#taa imagine

[v6quewrlds]

❝ guilt trip, t. alexander-arnold. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: every year, trent and his mates bet on no nut november. and every year trent fails to hold out. it's really not your fault you can't hold off.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: so sorry this is up so late <3 day ten of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, brief fingering, begging.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: trent alexander-arnold x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.7k.

"I can't believe it's November already," you said, your eyes fixed on the calendar. The page, a warm palette complementary to the warm autumnal hues of the season, glared back at you with a single, scribbled note: "No Nut November begins today". You sighed, knowing what this meant for you and Trent's love life for the next thirty days.

Trent sailed into the room, his broad frame casting a shadow over your thoughts. "I think this is my year, babe," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I swear I'm gonna win that bet."

You could only roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the bet. "You've never made it past the first week," you reminded him, your voice laden with skepticism.

Every November 1st, you had come to expect the same conversation with Trent. You knew the drill: he'd announce the start of the "No Nut November" challenge with the excitement of a kid on Christmas Eve, and you would play along, feigning shock and annoyance. But this year, you felt a twinge of genuine annoyance. You had been dating for almost two years now, and you had hoped that by this point, the juvenile betting pool with his football mates would've grown old. But here you were, staring down the barrel of another month-long abstinence challenge.

Trent, ever the competitor, was undeterred by your eye roll. "This year's different," he assured you, crossing the room to give your arm a playful squeeze. "Me and the boys have upped the stakes. The winner gets bragging rights and a sweet little prize."

You raised an eyebrow. "And what's the prize this time?" you asked, already bracing yourself for the inevitable.

Trent's eyes lit up. "It's a weekend getaway to a posh spa resort. Imagine it, babe," he said, his voice full with enthusiasm. "Just you and me, no interruptions, no training, no matches."

You couldn't help but feel a spark of interest. A weekend at a spa was something you hadn't indulged in for quite some time. "And who's doing the challenge this year?" you inquired, knowing full well that you would be the one keeping Trent honest.

"Just me, Dom, Ryan, and Harvey," Trent listed off his competitors with a grin. "But it's mainly between Dom and me, to be honest."

You sighed, knowing that Dominik was going to be the toughest competition for Trent. "Alright, you know the rules," you said, trying to hide your amusement. "No funny business for the next thirty days."

Trent nodded solemnly. "I know, I know," he said, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. "But just think of the prize, love. A whole weekend of pampering and no distractions. We can finally relax."

You couldn't argue with that. "Fine, I'll hold you to it," you said with a smirk. "But if you even think about cheating..."

"Would I ever?" Trent protested, his eyes wide and innocent. You just raised an eyebrow at him, and he chuckled, admitting defeat. "Okay, okay, I'll behave."

The first week was surprisingly easy, with Trent's focus on the bet keeping him in check. The two of you spent your evenings watching movies and playing board games, your hands brushing against each other in innocent gestures that somehow seemed more intimate than your usual passionate encounters.

But as November marched on, the tension grew. You could feel it in the way Trent's eyes lingered on you, the way his touch slightly lingered. The air in the apartment thickened with unspoken desire, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from teasing him too much. You knew how much this ridiculous challenge meant to him, and you didn't want to be the one to make him stumble.

One evening, with about four days left to go, Trent came home from training with a new haircut, the fresh scent of aftershave wafting through the door before he did. You were in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for your dinner, but you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him. His hair was buzzed closer to his scalp than it had been that morning, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and the intensity in his brown eyes. Though you would deny it, you nearly dropped the knife at the sight of him.

"What do you think?" Trent asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice as he spun around to show you the full picture.

You couldn't help but stare. The clean-shaven edges of his head and the short, textured hair on top were always a favorite look of yours, but the excitement in his eyes was purely childlike. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile. "Looks good," you said, your voice a little too flat. "Very clean, babe."

Trent stepped closer, leaning against the kitchen counter, his gaze trained on your reaction. "Thanks," he said, his voice a little too casual. "Thought I'd go for a change."

You could see the challenge in his eyes, the silent dare to push the boundaries of the bet. You scoffed, trying to play it cool. "Don't get too cocky," you warned him. "You've still got a few days to go."

Trent chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "Cocky?" he repeated, his smirk growing wider at the double entendre. "Now why would you say that?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your expression neutral as you continued to prep dinner. "Because you know it's going to be hard to resist," you said, your voice low. "Especially looking like that."

Trent pushed himself off the counter and sauntered over to you, his movements slow and deliberate. "Is that so?" he murmured, his breath warm on your neck as he peered over your shoulder. His fingers danced across your waist, making your heart flutter despite your resolve to keep things PG for the next few days.

"Trent, don't," you chided, swatting his hand away, but not before you felt the electricity of his touch zipping through your body. You turned to face him, your desire shimmering in your eyes despite your stern expression. "You're making this impossible."

"Impossible?" he said with a cheeky smile, his thumb brushing the side of your face. "You know you want to." His voice was a low murmured tease that sent shivers down your spine.

You tried to maintain your composure, but the smell of his fresh shower gel and the sight of his toned arms flexing as he leaned against the counter was making it increasingly difficult. "I've been helping you remember?" you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"Ah, but what's the fun in that?" Trent whispered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, it can stay our secret?"

You knew you should be the voice of reason, but his touch was making your knees weak, and the way he looked at you with that cocky grin had your mind racing. You stepped back, trying to create some distance, but the kitchen was small, and he followed you, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

"Trent," you protested, even as she felt yourself melting into his embrace. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch, your body craving his warmth.

He kissed your neck, his lips lingering on your sensitive skin. "Come on, love," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "One little slip won't hurt."

Your resolve was wavering. The smell of him, the heat of his body, and the promise in his eyes were too tempting. "Trent," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't. You'll lose the bet."

Trent leaned in closer, his mouth finding yours in a gentle but urgent kiss. "It's okay. I don't care anymore," he murmured against your lips. "I just need you."

You felt the last of your resolve crumbling. You pushed away the guilt that tried to surface. After all, it was just one time. And you had missed him, more than you would like to admit. "Fine," you whispered, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "But you better make it worth it."

With a growl of victory, Trent swept you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom, leaving the chopped vegetables forgotten on the kitchen counter. He laid you gently on the bed, his hands tracing the curves of your body with a hunger that had been building for weeks. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Your kisses grew more urgent, your hands more explorative. Trent peeled off your sweater, revealing your bare chest, a silent invitation that hadn't gone unnoticed. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching in his throat. Your pulse quickened, the anticipation of his touch making your skin prickle with excitement. He kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours as he untied your sweats and slid them off your legs.

Trent's strong hands roamed your body, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a gasp from you. You reached for his shirt, tugging it over his head with an eagerness that surprised you. His skin was warm and smooth, the muscles of his chest tightening under your palms.

You rolled over the bed, a tangle of limbs and passion, the intensity of your kisses matching the urgency in your movements. You felt the heat of his erection pressing against your center, and you moaned softly, your arousal growing. Trent kissed a trail down your body, his teeth grazing your skin, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

Your hands found his hair, tugging him closer as he nibbled at your skin, teasing and suckling until you were squirming beneath him. His hand slid down your stomach, his fingers finding your wetness, and you arched your back, your breath hitching in response. He chuckled darkly against your skin, knowing just how much it drove you crazy.

Trent took his time, savoring every inch of your body as if it were his first time. His touch was both gentle and demanding, leaving you gasping for more. You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips when he slipped a finger inside you, stroking you in a rhythm that had your hips moving in sync. Your legs fell open wider, giving him full access as he kissed and licked his way down your body.

The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the occasional sound of skin against skin. Your thoughts swirled in a haze of desire, your body responding to Trent's every touch with an urgency that had been building for weeks. You could feel the tension coiling within you, tightening with every stroke and kiss.

Trent paused, his eyes locking with yours as he reached for his shorts. Your chest heaved with anticipation, your heart racing at the thought of what was to come. He hovered over you, his gaze filled with a mix of need and love.

Without a word, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his erection nudging at your entrance. Your eyes fluttered shut as he pushed in, the sensation of being filled by him almost too much to bear. He groaned, his muscles tensing as he buried himself deep inside you. The two of you moved together, your rhythm a dance you had perfected over the years you had been together. Each thrust brought a wave of pleasure that crashed over you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the bed sheets.

Trent moaned into your ear, his voice a mix of passion and affection that sent shivers down your spine. "You feel so good," he murmured, his breath hot and ragged. You responded with moans of pleasure, your body arching to meet his as the tension grew tauter. The room was a cocoon of passion, the rest of the world outside your window forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"Baby," you whispered, your voice a soft plea as the tension coiled tighter within you. Trent's rhythm grew more urgent, his breaths shallow and ragged against your skin. The heady scent of your combined arousal filled the room, a silent testament to your shared need.

"Yeah? Tell me what you need, pretty girl," Trent's voice was strained as he moved above you, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort to hold himself up.

Your nails raked down his back as he brought your legs up around his waist, changing the angle and driving even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt the orgasm building, the heat pooling in your core. "Please," you begged, your voice barely audible.

Trent kissed you again, his movements growing more frantic as he felt you tighten around him. He knew you were close, and the knowledge spurred him on. "Come on, baby," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "What do you need, love?"

"Harder," you gasped, your eyes wide with desire. "Please, T. Harder."

Trent complied, his strokes becoming more forceful, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. Your breathing grew ragged, and your eyes squeezed shut as the wave of pleasure built, threatening to consume you. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, and you knew that with one more push, you would be over.

"Now, baby," Trent whispered, his voice a mix of command and desperation. And with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your orgasm ripping through your body like a storm. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as you clenched around him. The intensity of your climax took you by surprise, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.

Trent followed closely behind, his own release crashing over him like a wave. He buried his face in your neck, his breaths coming in heavy pants against your skin. You felt him pulse inside you, the sensation sending aftershocks of pleasure through your core. Your hand gently fluttered over the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck, your touch soothing his panting breaths.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the distant murmur of the city below. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt, knowing that Trent had just failed to win the bet. But as Trent rolled off you, pulling you close, you pushed the thought aside. For now, you would revel in the warmth of his embrace, the feel of his chest rising and falling with each breath.

Trent leaned in and kissed your forehead gently. "Worth it?" he whispered, a smug smile playing on his lips.

Your head shook but you couldn't help but laugh. "You're such a tease," you huffed, your voice still shaky from the aftermath of your orgasm.

"Couldn't resist," Trent said with a grin, his chest still heaving. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. "Besides, it's not a big deal anyway. Dom gave up this morning."

Your eyes widened in shock. "What?" you exclaimed, pushing yourself up to look at him. "You mean you could've..."

Trent nodded, his cheeky grin growing wider. "Could've," he confirmed, "but I had to make it good. For the prize, obviously."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. "Trent," you said, shoving weakly at his chest. "I felt so guilty."

Trent chuckled, kissing your forehead again. "It's alright, love," he assured you. "I think we've been good for long enough."

You sighed, a mix of relief and annoyance crossing your face. "I guess. But you could've told me sooner," you pouted, snuggling closer to his warmth.

Trent shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?" He leaned in, kissing your cheek. "Besides, we both know I was going to win anyway." His voice was full of good-natured arrogance, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes, even as you felt a warmth spread through your chest at his confidence.

The tension of the past few weeks dissipated into the comfortable silence that had become a familiar blanket between you. Your mind raced with what you could say to scold him, but the feeling of his strong arms around you, his heart beating steady and strong against your chest, was too comforting to let go.

[the-offside-rule]

Trent Alexander - Arnold (Liverpool) - Good Cop, Bad Cop

Requested: yes

Prompt: 6) Good-cop, Bad-cop parenting

Warnings: none

Baby Prompts

As the tunes had been booming throughout the Alexander-Arnold household gym, Trent focused on his workout, the rhythmic thud of weights hitting the floor echoing in the room. "Dad?" Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Mila, his adorable toddler, toddled in, holding a packet of biscuits. Trent dropped the weight, smiling brightly upon seeing his daughter. "Trent, look what I found!" Mila exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. Trent sighed at hearing her say his name instead of 'Dad'. He just struggled to correct her or even tell her to stop. "Oh, what have you got there, Mila?" With an irresistible smile, she extended the packet towards her father. Unable to resist, Trent took a biscuit from the packet and handed it to her, secretly reveling in the joy on her face.

As Trent resumed his workout, Mila waddled away into the kitchen where Y/n was cooking the family dinner and spotted her daughter munching on her biscuit. "Mila? Can I have the biscuits please?" Mila nodded, guilt etched in her face. "Where did you get these?" She asked. "Trent." Mila replied. "Mila, how many times? You should call him Dad." Y/n said. "Now, into the living room, I'll put on some cartoons while you colour."

Trent had moved onto his cool-down and was relaxing on the bike. Y/n walked in, holding the packet of biscuits. Trent looked at her confused, before reaching to grab one. She slapped his hand away gently, making him hiss. "Why did you give her these? She's going to spoil her dinner." Trent grinned, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Well, I couldn't say no to those puppy-dog eyes. Blame it on her irresistible charm, gets it from me." Y/n playfully rolled her eyes. "You're such a softie. Now, let's see if we can burn off those biscuits together."

Trent, catching his breath, looked at Y/n. "You know, these biscuits are like you." Y/n arched a brow. "Sweet, sometimes a bit crumbly, but always worth it." Y/n chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. "Smooth talker, aren't you? Well, you go shower and maybe, I'll treat you to something other than a bourbon biscuit." Y/n winked, before turning to walk away. "Is it sweeter than a bourbon?" He teased. "If you'd rather the bourbon babe, I will leave you with the bourbons."

[f1daydreamers]

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re a tease, asking for things you supposedly already have. Trent catches on... eventually.

A/N: This is my first social media AU so bear with me if it absolutely sucks, also my first time writing for Trent so a bunch of firsts going on today. Enjoy!

Warnings: not much, just a lot of fluff and shite captions lol

...

yourusername | 📍Venice, Italy

tagged venice.explore and calvinklein

liked by yourbsf, calvinklein, and 17,786 others

yourusername can I call you later?

view all 2671 comments

user1 pretty ladyyyyyyy

calvinklein summer collection has never looked better 😍

— yourusername have never loved a black dress more

yourbsf photo creds and the second glass are all me.. right?

— yourusername ofc 😇

user2 omg i need to go to venice asap

user3 i thought you were in la this week for a photoshoot with hudabeauty??

— yourusername next week!! super excited omg 🩷

…

trentarnold66

liked by liverpoolfc, andyrobertson94, and 946,716 others

trentarnold66 Recharging 🔋

view all 76,936 comments

andyrobertson94 Right, there’s no need to flex the arms 😒

— trentarnold66 I was just bending them? 🙃

liverpoolfc Back at camp soon ❤️

— trentarnold66 💪

user6 BYE TRENT FINALLY POSTED HOLIDAY PICS SO I CAN SLEEP NOW

user7 can you choke me with those arms thanks bae

— user8 so real 🤣

judebellingham No invite lad? I see how it is 🫤

— liked by trentarnold66

…

yourusername

tagged hudabeauty, hudabeautyshop, and kayali

liked by hudabeauty, trentarnold66, and 30,651 others

yourusername Coming to you… July 👀

view all 9862 comments

yourbsf A DREAM IM SO PROUD OF YOU BABE

— yourusername i love you 🥹

user4 aaahhhhhhh this has been such a long time coming!!! remember ur youtube videos when u used to review their products?

— liked by trentarnold66

hudabeauty A literal real-life doll 😘

— yourusername says the literal makeup magician ❤️

user5 TRENT LIKED????

— user9 who’s that?

— user5 ONLY THE BEST RB IN THE WORLD WHAT

…

trentarnold66

liked by liverpoolfc, yourusername, and 976,816 others

trentarnold66 Singapore 🇸🇬 Feels real good to be back.

view all 126,625 comments

liverpoolfc What’s up, Vice Captain? 💪

— trentarnold66 🫡

user10 liverpool’s very own ❤️

yourusername damn.

— liked by trentarnold66

virgilvandijk Let’s get it!

user5 OMGGG THEYRE DEFO DATINGGG WAIT

user12 don’t know who yourusername is but she’s verified and trent liked her most recent post now she’s commented on his???? i smell a new couple 👀

…

yourusername | 📍 Liverpool

tagged liverpoolfc

liked by trentarnold66, harvelliott, and 29,872 others

yourusername bleeding red today, bleeding red everyday

view all 11,463 comments

user12 she does know trent’s mural is literally opposite hendo’s right? 🧐

— liked by yourusername

— user12 OMG SHE LIKED MY COMMENTTTT

harvelliott love it 🌹

— user5 DUDE WHO IS THIS GIRL DATING OMFHDJSJSE

trentarnold66 Hmm

— harvelliott 😂

yourbsf fit went hard.

— yourusername not everyone’s agreeing w u 😒

— yourbsf you mean….

— yourusername shh

…

…

trentarnold66

liked by judebellingham, liverpoolfc, and 817,625 others

trentarnold66 Skipper today but winning in front of you is the best part ❤️🏟️

view all 262,527 comments

user5 IS HE TALKING ABOUT YOURUSERNAME

— user13 bro you lot reach sm wtff he’s obviously talking about the fans lmao they played at home today

judebellingham serious player

— liked by trentarnold66

yourusername should I say congrats?

— trentarnold66 Only if you’ve changed shirts

— yourusername so take off yours then

— liked by trentarnold66

…

…

yourusername

liked by yourbsf, trentarnold66, and 96,726 others

yourusername my mom approves

view all 70,637 comments

user5 I CALLED IT FROM THE START YESSSSHDHDHSHSHHS YALL ARE SO CUTE

yourbsf ok trying to convince ppl that i’m the other one in ur pics is getting harder and harder to do

— yourusername 😂😂

trentarnold66 Shirt’s all yours

— yourusername took you long enough

— trentarnold66 I got there in the end 🙂

yoursister does that mean I get to keep Harvey's shirt now?

