, unfiltered pleasure. “Fuck— good girl.” The praise made something molten pool low in your belly, made you whimper around him, the vibrations forcing a strangled moan from his lips. His hips began to move, shallow thrusts that pushed him deeper, had him hitting the back of your throat until spit pooled at the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin. Your fingers dug into his strong thighs as you took him further, wanting to ruin him, to have him remember the way your mouth felt around him long after tonight. Trent didn’t even know where he was in the world, that's how good he felt, it was almost an out of body experience. His curses came out broken, wrecked, his body tensing, his grip in your hair tightening. “Baby, you’re gonna make me—fuck.” He shut his eyes. You hummed around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder, stroking the last bit of him that your lips couldn’t reach. And then he shattered, he couldn’t hold out any longer. He’d thought about this for a month. His restraint snapped. "I’m gonna cum, yeah?." He rasped, shutting his eyes, too caught up in pleasure to say anything sexier as his body tensed. You nodded with a hum. The vibration eliciting a muffled guttural groan from his throat as his release spilled hot and thick down your throat. His body shuddered, muscles locking as you milked him for every drop, swallowing greedily, savoring the taste of him. As he opened his eyes again, still catching his breath, you parted your lips once more, letting your tongue flick out just enough to show him before you swallowed only to open your mouth again to him how good you’d been. Trent let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief, his grip softening as he pulled you up, bringing you back to him. His mouth found yours in an instant, deep and claiming, his fingers still tangled in your hair as he kissed you like he never wanted to stop.

The world outside the coat closet was a blur—the pulse of bass-heavy music, the distant hum of laughter, the occasional burst of chatter—but in here, it was just the two of you. Heat thick in the air, hands tangled, mouths crashing together in a fevered, messy kiss. Trent’s fingers skimmed over the tiny skirt covering your ass before slipping down the backs of your bare thighs, then suddenly back up under your skirt to your bare ass all whilst dragging fire in their wake. He pulled your body flush against his, solid and warm and wanting. The urgency in his touch made your breath hitch, made your legs tremble slightly as his lips trailed from your mouth down to your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear where he nipped, sucking just enough to make you shiver. His hands were everywhere, greedy, desperate, sliding up your thighs, palming your ass, gripping your hips like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. And then—one hand moved. His fingers found the zipper of your top, tugging at it with intent. Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait, wait, wait, baby—” you breathed out, voice softer now, hesitant but sure. You didn’t want him taking off your corset in here. His head lifted, lips swollen, brows slightly furrowed in surprise. “Can we, like… maybe not do that in here?” The words hung in the air between you, cooling the feverish pace you’d both set. You felt silly, maybe that’s all this was to him, a coat closet fuck, as you watched Trent blink, slightly taken aback. Not because he was upset—he would never pressure you—but because he had really thought this was going somewhere. He let out a slow breath, leaning back just an inch to search your face, his hand still resting against your waist. You could see the patience wash over him. And then, you smiled sympathetically, bashful but knowing. “I… I just want to fuck you how I’ve wanted to...” You admitted albeit a bit embarrassed praying, he’d get it. A slow smirk stretched across his lips, one that sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. His fingers flexed against your hip as he processed your words, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, deep, laced with something dangerous.

“Yeah?” He smirked and it was the same lethal handsomeness you first saw at the club, but now, it felt different, sincere even. You nodded, slow, teasing, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips before he leaned in, so close you could taste the faintest hint of liquor and mint on his breath. “How’s my bed sound then, baby?” His smirk was smug, unfairly beautiful, and it made you giggle despite the ache pooling low in your belly.

“I guess so,” you teased, biting your lip. Trent exhaled a little laugh, rolling his head to the side as if he was bothered by you accepting with an ‘I guess’ but in reality, in his heart of hearts, something he'd never tell anyone, it was endearing, and another adjective that seemed to populate in his brain when it came to you… it was cute even. His hands squeezed at your ass once more, as if he was grounding himself, reminding himself just how sexy you were even when that word ‘cute’ kept reappearing, savoring the last few moments of restraint.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s get you outta here.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Besides, I don’t want any interruptions.” He let you step back, but just as he reached for the zipper of his pants, he leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not for hours with you,” he whispered, punctuating it with a kiss just behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your stomach flipped.

Trent laced his fingers through yours, his grip firm, certain, but still waiting—for your approval, for you to take the first step. And you did. With a soft tug, you moved toward the door, eager, leading him out, but then—

“Oh, shit!” you gasped, turning back so suddenly that your chest pressed directly into his. Trent caught you instinctively, hands gripping your arms, his face a mixture of amusement and surprise. Your eyes going wide at the impact. You swallowed, taken back by your own proximity. “Wait… can I get my jacket?” you asked earnestly. “I really like it. It was a gift…” You pouted, recalling the Louis Vuitton gift you received from the brand today, the PR piece you got to keep, and you definitely didn’t want to leave it behind only for it to get taken home by someone else. His smirk softened into something warmer, something undeniably fond.

“’Course.” His voice dipped again, husky, teasing, but there was something almost reverent about the way he said it. “Baby, I promise, you can do whatever you want tonight.” His lips hovered over yours, close enough to steal, close enough to make you need to close the distance. And you did. The kiss was slow, deep, nothing hurried or frenzied like the ones before. No, this one was something else entirely. Something that simmered, something that curled around you like smoke, seeping under your skin, staining. Something memorable. Memorable in all the ways he was.

Trent exhaled through his nose, his head lulling back slightly when you finally pulled away and turned to rifle through the jackets, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips.

“So was it that good?” you called out teasingly in the small room, fingers closing around your jacket. When you turned back, Trent was watching you, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softer now, holding something deeper.

“You…” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Are that good.” And strangely—you believed him. Because it didn’t feel like cheek, or charm, or one of his usual flirtations. It felt honest.

[Say It - Tory Lanez 🎶]

The hotel hallway spun in soft, golden hues, the remnants of too many drinks making everything feel deliciously surreal. You weren’t sure if it was the champagne still fizzing in your veins or just him—his presence, his hands, the way he looked at you like he wanted to ruin you and worship you all at once.

“I like this, you know.” His voice was low, thick with something dangerous and sweet as he turned to face you, his finger hooking under the delicate chain of your necklace. The simple touch sent a shiver racing down your spine, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was, how his cologne wrapped around you, how his lips hovered just within reach.

“Really?” you murmured, eyes glimmering, half-lidded from the haze of the night. You weren’t sure what was real and what was the kind of intoxication only he could induce. You weren’t sure what was charm, what was cheek, what was just a game and what was authentically him. But it blurred, all of it, like smudged ink on a love letter, and you didn’t care—because the only thing in your tunnel vision was his face, and lord have mercy it was a pretty one. Trent hummed in response, a smirk tugging at his lips as he reached behind him, blindly finding the door handle. With an ease that made your stomach clench, he cracked it open and took a slow step back, pulling you forward by your necklace, reeling you into his orbit. You laughed softly at the smoothness of his movements, stepping over the threshold as he let you into his room.

“Where they put the ballers?” you teased, lifting your brows as you glanced around the massive suite, the city lights twinkling beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. You turned back to look at him by the door.

“Only the good ones.” He smirked, that maddening, cocky, gorgeous smirk that had been the undoing of so many before you. You rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as he stepped into you, the door clicking shut behind him, locking you both in—another confined space, another moment where the air grew thick with unspoken things, with anticipation, with the pulse of something electric. His hands found your waist, fingers splaying over the fabric like he was meant to hold you, like he already knew exactly how to touch you. “You’ve been thinking about me?” he murmured, his lips so close to yours, you could feel his breath fanning against your skin. You hummed, tilting your chin up, your lips practically brushing, just waiting—aching—for that final push. His eyes darkened, locked onto yours with something ravenous. “Good.” And then, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was perfect. Messy and hungry and laced with all the pent-up tension that had been simmering between you for weeks, even in your silences. Somehow this kiss was even better than it was in the coat room, maybe it was the opportunity of possibilities locked in a hotel room with him. His lips moved against yours like they were made for you, like they’d always known exactly where to go. You moaned into his mouth, fingers bunching in his shirt, fisting the material, dragging it up his abs in silent demand.

“Yeah?” he teased, pulling back just a fraction, a cheeky grin curving his swollen lips. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how you were managing this duality. None of it made sense in his head. You were adorable and yet deadly sexy, you were bashfully reserved and yet confident and commanding, you were dominant and yet submissively needy. And he loved every single side of the dichotomy. You barely had time to register your nod before he reached over his head and tugged his shirt off in one fluid motion. Your jaw slackened, just for a beat. Fuck. Tanned skin, strong arms, carved abs, the sharp V of his hips disappearing beneath his waistband—he was unfair. Just unfair. Trent noticed. He always noticed. He smirked, stepping in again, hands settling on your waist, firm and sure. “I took my top off…” His eyes flickered with something mischievous, something intoxicating and then they deliberately flashed down to your cleavage. “Can I take off this one too?” He mused as his thumb graved over the leather fabric. Your breath hitched, but you nodded, reaching back, guiding his other hand to the zipper of your corset.