— yourusername i bet you've already taken it anyway

— yoursister if I speak I’m in big trouble

…

trentarnold66

tagged yourusername

liked by yourusername, andyrobertson94, and 1.2 million others

trentarnold66 Dear Darling ❤️

andyrobertson94 Congrats Brother 🫂

— liked by trentarnold66

yourusername should’ve posted the pic where you were preeing my old yt vids

— trentarnold66 I don’t recall that 🤨

— yourusername little liar

— trentarnold66 Little? Who’s the liar now?

— user12 YALL ARE SOOOOOOOO

user5 I WANT MY FINDERS FEE 👩‍⚖️

harvelliott Beautiful 🤩

…

Masterlist

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [eventually smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking ]

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

Chapter 1 - Trent. | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 12.5k

The first time Trent bought you a gift, it was for your birthday—years ago, when everything between you was still in that gray space. You couldn’t name it if you tried but it wasn’t friendship but it certainly wasn’t something else. It was subtle at first, the way things were changing. He wasn’t even supposed to come to your party. He had a match but he made the effort to drop by for a little while. He didn’t make a scene or grab attention; it wasn’t like him to do that. But there was something about the way he navigated through the crowd, like he was looking for someone in particular. You. When he found you, standing near the edge of the party, he smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, because there was something he was holding back, something he didn’t know how to say.

“Hey, happy birthday, pretty girl,” he said. The nickname he’d called you for ages made your heart ache every time. He leaned in to hug you. It should've been quick, casual, nothing out of the ordinary. But the moment his arms were around you, you felt a warmth spread through your chest that only he made you feel.

“I didn’t think you were coming?” You smiled back at him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, glancing around at the crowd before dropping his gaze to you again. “I can’t stay long, but I, uh… I wanted to give you a little something on your actual birthday.” He smiled as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box.

“Oh…Thanks… that’s really sweet, T. What is this?” You stared at it for a second, a little surprised. It wasn’t awkward as much as it was charged. 

“Just something I saw and thought of you,” he said simply, though the weight of those words hung in the air. You blinked, taken aback.

“You think about me?” You asked. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he smiled, almost shyly, and ran a hand over his hair. 

“Uh yeah,” he admitted earnestly, but almost embarrassed. He thought about you a lot and he could never tell you just how much, so his voice was soft. It made your heart skip in a way you hadn’t expected. There was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with everything unsaid between the two of you. Your fingers trembled a little as you opened the box. Inside was a necklace—delicate and beautiful, not over-the-top in looks but you knew the price tag was almost stupid. It was Van Clef, it was a gold little diamond butterfly and it just felt… right. It felt very you and Trent. Like something if you knew, it was extravagant but on the surface it looked like something so simple. It sparkled in the light, and you could immediately tell how much thought he had put into picking it.

“T… this is gorgeous,” you breathed out, lifting it out of the box to admire it closer.

“I’m glad you like it.” He watched you, his eyes softening. Without thinking, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug again. But this time, it was different—charged in a way that had never been there before. His arms circled around you, and you could feel the way he pulled you in tighter, almost as if he didn’t want to let go. You rested your head against his chest, the soft sound of his heartbeat steady in your ear, and the warmth of his body seeped into yours. It was the kind of hug that made the world fall away. You were vaguely aware of the party continuing on around you, the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses, but all of that seemed distant. All you could focus on was the way his hands rested on your lower back, the way his body fit perfectly against yours, and how easy it would be to stay like this. The hug lingered, far longer than what anyone could consider appropriate for two friends. You both knew it, but neither of you pulled away. It felt like you were both standing on the edge of something, something that was just waiting for one of you to acknowledge. But neither of you did. Instead, you stayed wrapped up in him, in that quiet moment that felt suspended in time. When you finally, reluctantly, pulled back, your eyes met his, and for a brief second, the space between you felt charged with all the words neither of you had the courage to say.

“Thank you, T,” you whispered, your voice soft but thick with something unspoken.  He smiled, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—something deeper.

“You’re welcome, pretty girl, happy birthday.” Your fingers brushed against the necklace, still cradled in the box. You hadn’t even put it on yet, but already, it felt like it meant more than just a birthday gift. It felt like a secret, something that was just between the two of you. After he left that night, you went up to your room and immediately clasped the necklace around your neck. The weight of it was delicate but constant, a reminder of him. You wore it every day after that, like a piece of him was always with you, even if no one else knew what it meant. And in the days that followed, you caught yourself touching the necklace absentmindedly, like a reflex. Whenever someone asked about it, you’d smile and brush off the question, but inside, it felt like the necklace was tethered to a part of your heart that Trent had unknowingly claimed. You hadn’t yet figured out what it all meant, but every time you saw him after that, it was there—hanging between the two of you, unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a necklace. It was a shift, a turning point, a moment where you could feel something deeper taking root. You wore it like a secret, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t the only one thinking about him. Trent was thinking about you, too. More than he could ever say.  The necklace tethered you to him in ways you hadn’t yet fully realized. You wore it every day, and though no one else knew it was from him, he knew. It was like a private, silent confession, a symbol of something growing between you two, something neither of you had the courage to speak aloud. Even when you were with other guys—laughing with them, holding their hand, even kissing them—Trent would notice the necklace hanging against your skin. It was a quiet, painful reminder that no matter how close anyone else got, you were still wearing something of his. His. Trent winced every time he saw it. The sight of you with someone else, another guy’s arm draped around you, it hurt more than he liked to admit. But it was the necklace, his necklace, that held his attention, keeping him tethered to you despite the distance he tried to keep. It killed him to see you with them, laughing, kissing, as if they had some claim over you. And yet, there was that small, irrational part of him that found solace in the fact that, even in those moments, you still wore something he had given you. 

That night, the night of your birthday, the hug—the way your body had pressed against his—was terrifying to Trent. The way your soft scent of cedarwood and violets lingered on his clothes long after you let go, the way your hands had touched him with that familiar warmth, all of it burned into his memory. He had hugged you countless times before, but this time was different. This time, it felt like you fit perfectly into him, like his body had been waiting for yours all along. And your laugh…  god, the way it sent him over the edge. That night, it was like his walls were crumbling, every instinct in him screaming that this was more than friendship, more than some passing crush. It was deeper, more consuming than he could have ever imagined. Suddenly, the idea of you and him wasn’t just some distant dream. It was real. He was completely attached to you now, and that terrified him more than anything. But what was he supposed to do? Jack was his best friend. Jack… your older brother. Jack… his best friend since primary school. Trent couldn’t betray him like that. He couldn’t act on these feelings, no matter how much he wanted to. He shouldn’t have been so drawn to you, but every time you were near, it was impossible to ignore the pull between you. So he kept his distance as best he could, leaving you tied solely by a sentimental gift.  He continued to see other girls, hoping it would distract him, help him forget. But nothing worked. Every time he kissed another girl, held another girl’s hand, there was a hollowness in his chest because none of them were you. They didn’t laugh like you, didn’t look at him the way you did, and they certainly didn’t smell like the Byredo al d'Afrique. Even as he pretended to move on, the memory of that hug—the way your body had fit so perfectly against his—haunted him. It was no longer just a harmless crush. He was in deep. And he didn’t know how to stop it. And the necklace, the first of many gifts that followed it, sitting atop your decalogue every day was just rubbing salt in the wound because no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, Trent knew the truth. He wanted you. He was completely, undeniably attached. And that terrified him more than anything else. 

This year, It had been one of those birthdays you didn’t want to celebrate. The boy you’d been seeing had ended things, and you were still licking your wounds from the whole ordeal. Despite your reluctance, your best friend Layla and your brother, Jack had insisted on throwing you a party at the house. The decorations were beautiful, and your friends had shown up, making it as lively as it could be. But no matter how much you smiled, how many ‘thank yous’ you muttered, there was a hole in your chest that only one person could fill.

Trent. 

Your brother’s best friend—who, at this point, was just that. A best friend of your brother. Nothing more to you. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. Trent had been away for a match, he always was around your birthday so you hadn’t expected to see him at all tonight, but still, a part of you couldn’t help but pout as you realized he hadn’t even texted. He always texted. If he was away. He always made an effort. No matter where he was. It stung more than you wanted to admit. The night dragged on, drinks were poured, and laughter filled the air, but your mind was stuck on the absence of that one text message. You were lost in thought when you suddenly heard Layla’s voice, sharp and breathless, cut through the chatter.

"Oh my fucking God," she muttered, her eyes wide, fixed on something outside. Her hand gripped your arm tightly. You frowned at her, confused, but followed her gaze to the window. That’s when you saw him. 

Trent.

He was stepping out of a sleek Mercedes G-Wagon, a bow—an actual bow—wrapped around the top of the car like something out of a commercial. Your heart stopped, your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you didn’t register the car, didn’t understand what it meant. All you could see was him.  He looked impossibly good, dressed in all black, his usual confidence radiating off him as he made his way up the driveway toward the house. Your mouth fell open, and you barely noticed the laughter that erupted around you. Jack and Trent’s friend Noah let out a booming laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Trent, you’re tapped," Noah chuckled, clearly amused. Jack stood frozen for a second, staring out the window with his arms crossed. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me." He shook his head slowly, mumbling under his breath, Your heart was in your throat, pounding loudly in your ears. You felt like the whole world had slowed down as you watched Trent approach. Your eyes hadn’t left him, too stunned to even react properly. The car, the bow, all of it started to sink in, but none of that mattered as much as the sight of him standing at the front door, about to walk in. He had messaged you. Not with words on your phone, but with something far more impossible to ignore. Layla squealed with excitement, grabbing you in a tight hug, her energy infectious as she bounced on her toes. You were still in disbelief at the sheer grandiosity of the gift, staring out at the car parked outside with its oversized bow. But despite your shock, it seemed like everyone around you had expected something like this—teasing aside, they weren’t that surprised. Layla leaned in close, her voice dropping into a sing-song whisper.

“He loves you,” she teased, drawing out the word with a knowing smirk. You shook your head quickly, a small laugh escaping you.

“No, he does not,” you said, trying to brush off the idea. You wished he did, but in your mind, that was far from reality. You were just Jack’s little sister, nothing more. 

“He’s just being nice.” Out loud, you were casual. Your tone was a little firmer, as if trying to convince yourself as much as her.  Layla grinned, nudging you with her elbow.

 “I wish boys were ‘nice’ like that to me.” She giggled. Meanwhile, Jack was dapping up Trent, shaking his head in disbelief but with a smile.

"You’re fucking insane, bro," Jack said, his voice carrying a mix of awe and amusement. "But… nice of you. She hadn’t been happy all night ‘til you showed up." Trent flicked his eyes to you, catching the beaming smile that had spread across your face. He smiled softly, a hint of pride tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew it wasn’t the car that had lifted your spirits. It was the fact that he’d made the effort to be here, to make sure your birthday wasn’t just another forgettable night. You walked over to him again, the warmth in your chest now overwhelming. You hugged him tightly, your arms lingering around his neck longer than they should have, his hands slipping lower than they should have. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “But I can’t keep something like this, T.” You cooed. He brushed off your words with a casual wave of his hand. 

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s yours, pretty girl. It’s in your name as well so...”  He spoke softly and so you nodded, still overwhelmed by the gesture.

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice softer this time. Then, in a moment of quiet vulnerability, you leaned in closer. “The car’s amazing, T, but I’m just happy you’re here. I’m so happy to see you.” You whispered. Trent’s smile softened as he pulled back to look at you, his eyes warm and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“That’s all I wanted,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You happy.” In that moment, standing so close to him, everything else—the party, the noise, the teasing—faded away. All that mattered was him and the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room. As the night stretched on, the earlier excitement of Trent’s arrival slowly blurred into the haze of laughter, drinks, and celebration with everyone. But naturally, as you always seemed to, you found yourself tucked into a cozy corner with him, your head buzzing with the warmth of alcohol and his presence. The two of you were caught in that space where the party seemed distant, as though the music, chatter, and clinking glasses belonged to another world. Here, in this little bubble, it was just you and Trent, giggling over some joke neither of you could remember anymore.  His hand rested on your waist, the touch light but electric, sending little shocks of awareness through you. You didn’t want him to move, didn’t want the moment to end. Each time you laughed, you leaned into him a little more, the casual way his fingers stayed on your side feeling like the most natural thing in the world. You both pretended like you didn’t know what you were doing—that the long looks, the lingering touches, and the proximity weren’t flirting. But they were, and you both knew it, even if neither of you was brave enough to say it out loud. You were swaying slightly, both of you tipsy, your heads fuzzy from the night’s drinks. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you, mingling with the scent of the air that breezed in from the nearby window. Your stomach fluttered with every laugh, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much, and all the while, his hand stayed at your waist, like an anchor keeping you steady. Then, someone from the party stumbled past, bumping into you and sending you careening into Trent’s chest. For a moment, everything slowed. His arms instinctively wrapped around you to steady you, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You looked up at him, your face mere centimeters from his, and time seemed to freeze.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, as though the world outside this corner didn’t exist. You nodded, biting your lip.

 “Yeah, I’m okay,” you whispered, your words barely audible over the pounding in your chest. But neither of you moved. Your lips were so close, dangerously close. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the heat between you simmering just beneath the surface.

“Okay?” he asked again, his gaze flickering down to your mouth for the briefest second.

“Okay.” You nodded again, your voice catching in your throat. 

“Okay.” He echoed. You two couldn’t get another word to even enter your brains. You were so fixed on these new feelings of closeness. 

 “Okay.” You smiled, breathless, and repeated. The word was like a lifeline, something to cling to as the air around you grew thick with tension. The more you said it, the closer you felt to losing control, but also, it was grounding. Keeping you both on the side of restraint. You both must have said it back and forth a dozen times, each ‘okay’ becoming quieter, softer, more charged. The weight of what wasn’t being said hung between you, heavy and undeniable. His eyes were dark, full of something that matched the way your heart was racing. The world felt like it was spinning, but not from the alcohol. It was him—his nearness, his hands on you, the way he was looking at you like he was holding himself back with every ounce of self-control he had. Despite the fog of drunkenness, there was a clarity in the moment. You both knew exactly what you wanted. It would have been so easy to kiss him. To close the gap and let the world slip away. You could feel his restraint in the way his fingers curled slightly into your side, in the way his breath hitched. You wanted it too. You wanted to close your eyes and let it happen, but something inside both of you whispered not like this. 

For Trent, it was about not wanting your first kiss, your first real moment together, to happen in a blur of alcohol, where the next morning was uncertain. He wanted it to mean something. To remember every second. His mind was a haze of swirling thoughts, but one thing was crystal clear—he couldn’t do this, not like this. He wanted more than just a fleeting, drunken kiss. His body was betraying him, his thoughts as slurred as his worlds but he knew… not like this. For you, the reasons were the same, but more. Not drunk. Not in public. Not after he gave you a gift like that. You couldn’t risk the night becoming about the car or about a moment you wouldn’t remember with perfect clarity. You didn’t want the first kiss to be lost to hazy memories. You wanted to be able to hold onto it forever. So both of you stayed frozen, neither willing to pull away, but neither ready to cross the line. The air between you hummed with unspoken desire, but you both clung to restraint like a lifeline, knowing that whatever this was, it deserved better than tonight. Slowly, Trent’s hand slid from your waist, leaving a ghost of warmth behind, and he took a small step back bumping into the wall behind him, breaking the tension but not the connection. His eyes met yours, soft but full of promise, like he was telling you without words that there would be a right time. Just not tonight. You let out a shaky breath, smiling at him, and he smiled back. The moment passed, but it wasn’t gone. Just waiting.

Trent and your feelings needed to be locked away and one of the largest reasons was Jack especially. Growing up without your mum left a gap in your life that never fully healed. Her absence was something you felt deeply, especially in those quiet moments when you needed her comfort the most. Your dad did everything he could to support you and Jack, but eventually, the weight of memories became too much for him. Once you and Jack were old enough, he moved away, explaining that staying was too hard, but he’d held on for you as long as he could. Even with your dad far away, he stayed close in his own way. Yet, you still felt a sense of isolation that seemed impossible to shake. Your only true constant was Jack. He was more than just a brother; he was family in every sense, and when he succeeded in his career, he’d insisted you live with him. It was his house, but your home. Jack’s success had brought him plenty of friends, but none as close as Trent. You remembered the first time you saw them together as kids, the two inseparable on a football pitch, laughing and shouting like they were the only ones who mattered. Your crush on Trent had grown from those early days, blossoming from something innocent into something you couldn’t ignore. Your mum used to always tease you about it and  you’d deny it but in retrospect she was right.  Watching Trent grow into himself over the years only made things worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. Through your teenage years, you’d felt every moment of jealousy, angst, and longing when he showed up with a new girlfriend. Your crush wavered in intensity but never fully disappeared, flickering in the background as life moved forward. Now, though, it felt different. More possible. Jack was still oblivious, still the overprotective brother who’d sooner scare Trent away than entertain the idea of his friend being with you. But the way Trent had looked at you recently—the almost possessive glances, the magnetic pull between you—had left you wondering if the years of pining might finally be leading somewhere.

From the very first moment Trent walked through your front door, it was impossible not to feel the pull. And now…He was everything a girl could dream of: a sexy, successful Premier League footballer with confidence that was borderline delusional and a smile that made your heart race. Every time he visited, you felt that familiar rush of adrenaline. You’d sneak a glance in the mirror, adjusting your hair, making sure you looked your best, hoping he’d notice you more than just as his best friend’s little sister. And Trent did notice. His eyes had a way of finding you across a room, holding your gaze a moment too long, his lips curling into that lazy smile that sent a shiver down your spine. Whenever he spoke directly to you, his voice was lower, softer, meant just for your ears. You savored every second he paid you any special attention. His touches—casual brushes against your arm, a hand lingering on your back as he squeezed past you in the kitchen—felt like electricity on your skin. You lived for those moments, those fleeting touches, and the way he seemed to light up when he was around you. You dated other guys, tried to create distance, but no one could ever quite compare to Trent. Each new boyfriend felt like a distraction, a poor substitute for what you really wanted. And it was never easy. Whenever your dating life came up in conversation, especially in front of Trent, you hated it. You could feel his eyes on you, a heavy gaze filled with something unreadable, something that made your heart clench. He didn’t like it either—you could tell. He’d get quiet, tense, like he was holding something back, and you’d wonder what he was thinking. But you were off-limits. Trent had made that clear without saying a word. He flirted with you in ways that made your heart pound, yet he always knew just when to pull back, to keep things on the safe side of friendship. He was careful, disciplined, as if he knew that if he ever let himself fully give in to what was simmering beneath the surface, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And so, he kept you at arm’s length, even though you could see the desire flickering in his eyes, could feel it in every lingering touch, every stolen glance.