The pull of his hand dragged the zipper down with an excruciating slowness, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. The only things left in the air were your ragged breaths, your hammering heartbeat, the sheer weight of his gaze as he watched you, locked onto you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. His thumb drew slow, agonizing circles against your waist as the zipper reached the end. He held the fabric in place, his touch searing even through the layers. And then—he leaned in, his lips trailing down your neck, slow, reverent, burning a path straight to your collarbone. His hands slid up your ribs, pushing the fabric aside, finally pulling it away from you completely. Your breath stuttered, bare in front of him, exposed in every way that mattered. Trent exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was trying to hold himself back, like he was already ruined by the sight of you. The air had gone thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the remnants of cocktails, a heady mix of martinis and something sweet still lingering on your lips. The city lights outside flickered against the towering glass windows, neon colors bleeding into the dimly lit suite, painting the room in shades of gold and violet. The bass from the party still thrummed in your veins, but nothing drowned out the sound of your own ragged breathing—or his.

Trent stood in front of you, broad and perfect, his eyes drinking you in like you were the finest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you. You were normally confident in your skin, in the way you moved, in the way men looked at you. But under his gaze? Something wavered, something small but persistent. You felt more than naked, you felt vulnerable. You began to overthink. Did you look good enough for him? You hated that you even thought it. But then—his hands found your waist, warm and firm, fingers splaying possessively over your hips, dragging you against him, forcing you to feel just how much he wanted you. And fuck, he felt so good. You exhaled a shaky breath, hands sliding up his sculpted chest, tracing over the smooth skin, the ridges of muscle. He was burning hot beneath your touch, a quiet purr slipping from his lips as you leaned up to kiss him. He groaned softly into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing yours, slow and decadent, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His lips trailed from your mouth, down your jaw, across the delicate skin of your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses that sent delicious little shivers racing down your spine. His hands moved up your sides, slow and teasing. You whined softly, back arching instinctively as his thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice thick with want. "You know how fucking sexy you are." He nipped at your skin, just beneath your ear, and you whined, your fingers threading into the curls at the top of his head, pulling slightly. He chuckled darkly, hands sliding lower, over the small of your back, gripping your ass before they traveled further, big hands sliding behind your thighs. “Been dying to see all of you.” Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, hands strong and sure as he picked you up. You gasped, your head lolling to one side, granting him more access as he pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. He carried you across the room like you weighed nothing, walking you straight to the bed, and set you down firmly. His grip on your thighs tightened, preventing you from moving too far, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "Gonna let me taste you again?" His voice was thick, his pupils blown wide, hunger written all over his gorgeous face as he kneeled in front of you on the bed, the city lights casting golden streaks over his sharp jawline, his perfect lips. A slow smirk curled on your lips, reveling in the shift of power between you both. You lifted your leg, the heel of your boot sliding over his shoulder as you arched a brow.

"Yeah? You want a taste?" His smirk deepened, his big hands immediately moving to your thigh, caressing up its smooth length, fingers pressing into the supple skin like he was savoring every inch of the moment. With deliberate slowness, he unzipped your boot, tugging it off, his lips brushing down inch by inch, leaving featherlight kisses down your calf, over your ankle, until it dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Then the other. You let your hands slide down your own thighs, watching him as you sat forward slightly. The doubt from before? Gone. You felt powerful now, back in control. There was no second-guessing yourself anymore—not with the way he was looking at you, like he’d crawl through fire just to put his mouth on you. You met his gaze, locking eyes with him. “Can I take this off?” You asked, fingers already toying with the clasp of your little skirt. Trent didn’t answer with words—he didn’t need to. His hands were already helping you pull it down your hips, letting the fabric slide down your legs. He grabbed it, tossing it somewhere in the room without a care in the world because the only thing that mattered was you. And then—his breath hitched. The air was thick, decadent, laced with the quiet hum of Paris beyond the window, but all you could hear was your own ragged breath. He knelt at the edge of the bed, a vision carved from shadow and street lights, his eyes dark, starving, locked onto you like a promise. Your body betrayed you before he even touched you—heat pooling, softening, unraveling at the mere sight of him between your thighs. You swore you could feel yourself melt, feel the slow, sinful drip of anticipation, of need so potent it bordered on pain. Your skin hummed, oversensitized, flushed with the unbearable ache of waiting. He licked his lips—those perfect, obscene lips—and it felt as if the world tilted, the moment stretching unbearably thin.

“Oh my fucking God, baby.” His voice was rough, nearly reverent as his eyes dragged over you, taking in every inch of what he’d been fantasizing about for months. You barely had time to react before he moved. You leaned back instinctively, but he was already there—grabbing you, strong fingers pressing into your thighs. "Nah, nah, nah." He groaned, shaking his head. "C’mere." He pulled you back toward him, his grip firm but deliberate, like he’d die if you moved even an inch further away. His hands traced fire along your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer, like an offering he was ready to worship, exposing your glistening core to him. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest. His hands flexed on your legs, almost like he was restraining himself from devouring you right then and there. "Fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. His fingers traced lightly over your inner thighs, his mouth watering at the sight of you, spread out in front of him, dripping for him. And then—his voice dropped into something dark, something filled with hunger and adoration all at once. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." And then, just before his mouth met you, he smirked—because he knew. Knew you were already gone, already wrecked, already his.

The city pulsed beyond the towering windows, neon lights flickering like electricity, casting fragmented shadows across the plush hotel suite. The bass from the party still hummed faintly beneath your skin, but none of that mattered now—not with Trent between your legs, gripping your thighs like a man starved, his breath hot against your already oversensitized skin.

He was teasing, toying with you, but it was a losing battle—his own hunger betraying him with every desperate flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrated against your dripping cunt. He was devouring you, licking and sucking like he’d been craving this, starving for it. His tongue delved deep, curling inside you before dragging up through your wetness, tasting you like you were his favorite sin. And fuck, you were.

You moaned, your back arching off the mattress, hands tangling in his curls, tugging, guiding him, urging him on. But he didn’t need direction—he knew exactly how to wreck you. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking just right, sending fire through every nerve in your body. You tasted like liquid gold to Trent. Like something he’d never get enough of. His fingers slid through your slickness before pressing into you, stretching you open, working in tandem with his mouth. He loved feeling you clench around him, loved the way your body responded so perfectly to his touch. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as he feasted, a man possessed.

“T…” You whined, barely able to form words, your body trembling, pleasure coiling impossibly tight in your core. “Oh my god- you’re so fucking good.” You whimpered. He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body. He fucking loved this. Loved making you fall apart on his tongue. Just when you thought you might come undone, he pulled back, dragging his teeth gently over the soft skin of your inner thigh, sucking bruises into the delicate flesh. You whimpered, eyes fluttering as his fingers moved with unrelenting precision, thrusting deep, curling up into that devastating spot inside you. The sound was unmistakable. Sopping wet pleasure built up over a month. Your body jerked, overstimulated, a desperate whimper spilling from your lips. Then suddenly—he pulled his fingers from you, leaving you empty for the briefest second before his hands gripped your hips hard, holding you firmly in place as he pressed his tongue flat against your cunt again, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with ruthless precision. Your breath hitched. You were unraveling, the pressure mounting, your muscles tightening, your body trembling uncontrollably as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive spot again and again and again. “I’m gonna cum—fuck.” Your voice was barely coherent, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot bliss. And then—you shattered. Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your thighs trembling violently as pleasure ripped through you, your vision blurring as you cried out. Trent groaned into you, loving the way your body reacted to him, drinking in every drop of your release as he lapped you up with deep, satisfied strokes of his tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your soaked skin, the vibrations sending a sharp aftershock through you, making you twitch in his grasp. He chuckled darkly, loving the way you shuddered, completely wrecked beneath him. His lips pressed soft, teasing kisses to your overstimulated, dripping core, reveling in the way your body jerked in response. His face was covered in you, his lips wet, his chin glistening, and fuck, he thought you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Your body was still humming, overstimulated, your limbs feeling weightless, but you weren’t done. Not even close. You felt alive, like you’d been plugged into a socket, your skin buzzing with raw electricity. Your head lolled back, breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to come down, but Trent wasn’t letting you. His grip on your thighs stayed firm, keeping you spread open for him, keeping you his. You forgot what this felt like. You remembered how good he was, how he had this insane ability to ruin you completely, but you forgot this. The heat of his body, the strength of his hands, the possessiveness in his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire fucking world.

Game or not—tonight, you felt special.

Trent pulled you onto his lap with ease, strong hands guiding you until your legs draped over his, straddling him, skin to burning skin. His palms splayed over your thighs, the warmth of them searing into you as his thumbs traced slow, idle circles—teasing, possessive. Every touch sent another ripple of heat through you, another reminder of just how desperate you were for more of him. The air was thick with something electric, the space between you humming with an unrelenting need that had been building since Spain. Every moment apart had only fed the hunger, the tension that had followed you both across cities, through stolen glances and fleeting touches, through nights spent imagining this exact moment. And now, here you were—nothing between you but heat and anticipation. You could feel him—all of him—his thick, aching length pressing against your drenched core, hard and hot and barely restrained. Clothes had long since been discarded, abandoned somewhere between your hunger and his need, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Just tell me you want me.” His voice was a low murmur against the charged silence, rough with restraint, threaded with something deeper than lust, something raw. His dark eyes burned into yours as he leaned back against the headboard, his body a perfect, lazy sprawl beneath you, but his hands—his hands—were anything but relaxed. They gripped your waist, kneading, guiding, rocking you against him with slow, deliberate friction that had you gasping. You ground against his length, the slick slide of your arousal coating him, teasing you both. Your nails scraped lightly against his chest as you leaned into him, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice a soft, sultry confession Trent exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening as his eyes drank you in—your bare skin glowing in the dim light, your lips swollen from his kisses, your body poised above him with nothing on but the wicked gleam in your eye.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his smirk lazy, cocky, but betraying the war he was fighting within himself. “Should I let you have me?” He tried to keep it light, teasing, but his voice had that telltale roughness to it, the rasp of a man losing his restraint, of a man undone. You felt it in the way his cock twitched beneath you, in the way his hands dug into your skin, urging you closer. So, you decided to push him further. With slow, calculated movements, you rolled your hips, dragging your slick folds over his length, arching your back, letting your nails ghost down his neck, a sinful contrast to the softness of your touch. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, could see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, something close to desperation.

“Should I let you have me?” you countered, your voice laced with syrupy defiance as you sat back. Trent’s eyes lit up at the competition you were trying to initiate. You let your fingers trail over your own body, cupping your breasts just enough to tease, to tempt. Torturing yourself with a gentle pinch to your nipples, only in an effort to taunt Trent. Trent’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eye giving way to something more primal, more urgent.

“’Course,” he murmured, voice thick, gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world. “You know I make you feel good, baby.” It was a line, something smooth and confident, something that might’ve made you roll your eyes if not for the way his body betrayed him—his cock twitching against you, his breath uneven, his restraint unraveling one frayed thread at a time. You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly, forcing him to sit in the weight of his own words. Because yes, he made you feel good. But you had him just as wrecked. Trent smirked at your silent challenge, but it faltered when he yanked you down harder against him, your dripping core grinding against his length. A sharp, needy whimper slipped from your lips at the friction, but before you could feel embarrassed, he let out a deep, guttural groan, his head falling back against the headboard, his hips jerking up into you on instinct. And just like that, the power shifted. Trent was learning more about himself when it came to you and fast. That he’d crumble. His cheek and charm couldn’t distract from the visceral reaction you evoked. You leaned in, letting your lips hover near his ear, letting his cock glide between your slick folds with torturous ease.

“Say it,” you whispered, a slow, taunting drag of your heat against him. Trent exhaled sharply, a desperate sound that sent a thrill down your spine. His grip on you was rougher now, his fingers digging in, his self-control slipping with every teasing slide of your body against his.

“Un-fucking-real you are,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, breathless. He didn’t care, this was visceral. You had him responding without conscious control. He felt too good. “Need more of you.” And you felt even better when he said that. His lips found your neck, hot and insistent, kissing, nipping, sucking at sensitive skin, each press of his mouth more fevered than the last. You tilted your head, giving him more, melting beneath his touch, losing yourself in the way his body felt against yours.

“You like it?” you murmured between breathy gasps. “Like the way I make you feel?” His only response was a low, helpless hum against your skin, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth, his composure slipping through his fingers. Between the slickness of your arousal and the thick head of his cock pressing into you, neither of you could breathe, neither of you could think—just existing in the unbearable tension of almost. You knew he was close to breaking, teetering on the edge. And you wanted to push him over it. “I think I know something else you’ll like,” you cooed, pressing a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the mattress fully. Trent let you move him, his dark eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide. And when your gaze met his, heavy with promise, heavy with the weight of everything left unspoken— He knew. He knew he was about to get exactly what he’d been craving since Spain.

The air between you crackled, heavy with something unspoken, something beyond lust but equally consuming. Your bodies had long since abandoned restraint, tangled together in heat and urgency, every touch igniting a fire that neither of you had the will—or the desire—to put out. Straddling Trent, you felt every rigid inch of him pressing against your slick folds, thick and unrelenting, his body a furnace beneath yours. His hands roamed your thighs, possessive and reverent, gripping, kneading, claiming. You rocked against him, teasing yourself just as much as you teased him, dragging your wetness over his length in slow, torturous slides that had both of you trembling. A sharp inhale. His muscles tensed beneath you, his abs flexing as if bracing against the sheer intensity of his own need. His head fell deeper back against the pillow for a brief second, eyes squeezing shut, jaw clenched. And then his hands found your hips, strong and insistent, guiding you upward just enough—just enough to make you hover above him, to make you wait, to make you beg.

“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” you whispered, your voice sultry, teasing, though your own breath wavered with the depth of what you were feeling. You lined his cock at your entrance, the tip barely breaching your soaked heat, just enough to have him right there—just enough to drive him insane. You rolled your hips slightly, your own cruel form of torment. Trent let out a ragged breath, his control slipping fast, his fingers digging bruises into your skin. There was no charm in his voice now, no practiced suave grin—just unfiltered, raw honesty spilling from his lips in a husky confession.

“All I’ve thought about since the moment I met you was how bad I wanted to have you,” he rasped, his dark eyes locking onto yours, blazing with need. “I’ve needed this, baby. Needed you.” The words sent a shiver down your spine, an intoxicating thrill curling in your belly, tightening the already unbearable tension. Your body answered before your mind could catch up—sinking just slightly, just enough to feel him stretch you open in the most tantalizing way. A broken whimper escaped you, your chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow breaths. Trent’s grip on your hips tightened as he fought for composure, but his self-control was hanging by a thread, fraying with every second you made him wait. One of his hands moved lower, cupping the roundness of your ass, guiding, urging. His voice was lower now, darker, edged with the kind of command that made your entire body hum. “Be a good girl for me,” he murmured, eyes ablaze with hunger, lips curling at the way your body trembled under his touch. “Take my cock. Like a good girl.” And then— The most delicious, devastating stretch, the slow, overwhelming fullness as you sank all the way down to the hilt, as he filled you completely, splitting you apart in the most sinful way. A filthy moan tore from your throat, unabashed and raw, your head tipping back in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. Trent was just as wrecked. A guttural groan rumbled from deep within his chest, his head falling back, his brows pinching together as his fingers bit into your skin like he was trying to ground himself, like he was barely holding on. But his eyes—his eyes never left yours, locked onto your face, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremor in your body, every sound that fell from your lips.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimpered, your voice shaking, your body struggling to adjust to the way he stretched you, filled you. “You feel so big—” Trent let out a harsh breath through his teeth, his hands flexing on your hips.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice wrecked, his restraint snapping thread by thread as he watched you struggle to take him, to fit him. You rocked your hips slightly, a slow roll that had your clit dragging against him just right, sending shocks of pleasure rippling through you. Your walls clenched around him, earning another deep, breathless groan from his lips. The way he looked at you, the way his hands gripped you, the unbearable heat between you—it had you already racing toward the edge, already unraveling. You both questioned if the build up had been too much but with the way this felt, it didn’t seem like enough.

“Fuck… I’ve thought about this so much, T,” you admitted, barely coherent, lost in the euphoria of it all. “Oh my god. Wanted you inside me.” That was it. That was his breaking point. A sound tore from Trent’s throat, something primal, something unhinged. In a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body caging yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and raw, desperate hunger. Desire and need tangled between you, a mess of breathless moans and hands clawing at skin, fingers threading into hair, bodies moving together in a rhythm that neither of you had to think about—only feel. Trent buried himself deeper inside you, setting a pace that was ruthless, devastating, perfect. Each stroke hit deeper, stole the air from your lungs, sent you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it bordered on madness. His lips trailed up your jaw, hot and feverish, his breath heavy in your ear.

“I’ve been craving you, baby,” he growled, the deep timbre of his voice sending tremors down your spine. “I’ve thought about fucking you a million ways.” He punctuated his words with another powerful thrust, making you gasp, making your nails dig into his back, making him groan at the delicious sting. His lips dragged lower, tracing the column of your throat, the hollow of your collarbone. “Haven’t thought about anything else but you since I met you.” For a fleeting second, something flickered in his eyes—a moment of realization, a truth that slipped past his lips before he had the chance to stop it. And he should’ve stopped it. He should’ve taken it back. But the way your body reacted to those words, the way you clenched around him, the way your lips parted in a soft, breathless gasp— He didn’t care. Didn’t care if he’d just given himself away, if he’d just bared something too raw, too real. Not when you looked at him like that. Not when you moaned his name like it was the only one you knew. His mouth found your tits, lips wrapping around a hardened nipple, sucking, licking, biting—driving you to the brink of delirium, of pleasure so consuming it blurred the lines between body and soul.