Jack was a nerd… and his friends were nerds… Trent was a nerd and you knew this because you knew them all too well. To the outside world, to girls that knew them; they were a friend group of objectively good looking successful men but you knew better than that. You had been tagging along for years. Every week, whenever their friend group would convene at Jack's house predominantly to watch films. It began unintentionally but now… you made sure you were home that day.  Your brother’s friend group had a tradition of movie nights—an excuse for a bunch of twenty-somethings to kick back in your brother’s house, or rather your house, enjoying each other's company and the latest blockbuster or old film they likely weren’t alive for when it came out but it was a ‘classic you have to have seen’ they’d tell you. They were a year or so older, all of them already finding their paths in life, with successful careers to boast about. It was one of the reasons you decided to live with your brother after graduating uni; that, and the lure of the sprawling, comfortable home he offered you. But, if you were being honest, the only success story you cared about was Trent's. Every time your brother mentioned one of these movie nights, you found yourself at home ‘by coincidence,’ always ready with a casual excuse about why you weren’t out with your own friends. Deep down, you knew why you stayed. You liked hearing Trent talk about his matches and his training, his voice animated with the passion he felt for the game. His presence in the room was magnetic, drawing your attention even when you tried to play it cool. Trent had a love for films that rivaled his love for football though. He cherished these nights, getting to be ‘normal’ hanging out with his friends and unwinding after a long week. But more than the movies, more than the camaraderie, what Trent loved most were those fleeting, stolen moments with you. When the group would start to drift towards the cinema room, you and Trent would linger in the kitchen, finding little excuses to extend those precious seconds together. Maybe it was grabbing a snack or pouring another drink, but it always ended up with just the two of you, your eyes meeting across the counter, a secret smile shared between you.

He’d take his time getting to the cinema room, always managing to sit next to you on the plush sectional. He loved the way you’d turn to him, your eyes bright as you asked about his latest match or teased him about something trivial. You didn’t even know it, but he lived for those moments—when your hand would casually brush his, or when you’d lean in just a bit closer, letting your arm press against his. The air would thicken with a tension neither of you acknowledged, but both of you felt deeply. There were times when you got a little more daring, your playful nudges becoming something more, your laughter a bit louder, your touch lingering. Trent would feel his breath catch in his throat, his heart pounding as he willed himself to stay composed. You had no idea how much those moments meant to him, how he silently prayed for them every time he walked through your brother’s door. He savored every second you paid him attention, every word you spoke to him, every shared laugh and every fleeting touch. Those nights were his guilty pleasure, a few hours where he could pretend, just for a little while, that the feelings he had for you weren’t forbidden, that there wasn’t an unspoken line he wasn’t allowed to cross. And every time you got a little braver, a little more handsy, you made it harder for him to keep pretending. 

For you, at those movie nights, it was like there was a magnetic force drawing you together. No matter how crowded the room was, you’d always end up next to each other on the couch, under the same blanket, your bodies instinctively leaning closer. Not too close but his arm would casually rest along the back of the couch behind you, his fingers sometimes brushing your shoulder, sending sparks through your skin. The air between you crackled with tension, a tension that both thrilled and terrified you. You’d tell yourself it was innocent, that it was just because you were comfortable with each other. But in those dark, quiet moments, you could almost hear the unspoken words that hung heavy between you. It was a game you both played—pretending that being this close, sharing these stolen moments, was enough. But deep down, you both knew better. There was something between you, something powerful and undeniable, just waiting for the right moment to break free. And until then, you’d keep circling each other, caught in a dance of longing. 

It was one of those balmy summer nights when your brother set up the projector in the back garden for a movie night by the pool. It was the first movie night of the summer, and the energy was already thick with a heady mix of warmth, laughter, and unspoken tension. The boys were sprawled out across the patio, beers in hand, enjoying the evening sun dipping below the horizon. And then you spotted him. 

Trent.

"I didn't know you were back," you grinned, moving to stand next to Trent out on the patio, all of the other boys wrapped up in conversation of their own. This conversation alone though had been what he was waiting for since he got to the house. 

"Yeah? Miss me?" he asked, his voice playful but with a hint of something deeper.

"Of course," you teased back, stepping into his embrace. The way Trent hugged you made your insides flutter… frankly it made you want to scream. He smelled like something familiar yet intoxicating, and the way your bodies fit together just felt right. His hands, as always, hovered just above the curve of your waist, teasingly close to somewhere more dangerous, igniting that tension you'd both danced around for so long. He meant that cuddle and you could feel it. Cuddles between you two know were like some sort of edging. It would get you off but never enough… not even close.

"Who am I supposed to sit with if you weren't here?" you teased, your voice laced with the familiarity of years of flirty banter. Ever since these movie nights started, you always ended up next to him-it was magnetic, almost like a tradition neither of you wanted to break.

"Well you're not sitting with anyone else," he said casually, but there was weight behind his words. Indirectly, Trent wasn't just talking about the movie. He meant it in a way that felt more like a promise, like he was staking a claim that went beyond who sat where on a garden chair. He was protective over you, in ways even your brother or anyone could never know. 

"No?" You shook your head, smiling.

"No," he replied, his eyes steady on yours.

"Besides, who else is supposed to listen to you yap during the films?" He smirked and it was deadly. His smile was devastatingly handsome and it made your stomach flip. 

"I don't talk that much," you quipped back, feigning offense. "You're so dramatic." you swatted at him, your fingers catching his chest just ever so slightly. 

"I'm not," he retorted, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You just don't shut up." His fingers found your waist, pinching playfully, but his hand lingered a little longer than it needed to, sending a shiver through you.

"Sorry, I won't make a peep this time." You bit the tip of your pointer finger holding it between your teeth in feigned bashfulness  unknowingly teasing him. He smirked, his eyes flicking over you with something between amusement and desire.

"Nah, don't do that. Your voice has become part of my favorite film scores now. Just meant to be in my ear." His words, low and teasing, held more meaning than you wanted to admit. You felt the heat between you, the invisible line you kept pretending didn't exist becoming thinner and thinner.

As more of their friends arrived you minded your own business trying to play nonchalant.  But you hung around. You were nearby, casually bent over in your bikini, picking up something you’d dropped near the pool. The moment seemed innocent enough, but you were oblivious to the eyes trailing every move you made. One of Jack’s friends, reclining in his chair, couldn’t help but groan as he watched.

“Mate, not gonna lie, she looks better every summer.” His voice was low enough that Jack, who was inside grabbing more drinks, wouldn’t hear. It was a fine line but one that existed where this friend group was close enough to tease you, treat you like the younger sibling you were but also just close enough to simultaneously be attracted to you. You were less than a year younger than some of them, you were grown, and they knew that. And in the summer, when Jack set up the movies by the pool… you were a more than welcomed addition to movie nights. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Noah, chuckled in agreement, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer than they should. Trent was quiet at first, his jaw tight as he tried to keep his gaze elsewhere. But when he glanced up, seeing the way the sunlight caught your hair and how the curve of your body seemed effortlessly graceful, he slipped. 

"She’s fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.  “I mean.. She’s leng, you know?” He attempted to not wound so smitten but that was all the ammunition Noah needed. He shot Trent a look, grinning ear to ear, and shoved his shoulder with a teasing nudge. 

“Bro, sod off and just admit you want to sleep with her. How long are you going to drag this out?” The banter took off from there, the boys piling on with their relentless teasing. 

“Yeah, honest mate, stop pretending like you’re not into her,” another one quipped, the laughter bubbling up as they watched Trent squirm in his seat, struggling to deflect. Trent opened his mouth to defend himself, his words tripping over each other in the attempt to stay cool.

 “It’s not like that,” he tried, but the boys weren’t buying it. They roared with laughter, enjoying his discomfort far too much. Noah, never one to let an opportunity slip by, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief.

 “Bro, we all know she wouldn’t think twice about letting you fuck her. Both of you are not fooling anyone.” He joked. Trent’s smile faltered for a second, but then it returned, a little weaker than before. His eyes betrayed him as they drifted back to you, drawn like a magnet, just as you stood up and turned around, meeting his gaze head-on. For a brief moment, everything slowed—the noise of the teasing boys faded, the laughter dulled, and it was just you and Trent, eyes locked in a moment heavy with something unspoken. You smiled at him, a casual, carefree grin, completely unaware of the conversation happening just feet away. The boys fell silent, their eyes darting between you and Trent, waiting for someone to make the first move, their teasing now hanging in the air like a challenge. Noah couldn’t resist breaking the tension. “Oi, Trentski, come on—tell me you two haven’t already hooked up?” The question hit Trent like a bucket of ice water. He straightened up, shaking his head a little too quickly, his voice firm and almost defensive.

 “Nah, nah! Jack would kill me if he thought anything was going on. I’m not stupid. Nothing happened.” He said it with conviction, but the boys saw through it. He wasn’t lying, nothing happened physically, but something was going on. Their teasing resumed, but Trent was barely listening anymore. His mind was racing, the banter and laughter just background noise to the thoughts swirling in his head. Not stupid, sure… But in that moment, watching you, the line between caution and temptation felt dangerously thin. Maybe not stupid, but a bit horny for you, he thought, the words playing on repeat in his mind as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping no one would notice. You walked over, oblivious to the weight of the conversation you’d just missed.

“What’s got you lot creasing?” you asked, looking around at the group, your eyes finally landing on Trent.

 “Nah, nothing. Just giving Trenty a hard time, as usual.” Before anyone else could, Noah blurted out an answer.  He winked at you, and you furrowed your brow, confused but not pressing the issue.  Trent smiled weakly at you, hoping to shake off the intensity of the moment, but as you stood close, your skin warm from the sun, he felt his pulse quicken. Every inch of him wanted to pull you closer, but he knew better. Jack would be back any second, and the boys were already wound up from teasing him. As you looked at Trent, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, just a little longer than they should have. And when he smiled back, there was something different in it—something soft, almost vulnerable. It sent a warmth through you, one you tried to ignore, but couldn’t. The boys resumed their chatter, their attention drifting back to harmless jokes, but Trent couldn’t shake the feeling. Every summer, he’d watched you grow into yourself, more confident, more radiant, and every summer, it became harder to pretend he didn’t want something more. The line between you had always been there—unspoken but understood—and he’d never been foolish enough to cross it. Until now.

The sun had finally sunk below the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything but you stayed in your tiny bikini, relishing in the warm weather. You laid stretched out in a tiny fuchsia crochet set letting the evening heat soak into your skin as Jack got the film sorted. 

"Hey," Trent said as he came over, casually lying down next to you.

"Hi," you greeted back, glancing up with a soft smile. The way you were laying made your bikini push your tits together in a way you knew was hard not to notice. You couldn't help but tease, "I'm so glad it's finally summer." you cooed. 

"Me too," Trent replied, though his focus wasn't entirely on the season.

"Yeah, you should be," you giggled, your eyes flicking over his bronzed skin. "You look better tanned." You teased him.

"Damn, alright." He feigned offense, but the smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn't too bothered by the comment. In fact, he liked that you were paying attention.

"Take it as a friendly suggestion," you teased, eyes sparkling. "Got any big holiday plans? You asked. 

"Eh, some," he shrugged, but his attention wasn't on the holidays. It was on you-how the setting sun hit your skin, the way you casually lay there, completely at ease but still making his thoughts stray. You muttered a quiet ‘cool’ though; feeling slightly awkward. You knew Trent had a life outside of this, outside of you, filled with other girls, holidays, a footballer’s luxury lifestyle but he'd never flaunted it in front of you. Still, the thought of him away from here, away from you, left a weird pang in your chest. "Is it?" he asked, a glint of mischief in his eye. He knew where your thoughts went and he wanted to drag you back into lightheartedness. 

"I don't know, you didn't tell me any details." You raised an eyebrow, biting on your finger with a flustered giggle. Unintentionally, Trent’s eyes were drawn to your lips.

"Maybe I don't want you keeping tabs on me," Trent teased, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I don't... I have zero interest in your whereabouts," you stuttered, caught off guard by the teasing tone in his voice and the way he was looking at you. You were lying and he knew that. Neither of you would say that though. 

"That color looks good on you. Take it as a friendly suggestion." He leaned in slightly, his voice lower as he said. You watched, heart racing, as his tanned hand reached over, squeezing just above your knee. His fingers slid up your leg, hooking slightly under the band of your bikini.

"Serious though, it looks good," he repeated, his touch lingering. You almost blacked out. 

"I got it," you smirked, swatting at his hand half-heartedly, pretending you didn't want him touching you when, in truth, it sent a thrill through you. "Thank you for your input. It's noted." You snapped.

"Good," Trent replied with a wink, his gaze lingering on yours a little longer than usual, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Noah watched the whole interaction between you and Trent with growing amusement, shaking his head before turning to Jack. 

"Mate, you just let him go on like that?" he asked, motioning toward Trent, who was snapping the band of your bikini playfully against your skin.

"They're mates," Jack brushed it off, trying to seem unfazed. "It's not like anything happens." Jack's tone was casual, but the truth was he tried not to think too much about the way Trent interacted with you and you with him. You were the most important people in his life and he couldn’t imagine it past that. He couldn’t risk imagining there being anything more because he couldn’t risk losing either of you. He knew you had a crush on Trent, and Trent entertained it, but Jack couldn't believe Trent would actually act on anything. He laughed, trying to brush the situation off. "As long as it's not you, geez. At least I know Trenty doesn't have an STD." Jack smirked. Noah scoffed. 

"Aye, Y/N, whatever happened to that Manny lad you were seeing?" Another boy, grinning, piped up. You blinked, brought out of the blissful haze of being near Trent, who was now lying beside you but his hand retreating after the other boys attention shifted to you. 

"Oh... just stopped talking, I guess," you answered, your tone casual but clearly uninterested. That wasn’t really what happened but it was an easy answer.

"So he pied you, huh?" Jack teased, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you.

"No, I got bored," you snapped back, shooting Jack a glare. The relationship ended because the guy you were seeing was nicely put.. Insane. Also, neither of you were that interested in the other but Jack and his friends didn’t need to know the semantics. The details would probably enrage Jack so you let them think otherwise. 

"Yeah, sure," Noah sarcastically added with a laugh, fueling the banter. You rolled over onto your stomach, attempting to ignore them, but you could feel Trent's eyes locked on the curve of your ass as your bikini shifted with the movement. The reverb of your ass had him locked in.

"So... bored, huh?" His gaze was hot, unmistakable, and he leaned in, his voice quieter now, meant just for you. You hummed in response, feeling the weight of his stare. Trent knew you had been seeing people here and there, and it always bothered him, though he tried to suppress the feeling. He tried to ignore this one, he really did. But this one specifically? The fact the guy you’d been seeing had played for a rival football club? It stung in a way Trent wasn't ready to admit. The idea that it was over, though, thrilled him more than it should have. Trent lowered his voice even further, leaning closer. "In what department? Besides the club he plays for?" He smirked.

"All of them," you replied with a knowing smile, your eyes gleaming as you added, "Bedroom specifically." You confirmed the answer he was skirting around. Trent smirked, his gaze darkening as he processed your words. 

"Interesting, interesting. Y/N, you're always interesting," he muttered, he tapped fingers near your knee, the tension between you two palpable. His gaze flicked back up to your eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world-the jokes, the boys, the movie night-faded into the background. There was something simmering between you two, unspoken, but undeniable.

You were sprawled out on the couch, wallowing in the aftermath of said breakup days later. It wasn’t that you still had feelings for the guy, you knew your heart lied somewhere you couldn’t entertain but the sting of rejection lingered, clinging to you in a way you hated. Frankly, he treated you like shit, you should’ve been relieved you were out and you’d tried to brush the whole thing off, but the hurt of being left behind always cut deep. He blamed you for whatever and ended things and you hated being ‘broken up’ with. Your solution, as it had often been, was to go out—to drown the pain in loud music, drinks, and distraction. It was irresponsible but you found solace in losing yourself. 

“What’re you up to this weekend?” Jack asked, dropping his bag by the door. He came home and saw you lounging on the couch, barely moving. You didn’t even look up.

“Going out Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and brunch on Sunday.” You told him in a monotone voice. Jack shook his head, clearly disapproving. 

“I don’t like it, Y/N. You gotta chill. That kid was a prick anyway. You don’t need to do this” He told you. Jack was right, he was a prick but that barely scratched the surface describing how messed up he was but you’d never let your brother know. But what Jack did know was your habits. He knew you had a way of not necessarily acting out but finding comfort in strangers when things got scary, probably not in the healthiest way. You just hated being alone. You knew he knew all this so you bit your lip, not in the mood for another lecture, but your stomach twisted with his words. 

“Whatever,” you muttered, shifting on the couch. Jack had his own way of coping with the way losing your mum affected you both. You went out looking for detachment whereas Jack was looking for meaning in relationships. In your opinion, it always seemed to be with people who were playing games with him. And lately, it involved spending more time with Megan, a girl he’d been seeing.

“I’m going out tonight with Megan,” he announced, and you immediately kissed your teeth, rolling your eyes.

“What?” he asked, frowning now.

“Nothing,” you replied, but the tension was unmistakable. He wasn’t going to let it drop.

“Y/N, what?” he repeated, a little more forcefully this time. “Go on… tell me.” He quipped. You sighed. 