“I’ve wanted this,” you gasped, arching beneath him, hands threading through his curls, tugging him closer. “Wanted you. Needed you.” Your confession shattered the last of his control. There it was. This was mutual. Both your carefully crafted plans dissipating. A curse tumbled from Trent’s lips, his pace turning brutal, relentless, like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin, into your soul. His fingers dug into your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer, his lips stealing every moan, every gasp, every ounce of control you had left. This wasn’t just sex. This was hunger. This was desperation. This was something raw and dangerous and undeniable. And neither of you wanted it to stop.

Trent’s body moved against yours with a relentless rhythm, his hips snapping into you with deep, punishing strokes, each one sending white-hot pleasure tearing through your body. You could feel him everywhere—his heat, his weight, the way his hands claimed you, how his lips ghosted over your skin between ragged breaths. It was overwhelming. It was euphoric. It was perfect. And then— A sudden shift. Trent grasped one of your legs, hooking it under his arm, opening you up to him in a way that made you gasp, made your head fall back against the pillows. The angle was devastating, the head of his cock striking something deep inside you, something electric, something that made your vision blur and your fingers claw helplessly at his back; like it was a place only for him. Trent groaned at the way you clenched around him, the sheer tightness of you, the way your body welcomed him like he was meant to be there. His mind was unraveling, thoughts slipping into dangerous, uncharted territory—because fuck, it wasn’t just the physical. It was you. You beneath him, wrapped around him, taking him so perfectly, so desperately, so good, like you were his.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, voice thick with wrecked pleasure, his forehead pressing against yours for a brief moment before he pulled back to watch you, to see you fall apart. His thumb brushed over your lips, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, consumed by something deeper than lust. “Like you’re pussy’s made just for me. Doing so good f’me.” The words sent a shudder down your spine, something stirring in the pit of your stomach that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the way he said it—like he meant it. But Trent’s restraint was slipping, his hips snapping harder, faster, his fingers gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d wear his marks tomorrow. You could feel everything building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, the inevitable fall rushing toward you like a tidal wave. Your other leg wrapped around his waist, desperate, pulling him closer, dragging your foot down the expanse of his muscled back as your nails dug into the hard planes of his biceps.

“T, I’m gonna—” You gasped, the words breaking into incoherent cries as your body trembled beneath him. You couldn’t get the sentence out, couldn’t think, not when he was fucking you like this, not when he was ruining you with every deep, mind-numbing thrust. Trent was right there with you, his jaw clenched, his breath ragged, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your swollen clit. The rough pad of his thumb circled it in tandem with his thrusts, sending a blinding shock of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you nothing but wreckage beneath him.

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice dark, commanding, possessive. “Tell me whose cock you’re gonna cum on.” His words sent you spiraling, the sheer filth of them mixed with his deep, deliberate thrusts making your entire body lock up, teetering on the edge. Your mouth fell open, your head rolling back, tears slipping down your heated cheeks from the unbearable pleasure.

“Yours.” The word tore from you in a breathless whimper, your fingers clenching around the firm muscles of his arms. “Fuck—yours, Trent. Made for you.” His dark eyes burned with something wicked, something triumphant, and he wasn’t about to let you hold back.

“Doing so good for me,” he rasped, his free hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to stay on him, to let him watch every inch of your unraveling. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Let me see how fucking pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” That was it. The words. The way he said them. The way he owned you in this moment. Your orgasm slammed into you like a crashing wave, your entire body tightening, back arching, mouth parting in a silent scream as white-hot pleasure overtook you. Your walls clenched down around him, hard, desperate, milking him in the most sinful way, and it wrecked him. Trent let out a deep, guttural moan, his composure shattering as he watched you break apart beneath him, the sight of you completely lost in pleasure tipping him right over the edge. His thrusts became more erratic, rough, needy, and then he was leaning down, his chest pressing against yours, his weight grounding you as he chased his own release. Your lips found his neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses, nipping at the sensitive skin, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

“I’ve only thought about this,” you breathed against his skin, your voice ragged, desperate, laced with something dangerously close to a plea. “About you. Please, please.” Trent groaned, his body tensing, his arms flexing as he held himself above you. He was right there, right on the brink, and your words obliterated what little control he had left. “I want you,” you whined, your nails dragging down his back, your lips brushing against his jaw. That did it. Your whiney confessional did it for Trent. A deep, broken moan tore from his throat, and then he was gone—lost in the most sinful, perfect, earth-shattering release of his life. His hips stuttered, his hands gripping you like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t be close enough, as he spilled inside you, filling you completely. The sensation, the way he groaned your name like a prayer, like you were the only thing that had ever existed—it sent another ripple of pleasure tearing through you, another small but devastating aftershock of your own orgasm. His strokes slowed, his forehead pressing into yours, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat, your limbs tangled together in the aftermath of something neither of you could quite name. For a long moment, the room was silent save for the sound of your mingling breaths, the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Trent hovered above you, propping himself up on his forearms, his forehead damp with sweat, his lips parted as he gazed down at you. And then he did something he never did. His hand came up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your flushed skin. His lips pressed to your forehead—soft, lingering. Then your nose. And when your eyes fluttered open, finding his, that stupid, boyish smile he tried so hard to fight appeared on his lips. And for the first time, Trent didn’t fight it. Didn’t fight you. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded between you. And that? That terrified him more than anything.

•

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

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

Next part - Chapter 5 Coming Soon!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #aperture fic

46 notes · View notes

qrrieterisunnq · 8 hours ago

Note

👥could you do headcanons where Jack has to deal with Amara where her adhd kicks in?

1 year anniversary

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who will immediately put his hand on the sharp end of the table when he sees Amara on the ground and just knows she will hit her head as she stands up.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who always has a bottle of water with him because he knows how easily Amara forgets about drinking.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who just hugs Amara after a long day and holds her, because he can feel how overwhelmed she is.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who will gently take Amara’s phone out of her hands at 2 AM when she’s hyperfocused on something ridiculous like “the history of velcro” and softly say, “Babe. Sleep.”

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who wordlessly hands Amara the thing she’s been frantically looking for—her keys, her phone, her coffee—because he spotted it ten minutes ago and knew this was coming.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who keeps fidget toys in his car because he knows long drives make Amara restless, and he’d rather she click a pop-it than mess with the radio again.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who has learned not to get too attached to weekend plans because sometimes Amara wakes up with a very strong need to reorganize the entire apartment instead.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who doesn’t let Amara beat herself up when she forgets something important. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll figure it out.” And he always does.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who will physically turn Amara around when she walks into a room and immediately forgets why. “Babe, you came in here for a reason. Retrace your steps.”

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who has a very specific tone of voice for “Amara, focus,” and it’s both patient and a little amused because he knows exactly what he signed up for.

𝐁𝐅!𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 who loves every single part of her—messy thoughts, scattered energy, and all—because life with Amara is never boring, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#jack hughes #strawberry x jack hughes #strawberry!girl au #amara!james #jh86 #nj devils

39 notes · View notes

meathunt · 22 hours ago

Text

Vampire dads idea :>

TW Yandere, forced transformation, in a way, kinda parental neglect?, light kidnapping ------------------.* ✶ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ✶ *.------------------ You open your eyes.

Everything is too much, the sounds, the smells, the lights. It feels like it's attacking every nerve in your being. You try to drown your discomfort by holding the ends of your soft sweater harder, is not really working, but at least it distracts you from that hollowness in your chest.

You close your eyes, leaning on the wall of the alleyway you are currently hiding in, letting the cold air of the night bring you some comfort.

It was the first time you were out of your apartment in a month, still being able to remember the night your life went to shit.

You were just finished the shift that you traded with a coworker, making decent money as a waiter in an upscale restaurant. And you were happy to go back to your apartment and proceed to past out on your bed.

That's when the sensation of being watched started. But you were in an active part of town, so you decided to just speed up your pace to get home and don’t really worry about it. After all, who would try to attack you with so many people around?

You felt confident on that decision, until someone grabbed your arm, and trying to look at the one doing it was the last thing you remember for a while. Next thing you knew you were sitting at a bar, in front of a drink that smelled way more flammable than drinkable.

You were just about to get up when a smooth voice captured your total attention. "Hey sweets, finish your drink, weren't you thirsty?" for some reason you couldn't really focus on the strangers face. But their eyes, those deep wine eyes stayed with you.

Swallowing, you thought your throat was very dry, and next thing you knew, you were downing a drink once, twice, until you lost count of how many glasses you had. When you next regained awareness you were in your bed, and everything was spinning.

"I think you are nice and ready for me Sweets?" The nice voice was with you, and something cold was sneaking around your chest, and it grabbed at the collar of your shirt, playing with it before tearing it open.

"A sweet lil' drink, just for me, how lucky" and with that, you felt your neck being stabbed twice, two sharp things buried themselves on you, and an explosion of pain assaulted your senses, your mouth locked in a silent scream as you could feel how your cheeks dampened by the tears and cold sweat from the pain.

A chilling coldness started to envelop you from your core, and slowly grew, overtaking every part in your body.

Weakly trying to fight the person on top of you, but being unable to do much, and the last thing you heard before being swallowed by darkness was a mocking laugh. .* ✶ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ✶ *.

The next time you woke up it felt terrible, your whole body hurt, and you felt in a constant state of fever, with a killer headache to seal the deal.

Everything felt too much, the clothes on you felt like sandpaper caressing your skin, you swear you could hear the water flowing in the pipes on the walls, the sunlight coming from your window felt way too bright and hot. It was overwhelming, but worst of all there was this hollowness in your chest that was growing and threatening to swallow you whole.

Something important was missing. You knew it in your bones but you couldn't determinate what. And that sensation was all consuming. Small sobs escaped from your dry throat and a broken kind of chirp came from your chest.

Just once.

And there was no answer.

That fact destroyed your declining mental state. Suddenly those strange sounds were cutting between your wails growing more desperate by the second.

The weird animal instinct inside you grew desperate for an answer that never came, you weren't sure how long you stayed there crying your eyes out until you tired yourself out enough to fall asleep. .* ✶ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ✶ *.

The next few weeks were nothing short from hell on earth.

Soon you felt hungry, and trying to stand up was a task of its own, you felt like you lost control of your motor skills, at the point that it felt like you were re-learning how to walk.

When you finally reached the kitchen, the humming of the refrigerator grating on your ears, and the smell of food both overwhelming and alluring to you. Almost in animal desperation you ate the left overs you had with gusto. When you felt satiated enough your eyes started to feel heavy.

That broken chirp coming back against your wishes, and a new wave of sadness enveloped you. A constant "scared, scared, alone" in the back of your mind. Dragging your tired body back to your bed while the tears threatened to fall down your cheeks. Picking a faint scent in one of the pillows in your bed, and your body launched itself to it. Bringing that stupid voice in the back of your mind to a stop. Some kind of relief washing down you, and with shaking hands you hugged the pillow closer, almost instantly falling asleep. .* ✶ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ✶ *. At some point of the week you accidentally destroyed your phone, too loud with pre-programmed alarms, it didn't survive being thrown at a wall.

It wasn't until the middle of the second week that things stopped being so overwhelming to the point of freezing you in place. Now they were just overwhelming enough to give you problems thinking, count your blessings right?

You decided to get rid of the uncomfortable clothes you were in, choosing a soft and fluffy sheep themed pajama that you usually saved for when it was really cold outside. But that cutesy white texture was the only thing in your closet that didn't make you want to crawl out of your own skin, plus it gave you some kind of comfort.

By the end of that week a thirst was starting to grow on you, but it didn't matter what you drank it wasn't satiated.

That was until the end of third week when you tried to cook something for yourself, it was a complete disaster. And you didn't finish even cooking the vegetables.

But after a crying fit you realized something smelled...... nice.

An odd thing to notice when you failed so miserably at cooking anything substantial, but trying to follow that lead you ended up in front of the block of raw meat that was finishing de-frosting on the counter. Its mere sight disgusted you, but your body was telling you to eat it, that you needed you satiate the thirst.

You resisted, even from the cloud that currently was your mind you started to think that you were starting to lose your mind to even consider doing it.

You cracked at the beginning of the fourth week, the thirst being just too much. Accompanied by pains all around your body and a realization of how sensitive your teeth and fingers started to become.

At the end of the fourth week you felt very out of it.

The scent that you found on your first week was completely gone from the pillow, a fact that every time you remember, you started to tear up about it.

Your food supply also slowly started to disappear until you had to resort to eating raw vegetables. Something that definitely was not sitting right in your stomach, if puking that morning was any sign.

That bring you to your predicament.

Looking like you were sick, your skin being flushed but looking very pale, your legs shivering from trying to stand up for a long amount of time. Red and puffy teary eyes that weren't focusing correctly on your environment. Hiding in an alleyway in your pajamas because you tried to go to the store to buy more food, but underestimated how overwhelming everything outside was.

The sights, the voices, the new smells made you feel very on edge and anxious.

Like you weren't safe.

Like you were lost.

Like you were so terribly alone.

That stupid sound bubbling inside you, while you tried to contain it. Biting your tongue and pushing it down as best you could. It's easy, you reminded yourself, just one foot in front of the other, and to go back to your apartment, food can wait till tomorrow.

While you were trying to hype yourself up, a sudden, overwhelming feeling started to cover you. As if you were being watched. Your breathing hitched and you tried to scan your surroundings to no avail. You can't hear anything out of the normal thing you were already hearing, but you are sure you felt something near you.

A sound cached your attention, but before you could even try to look for the direction it came from, someone grabbed you and pushed you against the end of the alleyway.

"Do they not teach you new-bloods any manners?"

A towering figure stands before you, broad shoulders and wavy dark blond hair, a full beard adorning an intimidating face. You can make out some scars in the hand that holds you by the collar of your shirt. Deep amber eyes pin you in place.

He has an air on him that screams danger.

The voice in your head telling you that you are completely outmatched by this man, internally screaming danger, danger, alone, scared, help-

"Hey, I'm talking to you" He says with an authoritative tone, making you snap out of your inner monologue and instinctively coil on yourself, or at least attempt to. His hand goes to your chin. Forcing your head to the side to get a better look at your neck “Really, who even is your maker-“

His eyes stay stuck looking at the fading mark that is barely visible at this point where the bite mark was made. You can feel him gaze scanning you from head to toe once more, and his grip on your collar started to soften.

He starts asking you more questions, one right after the other about things you don’t understand, too overwhelmed by everything happening, the adrenaline that was rushing through your body starting to disappear, the situation eerily similar at the one with the man that did this to you.

Your eyes filled with tears and those chirps came back full force, mixing with your whimpers and sobs.

Those sounds took the man by surprise, his eyes turning more soft and he let go of your shirt completely, and proceeds to lift you, cradling you to his chest and rubbing circles while shivers wreck your frame, your sobbing turning to all out wailing. “Hey, hey buddy it’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you, I wasn’t expecting a kid like you being here all alone. Hell, you shouldn’t be here, period”

You feel terrified of this man, threatened even, but it has been so long since someone held you like this, your instincts fighting between the longing for security and comfort with the consuming fear of someone that you don't know getting closer to you. At the end you go almost in autopilot, nuzzling into his chest while trembling like a leaf.

He takes out his cellphone and starting to walk out of the alleyway. He calls someone, but you feel a bit out of it to really understand what was being said, just small parts, Thomas…surprise.... abandoned.... home..., drowned by the sounds of everything around you.

Yeah, you would like to go home, the sounds of the streets in the middle of the night are getting to you, and in reflex you try to hide deeper into the man's chest. A hand comes, running his fingers in your hair while he finishes his call.

"It's okay buddy, we are getting you somewhere safe" You feel tempted to trust him.

.* ✶ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ✶ *.

After what feels like a blink you land on a balcony.

You feel less overwhelmed, this place is way more quiet, without overly bright lights or overwhelming sounds and smells, just the lingering scent of the man carrying you and another one that makes you squirm in place.

Now that your mind feels a bit clearer. You don't even know the name of the guy that has been carrying you around like you weighted nothing.

"H-hey, uhm.." your voice feels scratchy from disuse. He turns to look at you, and smiles. before you can ask he answers" Elias" "What?" "My name, I'm Elias Cromwell, sorry little thing I haven't asked, what's your name?" He asks softly

You are a bit taken by surprise at being spoken so nicely from the guy that gave you quite a fright when you first encountered him. " I'm (Y/N). Can I ask, err, where are we?"

"Well kiddo, we are at my house. And you" He boops your nose "Are about to meet someone very special"

Elias slides the glass door to enter the house and instinctually you straighten up, the second scent that doesn't belong to Elias feels even more oppressive. You cling harder to him, almost clawing at his back, looking up at him in fear.

“Well, who is this cutie Elias?” A warm voice speaks from behind you, and you feel someone going to pick you up from Elias arms. You instantly start squirming in place, those annoying broken chirps start once again, you are scared, you just found someone to hold on to, and that security is being taken away from you, the tears start forming in your eyes, you hold on to Elias’s shirt while trying to bury your face into the crook of his neck “Woah! Hey buddy”. The tears start to prickle your eyes, for some reason you are way more emotionally sensitive than usual, and that little scare is almost enough to throw you into a crying fit. “Everything is okay kiddo, it’s just a friend, remember?”. After a bit of silence without an answer you hear the other person sigh and start walking away. You almost feel relieved until Elias starts to follow them. After a minute of walking, enough for you to, somewhat, calm down, you hear a door opening and you enter into a room, if outside felt that it wasn’t very bright, in here is way dimmer, just one light that give out a warm soft glow to the room, but not enough to really see well your surroundings. Elias sits on the center of the room and you feel the presence of his friend getting near you, a cold hand starts to softly scratch at your head, making you try to bury yourself deeper into Elias arms “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you. Could you let me get a look at you?” The second voice asks.