“I just don’t think Mum would like her.” The room went quiet for a moment. You didn’t know why you said it, but it slipped out before you could stop it. Jack stared at you for a beat, his expression softening. He felt bad so he let out a long sigh, shaking his head but smiling faintly. 

“Y/N… I don’t think Mum would like what you’re doing either.” His words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You knew he was right. You’d been using going out as an escape, not a solution. Still, you weren’t ready to deal with any of it just yet, so you kept quiet. Jack stood up, getting ready to head upstairs. 

“Noah and Trent are coming over later, they’ll probably stick around till I’m back, yeah?” As he left the room, he called back casually. Your heart immediately skipped a beat at the mention of Trent. Jack’s best friend, your longtime crush, the boy who had been increasingly hard to ignore lately. You sat up on the couch, feeling the familiar mix of anticipation and nervousness churn in your chest. Trent was coming over, and suddenly, your evening was looking a lot more complicated.

You and Layla were standing in the kitchen, both sipping on iced coffee and talking about the party you had planned to go to later. The energy was light, and you were trying to distract yourself from your recent split by laughing about it. Trent was walking nearby, just out of sight, but within earshot as you rambled on walking back from the toilet.

"I just want a man who knows how to properly fuck me. I’d like him to actually know where my clit is this time," you blurted out, clearly letting your frustrations slip. "I mean, like, after all the crap with him, I deserve someone who knows what the fuck they're doing in bed, you know?" You laughed and Layla agreed wholeheartedly. Trent, who had been casually walking back to Jack and Noah in the other room from the toilet, froze the moment those words left your mouth. His mind short-circuited. Every fiber of him wanted to walk into that room and say something, but instead, he felt a surge of heat build up inside him. He couldn't think straight. This is what you were thinking about? He could show you. He could be the one to do that for you. He knew what he was doing in the bedroom. He could feel himself getting hard just hearing you talk like that. He needed to leave. He couldn't be around you right now, he couldn’t hear you right now, not with those thoughts filling his head. As Trent made his quick exit, trying to steady his breathing, Layla leaned in closer to you, smirking. 

"So, what's your dream man then? Tell me more about this man who apparently knows where the clit is," she teased, eyeing you as you thought for a moment. Without missing a beat, you started listing off traits, unaware of how specific it was getting. You went through physical traits first. 

“Like deep brown eyes, that can flick from sexy to cute really fast.” You told her as you continued to rattle on. "And athletic, someone who can actually keep up with me. He has to have a sense of humor, be a little protective but not in a weird way, you know? And, like, I just want him to look at me like I'm all that matters.” You cooed. Layla let out a playful laugh, nudging you.

"So….Trent?” She teased you. You waved her off. “Y/N, you just described him to a T!" Your eyes widened as it clicked, and you burst out laughing, slightly embarrassed but also secretly acknowledging the truth in her words. Meanwhile, Trent, oblivious to this part of the conversation, was already long gone, desperate to get himself under control and not think about what you had just said. You and Layla headed upstairs to get ready and after the lengthy process you came downstairs looking dressed to kill in a dark red leather set. [index ref] Trent’s jaw slacked whereas Jack lips pulled tight in annoyance. 

"Y/N, that skirt is too short," Jack said, his voice stern as you walked into the living room.

His eyes narrowed in disapproval, making you roll yours. Layla, standing beside you, took your hand with a mischievous grin and spun you around for effect. 

"Give us a spin!" Noah teased, his laughter making the room feel light. You playfully obliged, your matching set on full display for your audience as you spun holding Layla’s hand. 

"Jack, I’m not changing, it's a set!" you whined, tugging on the skirt a bit. It was a good outfit, after all.

"Y/N, go change," Jack said again, his tone serious. Before you could respond, Trent, who had been leaning against the wall, stood up and casually walked by you, his presence sending a wave of tension through the room. As he passed, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. 

"Can see your ass," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. You froze, trembling slightly at his words, your mind racing.

“And..?” The whispered question slipped out before you could stop yourself, turning to face him, your heart pounding. Trent smirked, taking a step back, eyes lazily traveling down your body. 

"That was all I had to say. Just wanted you to know." He cooed the words with a wink, leaving you on edge, a mix of frustration and desire coursing through you. Fuck, You just wanted to to ask him to just grab you right there. The desire to tell him to take this stupid outfit off you was nearly overwhelming. Your breath hitched as a thousand unspoken words passed between you. Jack, completely oblivious to the charged moment, snapped you back to reality. 

"Y/N, don't bring anyone home tonight." He told you. You blinked, refocusing on your brother. 

"I won't," you cooed innocently, giving him a smile as if everything was perfectly fine.

Trent smirked, stretching his arms above his head, looking every bit like a man who had just won some sort of conquest. There was a quiet confidence in his stance, as if he knew he had gotten under your skin but also that you wouldn’t get with anyone else tonight.  He didn't even need to say more-he knew where you both stood, and it felt like the beginning of a game you were both playing but refusing to name.

Late that night, you stumbled into the house, laughing with Layla as you both attempted to be quiet but failed miserably. 

"Laylaaaaa," you slurred, giggling as you tugged at the hem of your too-short skirt, "all he did was wink at me! And honestly, that did more for me all night than any man with his hands on me did!" You waved your hands dramatically, completely oblivious to the fact that Noah and Trent were still at the house, forgetting what Jack had told you. You really should call them roommates and not Jack’s friends for how often they overstayed. Layla snorted, steadying you as you wobbled on your heels. 

"You are such a mess," she teased, trying to help you get your shoes off as you stumbled through the entryway.

"I just want his lips all over meee," you whined, pouting dramatically, and unaware of the fact that your voice was now carried into the living room where Trent was sitting. Noah glanced over at Trent, his brows shooting up in amusement as he heard you. You didn't even realize you'd been overheard, lost in your drunken haze. You didn’t need to say a name. They knew. Trent sat up a little straighter on the couch, eyes glued to you as you staggered into the house. His face was neutral, but his jaw tightened as your words lingered in the air. Noah shot him a look and smirked, clearly entertained by the situation.

"So, how was your night?" Noah called out loud enough for you two to hear, the teasing tone in his voice unmistakable. Layla shot him a playful glare. 

"Don't make things worse, Noah," she said, though her lips were twitching with amusement. Trent, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke up. 

"Y/N," he said, his voice smooth but commanding, "c’mere." Your heart skipped a beat, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His tone wasn't playful or teasing like Noah's-it was firm, and it cut through your drunken fog in an instant. You turned to face him, your eyes wide, and despite the alcohol in your system, the weight of his gaze made you feel giddy. Without even thinking, you moved toward him, your steps a little unsteady but your focus completely on Trent. You dropped down onto the arm of the couch beside him, still smiling, but your stomach was in knots. Why was he looking at you like that? You couldn't quite read him, and it made your heart race. "I'm glad you had fun tonight," Trent said, his eyes not leaving yours. His voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you hold your breath. "I'm glad you made it back home... with Layla." Trent's voice was teasing now, but there was an underlying intensity in the way he was looking at you that made your skin tingle. His hand brushed against your knee, and even though it was a light touch, it sent sparks through you. His hands moved to hold your thigh to steady you from falling. But the way his massive hand looked, squeezing your thigh and the way he emphasized ‘with Layla’ implying he was glad you didn’t come home with a man sent a thrill through you. You bit your lip, trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it.

"Yeah?" you cooed, leaning slightly closer, drawn to him without even realizing it. You giggled at absolutely nothing. 

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice soft, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that made you squirm. There was a cheeLay glint in his eyes. He couldn’t not be mildly amused by you. You were grinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The sounds of the house, the fact that Noah and Layla were still there—it all melted into the background. All you could focus on was the way Trent was looking at you, his expression unreadable in your state, but his gaze unwavering. It felt like there was a magnetic pull between the two of you, and for a moment, you almost leaned in closer, your lips parting slightly as your body reacted instinctively. Noah, still watching from the other side of the room, exchanged a glance with Layla, but neither of them said anything. The tension between you and Trent was palpable, and it seemed like everyone in the room could feel it. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been this close to him, or felt this aware of every single movement he made. And as much as you tried to play it off, your body was betraying you. The butterflies in your stomach, the way your pulse quickened with every glance-it was undeniable. Finally Layla pulled on the back of your top dragging you off the arm of the couch. You stumbled to stand. You swayed on your feet, eyes barely focusing as you leaned heavily into Layla’s grip. 

“Layllllaaaa,” you whined, drawing out her name in a drunken slur, but she hushed you quickly.

“I know, I know, just shhh,” Layla whispered, firmly grabbing your shoulders and trying to steer you away from the living room where Noah and Trent were still watching, both amused and concerned. You weren’t having it though. You tried to lean toward her, but your balance betrayed you. 

“I think he’s so pretttyyy,” you whispered—or at least, you thought it was a whisper. In reality, it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Your eyes landed on Trent again, and your sloppy grin only grew wider. Layla let out an exasperated laugh, her grip on you tightening. 

“You’re gonna die tomorrow,” she muttered under her breath, trying not to laugh too much. Noah snickered, leaning back on the couch. 

“Y/N, no.” He laughed. “Embarrassing this,” he teased, shaking his head. “Layla, get her to stop.” You waved off Noah’s comment, your eyes still focused on Trent, who was watching you with a mixture of amusement and worry. His brows furrowed as he stood up, clearly ready to help. 

“Alright, need to get you to bed, drunk girl” he said, his concern more for your well-being than your drunken confession.

“No! No, you… stay right there, thanks, T, ” Layla said quickly, her eyes wide as she turned to face Trent, trying to keep him from getting closer. She knew that the moment Trent moved toward you, you’d start spilling even more of your feelings, and that was not something either of you could handle right now. Trent hesitated, watching you carefully as you stumbled a little in Layla’s grasp. He knew Layla was right, but his instinct to make sure you were okay was hard to ignore. He caught your eyes again, and for a second, you stared back at him, your drunken haze making you bolder than you’d ever be sober. “She was talking about a guy from tonight by the way,” Layla told them, trying to cover for you but it was a poor attempt. Her own words slurred slightly with a laugh. Trent’s lips twitched, and Noah chuckled. Layla was quick to save the moment, dragging you toward the stairs. “Okay, seriously,  time for bed,” she announced, shooting Trent a look as if to say please don’t do anything else. As Layla guided you to the stairs, you couldn’t help but glance back at Trent one more time, your heart still fluttering despite the alcohol in your system. His eyes followed you, and for a moment, you swore he almost smiled, but he caught himself, shaking his head slightly. You were a mess, but something about the way he looked at you made your heart race, even in your drunken state. You slumped down on the stairs, too tired to get up them and drunk to carry yourself any further. “Okayyy, come on, we’re going upstairs,” Layla coaxed, looking down at you with a sigh. Turning to the boys, she teased, “You guys have a good night wasting away your 20s.” She shot Noah and Trent a look, knowing they could be out having fun, but had opted for a quiet movie night instead.

“At least we’re not wasted!” he retorted, grinning at Layla. Noah laughed, raising his drink in mock cheers. But Trent wasn’t amused by the joke. He stood up, his face serious, and moved over to where you were sitting on the stairs. 

“Layla, seriously,” he quipped, giving her a knowing look. He understood the caution before but this was just dragging on. You needed to get to bed. So then he turned his attention to you, his voice softening. “C’mere you,” he said gently, and before you knew it, he had effortlessly scooped you up into his arms.

“Hiii,” you whispered softly, your voice slurring as you looked up at him. Your faces were close, so close that you could see the small cluster of freckles just under his eye, something you’d almost forgotten was there.

“Hi,” he replied, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he glanced down at you.

“You’re nice to me,” you earnestly confessed with a giggle, your words filled with drunken sincerity.

“I am,” he confirmed with a quiet chuckle, agreeing with you as he adjusted you in his arms, holding you securely. You gazed up at him, your drunken haze giving you a boldness you wouldn’t have had otherwise. 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes briefly scanning your face. 

“I do,” he admitted, but then added with a teasing smile, “And you’re also drunk, so get to sleep for me, yeah?” You gave a small, tired nod as he carried you into your room. Layla followed closely behind, making sure you didn’t stir up any more drunken confessions. As Trent laid you down gently on the bed, your head spun, but his presence was oddly comforting and igniting wild ideas in your head.

“You’re pretty too,” you mumbled drunkenly as your eyes fluttered open and shut, too tired to see his reaction. Trent smiled to himself, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before stepping back. Layla watched him with a knowing look but didn’t say anything, giving him space to exit quietly but he didn’t. "Laylaaa, the skims," you whined again, your voice slurring as you fumbled with the hem of your top. You were too drunk to manage even that simple task, your arms flailing in frustration. All you wanted was to get out of your clothes and into your favorite pajamas. Layla, herself a bit unsteady but far more sober than you, stumbled toward your dresser, trying to locate the pajamas you always begged for after a night out. 

"Okay, okay, I'm getting them," she muttered, half-laughing as she rifled through the drawer, her own movements slowed by the alcohol. Meanwhile, Trent stood frozen by the door, his eyes catching on the scene before him. You, in your half-dressed, vulnerable state, were peeling your top off over your head, exposing more than you probably realized. His heart raced, and he suddenly found it very hard to look away. This wasn't the first time he'd seen you drunk, not by a long shot. But something about tonight felt different. The way your words had tumbled out earlier, drunk but still sincere— it was all seared into his mind. It wasn't the usual teasing banter he'd come to expect from you. It was raw, unfiltered, and it came directly from you this time, not overheard in the midst of a party not passed along by "T... you can go now," Layla interrupted sharply, snapping him out of his daze. Her voice cut through the fog in his head, reminding him of where he was and that he was dangerously close to crossing a line. She glanced at him with wide eyes and a cheeky grin clearly noticing the tension in the room.

"Uh, yeah, right. Shit, sorry," Trent mumbled, shaking his head like he was trying to clear the thoughts clouding his mind. He turned on his heel, moving toward the door as quickly as he could without looking like he was fleeing. But even as he walked away, the image of you

-tipsy, carefree, peeling off your clothes in front of him-stayed with him. Your tanned smooth skin, the ridge of your spin, the lace of your bra… it was all too much. His mind replayed the way you looked up at him earlier in the night, your gaze soft and inviting, and your words played on a loop in his head. He could still smell the faint hint of your perfume, still feel the crackling tension that had built between you. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, breathing heavily. His heart pounded in his chest. He had to get himself together, or at least pretend to. Back in your room, Layla was still rummaging through the drawers, finally pulling out the set you wanted and tossing it onto the bed.

"Here, now get changed, you lush," she teased, her tone light but her eyes flickering with concern as she glanced at the door Trent had just exited from. You struggled into the pajamas, not noticing the shift in Layla's demeanor, or the way she seemed more aware of the strange charge that had filled the room. She hadn't missed the way Trent's eyes lingered a little too long on you, the way he hesitated as if he were fighting something within himself. "You're a mess, you know that?" Layla laughed, trying to bring the mood back to something light as she flopped down on the bed beside you. You giggled, too drunk to realize what had just happened. 

"But I'm your mess," you teased, hugging a pillow as you settled into the bed. "Mmmm, I want a cuddle," you whined, shifting around in bed, trying to get comfortable grabbing a pillow. You buried your face in the pillow, but it wasn't the comfort you were after. Layla, sitting next to you on the bed, smirked.

"You can cuddle with me," she teased, pulling the blanket over you both and nudging you playfully.

"Nooo, I want a pretty boy," you pouted, your mind already drifting to Trent. You imagined what it would've been like if he hadn't left the room earlier-if he'd stayed, laid down next to you, and pulled you close. Layla raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. 

"Oh, you mean the pretty boy who carried you upstairs and stared at you while you took your top off?" she teased, wrapping an arm around you and squeezing you tight in a playful hug. You could feel the laughter bubbling up between the two of you. "His nonchalance is such a fucking  gimmick," she continued, shaking her head with amusement. "I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching." You giggled, burying your face in your hands as a warm blush spread over your cheeks. 

"Did he... like my tits?" you asked through a fit of laughter, your voice slurring slightly. A bluntness that was carried by alcohol. Layla chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

"I think so," she said, playfully shaking her head. "Pretty sure that was the highlight of his night."

You both burst into laughter, the room filling with the sound of your drunken giggles as you clung to each other. Even in your tipsy haze, your thoughts kept drifting back to Trent. "Okay, sleep please," Layla begged, her voice tinged with both amusement and exhaustion. "You can suck his dick later," she added with a teasing laugh, trying to reel you back from your wild thoughts. You grinned mischievously, your eyes glinting under the dim light of your room. 

"Mmm, I know it's big," you replied, almost dreamily, your head still spinning from the drinks and the charged energy between you and Trent. Layla groaned, shaking her head with a laugh.

"Y/N! I was kidding.” She laughed. “You're losing your mind! You can't do this to him," she scolded gently, though the smile on her face betrayed her own amusement at the situation. You huffed, trying to justify the tension that had been crackling between you and Trent all night. 

"Maybe he wants it toooo," you insisted, drawing out the last word as if it made the case stronger. You could still feel the weight of his gaze from earlier, the way his hands felt when he carried you upstairs-it was all too real. Layla rolled her eyes, though her expression softened as she looked at you. 

"Doesn't mean it should happen," she cautioned, her tone more serious now. "Jack's your brother, and Trent's his best friend. You're both walking a tightrope, and you might be taking it a little too far." Drunk or not, you knew she was right. Layla knew how much you liked Trent but she also knew how important Jack was to you. The alcohol made it easy to blur the lines, to give in to temptation, but Layla's words lingered in the air, a reminder that there was more at stake than just a one-night fling. As you drifted off to sleep, the night's events began to fade into the haze of alcohol. But for Trent, the feeling lingered. He knew you weren't just Jack's little sister anymore, and tonight had made that painfully clear. He wondered what would happen if you both ever acknowledged what was brewing between you, a tension that seemed to be growing stronger with each passing day.