You shake your head no, but feel how Elias starts to lower you down, you chirp again in a panic trying to hold on again, but before you can even try, a cold hand grabs yours while you are being sat on the soft floor. “There, there” Thomas hand comes up your cheek cleaning your tears as they fall. “There is nothing to be afraid of honey” He lets go of your hands and bring his hand to cradle your face, making you look up at him, he is smaller than Elias, slimmer too, long strawberry blonde hair framing an elegant face, a fanged smile directed at you, his eyes feel like they are swallowing you up, that bright vivid red almost shinning in the dim room, it makes the instincts in you try to get away, but his gentle hold turns a bit more forceful, holding you in place. “I know you are feeling fussy baby, but you need to start behaving, I won’t have any of my children behaving like brats” That gets you to freeze for a second, what does that mean? His child? But you are an adult! “Really, you should be grateful” He continues, not really carrying about the look of fear that crosses your eyes. “It’s obvious the vampire that was taking care of you, was doing a poor job at it. Just look at you! Almost just skin and bones” You did feel like you lost some weight, a bit expected seeing how your diet ended up the last weeks. “But everything is okay now” Elias says behind you, and pushes you a bit so you end up in Thomas lap. “You are home after all” Thomas says while hugging you.

You want to fight, you really do, but you are so tired, you have already been having a bad time on your own, and all the emotions from tonight are getting to you. The small voice in your head relishes in the fact that you are not alone anymore, even if you don’t know the people that are holding you so sweetly, but that can be a problem for the future you. The present you can feel their eyes start to become heavy and with a hand guiding your head to the crook of Thomas neck you decide that maybe a nap can take priority in this situation. Completely unaware of the smiles adorning the faces of the two vampires holding you, having at last found the perfect little addition for their small family.

------------------.* ✶ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ✶ *.------------------

#yandere #platonic yandere #parental yandere #soft yandere #yandere blog #yandere vampire #male yandere #familial yandere #tw infantilization #thats my first time posting my writting haha #so hope you all enjoy ^^

69 notes · View notes

hiseyeisonthesparrow · 2 days ago

Text

Hiya! Mormon here, so I'm sorry if I seem like a heretic taking over your post, but I actually have a half-decent answer!

So, in the Book of Mormon, there's an anti-Christ named Korihor who goes around preaching that Christ won't come and that everyone is a fool for believing in the traditions of their fathers. Alma, the prophet at the time, deals with Korihor in a couple of ways:

Ask WHY they hold the opinions they do. Alma teaches that you can't really overcome pure hate with a logical argument (as much as I wish that I could... ;v;), so the only thing we can do is question the source of the opinions. Instead of telling them their opinions are fundamentally anti-Christian because of x, y, and z, we can invite them to think more deeply about the root of their hate. The American Republican party is deeply rooted in fear (there's a very cool neuroscience study about it if you want to hear), so debating them will only solidify their beliefs. Instead, truly seek to understand them.

Preach the true gospel of LOVE and ACCEPTANCE. You cannot make them shut up, but you can proclaim your faith in God and Jesus louder than they can hate. Testifying with all the pure love of Christ that you can does wonders.

Invite them to leave! Ignore them! It is not your responsibility to convince them to be good people -- that's for the Holy Spirit to handle.

Here are some pieces of dialogue I've used to defend my positions to Christian Nationalists without coming across as inflammatory or offensive:

"Well, I remember that Jesus was a refugee, and he taught us to love "the least of us", so I really want to love my immigrant neighbors. Like the Good Samaritan -- the person that you help might be someone you don't agree with."

"God gave us the ability to choose between right or wrong. He also gave us the ability to choose to follow His path; not having a choice at all is Satan's goal. I think we should let people choose what they want to do, as long as it doesn't hurt other people."

"Sometimes I find that Satan tries to trap us by making us zoom in and only focus on one tiny detail. Taking a moment to look at the bigger picture helps me not get caught up in Satan's web of lies."

"I hope you find enough faith to overcome the fear in your heart. He wants you to have hope!"

"What are you worried about? ... Why are you so worried about it?"

"I think that God's love is the most important thing in the whole scriptures, don't you? That's why he gave us Jesus! So, because of that, I think treating people with love is more important than any rules or opinions."

The tricky part is to not come across as patronizing or insulting. Make sure to explain or defend your position rather than attacking theirs. It won't be perfect, but hopefully we can fill this world with a little more love and a little less MAGA idiocy (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Guys how do you deal with the, what feels like, hypocrisy of calling out Christians Nationalists. Cause like I won’t lie it feels weird calling them out for judging other because like… yeah I’m judging you. Ya know? Idk if I’m putting this correctly.

#sparrow squawks

141 notes · View notes

joelalorian · 2 days ago

Text

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Eleven

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 4924 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Cursing. Secret spy shit is not so secret anymore - Dave clues you in on nearly everything. Angst. Smut - somno PiV.. Injuries to human and dog. Vengeful Dave.

Series Masterlist

Dave raced back to town after dropping the girls off at their grandparents’ with a half-baked explanation and teary goodbyes. Over the years, they learned not to ask too many questions and happily took the girls. On the way, he called Ari.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I just left the girls with Carol’s parents. They haven’t seen them in a while and plan to take them to the Poconos for the week,” Dave explained.

“Good. I’m glad they’re safe and out of the way,” Ari replied. After a long pause, he added, “That’s not all you called for, is it?”

Dave sighed. “No. No, it’s not.”

“I’ve got eyes on her, don’t worry,” Ari said, reading him like a book. “I’ll let you know the moment something seems off.”

“I’m trusting you, Ari. She’s…”

“I know, boss. She’s important to you. That’s all I need to know. I’m on it.” Ari ended the call, leaving Dave to focus on strategizing for the upcoming meeting with Roger, Anna, and their mystery asset he believed in his heart was McCall.

An hour later, Dave had just pulled into the garage when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. “What do you have?” he greeted the caller.

“He’s still on her,” Ari’s voice came through the line, clipped and urgent. “Saw him near the coffee shop as she popped in. He’s following her to the park now. It’s McCall, no question.”

“Dammit!” Dave slammed his palm against the steering wheel, jaw clenched. “How close?”

“Too close for comfort,” Ari replied. “York, he’s not being subtle, either. Almost like he wants her to notice, for it to get back to you.”

His blood pressure spiked again. “He’s fucking toying with me. Stay on them. Don’t let her out of your sight. I don’t want him getting near her again.”

“You got it, boss,” Ari replied, his tone grim. “Want me to tell the boys to stock the safe house?”

“Yeah, you know the drill.”

“Will it just be the two of you or…”

“Just us. I called it off with Lisa last night. She can fucking fend for herself. Her car isn’t here anyway.” Dave ended the call, his mind racing. He couldn’t leave you exposed. He shouldn’t have left you alone this morning, but he had to take care of the girls first.

McCall was sending a message, and the longer he waited to act, the more danger you were in.

Dave raced inside. The house was empty as he packed an overnight bag to stash with his go bag in the back of the SUV. He went to your room next, shoving a bunch of stuff into a suitcase, careful to grab the things he knew you needed like that lotion you used and your favorite hoodie. He grabbed supplies for Ranger as well.

When everything was loaded in his SUV, Dave finally took a breath and texted you.

Dave: Can you come home? I need to talk to you.

You read his message right away but took your damned time responding. He could see the little dots appear and disappear, only to reappear again as you tried to come up with a response. Finally, after a lifetime of suspense, his phone buzzed.

You: Ok be there in 10

Those were the ten longest minutes of his life as he waited for you. Dave spent the entire time pacing, hating himself for how dismissive he was with you the evening before. You didn’t deserve that. He’d been so focused on protecting his girls that he didn’t have the mental capacity for anything else. Unfortunately, that left you getting the short end of the stick, and he deeply regretted that.

The sound of your car in the driveway set his nerves at ease. Until he saw your face as you entered the house, that was.

Dave could see at once that your walls were up. Arms wrapped tight around yourself after you disconnected Ranger’s leash. The dog sensed your energy, hovering at your side. Dave knew this was his doing, and he promised to make it right.

His footsteps echoed on the floor – he forgot to take his shoes off, but he couldn’t give a shit less – as he approached you. With slow, deliberate movements, he eased your arms apart, grasping one of your hands in his larger one when they fell to your sides.

“Come with me, please?” He phrased it as a question to ease your nerves, but he was already leading you to the back porch.

The sun was falling low in the sky, the golden light cascading over you as he led you to the porch swing. Ranger sat dutifully at your feet.

Dave watched your every move, his chest tightening when you turned to meet his gaze.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your expression matching your voice, wary and uncertain.

He struggled with how much to tell you and finally settled on a simple, “You’re in danger. That man that’s been following you? He’s… dangerous.” Dave wanted to kick himself for how lame he was being. He just couldn’t think straight with you looking at him like that, all wounded yet hopeful.

You scoffed. “Yeah, I already figured that much out after the way you reacted yesterday.”

“I need to take you away from here, to somewhere safe,” Dave explained softly, his hand still grasping yours.

He’s not sure what he expected, but your reaction confused him. You just nodded with an inscrutable expression on your face. He kinda thought you’d put up a fight.

“Where?”

“A safe house. The guys are stocking it up now, so it’ll be ready for you when we arrive.” Fear, determination, and something deeper flashed in his eyes as he gazed at you. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything I can once we’re safe, but I need you to trust me. Ok?”

He saw the same things reflected in your eyes when you nodded without question.

You didn’t know how to feel or what to think as Dave hustled you and Ranger into his car, your stuff already packed and loaded. The drive was quiet as Dave navigated the darkening roads. You stole glances at him, his jaw tight and one hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

“Dave,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “This man who’s been following me – who is he?”

“A threat,” Dave replied, his voice low as his eyes scanned the road. “One I can’t take lightly.”

“Obviously,” you snarked. “But why is he threatening me… us? There’s more to the story. I know there is. Please, just tell me.”

His eyes flashed to you quickly, hand tightening around yours again. “Ok. His name is Robert McCall. He’s my old commander from the team the guys and I were on.”

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“Some things happened, and we thought he died. Turns out he just faked his death and hid for years before resurfacing to come after the guys and me for some shit we did – things I will not talk about right now,” Dave warned.

Again, you nodded, squeezing his hand in support. “Ok, I won’t ask about those ‘things’ then.”

“Anyway, we came to an understanding around the time that Carol was diagnosed with cancer, and we parted on equitable terms. Or so I thought. In the few years since then, he’s… changed. Became angry at the government and everything it made us do back in the day. He’s, uh… he’s part of this case I’m investigating.”

Silence fell over the two of you again; the only sound in the vehicle was Ranger’s rhythmic panting. You mulled over Dave’s explanation, and, despite your overwhelming curiosity, you didn’t press for more. Instead, you pulled his hand up to your lips and kissed his knuckles. The warmth of his eyes when he looked at you was enough, and you let the car fall quiet.

After a while, you caved and broke the silence.

“Why isn’t my mom coming with us?” Not that you wanted her there, but still, you wondered. If you and the girls were in danger, surely she was, too?

“There’s something really important I need to tell you,” Dave began, his grip tightening around your hand.

“OK?” you replied hesitantly.

“Your mom and I… the marriage was never real.”

The truth bomb left you stunned, but not for long. So much made sense now – the weird interactions and lack of affection, Dave spending nights with you…

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you wondered.

With a grimace, he glanced between you and the road. “It was part of our cover for the operation. I couldn’t risk the wrong ears hearing and repeating the truth. It was easier to keep it a secret from everyone and play charades.”

Silence fell for a few minutes as you let that sink in. A roller coaster of emotions swirled within you, but the most important one was a sense of relief.

“I was planning on telling you everything the moment the mission ended,” Dave added, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

You nodded then. “I understand. It all makes sense, though. There were so many odd things about the marriage that made me wonder what the hell was going on. At the same time, I didn’t want to know.”

Dave glanced between you and the road again. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off you. “Is that why you never asked questions about me and her?”

“Yep. I thought, what did it matter if the marriage was real or fake or whatever? I figured it wasn’t for love. Otherwise, you’d never have gotten involved with me. Even in the moments when it hurt to see you with her, I still felt like you weren’t really with her. You know? All I really cared about was just getting to be with you when I could.”

He pulled your hand to his face, touching his lips to your knuckles in a soft, soothing kiss. “There was never any love, I swear. It was all fake – for this case. My team at the DIA created the cover story, Lisa volunteered for the role, and I ‘bought’ the house to get close to Roger.”

You shrugged, your eyes a little brighter. “Well, I’m glad to have confirmation that I’m not a true homewrecker. I couldn’t understand what you’d seen in my mom anyway, so I’m very pleased to know it wasn’t real. Otherwise, I’d have to question your judgment… and taste in women.”

Laughter filled the cabin of the SUV. “I do wonder, though,” you said, contemplating your mom’s accusations the night before. “Did my mom hope it would become a real marriage? She accused me of trying to steal you from her.”

A guttural groan slipped past Dave’s lips as he shook his head. He told you the conversation that occurred between the two of them the night before and how he put an end to the ruse by contacting his boss.

“I can’t fault her for trying, I guess,” you said, rolling your eyes at your mother’s crazy behavior. “I’m glad it’s officially over between you two, even if it was fake all along.”

“Me, too,” Dave admitted.

The lingering tension between the two of you dissipated now that the air was cleared. The conversation shifted to mundane things as the SUV ate up the miles.

Sometime later, Dave pulled to a stop in front of a cabin nestled deep in the woods, far removed from the chaos of the outside world. Towering pines surrounded the structure in every direction. Dave ushered you and Ranger inside after letting the dog sniff around and do his business. Dave locked the door behind him and checked every window to confirm they were secure.

You stood in the living room, in front of a glowing fire with your arms crossed as you watched him move about. “How long are we staying here?”

“As long as it takes,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. When he finally stopped moving, the weight of everything seemed to crash over him. He leaned against the wall, his head dropping into his hands.

“Dave…” you began, stepping closer until you stood a few feet directly in front of him.

He looked up, his chocolate eyes raw and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. He pushed off the wall, closing the space between you in half a stride. “I’ve been an idiot. Shutting you out like that while I made sure the girls were safe. I’m sorry.”

His head fell forward, forehead bumping against yours as you stared into his eyes, heart pounding. “Dave…”

“I love you,” he said, the words spilling from his mouth in a rush, like a dam giving way to flood waters. “I love you, and the thought of something happening to you – I can’t handle it.”

Tears stung your eyes as his words sank in, the raw sincerity in his voice undoing you. “I… I love you, too,” you whispered. A warm wave of relief flooded your senses at finally vocalizing that thing you’d been feeling for months but were too scared to admit.

Dave reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and the girls safe,” he murmured.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t like the previous times you kissed – it was deeper, more certain, as though he were pouring every ounce of himself into the kiss.

His hands were everywhere, caressing every bit of you he could reach as he slowly removed your clothes. Dave was soft and sensual in his movements, each kiss reverent, each touch like he was handling delicate crystal stemware. You returned each kiss and caress with tenderness of your own, knowing that’s what he needed right now.

You made love multiple times that night, alone in the cabin with Ranger standing guard outside the bedroom door like a furry sentinel.

In the morning, Dave woke first, the buzzing of an incoming message on his phone stirring him. After reading the quick note from Ari, he turned to face you.

You were splayed on your stomach, skin bare to the waist where the sheet and blanket covered you. Your skin gleamed in the early morning light entering the window. The sight took his breath away.

You loved him, just as he loved you.

It blew his mind.

Dave was in awe of you. How you made him feel, how you treated his girls like they were your own, how you fit into his life right from the first moment you met. It was meant to be, right? Surely, it was.

Desire swelled within him, and he pulled the covers further down your body, revealing the naked skin of your dimpled ass and thighs to his burning gaze. Moving with the sureness of a silent predator, Dave shifted to hover over your back and eased one hand slowly, tenderly between your thighs. Thick fingers tested your readiness for him, finding you wet and waiting from your night of lustful activities.

Torn between waking you with his tongue or his cock, Dave thought back to that night the two of you played Never Have I Ever. When you shared with him that you not only never visited a sex shop, but you also never had someone take you apart while you were still sleeping in the prone position.

His fingers dipped back inside you before coating his cock with your essence. When the overheated skin glistened and his hand glided along the wet shaft, he pitched forward to gently nudge his cock between your slightly parted thighs as his belly pressed against your luscious ass. Having worked you over several times during the night, Dave was able to sink into your depths easily, yet your pussy still gripped him tight.

Body weight supported by strong arms placed at your sides, Dave rocked his hips, setting a smooth pace as he fucked into you, head tipped forward to watch the meat of your ass jiggle with each thrust. You began to wake when he hit that spot you loved, sleepy moans slipping from your pretty lips.

He brought one hand up to brush a whisp of your hair away from your face so he could watch your expression as you came to full wakefulness with him buried deep inside you.

“Mmmmm, Dave,” you keened, eyes flying open to look at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning, my love,” he greeted between quiet grunts. His hips moved faster as you started to push back against him, body trembling as the pleasure washed over you.

When his arms began to shake with a mix of muscle fatigue and pleasure, Dave slumped against your back, pressing himself deeper inside you as he wriggled one hand beneath your body to tease your clit.

Neither of you heard the sound of the front door opening or Ranger’s playful bark as someone he knew entered the cabin, too lost in the haze of pending orgasm. Dave had you coming in minutes, his panting breaths in your ear as his hips worked into a frenzied pace and you screamed into the pillow. He followed closely behind, pulling out at the last second, stroking his cock for a beat before he shot ropes of cum across your dimpled ass. After the last drop fell, he smacked your fleshy rump and watched as your cum-covered ass jiggled deliciously.

“Now that’s a fucking sight,” Dave said in a voice still gruff with sleep.

“Breakfast is ready if you sex fiends are done in there!” A voice shouted from the kitchen, wrenching a scream from your lungs as you stared over your shoulder at Dave in terror.

Dave laughed at your reaction, patting your ass again. “Relax, Firecracker. It’s just Ari.”

Climbing from the bed, he cleaned up the mess left behind on your ass and slipped on a pair of joggers and a tee shirt. When he turned back to face you, he held up one of his tee shirts in one hand and your clothes from yesterday in the other. You were too busy burying your head in the pillow in sheer embarrassment to notice.