•

Thank you for reading! I hope you like the beginning of this new series! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what you think is to come!

Next part - Chapter 2 - Bruises xx

[judebelle]

trent being a clingy needy bf? xx

menace - t.a.a. x reader

a/n : i’m so fucked w finals season but it’s almost break for me 😇 just gotta make it thru this week 😞 also i made this a drabble SORRYYYY but i think this is better short and sweet!

cw : swearing, clingy trent obv, reader getting increasingly more annoyed throughout the course of the fic, sexual insinuation, fluff

pairing : trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

wc : 704

---

it started off as bearable, but god, as the day progressed, you couldn’t deal with him anymore.

the him being sir trent alexander arnold.

it had just so happened that you and trent had aligned a few days off at the same time. this was a rare occurrence since your busy schedules kept you swamped 25/8.

this was the first of many days off. you just needed to get some things done around the house, but trent had other plans.

you almost took up his many offers to just lay in bed all day, but you knew you would feel better if you got things done first.

of course, trent wasn’t making this easy on you.

“c’mere, beautiful,”

“please stay here, just for a few minutes.”

“so sleepy, just nap with me for an hour, please!”

you had to resist the urge to physically roll your eyes at his constant pestering. you had to put your foot down and stop him before you ended up giving in.

“no, trent! i have to finish some things up, i’ll be done soon.”

he was still cuddled up in the bed when you finally left the bedroom to head to the kitchen. you began putting away clean dishes and cleaning the counter tops. as you wiped it down, you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist.

“y/n come back to beddd~” trent whined while propping his head on your shoulder to get a better look at what you were doing that was so important. you could feel him kiss his teeth when he saw you cleaning.

“i said, wait. if you keep annoying. me, it’s just gonna take longer!” you groaned when he didn’t let go of your body. “trent, let go. i need to go get-“

“you look so sexy in these shorts, just come back to bed.” you felt his hands slide down to cup your ass.

you rolled your eyes, a smile forming on your cheeks. “you can’t seduce me into going back into bed!” you sing songed as you turned to face him. his arms had you trapped in between him and the counter. he still his droopy eyes and his hair was a little frizzy.

you swiftly ducked out of his grip from under his arm and headed to your office, turning on your computer to print a few things. you heard the soft shuffling of socks on the floor, and low and behold-

“can you just come back, pleaseee!”

“stop it! how old are you? just give me a few minutes.” you had started to whine like a two year old, his complaints giving you a headache.

you placed the papers down and pushed past him to go to the living room, cleaning up blankets and books laying around. you grabbed the watering can and started tending to your wilting plants. all of a sudden-

“ah- get off me! trent! let go, now!”

your feet were hovering over the floor thanks to your boyfriend who had had enough of waiting. he threw your body over his shoulder easily and walked towards the bedroom.

you kicked your legs around, trying to wriggle out of his grip. you slumped against him when your efforts to escape from his death trap went in vain.

“this isn’t funny, y’know?”

he chucked despite your comment. “i can’t wait any longer, sorry.”

a stubborn smile broke across your face before he threw you onto the bed. you bounced onto the fluffy mattress with a gasp. “trent!”

he giggled softly before throwing himself down on top of you. “oww, trent you’re not light!” you found yourself laughing as he kissed your neck.

“shhh, just wanna cuddle.” he reached over and pulled the duvet over the both of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he eventually let you breathe by rolling onto his side a little bit. you finally gave into his touch with a sigh, throwing your leg over his hips.

you reached your arms around his neck and nuzzled your head into his chest, his scent all over his wrinkled shirt.

“god, you’re a menace, you know that?” you laughed into his embrace and he responded by hugging you tighter.

“you love it.”

[jude5bellingham]

imsg ౨ৎ trent alexander-arnold

[lomltrentarnold]

i think you’re pretty — trent alexander-arnold ₊˚ෆ

🍓 hana’s notes: in ma feels again (shocker) haven’t written anything in a while so please be nice <3

disclaimers: lil drabble, cliffhanger (you have been warned!) reader is a little insecure, but reader can pull girls and guys, childhood bestfriends my beloved trope 🫶 || main masterlist

“Wait, actually? You don’t think people think you’re pretty?”

You don’t even know how the conversation ended up on this topic. Sitting at the balcony catching up with Trent after you moved away. Now, he’s a big shot footballer and you’re working to get your degree.

Fifteen year old you guys would be proud.

You shook your head, it's not a new thought for you, “Nah, but that’s okay though. I think I’m pretty, but I don’t know if I am someone’s hallway crush or people just look at me and think — Wow, pretty.”

This is the type of stuff that you only spill on your diary, but it’s Trent, and he knows more about you than you do yourself.

It’s not something new you have come to terms with, after seeing most of your friends' getting crushes, getting hit on, going on dates and having relationships except you, you have made peace with it.

Trent’s forehead creases, as if the statement offended him more than you, “That’s crazy, tha’” Trent could not believe what you just said. You? Not pretty? Are you insane?

Turning your head to face him, you warmly smiled, “Don’t pretend, T.” and when you look at Trent, taking in his features, now this is pretty. “You’re pretty. People think you’re pretty.”

You didn’t know why you decided to say that. Maybe because the moonlight illuminates his skin and eyes, making him shine a little bit brighter. Butterflies swarm your belly, as your hand sweats.

Trent’s cheeks went warm, he thinks he’s the luckiest person ever to get compliment from you. His heart aches for you, but he decided to focus on the task at hand first.

"That's stupid." he spat out, making your eyebrows shoot up.

You lightly chuckled, "Excuse you? I just gave you a compliment."

"Not that." he sighed, turning his body around so that it would be face to face with yours. You noticed the disturbed look in his eyes, as you straightened your back before meeting his gaze.

"It's not that serious T, I'm fine." you assured him, an awkward laugh bubbling out. This took a serious turn, and you have no idea why.

"Do you remember James? In 8th grade?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "The one that gave me chocolate? Yeah, what about him?"

He took a deep breath, "He said, and I quote, that when you laugh, he can honestly melt because you look so pretty.”

"We were kids, sometimes kids just say stuff-"

"And I agreed with him, and I said that making you laugh is probably one of the most rewarding things I can do because I love seeing you smile so much. You look so pretty when you laugh like nobody's around."

Your heart stuttered, but before you said anything else he continued, "And remember the girl that you worked with at the cafe down the road? The one with curly hair?"

You nodded your head.

"When I was waiting for you to finish your shift, she noticed how much I was looking at you, and she said that she gets it, and that it's sometimes hard to focus on making the drinks because you would look so pretty smiling while taking people's orders."

You cleared your throat, “That’s- That’s very nice of her.” avoiding the words that makes you question you and Trent’s friendship.

His tongue pokes out to lick his lips, making your eyes focus on it, “Sometimes I look at you and I go blank because of how pretty you are.”

What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Your eyes searched for his, but he pointedly avoided it, choosing to stare down on his hands.

After finishing the story, Trent bellowed out a laugh, "You know how many people ask me for your number because they think that you're pretty?" he paused, "But they backed away because they 'know' that you're already someone's because of how I look at you."

Your mouth gaped open and close like a fish, slowly processing everything that he's telling you. "What?"

"They said that I look at you like I was smitten. Like I was in love." you were sure your pulse stopped for a second, hearing the guy that you had a crush on for years saying stuff you hear in songs.

Trent’s mouth was faster than his brain, he really should have stopped talking, but he couldn't. All of his words were all vomiting out of his mouth. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

"And then I said that if I was going to fall in love with anyone that I'd want it to be you."

hehe love yall <3

[bahrtofane]

about time

things have always been easy with trent, attached to the hip since you could remember. your other half, his biggest supporter. things were bound to turn romantic no? everyone was rooting for it, secretly you always were too. 

your first date as a couple goes more or less how you planned, awkward and full of teasing. 

word count : 3.1K+

watch it : mild jealousy, cuties, fluff fluff, kinda domestic near the end?

—--

“eat your food." 

you squint, "what the hell else am i doing, you eat your food."

he scoffs, "im literally half way done with my plate."

"it's literally not even a proper portion of course you're almost done." you point at his tiny little section of steak on about a tablespoon of mash potatoes. 

he waves you off and makes a comment about the "liberty of a kitchen."

you ignore this and take another bite of whatever the hell you ordered. you don't remember. you were too busy trying not to focus too much on the man in front of you.  the all black outfit is insanity, you know he only went for it because you told him ages ago all black looks the best on him. and now here you are. suffering

you just nodded to whatever the waitress was saying. though she could have done with less ogglying at your date. your trent. 

you take pride in knowing your his go to, his best friend, his #1. you've been by his side longer than you can remember being without. he's your other half in every sense. before the fame and money, lavish life and dwindling time. he's always been yours somehow. 

maybe you should've known at some point that feelings were bound to be brewing. 

everyone and their mother had told you. hell, even your own mother had told you so. but you waved them off. he's my friend, no trent is my best friend, ew no that would be so weird, i can't even stand hin on a good day, he's annoying, nope just friends. 

now look at you. seated across from each other, his sleeves rolled up while you eat in candle light. the dark blue drapery of the establishment makes this feel way more intimate than needed. and the chandeliers that hang over your head are enough to make you stare in wonder. 

his sharp features almost soften like this, tucked away in a far corner away from prodding eyes and unnecessary media attention. where it's only the two of you in your little bubble, and the soft live piano that travels from the main foye. you enjoy this, but mainly you enjoy him. 

you noticed he cleaned up his facial hair for this, it makes your heart melt. the silver jewelry that shines on his golden skin is a mirror of the silver that drapes across you. he told you to wear silver. the maniac. he planned this all the way down to the damn jewelry. 

(the both of you are matching in general, which makes you feel something closer to insanity, it gives you a thrill when people’s gazes wash over the two of you and they can so easily tell you are here together. for each other. the stares you got while walking in don't go unforgotten.)

he's the one who dragged you to this restaurant, one much more fancy that you care for. any establishment that calls for floor length dresses to eat is above you, but he insisted. even taking time to tell you how stunning you looked on the way here. your cheeks were on fire the whole time you tried to come up with a counter, failing miserably and just telling him he looked handsome too. 

what a gentleman, driving you here and keeping a hand on yours the whole time. you were sweating the whole time. this whole thing is new to you. but you try not to explode while you sit across from him, sipping on your water to avoid eye contact. 

trent pretends to suddenly be very interested in the silverware, but you don't miss the way his gaze still manages to shift over to you, landing somewhere between your eyes and lips.

you sigh loudly, your appetite disappearing while you push your plate in front of you. 

"do not even start." he warns, fork raised and pointed at you. 

"i didn't even do anything ! what's with you tonight. "

"could ask you the same thing," he mumbles between mouthfuls of his steak, "you're being, very weird."

"im on a dinner date with you how else do you want me to act."

he coughs awkwardly at this, "i don't know ! normally. you haven't made fun of my shoes yet. where's the old grouchy evil and conniving friend i know. you're too, " he waves his fork in the air trying to find the right word, "civil."

you snort, "that's a mouthful. i don't know this whole dynamic shift is taking a while to get used to, " you shrug.

"we need to stop saying i don't know so often." he sighs, rubbing his eyes aggressively. 

you choose to ignore that bit, "and i need to be civil in public or your adoring fans might have my head."

he rolls his eyes, "that's a stretch."

you wave him off with a hand, "you never know. crazy people do crazy things."

he looks at you fondly at this, giving you one of his signature smiles, you look away and change the subject as fast as you can think. you don't need weak knees in a high end establishment. 

"you know i would've been just fine with takeout and a movie." you mumble softly.

he gives you a soft look " i know, but i wanted to make it special. take you out somewhere nice for a change. we never do that."

"you're not going to let me pay are you?" you muse.

he gives you a look, "im offended you even brought that up. i hope you know you're never going to be paying for things ever again right."

"and i hope you know i'm going to fight you over it the whole way through."

he finds this amusing, "yeah yeah yeah shut up and eat your food, i think my socks are sliding off my foot."

"i don't want to hear about your sweaty foot while i eat trent, gross." you fake gag. 

"cry about it." he dead pans. 

you narrow your eyes at him, "i'm going to talk about the pimple i popped on my shoulder, in great detail. is that what you want?"

"ew gross hell no. no more socks or feet geez." he scoffs. 

you cackle, "problem solved then."

he rolls his eyes but goes back to eating anyway, cutting his steak with way too much force than necessary. 

you on the other hand have to play tug of war with the fabric of your dress in order to keep it where you want it. 

"you want to leave don't you?" he comments. 

"that obvious?" he nods, "yep," popping the p.

"i don't want it to seem like I'm ungrateful for the effort or anything, because i swear it's not like that. i'm happy to be with you regardless and yeah. we don't have to leave." you try to explain. 

as much as you enjoy spending time with him this isn't your scene. you're aching to go home, and so are you poor ankles. these heels can only be worn for so long and they are coming up on their expiration date for the night. maybe trent can help take them- no fuck. bad. bad bad. this is a dinner, you're at dinner be civil. 

trent seems to be none the wiser as his attention remains on you. 

"why would we stay if you don't want to ?" he looks at you confused, brows drawn together, arm propped up against the table while he waits for an explanation. 

"because you're the one who wanted to come here?" "so? if you wanna go home then we'll go home."

home. oh. he's starting to refer to his house as home. for the both of you. that does something to you, you're almost dizzy. god how can one person be so sweet. 

"we can finish up and head home? i really don't mind." you suggest. 

he hums at this, "alright then. we’re stopping by the chinese place you like so much, you didn't even eat. "

"to be fair, the portions are the size of my pinkie and i think they took too much creative liberty in the kitchen." you wrinkle your nose. 

he giggles, that shy little spurt of laughter, the one you love so much and always try to coax out of him, "i forget the flavors can be uh, adventurous with most of their dishes. "

you chuckle, "definitely adventurous."

he flags down the waitress from earlier who bats her eyelashes one too many times at him while you roll your eyes. he gives you a glare while he pays, before you can open your mouth. while you get up, dusting your dress down, he presses you flush to him, effectively shutting down any advances. you can't help but grin at the little act. even if your skin is on fire from the contact.

your lead out the back by one of the valets to avoid the busy main section and the endless cameras that wait for you from the front.

you step out to a colder night than you expected, rubbing your arms in a futile attempt to warm yourself up. the valet steps away to retrieve his car while you shiver harder than a skeleton animatronic in a halloween pop up store. 

trent notices, coming up behind you to wrap both arms around your waist, pulling you close. 

"cold?" he has the nerve to ask, flush against you and the damn dress that clings against your skin, his breath tickles your ear while you lick your lips nervously. his arms are much more muscular up close. the whole of him is, you can feel the efforts of his training as they hold you. good lord you're going to lose your mind. and the chest you're pressed up against? do not.

"a little." you whisper back, afraid to say much more.  

he hums, rubbing your arms for you, sending goosebumps all the way down your spine, and he has the audacity to chuckle at your reaction. 

"cars gonna be here soon."

you can only nod dumbly.

he unlatches when the car comes into view. thanking the man with a clap on shoulder, almost like an old friend, and a generous tip.

he opens the door for you, holding his arm out to help you balance, sweet of him. 

you duck inside while he says his last thanks and goodbyes to the valet, turning on the heat first thing when he gets inside. 

the drive is silent, not much to talk about after you confessed your love to each other just days before. 

you could almost laugh at the complete 180 from this week to the last. youre so so glad it ended up this way nonetheless. you don't think you could handle another second suffering in silence. 

how it all went down makes you cry in full honesty. it was an argument. over fucking instagram. you were bitching about the girls who are on his dick and he called you over protective and you defended yourself because duh. that somehow had spiraled into how he's insane, and then your relationship. and then you stormed out, don't ask, you don't remember. 

he tracked you down at your place with flowers as an apology and you just lost it, because what kind of friend gets flowers and calls in just platonic?

lucky for the both of you it wasnt platonic, not to him, not to you. 

he confessed first, that you were more important to him than any of the women he follows combined and so much more. you're his everything can't you see that? he loves you, in every sense. he hates seeing you upset so please, don't cry. 

you kissed him, slow and hesitant while he broke out in giggles. 

"does that mean what i think it does ?" he had whispered against your lips. 

you nodded, shy and tender. 

"i need to hear it. please, say it." breathless, at the cusp of losing his grip on everything. 

"i love you trent, more than i think i can explain. you are my other half yeah? my everything."

and so here you are, watching the shapes of the city breeze past you as the gps guides you to your beloved chinese take out. you can almost taste the noodles you're so ready for it you're starving. 

a hand rests on your thigh, softly tracing shapes the rest of the way there and you hide a smile. you don't think you'll ever get used to any of this new found affection. things you once only day dreamed of having now right in front of you.

you're drowsy by the time you pull into the familiar parking lot. you giggle at just how ridiculous the two of you look. stepping out of a probably hundred thousand dollar car, if not more. dressed like you're going to the ballon d'or. all while walking into a quiet little family own take out spot. 

trent takes your hand again, while you fight to bunch up your dress to get over the obnoxious curve. 

he fights a smile while locking the car behind you. 

"you try getting over this mountain in heels and this long ass dress i dare you." you hiss. 

he snorts but keeps his mouth shut as you inside the familiar space. sighing in glee. 

the kind older woman who always takes your orders doesn't bat an eye at your dress, but welcomes you with a warm hug. 

“the usual?” she beams, even at this time of night. cheery as ever. 

“yes please !”

she smiles, getting to work making your order while you drum against your thigh. bad habit. 

you’re very thankful it’s as late as it is, the place is dead empty. a little safe haven. 

you reach into your purse but mr “i’ll pay for it all” stops you. 

you tsk, “come on this is my spot. i want to tip her well. let me at least have this after that fancy meal.”

“i said i would pay,” he states firmly. 

“i know, but paying here is special to me. and i want it to come from my hand. she deserves it after all the kindness she’s shown to me over the years.” you gesture to her wrapping up your boxes. 

you remember when you used to be a student low on cash, she would always fill your plate with double of everything or just give you the next size up, and extra dessert, free drink. the little things, life is all about the little things. 

he sighs, “fine fine. i won’t take this away from you. “

you smile, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. he waits for you on the side while you go up to the counter. 

she smiles at you knowingly, “finally made a move on that one huh?” 

you blush, “we both made moves and things worked out well. “

she grins, “finally. i thought it would never happen, you know. maybe i’ll get to see your kids too huh?”

you chuckle, kids with trent huh. not a bad idea, “maybe you will.” you sigh fondly. handing her the money. 

you hand a few boxes to trent and motion to the door before she catches on. but it’s a little late. 

you sneak out of there while she’s yelling at you to take your change, “keep it ! it’s all for you !!” you shout back. giggling while you and trent make your escape. 

the ride to his house is filled with laughter and you don’t ever remember being happier. 

its all giggles and shy smiles as he leads you up to his home, hand in hand while you race up the steps and make a dash for the elevator. the door man gives you too a look but doesn’t comment, yet. you know he will sooner or later but you don’t care. 

the take out boxes are split in between the two of you as you hold them snug against your chest. humming softly as the elevator opens. 

the ride up is filled with soft teasing, and more compliments. 

"im serious!" he shoves you gently, "you look, incredible." 

your face burns with enough heat to power an oven, his words do a number on you and all you want is to hear them over and over. but you don't say this. 

"you look so handsome trent." is all you find to reply back. 

a shy smile is what you get in return as the elevator opens. the walk is familiar but your feet are making it feel much longer than needed. 

he opens the door and you dont waste a second collapsing on his couch, groaning at the pressure finally being off your feet. he takes the boxes from your hands and sets them on the living room table, kicking his shoes off somewhere as he organizes them just how you like. 

"eat first then change?" he takes a seat next to you. 

you shake your head, "don't wanna ruin the dress."

"alright," he nods

you attempt to get up but your feet are swollen by the looks of it and you could cry at the though of taking another step in these damned heels. 

you reach over carefully to begin the effort of getting them of you but holy fuck is it taking much longer than needed.

"you're taking so long," he groans, scooting down to raise right ankle to rest gently in his knee, hands working slowly. 

you sigh in sweet sweet relief when the intricate lacing finally comes undone and your foot can breathe. he does the same to the left, bringing it up to rest against your right.

 your head falls back against the couch cushions, eyes closed and relaxed. it gives you a moment to really appreciate it all. to appreciate him. 

you crack your eyes open when he gives your leg a gentle tap, all done. 

you swing your feet back to the ground, scooting up closer to him. it's a beat of silence where he watches you, wait for your move. and you press gentle kisses on both cheeks, then nose, one on his forehead, and finally his lips. 

he can't keep his hands to himself at the end, a hand finds your waist, tugging you closer to him, impossibly close. the other cups your cheek gently. 

you won't part till you run out of air, panting gently against each other's skin.

"thank you." you mumble against his lips.

he hums, "anything for you. you know what."

you could reach the clouds like this, could reach the stars.

[leviscolwill]

— dad!trent headcanons !

req: dad!trent headcannons PLEASEE. i am on my knees, begging 🙇‍♀️

trent is giving boy dad in the best way possible

it's like having a mini trent around the house

imagine having two sassy boys around tho

he is stressed.

like actually stressed, you had hundreds of talks about your son and his education but he's dead scared of messing something up

like he would overthink and put his diaper the wrong way or sum

so he'd go to his brother for advice

plus, going on vacation with his brothers and his niece so they all grow up very close (crying at the idea of this tbh)

now... since he basically never uses instagram

i don't even know if he would make a proper pregnancy or baby announcement tbh

he'd just drop the baby announcement out of nowhere full peeta style

orrrr, he would do THE thing

aka putting the ball under his jersey when he scores (pls tell me you know what i mean)

and when your son is born you bet he's celebrating with his initial (like he did for his niece 🥹)

now... why do i feel like he's the type to talk to kids like they're full grown adults 💀

like he'd talk about his day and how training went even though the boy can't understand yet

also yk how trippier's son wanted psg to win that ucl game against newcastle and walked out with mbappe ?

trent would genuinely not take that

there is no way on earth HIS son is gonna support another club than liverpool tbh

he would physically condition him to support them

making him watch the corner taken quickly moment on repeat

he wouldn't actually do that but... close

as soon as your son learns how to walk you bet he has a football in his feet

not in a project mbappe kinda way but he wants to bond with his son over something he loves yk

you know that video of gavi playing with little kids ? yeah same

he doesn't care if your son is nine, he's playing like it's a ucl final

tbh he seems like the kind of dad to have beef with kids if they mess with your son

fully side eyeing them in front of his school and cussing them out at home

you would absolutely NOT let him close to your son's wardrobe

no way on earth he's passing the bad fashion taste genes down to your son

i don't rlly know how to end this but honestly i think after being a stressed dad, he just learns how to vibe with his son and want to make him the happiest ever

and he would go to every length to make his family happy

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER ONE

“even when it’s bad, i love you”

pairing — trentxblack!girl

genre — angst, angst and more angst

word count —5k

summary — y/n and trent's once strong relationship is strained by his growing distance and her unexpected pregnancy. as they clash over their future, y/n faces the painful choice of leaving or staying. will they overcome their struggles and rebuild their love, or will their fractured bond break beyond repair?

an — i’ve been so excited for this series! i’m so happy to finally post it

masterlist

trent walked through the front door, the usual warmth of their home replaced by an unsettling chill. the house was too quiet, a stark contrast to the life it once held. the silence only made the tension between them more palpable, like a storm that had been brewing for weeks.

he dropped his gym bag in the hallway and glanced towards the kitchen, where y/n stood with her back to him. she was moving slowly, almost mechanically, and didn’t turn to greet him like she used to. the knot in his stomach tightened as he noticed how withdrawn she seemed.

“hey,” he called out, his voice lacking the warmth it once held. “how was your day?”

she didn’t answer right away, her hands stilling on the counter. “it was... okay,” she finally replied, her voice so soft he almost didn’t hear her.

he walked over, leaning against the counter opposite her. “you’ve been crying,” he observed, his tone accusatory without meaning to be.

y/n stiffened at his words, her heart racing. she had been crying, but for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. she had spent hours that afternoon staring at the positive pregnancy test, her mind a whirl of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also a small glimmer of hope. she thought about how to tell him, how to make him see that this wasn’t just a mistake or a burden, but something they could embrace together. but now, looking at his weary face, she wasn’t so sure.

“we need to talk,” she said, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay calm.

trent’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and defensiveness flaring up inside him. “about what?” he asked, his tone clipped.

she took a deep breath, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “i’m pregnant.”

the words hung in the air between them, heavy and suffocating. trent’s reaction was immediate—his eyes widened in shock, and then his expression hardened, a mix of confusion and anger twisting his features. “what? how is that even possible? we’ve always been careful.”

y/n felt the sting of his words, her heart breaking a little more with each passing second. she had expected shock, maybe even fear, but the coldness in his voice cut deep. “i don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “but it happened.”

trent ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the kitchen. “this... this can’t be happening,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “we’re not ready for this. i’m not ready for this.”

“we can figure it out together,” y/n tried, desperation creeping into her voice. “we’ve always figured things out together.”

he stopped in his tracks, turning to face her with an expression that sent chills down her spine. "did you forget to take your pill or something? is this some sort of trap?" the accusation was like a slap to the face, and y/n recoiled as if physically struck.

“how can you say that to me?” she choked out, tears welling up in her eyes. “do you really think i would do something like that to you?”

the weight of his accusation settled on her chest like a boulder, crushing her beneath its unforgiving mass. it wasn’t just the words—it was the disbelief, the mistrust, the implication that she could be so calculating, so cruel. the thought that he could even entertain such an idea ripped through her, leaving her raw and exposed. this was the man she had given everything to, the one she had loved unconditionally, and yet, here he was, questioning her integrity, her love.

every tear that welled up in her eyes was a testament to the betrayal she felt, each drop a piece of her heart that had been shattered by his words. she could barely recognize the person standing in front of her, the person who had once vowed to trust her, to stand by her no matter what. his assumption felt like a knife twisting in her gut, the pain of it almost too much to bear.

trent didn’t answer immediately, his mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. the pressure of the season, the constant scrutiny from the media, the weight of expectations—it all came crashing down on him, and he felt like he was drowning. "i don’t know, y/n,'"he finally said, his voice cold. "i don’t know what to think right now. this is... this is too much."

y/n’s anger flared, her hurt turning into something sharper. “so what, you want me to just get rid of our child?” she spat out, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

trent’s eyes flashed with something dark, something she hadn’t seen before. “maybe we should consider it,” he said harshly. “we’re not ready for a kid, y/n. we’re barely managing as it is.”

y/n’s heart plummeted at his words, the world around her narrowing to the crushing reality of what he was suggesting. every breath she took felt labored, as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her gasping for something solid to hold onto. “barely managing”. the words echoed in her mind, slicing through her like a cold blade. had their love really come to this? to the point where the idea of their child—their child—was something to be feared, something to be discarded?

the ground beneath her feet felt unstable, like it could give way at any moment, sending her tumbling into an abyss of despair. she had always thought of trent as her safe place, the one person who would stand by her no matter what. but now, as she looked at him, she realized that the man standing before her was a stranger—someone capable of suggesting something so unthinkable.

“'i can’t believe you’re saying this,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to keep herself from falling apart completely. “this is our child, trent. how can you be so heartless?”

“heartless? or realistic?” trent shot back, his voice rising in frustration. “we have plans, y/n. dreams. a baby wasn’t part of them—not now.”

the words stung like a fresh wound, and y/n could feel herself spiraling. “why is it always on me?”, she demanded, her voice sharp, filled with hurt. “why is it my responsibility to make sure we're careful? you haven’t used a condom in years, trent. you just assumed i’d handle it, like it’s only my problem.”

trent’s face hardened, but there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “we were both in this, y/n. don’t try to make it sound like—“

“your convenience, trent,” she interrupted, her voice trembling with rage.”'it was always for your convenience. you wanted me on the pill because it was easier for you, and now you want to blame me for this?”'

the truth in her words cut deep, and trent struggled to find a response. “it’s not about blame,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less tense. “i just… this wasn’t supposed to happen. not like this.”

“'and what if it’s never the right time?” she demanded, her tears blurring her vision. “'what if we keep waiting and waiting, and it never happens because we’re too busy being ‘realistic’?”

trent looked at her, his heart heavy with regret and confusion. he could see the pain in her eyes, the devastation in her words, and it made him feel like he was losing her—losing everything. but instead of pulling her closer, he felt like he was pushing her further away with every word

“y/n…” he began, his voice softening, but she cut him off, her voice choked with emotion.”'if you can’t see that this is a blessing, then maybe you’re right. maybe we’re not ready.”

trent’s chest tightened as the words hung in the air, suffocating him. he knew he had made a terrible mistake, but he didn’t know how to fix it. the fear and doubt that had driven him to say those awful things still clung to him, but now they were joined by a deep, gnawing guilt. "y/n," he whispered, his voice barely audible, “i’m so sorry. i’m scared and i don’t know what i’m doing.” but she didn’t turn back, didn’t acknowledge his words. she just kept walking, leaving him standing there, drowning in the consequences of his own actions.

desperation clawed at his throat as he watched her retreating form, and suddenly it all came crashing down on him—the weight of his insecurities, the overwhelming pressure he felt, the fear of failing her and their future. but none of that mattered if he couldn’t fix this.

"you think i do?” y/n shot back, her voice cracking as her tears flowed freely now. she spun around, her eyes ablaze with emotion, each tear a reflection of the pain she was carrying. “i’m terrified, trent. but i thought... i thought we could face this together. i thought you wanted us to face this together. but all you’ve done is make me feel alone. unwanted.”

trent’s heart sank at her words, the guilt tightening its grip around him. he stepped forward instinctively, his hands trembling as he reached out toward her, desperate to make her stay, to say anything that could take back what he’d done. “y/n, please,” he begged, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion. “i didn’t mean it. i’m just... i’m overwhelmed. i love you. i want to be with you. i want us. please don’t leave.”

but y/n shook her head, her face hardened by the pain he had caused, her tears still glistening in the dim light. “i’m leaving,” she said, her voice steely despite the way it trembled. “i never want our child to feel this... this unwanted. the way you made me feel tonight. i can’t stay here, trent. not after this.”

her words hit him like a punch to the gut. unwanted. the very thing he feared—the thing that had eaten away at him for months—was now the very thing he had made her feel. and it broke him. his knees felt weak, his mind raced for something to say, something to do, but nothing felt right. nothing would change the fact that she was walking ou

trent stepped towards her, his hands reaching out in a desperate attempt to fix what he had broken. “y/n, please,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “i didn’t mean it. i’m just... i’m overwhelmed. i love you. i want to be with you. please don’t leave.”

but y/n shook her head, her resolve hardening with each passing second. “i never want our child to feel this... this unwanted. the way you made me feel tonight. i can’t stay here, trent. not after this.” she said, her voice steely despite the tears.

“y/n, please, don’t do this,” trent’s voice cracked, his heart breaking as he watched her move toward the bedroom. he followed her, his panic rising with every step. “don’t go, baby, please. we can figure this out, i promise. i’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“i can’t do this anymore, trent,” y/n cried, yanking open the closet door and pulling out a suitcase. her hands shook as she grabbed clothes, shoving them inside with little care. “i thought i could, but i can’t. i can’t raise a child with someone who doesn’t want them.”

trent felt the words like daggers to his heart. he tried to reach for her again, his hands trembling as he touched her arm. “i didn’t mean it,” he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. “please, y/n. i love you. don’t leave me.”

she pulled away from him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. “if you loved me, you wouldn’t have said those things,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “you wouldn’t have hurt me like this.”

trent’s knees almost buckled at her words. “i’m so sorry,” he whispered, his eyes glistening with tears he was too proud to let fall. “please, baby. i’ll do anything. just don’t leave.”

but y/n had already made up her mind. she zipped up the suitcase and grabbed it, brushing past him as she headed for the door. trent stood frozen, his heart shattered, watching the love of his life walk out of their home.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, but it was too late. the front door closed behind her with a finality that echoed through the empty house.

trent sank to the floor, his mind reeling with regret and sorrow. he had pushed away the one person he loved more than anything, and now, he didn’t know if he would ever get her back.

y/n gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she replayed trent’s words in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. the quiet hum of the car did nothing to drown out the echo of his voice—harsh, unyielding, and completely unlike the man she thought she knew. her heart felt heavy, burdened by the weight of the hurt he’d inflicted on her.

“maybe we should consider it.”

the words rang in her ears, over and over, as if they were etched into her mind. he’d spoken about their child as if it was nothing more than an inconvenience, something to be dealt with rather than cherished. the man who once promised her the world, who had knelt before her with a ring and vowed to love her through anything, was now the same man who had suggested they rid themselves of the very future they had created together.

she wiped at her eyes, her vision blurred by tears she couldn’t seem to stop. how had it come to this? how had they gone from dreaming of a life together to this—a chasm so wide between them that she couldn’t see a way to bridge it? the ring on her finger felt heavier now, a cold reminder of promises that suddenly felt so fragile.

the miles between cheshire and london stretched out before her, but she barely noticed the distance. she needed her mum—needed the comfort of home, the warmth of arms that had always been there to catch her when she fell. she didn’t know what else to do, where else to go. all she knew was that she couldn’t stay there, in that house filled with memories now tainted by the cruel words trent had thrown at her.

as she pulled into her parents’ driveway, the familiar sight of her childhood home brought a fresh wave of tears. the house was dark, the neighborhood quiet, the world seemingly asleep while hers was falling apart. she sat there for a moment, the engine ticking as it cooled, trying to gather the strength to move.

finally, she climbed out of the car, her legs trembling as she walked up the steps. she hesitated for a moment before knocking, her hand shaking. it was late—too late to be arriving unannounced—but she had nowhere else to go.

the door opened slowly, and there stood her mum, her face etched with concern as she took in the sight of y/n standing there, tears streaming down her face. “y/n?” she whispered, her voice thick with worry.

at the sound of her mum’s voice, the dam broke. y/n let out a sob, her knees buckling as she fell into her mother’s arms. “mum,” she cried, her voice muffled against her shoulder. “i... i don’t know what to do.”

her mum wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the world. “oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her own eyes filling with tears. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

they stood there in the doorway, y/n’s sobs filling the quiet night air, until finally her mum guided her inside. the warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the coldness she felt inside, but it did little to ease the ache in her chest.

they settled in the kitchen, the familiar comfort of the space doing little to soothe y/n’s heartache. her mum moved around the kitchen, making tea like she always did when things were bad. it was something she’d done since y/n was little—a small gesture, but one that made the world feel a little less chaotic.

as they sat down at the table, y/n finally spoke, her voice trembling. “he said we should consider getting rid of the baby,” she whispered, her eyes staring blankly at the cup in her hands. “he actually said that, mum.”

her mum’s eyes softened with sadness, but she didn’t interrupt, letting y/n get it all out. “he said we’re not ready, that this wasn’t part of our plans. but... but we’re supposed to be a team. we’re supposed to face things together, not like this. how could he say something so cruel? how could he suggest...”

her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish the sentence, the words too painful to speak.

her mum reached across the table, taking y/n’s hand in hers. “oh, my love,” she said gently, her voice filled with compassion. “i can’t imagine how much that hurt you, hearing him say those things. but you know trent loves you. he’s been part of our family for years now, and i’ve seen how much he cares for you. whatever he said, it wasn’t out of malice. he’s scared, y/n. this is big, and it’s sudden, and he’s probably overwhelmed.”

y/n looked up at her, tears spilling over her cheeks. “but he doesn’t talk to me, mum. he keeps everything inside, and when he does talk, it’s like... like he’s a different person. i don’t know how to reach him anymore.”