“Come on, baby,” Dave chuckled. “It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. Get dressed, and let’s go see what he brought for breakfast.”

“Can’t you just bring whatever it is in here?” you whined, sitting up to slip on his shirt. “There’s no way in hell I’m going out there right now.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, stepping aside when he opened the door to let Ranger bound into the room to see you before shutting the door again. He nodded a greeting to Ari as the sound of your giggles from the pup jumping on the bed to lick your voice echoed behind him.

“She not coming out?” Ari questioned, a knowing smirk gracing his lips as he drew a few breakfast sandwiches from the brown paper bag on the counter.

“What do you think? You just had to embarrass her, didn’t you?” Depleted after a night of active, enthusiastic lovemaking with you, Dave bit into his sandwich with the vigor of a starving man as Ari chuckled. Three bites, and it was nearly devoured.

“Have you told her any of the stories from—”

“Of course not!” Dave snapped. “Why the fuck would I tell her stories about my disastrous, youthful single days in the military? I want her to stick around, not ditch me for being a young, dumb manwhore.”

Ari chuckled as Dave snatched up the remaining sandwich and a can of Diet Coke before darting back to the bedroom. He could kill Ari for his shit timing, but they had important things to discuss, and time was of the essence.

“Here you go, kitten,” he teased, handing you the items with a flourish. “You can hide in here for a while more. The others are coming to go over the plan for the case. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come out.”

You waved him off, mouth already full of bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel, as you turned on the TV to keep yourself entertained.

By midday, Dave had a plan in place. The meeting was set with the location being scoped by Kovac and Resnik. Ari would remain behind at the cabin to ensure your safety. With Ari currently walking Ranger around the cabin parameter, the safe house was silent save for the methodical fabric rustling and quiet metal clinking as Dave packed his gear.

His movements were sharp and efficient as he double-checked his service weapon and extra clips. The dim glow of the overhead light cast long shadows across the wooden floors, stretching toward where you stood, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you watched him silently.

He was leaving, and you knew nothing about the plan, where he was going, if he would return in one piece. You were still in the dark about it all. Plausible deniability, Dave had said. It’s for your safety, Firecracker.

Utter bullshit. You knew enough for plausible deniability to be out the window.

“You’re really going without telling me anything?” you asked again, hating how your voice wavered despite the steel you tried injecting into it.

Dave stopped what he was doing, turning to face you, his dark, soulful eyes locked on yours. The look he gave you – steady, unwavering, full of warmth – should have been reassuring, but nothing could stop the fear in your chest from coiling tighter.

You didn’t have a good feeling about this, any of this. You’d at least like to know where he’d be in case something happened because deep down, you knew something would.

“I don’t have a choice,” he replied in a low but firm voice as he stepped toward you. He pulled you against the hardness of his chest, the heat of his body slightly calming your nerves as he held you. “If my old commander is involved, I need to know what he’s planning. He is lethal, and I can’t put you at risk. Me and the guys may be the only ones who can stop him.”

Resting your head against Dave’s broad shoulder, you breathed in his scent. He was all Irish Spring soap and expensive cologne, the aroma equaling the masculine strength he commanded. “I get that. You have a job to do, but do you have to leave me here? Alone? Wouldn’t I be better off with you?”

His grip tightened around you as he kissed the crown of your head. “Ari is staying here with you. He’s one of the best – I wouldn’t let him stay here with you if he wasn’t. You’ll be safe with him and Ranger.”

Safe.

The word felt flimsy when the threat looming over both of you had already crept into your life and taken root.

You searched his face, desperate to tamp down the horrible feeling swirling in your gut. “Promise me you’ll come back,” you murmured. You couldn’t lose him now, ever, not after finally admitting the depth of your feelings for each other.

Dave’s jaw tightened. His fingers flexed slightly where they held you before one hand slid upward to take your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Titling your head upwards with his soft grip, Dave’s chocolate eyes burned into you, full of fire and promise. ‘I’ll always come back to you,” he said, his voice deep and filled with emotion. “You are my life now. You and my girls.”

The warehouse was a skeletal structure, its rusted beams arching over the open floor like the ribs of some long-dead beast. The stench of oil and damp cement clung to the air, mixing with the distant hum of the city just beyond the docks. The location was so unlike their previous meeting places, speaking volumes of the sudden change in dynamics with this particular meeting.

Dave stepped through the squeaky, weathered metal door, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Ahead, Roger and Anna stood waiting beneath the dim overhead lights.

Roger grinned, casual as ever with his hands in his pockets like he had nothing to fear. “York. Right on time for once.”

Dave didn’t slow his stride. His gaze was sharp, cutting straight through their act. ‘Where’s… our mutual friend?” he demanded, his voice controlled but laced with an edge of impatience.

Anna’s painted lips curled at the edges, her dark eyes assessing. “He had… other priorities.”

His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to remain impassive. “Convenient,” he said dryly. “His presence was the whole fucking point of the meeting.”

Roger chuckled, making Dave’s skin crawl as he watched the man swirl the amber liquid in his glass. Even in a fucking dingy warehouse, Roger found his way to a glass of hard liquor. “Relax, York. You’ll meet him soon enough.”

Jaw clenching, Dave silently counted to ten. He had to play this carefully. They didn’t know he already knew McCall’s true identity and suspected his ultimate goal. The entire operation could unravel if he was not careful.

The conversation drifted into logistics – coded talk of shipments and handoffs, scheduling another meeting before the final stage of high-level governmental information was exchanged – but Dave barely heard it. His mind was elsewhere, coiled tight with the realization that McCall had purposefully avoided this meeting.

It wasn’t a delay.

It was a fucking message.

And Dave had a gut-wrenching feeling that the message had been delivered straight to you.

With careful wording and barely suppressed annoyance, he wrapped up the meeting. With phone already in hand when he stepped outside, Dave didn’t waste a second in calling Resnik and Kovac.

“Did you catch all that? He wasn’t fucking there!” he spat, breaking into a run for his SUV, no longer caring about breaking his cover.

Resnik cursed under his breath. “Think he’s onto us?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dave snapped, his gut twisting into knots. “Get to the safe house. Now!”

The drive to the safe house felt interminable, the miles passing too slowly as he struck the steering wheel frustratingly. His calls to Ari went unanswered. This could not be good.

How did he not see this meeting for what it was?

A fucking diversion.

He would kill McCall if anything happened to you.

The only peace of mind for Dave was the fact that his daughters were safe with their grandparents.

When he finally pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, he knew something was wrong.

The front door was open, swinging slightly on its hinges. The porch light flickered, illuminating the stillness of the surrounding woods as twilight settled in.

Cold dread washed over him.

“Stay sharp,” he ordered when Resnik and Kovac exited their vehicles behind him. All three men drew their weapons.

The interior of the cabin was wrecked. Furniture overturned, broken glass scattered across the floor, the unmistakable scent of blood in the air.

And then he saw Ari.

The man was slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his side, blood seeping through his fingers. Ranger lay beside him, wounded and whining pitifully while Ari’s free hand covered the wound beneath his matted fur.

On the floor in front of them sat the heart necklace Dave gave you for Christmas, the chain snapped.

Pulse pounding in his ears, Dave dropped to his knees. He ignored the pain of the impact with the hardwood floor as his fingers closed around the necklace. “What the hell happened?”

Ari’s eyelids fluttered, his face pale from blood loss. “He… came out of nowhere. Overpowered me and stabbed Ranger when this guy tried to bite him. He fucking took her.” He coughed then, visibly wincing with the pain of it. “I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry.”

The cabin disappeared as Dave’s vision narrowed. His anger sparked like a live wire, his breath coming in sharp, barely controlled breaths. He felt like he could fucking cry with the mix of emotions swirling within his chest. “Who?” Dave asked, though he already knew the answer.

Ari coughed again; a spot of blood mixed with his spittle as he spoke. “McCall.”

The confirmation sent a wave of fury crashing through him, his worries turning dark and suffocating. “Did you see which way he went?” Dave’s voice stayed deadly calm, not belying the roiling emotions bubbling wildly under the surface.

“North… in a black SUV…” Ari lost consciousness then, and Dave knelt in front of him, frozen.

Movement behind him broke Dave from his daze. Resnik was already moving, his phone out as he finished a call. “Help is on the way.”

Dave slowly rose to his feet, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. His mind whirled, already calculating, strategizing how best to track McCall down. But beneath it all, something primal fought its way to the surface. McCall took you, hurt your dog in the process, and there would be hell to pay.

McCall would pay with his life. Dave could promise that much.

Turning to Kovac, he said, “Stay with them. Make sure they both get patched up. She’ll kill me if Ranger doesn’t pull through.” The other man nodded solemnly, and Dave turned to Resnik. “You’re with me.”

The two men stalked toward his SUV. Dave’s body was coiled with a surging wave of rage that promised nothing short of scorched earth-level destruction.

tbc

Chapter Twelve

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk @lovely-vamp-princess

#stepdad!dave york x f!reader #dave york equalizer 2 #soft yet intense dave #dave york fluff #dave york angst #pedrostories #stepdad!dave #dave york smut

21 notes · View notes