her mum sighed, her thumb gently rubbing over y/n’s knuckles. “men can be like that sometimes. they think they have to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders, and they forget that they don’t have to do it alone. he’s probably trying to figure it all out in his head, and in the process, he’s pushing you away. it doesn’t make what he said right, but it might help to understand where he’s coming from.”

y/n shook her head, her heart still heavy with the pain of his words. “i don’t know if i can forgive him for this, mum. i don’t know if i can forget the way he made me feel—like this baby, our baby, was a mistake.”

her mum’s eyes filled with sympathy, but also with a quiet strength. “you don’t have to make any decisions right now, sweetheart. you’re allowed to be hurt, and you’re allowed to take your time to figure out what you want. just know that whatever you decide, i’m here for you. we all are.”

y/n nodded, the weight of her mum’s words settling into her heart. the road ahead was uncertain, and she knew it wouldn’t be easy. but in that moment, wrapped in her mother’s warmth and understanding, she felt just a little bit stronger.

the next morning, y/n woke up feeling like a shell of herself, her body moving through the motions as if on autopilot. the room was dim, the early morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the walls. she blinked slowly, her eyes swollen and puffy from the tears she had cried into her mother’s arms and later into her pillow. the reality of the situation hit her like a tidal wave—she was pregnant, and trent, the man she loved more than anything, had reacted in the worst way possible.

she placed a hand on her stomach, the realization sinking in that there was a life growing inside her. her fingers trembled as she gently pressed against her abdomen, a quiet, almost inaudible whisper escaping her lips. “it’s just you and me now, little one,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “we’re going to be okay... i promise.”

but the words felt fragile, like they could shatter at any moment, just like the life she had envisioned with trent. a wave of nausea suddenly washed over her, pulling her from her thoughts. she barely made it to the bathroom before she was sick, her body heaving as she emptied what little was in her stomach.

after rinsing her mouth and splashing water on her face, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. she had to keep it together, at least for now. with shaky hands, she got dressed, pulling on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater that did nothing to hide the slight bump she now knew was there.

when she finally made her way downstairs, the smell of breakfast filled the air—eggs, bacon, and freshly baked bread. her mum was already in the kitchen, moving around with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a million times before. the sight of her mother’s familiar, comforting figure brought a fresh wave of tears to y/n’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, not wanting to break down again.

her mum turned and smiled softly at her, her eyes full of love and understanding. “good morning, sweetheart. i made breakfast for you. you need to eat well now that you’re carrying my grandchild.”

y/n managed a small, grateful smile, her heart swelling with the love and care her mum was showing her. she sat down at the kitchen table, her movements slow and deliberate, the weight of the past 24 hours pressing heavily on her shoulders.

as she picked at her food, her mum sat down across from her, the quiet between them filled with a deep, unspoken understanding. “you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready,” her mum said gently, reaching out to place a hand over y/n’s. “but just know that i’m here for you, every step of the way.”

y/n nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “i know, mum. thank you.” her voice was barely above a whisper, the words coming out strained. she wanted to say more, to pour out all the fear and uncertainty swirling inside her, but she couldn’t find the strength.

as y/n sat at the kitchen table, her mind still heavy with the events of the previous night, her mum took a deep breath, her voice gentle yet firm. “i booked an appointment with your ob-gyn for later today, just to see how far along you are and make sure everything’s okay.”

y/n’s eyes widened, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks as she shook her head. “i don’t want to do it without him,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “i can’t... i don’t want to go through this alone.”

her mum immediately pulled her into a comforting embrace, stroking her hair as she whispered soothing words. “you won’t have to, sweetheart. he’s just going through a rough time right now, but he loves you. you’re his whole world, y/n, and he’s going to come around. you’ll see.”

y/n clung to her mother, her heart aching with a mix of fear and longing. she wanted to believe her mum’s words, to hold on to the hope that trent would be there for her and their baby. but the uncertainty gnawed at her, and all she could do was cry, letting the tears wash over her as her mum held her tight.

when they pulled apart y/n sat quietly at the kitchen table, her fingers tracing the edge of her mug as she tried to collect her thoughts. her mum was bustling around, preparing breakfast, casting worried glances her way every few minutes. y/n’s face was still puffy from all the crying she did, both in her mother’s arms the night before and later alone in bed. her mind was a storm of emotions—fear, sadness, love, and the overwhelming realization that a baby was growing inside her.

as she stirred her tea absently, she found herself speaking softly, almost to herself. “i just can’t believe this is happening... there’s a baby inside me,” she thought, placing a tentative hand on her stomach. “i’m going to be a mum.”

a few moments later, the sound of laughter and playful banter echoed from the front door, growing louder as her dad and malik entered the house, fresh from their morning paddle game. y/n’s heart clenched at the sound, the familiarity of it all feeling like a balm to her aching soul.

her dad was the first to spot her, and his face lit up with a warm, loving smile. “there’s my babygirl,” he said, walking over to her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head before pulling her into a tight embrace. “what brings you here so early? not that i’m complaining.”

y/n couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. she clung to her dad, her body shaking as the sobs broke free. “i’m pregnant, dad,” she choked out, her voice cracking with emotion.

there was a moment of stunned silence, and then her dad’s arms tightened around her, holding her as if he could shield her from all the pain in the world. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “that’s wonderful news. you’re going to be an amazing mum.”

malik, who had been standing off to the side, rushed over and wrapped his arms around both of them, his voice full of excitement. “are you serious? i’m going to be an uncle? this is the best news ever!”

y/n couldn’t help but smile through her tears, the love and support from her family filling her with a warmth she hadn’t felt since the night before. but then her dad pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing in concern. “why are you crying, love? what happened?”

y/n wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself. “trent didn’t take it well... he said some things... hurtful things.” her voice broke again, and she shook her head, the memory of the fight replaying in her mind like a nightmare.

her dad’s expression softened, and he gently cupped her face in his hands. “he loves you, y/n. i know he does. he’s probably just scared, like you are. but he’ll come around, I promise. he’s a good man, and he loves you more than anything.”

malik nodded in agreement, his voice full of conviction. “yeah, sis. and until he does, you’ve got me. my niece or nephew is going to have the best uncle in the world, i swear.”

y/n let out a shaky breath, the love from her family seeping into the cracks that trent’s words had left in her heart. for a moment, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay, that they would figure this out, just like they always had. but as the morning wore on and the reality of her situation settled back in, the doubts and fears crept in once more.

her future felt uncertain, and the thought of facing it without trent by her side was almost too much to bear. but as she sat there, surrounded by the love and warmth of her family, she knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t alone. and no matter what happened next, she would find a way to make it through. for herself, and for the little life growing inside her.

trent sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, as the events of the past few days played on an endless loop in his mind. no matter how much he tried to push it away, the memory of y/n’s tear-streaked face and the pain in her eyes haunted him. the weight of his words pressed down on his chest, suffocating him with regret.

he was lost, unable to focus on anything else. training sessions passed by in a blur, his body moving on autopilot while his mind remained trapped in the past. every time he closed his eyes, he saw her walking away, heard the echo of the door closing behind her, and felt the emptiness she left in her wake.

it was unbearable. he had to do something—anything—to make things right. but every time he thought of reaching out, the fear of her rejection, of having lost her for good, paralyzed him.

and then, as he was sitting there in the quiet of his room, a memory surfaced, clear and vivid, breaking through the fog of his despair.

it was the night after he proposed. they were in bed, their bodies tangled together under the sheets, the room filled with the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. trent’s fingers traced delicate patterns on y/n’s bare back as she rested her head on his chest, their breathing in sync.

“husband,” she murmured, her voice a breathy whisper against his skin. “trent alexander-arnold, my husband.”

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her cheek. “and you, mrs. y/n alexander-arnold,” he replied, his voice low and filled with warmth. “how does that sound?”

she lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his, and a playful smile danced on her lips. “it sounds perfect,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips against his. “i can’t wait to be your wife.”

their lips met in a slow, tender kiss, filled with the promise of forever. trent’s hand moved up to cradle her face, deepening the kiss as his other hand trailed down her spine, pulling her closer. y/n sighed into the kiss, her fingers sliding into his hair, tugging gently as their passion ignited.

“i love you,” he murmured against her lips before trailing kisses down her jawline to her neck, making her gasp softly. “i’m so lucky to have you.”

"i love you too,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she tilted her head back, giving him better access to her neck. "always.”

his lips continued their path down her neck, leaving a trail of warmth that made her shiver with anticipation. “for the rest of my life,” he echoed, his voice husky as he pulled her back into another deep, lingering kiss, sealing their promise to each other in the quiet intimacy of the night.

trent felt his heart clench at the memory. how had they gone from that pure, unfiltered joy to this unbearable pain?

with trembling hands, he reached for his phone and opened their message thread. he had sent her countless texts since she left, each one more desperate than the last, but there had been no response. still, he couldn’t stop himself from typing another message, hoping against hope that she would read it.

i’m so sorry, baby. i never meant to hurt you. i love you. please don’t go. i am lost without you. please come home.

on the other side, y/n sat alone in her childhood bedroom, the weight of trent’s messages heavy in her hands. tears streamed down her face, each message a cruel reminder of the love that felt so distant now. her heart ached with every word, longing to reach out, to tell him how much she missed him, how her love for him hadn't wavered.

but every glance at her growing belly brought back the sting of his harsh words, the flicker of doubt in his eyes. she felt the unbearable contrast between the life inside her—so precious, so innocent—and the emptiness left by his rejection. his promises and the dreams they shared now seemed like distant echoes.

clutching her stomach, she cried uncontrollably, the pain of his absence intertwining with the fear of a future that seemed impossibly uncertain. she was caught between the love that still held her heart captive and the overwhelming dread that they might never overcome the chasm between them.

next

© PDRIESTA 2024

[mattsunsdollie]

Thinking about Trent Alexander Arnold coming home from a particularly exhausting game. Keeping your relationship private you settle with supporting him from the comfort of his home, wearing his jersey of course.

He wasn’t sure if it was because the image of having you arched on all fours last night that kept popping in his head. Or you prancing around his home wearing his jersey with the tiniest shorts on the planet. Either way he was hardly able to concentrate in the game.

He always came straight home to you after games, but tonight he was doing 60 in a 35 zone. Eager couldn’t even describe how much his desire was for you. When he finally made his way through the house, looking for you and finding you sprawled on the couch still wearing the jersey.

Grabbing your ankle and dragging you closer to him. Feeling his large body pressed against you, you feel his erection on the outside of your leg “Need it now love, don’t mind if I play rough with you right?”

[the-offside-rule]

Trent Alexander Arnold (Liverpool) - Jolly

Day 11 of Christmas

Trent had walked down the stairs with his training back and kitted out in his usual Liverpool attire. He chucked his training bag at the door and walked towards the kitchen to see his girlfriend and her younger half brother Charlie. Charlie's parents both worked early hours and very rarely could bring Charlie to school so Y/n took it among herself to bring the youngest of her family to school instead. And so, every morning at half past six, the doorbell would go off and Y/n's stepdad would drop off Charlie and head to work. It didn't bother either of them much, but their favourite hobby was the Elf on the Shelf and making him do all kinds of mischievous stuff whilst Charlie wasn't there.

Trent walked into the kitchen and looked around confused. No one was there except Charlie eating his toast with a cup of tea in his Liverpool mug. "Well Charlie, how's it going?" Trent asked as he walked past the kid and patted his head. “Uncle Trent, how's it going?” Charlie asked as he stared at his Elf at the table. “Everything's fine. Why?” Trent asked walking over to the teapot. "This stupid Elf." He replied. "He won't stop fucking moving."

"I don't think your sister would appreciate you cursing now, or your mum." Trent said as he poured himself a cup of tea. "I don't care. I don't like this Elf." He mumbled. "What'd he even do?" Trent asked. "Oh my god, he did so much bad stuff!" Y/n's brother began. "He unrolled like five rolls of toilet roll last night, and then he went and broke my favourite lego set! I might have to rebuild it before I go back to mum after school." Charlie sighed. "Where's your sister?" Trent asked. "She's just doing some washing. Then we're going to school." Charlie replied. "Yeah sound."

Y/n had such a long day at work that she simply just fell asleep as soon as she dropped onto her bed and by the time she woke up again, the curtains were closed and she was tucked in. Trent must've come home. She got out of bed and walked downstairs seeing the living room light on. She peeked in and spotted Trent putting plastic pieces of lego onto what looked like a mini Annfield. "Hi?" Trent looked up and smiled. "Well, missus. I've some dinner ready for you whenever you want it." Trent said. "What are you doing up so late?" Y/n asked as she looked around the living room and spotted her boyfriend scanning through instructions. "Just helping Jolly with a lego set." Trent replied. She looked confused. "Jolly? As in Charlie's Elf?" Trent nodded. "Yeah, he broke one today so I helped him rebuild Charlie's one and I'm making him make one for tomorrow."

"You know how my mum feels about gifts before Christmas." Y/n said. "Yeah, but it's fun. And it was kinda my idea to break the lego set last night." Y/n nodded. "I'll write a little letter or something to go it with." Y/n said as she sat down beside him and pulled out a piece of paper. She began writing as Trent sat quietly mumbling to himself. "I don't have this piece." Trent muttered. "It's in the wrong place." Y/n said picking it off the tray and placing it where it was meant to go. Trent simply looked back at his girlfriend and an idea sprung to mind. "Do you wanna just help me with it so we can both go to bed?" Y/n and Trent stayed up for another hour finishing the set before they placed both lego sets on the table with Jolly and his note and headed to bed, only imagining what Charlie was going to say.

The morning after, Y/n had to call into work earlier which meant this was the first time Trent was in charge of morning duty. He eagerly anticipated the doorbell ringing and when he did, he practically opened it immediately. Trent greeted Charlie's dad before letting Charlie in and getting started eith his morning. "How are you today, boss?" Trent asked, taking Charlie's backpack off him. "Pretty good, Trentski. I-" He gasped as he saw the kitchen table. His broken lego set now fixed and a brand new Anfield lego set. "Oh my god! This is unreal!" Charlie squealed as he ran up to it. It was only when he got closer he spotted his Elf with a little note. He opened it and began reading the scribbly writing.

I wanted to say sorry for accidentally breaking your lego yesterday, so I fixed your one and asked Santa to bring you Anfield to say sorry!

Jolly

"This is sick!" Charlie laughed. "Yeah? Didn't even see it. Must have been magic." Trent said as he plated up breakfast. "Is toast, eggs and bacon alright for you, lad?" Trent asked. "Yeah course." Charlie replied. "Are you dropping me off today? Dad said you were." Charlie asked. "I am indeed, boss. Y/n had to go to work early today." Trent explained. "I don't mind. My friends all wonder what car you drive." Trent chuckled. "Range Rover Sport, but they'll see it today anyway." Trent said as he placed the breakfast and a smaller cup of tea in front of Charlie. "Thanks, Uncle Trent." He didn't know what it was, but he felt his heart strings being played. Maybe it was the fact Charlie had called him Uncle. "No bother, lad."

[f1daydreamers]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: guyssss!!!! ur support means the world, the sun, the moon, the solar system to me like everything!!! some of the comments u leave got me feeling like Y/N fr, big mwahs for u all! I made this part a little longer as an apology for making you wait for so long!

Warnings: more fluff, Trent slowly starting to open up methinks, angst, pressure, high-stress environment, very slow burn

Word Count: 3.1k words (11 mins reading avg)

…

You were seated at your desk, carefully closing the backs of the picture frame. You smiled as you secured the last clip, the image now safely enclosed behind the glass. It was a small comfort, one you could look at during the demanding days.

Before you had the chance to prop it up on your new cabinet, Lee entered with a folder in hand. You left your frame face-down as you stood up, and rounded your desk to greet him.

"Saw your email. Everything okay?"

Lee gave you a quick, apologetic smile as he handed you the folder. "Yeah. Won't be able to make the Man United game this weekend."

He handed you a folder emblazoned with the Man United logo, stuffed with the players' reports.

You raised an eyebrow, more concerned than curious. "That's unlike you. What's come up?"

He leaned against the edge of your desk, folding his arms. "Got to attend a family thing, non-negotiable. But that's not the only reason I'm here."

His tone shifted, more serious now. "I need you to step in and travel with the squad as the on-hand psychologist."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Me? But... I mean, I usually handle things from here. Are you sure?"

Lee nodded, his expression firm. "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't. You've been great with some of the boys so far, and they trust you. This game is going to be intense, and they'll need your support. Plus, it's good for them to have some consistency, especially with me out."

It all made sense, but the reality of it hit hard. You’d only been here for two months, barely building trust through a handful of sessions a week. Now, being thrown into the deep end at Old Trafford for an away game just felt like career suicide.

You bit your lip, the weight of the responsibility starting to settle in. The thought of traveling with the team, being there in the thick of it, was both exciting and daunting.

"I don't know, Lee. What if-" Your voice wavered, playing with the corners of the folder in your hand.

"You'll be fine," he interrupted, his tone reassuring. "You're more than capable. And look, I'll only be a phone call away if you need anything."

You hesitated for a moment, the nerves swirling in your stomach. But deep down, you knew this was a chance you couldn't pass up. Lee believed in you and it was inevitable at one point.

"Okay," you finally said, taking a deep breath. "Sure."

Lee's face broke into a wide grin. "Good. I'll let the gaffer know and I'll make sure everything's arranged for you."

You nodded, watching as he left. The thrill of the weekend was tempered by the gnawing anxiety that you weren't ready, that you were diving headfirst into something you couldn't fully control. Sure, some of the boys had warmed up to you but others were still keeping you at arm's length.

You scoffed to yourself, more like just the one. You were walking a fine line with him and the last thing you wanted was to make things worse. In the heat of the moment, a sentence, an expression, a word could tick someone off.

You couldn't continue your train of thoughts, the folder staring up at you, waiting to be opened. With a steadying breath, you took a seat at your desk again and finally opened it, beginning to read through the reports.

...

The squad and staff gathered at the training ground, the usual pre-match energy heightened by the knowledge that today’s destination was Old Trafford.

You stood off to the side, watching the players mill around as they waited for the coaches to arrive, the hum of conversation and laughter blending with the distant noise of fans outside the gates.

You were trying to keep your own nerves in check, running through mental notes on the players, when Curtis sauntered over, a relaxed smile on his face.

“Bit of a madhouse out there." He said, nodding toward the entrance where the sound of chanting fans was growing louder.

“Just a bit,” you replied with a smile, honestly grateful for the distraction.

He chuckled, giving you a once-over. “You look a little tense. First time heading into enemy territory got you rattled?”

You gave him a mock glare, though the truth behind his teasing made you sigh. “Maybe a little. It’s just.. a lot. Big game, and I’m still getting used to being around everyone, let alone on a match day.”

Curtis leaned against the wall beside you, his expression softening. “I get it. But you’ve been solid with us. We’re glad you’re here, even if some of us” - he raised an eyebrow - “aren’t great at showing it.”

You smirked, knowing exactly who he was referring to.

“Trent?”

He grinned. “Nah, Wataru." You nudged his shoulder with your hand, and Curtis pushed himself off of the wall. His attention was directed back to the team as Arne brought everyone together.

"You're gonna smash it, see you in Manny." He flashed you a smile before jogging back over.

You adjusted your backpack currently slung over your shoulder, glancing up but accidentally catching Trent's eye across the large entryway.

He was standing a little apart from the others, his posture relaxed but with an air of deliberate composure. His hands were casually tucked into his pockets, and his usual stoic expression was softened by a hint of curiosity.

His gaze lingered on you longer than usual, more intent and thoughtful.

You offered him a shy smile, unsure of what to expect in return. Almost immediately, his eyes darted away, his expression tightening as he turned his attention back to the team.

A tinge of disappointment settled in your chest, but you didn’t have time to linger on it as the coach pulled into the parking space out front.

“You’ve got this. You’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself, as if it were a mantra, following the backroom staff out of the training ground.

…

The first half had been tightly contested, with neither team managing to score, leaving the game deadlocked at 0-0.

The only real highlight was Trent’s free kick from just outside the box - a powerful shot that flew high, curling away from the goal before soaring over the bar. The away fans held their breath in anticipation, only to exhale in disappointment as the ball missed its mark.

From the sidelines, you watched as Trent’s frustration grew more evident, his usual composure giving way to visible agitation.

Each missed opportunity seemed to fuel his irritation, and it was clear his emotions were beginning to take over.

You sighed as the referee jogged over after a hard tackle. The yellow card was raised high, and Trent’s reaction was a sharp scoff as he walked away, shooting a disdainful side-eye at the player he had just fouled.

The rival fans seized the moment, erupting in cheers and taunts that grew louder and more fervent.

Old Trafford lit up as the referees became hyper-aware of Trent, ready to penalise any further outbursts. Arne’s nervousness was palpable, and the backroom staff were on their feet, counting down to the halfway mark.

Trent was no longer just reacting to the game; he was actively seeking confrontations with the Man United players. His tackles were sharper, his verbal exchanges more heated.

The tension was building to a breaking point, but the halftime whistle blew just in time, bringing a collective sigh of relief from every member of Liverpool’s staff, whether at the training ground or in the stadium.

As you left your seat to head down the tunnel, Trent’s shoulder brushed against yours, his head lowered and skin glistening with sweat.

You noticed Arne watching him closely, his face a mask of concentration and concern, fully aware of how vital Trent was to the team’s strategy - and how disastrous a second yellow card could be.

...

As the halftime break drew to a near close, the tension in the dressing room was palpable. The players sat on the benches, catching their breath and nursing the aches of the first half.

Arne stood at the front, his arms crossed as he delivered his instructions, his tone firm but calm. You could see the focus in their eyes, the determination to turn the game around in the second half.

Just as he'd finished his tactical breakdown, he turned to you, walking over.

"I want you to say a few words," he said, his voice low.

"About?" You asked quietly, unaware of the boys' wandering eyes glancing between the two of you.

"Keeping their heads in the game. Any insights that might help them stay focused and.. you know, ease off the aggression."

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah, okay."

The players' attention turned to you as you moved to the centre of the room, a mix of curiosity and expectation in their gazes. It was almost comical - this was the first time many of them were hearing you speak in a professional setting.

You cleared your throat, giving a quick glance to the clock hung on the wall.

You took a deep breath and began. “I know we don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief. We need to ease off on the aggressiveness." Trent, who had been staring at the floor, lifted his head slightly, his eyes now locked on you.

"We’re here to play our best football, to get the result we want and then move on. Allowing anger is only gonna distract you and hurt our performance. When you feel it bubbling up, just walk away and refocus yourself." You made an effort to connect with each player as you spoke, though deep down, you hoped your words would resonate with one in particular.

"Focus on what you can control - your passing, your tackles, your game.” A smirk tugged at Trent's lips before his head dipped again.

You scanned the room, noticing nods of understanding. “If you see a teammate getting heated, help them out."

Another breath, "push them away from the fight, back off, and concentrate on our tactics, not on the referee’s decisions or the United players. Don’t sulk on what went wrong. Learn from it and move on, yeah?"

Arne gave you a nod of appreciation as you wrapped up your little speech. "Alright, let’s make this second half count," you finished, your voice carrying a tinge of determination.

Virgil clapped twice, rallying the team as they stood and prepared to exit the dressing room. “Let’s go!” As they began filing out, you moved to the side to let them pass.

Trent was among the last to leave.

"Write me up next time," he muttered as he walked by, leaning in just enough for you to hear.

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his lips before darting back up to meet his gaze. Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly composed yourself and responded.

"It was meant for everyone." You lied through your teeth.

He hummed in response, a subtle hint of amusement in his voice. "Sure," he said, not even glancing back as he walked out, leaving you with the undeniable sense that he knew exactly who your speech had been aimed at.

...

In the second half, Trent seemed lighter on his feet, more focused on the tactical aspects of the game and less caught up in the aggression that had marked his earlier play.

Liverpool had eventually secured a hard-fought 0-1 victory, with Salah scoring the winner from a beautifully timed assist by Trent. The away crowds erupted as the ball hit the back of the net, and the energy from that moment carried through until the final whistle.

As you watched him on the pitch, his frustration giving way to calm determination, you couldn’t help but wonder if your halftime words had played a part in that change.

Even a small part, that was more than enough to make you feel like you were on the right track.

The journey back to the training ground was a short one, the adrenaline from the win still buzzing among the team.

But by the time you arrived, the place had already started to empty out, with most of the team and staff having headed home to celebrate or rest.

The win had been sweet, but the quietness that greeted you at the training ground felt like a peaceful end to a very intense day.

You hadn’t intended to stay at the training ground as late as you did after returning, but with Kaia staying over at a friend’s house and the stack of unwritten reports waiting for your attention, you found yourself at your desk again.

The evening had unfolded into an unexpected work spell as you prepared for the upcoming sessions and tackled the never-ending paperwork.

The soft glow from your new office lamp created a cozy pool of light, the only sounds in the quiet room being the occasional rustle of papers and the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

Starting to nurse a headache, you rubbed your eyes carefully as to not smudge your makeup.

The words of practising what you preached echoed in your mind, working for hours on end without a break was hardly the advice you’d give to anybody.

So, you eventually pushed away from your desk and decided to step outside your office for a walk.

The halls were quiet and mostly vacant as you strolled, letting your mind drift and find a moment of peace.

You made your way to the large glass windows that stretched across both the first and second floors, providing a panoramic view of the training grounds below.

The evening sky was transitioning into deep blues, with the last hints of daylight fading.

Yet your gaze was drawn to a solitary figure on the pitch, illuminated by the few remaining lights.

It was him.

Even from this distance, his form was unmistakable as he set up a line of balls and readied himself for another round of free kicks. Instantly, you were reminded of earlier - his powerful shot that had soared over the bar.

Seeing him out there, still working hard, your shoulders slumped in realisation.

The scene was almost surreal, marked by the quiet dedication of a player refusing to call it a day.

You stood there in complete silence, taking in the sight as if it were a scene from a film - each deliberate movement and focused effort holding your rapt attention.

It was a side of him you hadn’t seen before. Alone and immersed in his own world, completely absorbed in his craft without a care for the outside distractions.

Deciding to join him, you headed out of the building and towards the pitch. The evening air was crisp, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of nearby trees.

You crossed your arms over your chest, maintaining a respectful distance as you approached. You hoped your presence would neither startle him nor prompt him to leave.

"Mind if I watch?" You asked, keeping your tone light and casual.

Trent glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned back to the pitch. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but no trace of annoyance.

"Suit yourself, psychologist," he replied, his voice steady. You nodded - guess that was good enough for you.

You watched as he rolled the first ball to his feet, his focus razor-sharp as he stopped it and took a few steps back.

The ball sailed through the air, curving beautifully into the top corner of the net. You couldn’t help but be impressed.

"That was perfect," you said, genuinely admiring his skill.

Trent shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just another shot."

"Give yourself more credit than that. It’s not easy," you countered. "I admire the dedication."

He glanced back at you. “Guess you’d know.”

“Sorry?” You asked, slightly confused.

Another shot.

“The picture in your office. You played once,” he remarked, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

You found yourself wondering when he had been in your office to notice the picture, then it clicked. He'd helped you assemble the cabinet where you later placed it.

He must've spotted it in one of the boxes.

You watched as he set up another ball, and somehow, in a way that only Trent could manage, that shot was even better than the last.

You scoffed lightly, dismissing the comparison. “Nowhere near your level, obviously. But you’re right, I guess I can imagine the passion. The pressure.”

You hoped your words were reaching him, echoing the sentiments he'd talked about in so many of his interviews.

He breathed out slowly. "So why psychology?" He asked, bending over to position the next ball.

"Because mental strength is just as important as physical ability," you explained. "I've seen talented players crumble under pressure, and others rise above it. The difference often comes down to how well they manage their minds."

Trent didn’t respond immediately. He set up another shot, this time, it hit the post with a loud thud.

Frustrated, he sighed.

You picked up the ball as it bounced near you, letting it roll between your hands before walking over to him. Once there, you dropped it to the ground, letting it settle by the side of your foot.

When he looked at you, his gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it.

You felt a flutter in your chest, the kind that made your stomach dip slightly. Your fingers curled into your palms, a subconscious effort to ground yourself as the moment stretched on.

“I know I’m just a stranger,” you began gently, your tone careful and steady.

“But I’m not here to push you and you don’t have to share anything with me. I just want you to know that if you ever feel like talking, we can - no titles, just two people who might understand each other.”

You added with a slight smile. “You’ll never know unless you give it a shot.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider something. You would’ve traded anything in to know what was going through his mind at that moment.

But he shook his head, glancing out over the pitch. “I’m good for now.”

“Okay,” you replied, giving the ball a gentle nudge, just enough to pass it to him. With a nod, you stepped back and turned towards the building, heading inside.

Before entering, you turned around, surprised to find him already watching you. “Thanks for hearing me out, yeah?”

You offered him a final smile before disappearing inside.

Trent’s gaze lingered on your retreating figure for a moment longer before he returned to his practice, a slight shift in his expression as he continued his routine.

...

Part 6

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

Taglist: @trentwife @bluebreadenthusiast @julovesurmom @blubsberries @remmysthings @heyjudeb @keepitabuckxx @vivi-grace @hoddystark @hiireadstuff @trentione @missusstark @iamasimpingh0e @xxxstormyninixxx @lolawwww22 @myloveisforbellingham @purpleniight @bffrwme @mss-nthng @miniemonie2001 @severebelearthquake @fireofsoul5 @greasywall @livelovepasta @bigdikzaddy

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

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

Index:

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

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

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

Chapter 1- 'Setting Traps' | 'Aperture'

word count - 11k

It was early August, and an exclusive luxury club in Ibiza was a heaving mess of heat, music, and bodies. Even in the private section your friend managed to secure, the air felt electric and claustrophobic. Normally, you would’ve thrived in this but tonight you loathed it—the crush of too many people, the constant stream of elbows and spilled drinks, and the overbearing mix of expensive overly potent perfumes. But tonight, in the confined chaos, you found yourself pressed up against someone unexpected, and unexpectedly. It wasn’t just anyone, not a complete stranger. It was a friend of a friend. Someone on a holiday of their own linked with the holiday you were tagging along on, who’d somehow managed to make himself indispensable in this moment. You were on a girl’s holiday with Campbell, Delaney and Foster, your closest friends, and a few of their connections through work. The tequila was Clase Azul, flowing too freely, and the world around you felt like a blurred vignette, so softened by the liquor, you couldn’t even make out the blue patterning on the bottles anymore. 

A misstep in your impossibly high platform Prada gold heels [ref index] sent you off balance, and before you could catch yourself, his hands were there—steady and firm, finding the bare curve of your midriff in between the multicolored sequined embellished mini skirt and top you were in. His touch burned hot against your skin, grounding you in an otherwise unsteady world. You tilted your head back, your slightly glazed, doe-like eyes locking onto his. He looked down at you with a smirk that could only be described as lethal—lazy, confident, and infuriatingly handsome. His lips, impossibly perfect, curled up into an expression that made your breath hitch. They were that irresistible shade of pink, full and just shy of teasing.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and edged with a drawl that made it seem like he’d already figured you out. You weren’t sure if it was the tequila or the man holding you, but suddenly, the room didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

"You have nice lips." The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them, a mix of tequila and the reckless honesty of the night driving your tongue. It almost felt like someone else had said them, that's how uncharacteristic the comment felt. You giggled at yourself, almost embarrassed, but the way your gaze lingered on his face betrayed the truth-you meant it. Every word. They were nice. His lips were distractingly perfect, plush, pouty, and pink, curling into a lazy smirk that only deepened with your admission.

"Yeah?" Trent's voice was warm, teasing, as he tilted his head, leaning in closer. "Well, I've been compiling a laundry list of all the things that look nice on you. I'll throw my lips in there as well, alright?" Your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way he was looking at you, what he just said to you. His words shouldn't have had this effect, but combined with his scent-mint laced with tequila and an aftershave that was downright sinful-they melted over you, a heady cocktail of intoxication. It was a gilded cage spun from his cologne, a velvet prison where every breath was a surrender. The air between you was thick with him—amber, dark and smoldering, vanilla, sweet as a whispered sin. His essence clung to your skin, curling around your throat like unseen silk, binding you in something deeper than touch. You inhaled, and it wasn’t oxygen that filled your lungs but the ghost of him, rich, opulent, inescapable. It didn't help that his hands hadn't moved from your waist. Massive on your frame. They were firm but gentle, fingers brushing the soft skin just above the waistband of your skirt. Every subtle shift of his grip sent a jolt of warmth through your body.

“Cheeky,” you murmured, a smirk tugging at your lips as you tried to match his energy. “You’re handsome, though. Is that how you get away with bull shit like that?” Your voice was playful, but the teasing lilt couldn’t mask the fact that you were a little breathless. His dark eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze, unwavering. The club’s lights cast a soft glow over him, highlighting every sharp angle of his jaw, every line of his face. He was beautiful in a way that felt unfair, like someone who should exist in magazine spreads, not in this cramped, dimly lit corner of a nightclub. And yet here he was, holding you steady, looking at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“It’s not bull shit, baby,” he said, his voice dipping lower, pulling you in like gravity. “I’m being serious. If you like my lips so much, they can be yours for the night.” Your breath caught at his words. The confidence in his tone, the way his gaze never wavered, made your cheeks flush. You tried to steel yourself, tried not to let him see how much he was affecting you, but it was impossible to hide the way your body leaned into his without you even realizing it. You, he thought, you were exactly what he wanted tonight. Cheeky, maybe smarter than he was anticipating, quicker definitely but perfect, sexy, beautiful, he’d watched you all night, and as it would go in his world, you found yourself stumbling into his arms, perfectly so. 

"Is that right?" you asked, your voice softer now, almost daring, playful, managing to find composure under his spell was near impossible, but you found some fragment. Your fingers moved on their own, sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. You didn't stop until your hand rested against his neck, your nails grazing the base of his scalp in a way that made his shoulders stiffen, just for a moment. The slight hitch in his breath didn't go unnoticed, and it gave you a small thrill of satisfaction. Trent's smirk faltered, replaced by something heavier, something darker. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you in the moment, a silent ‘don’t move away yet.’ Unbeknownst to you, you had him right where you would’ve wanted him, though the way his eyes were fixed on yours made it feel like he was the one in control.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me right now," he murmured earnestly, so quietly you almost didn't hear it over the pounding bass of the music. His eyes dropped to your lips again, lingering this time, and you could see the flicker of hesitation there, like he was holding himself back.

"What am I doing to you? You’re the one holding me," you whispered almost tauntingly, the words slipping out before you could think twice. The heat between you was unbearable now, the space narrowing until there was barely anything left. His lips were so close you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your skin. For a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you wanted to, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire. Then his smirk returned, but it was different now, slower, more deliberate. 

"You're trouble, you know that?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement and something else-something that made your heart race. This wasn’t what he was expecting, you were much cheekier than he was anticipating but still sexy, beautiful under the lights.

"Maybe," you replied, your own smile teasing as your nails dragged lightly against the back of his neck again causing him to roll his head a little, swayed by the feeling. "But you don't seem to mind." You taunted his clear reaction to your hands on him. And you were right, he didn’t mind this at all, in fact, it was much more fun when someone returned his serve, the rally had him chomping at the bit. For you, you weren’t aware that said rally was even happening but you were beginning to catch on. Although, it was difficult to play when you were so distracted by him. It was almost unsettling how attractive he was. His calm, smooth, and unbothered demeanor only made it worse, disarming you at every turn. There was something about the way he carried himself, as if he already knew how the night was going to end and was simply waiting for you to catch up. Those dark, pooling yet piercing eyes and the pout of his lips could get him out of anything-hell, he could probably get away with murder if he tried. He was too pretty for his own good, and yet, you were already caught, tangled in the trap he'd barely even laid. You’ve seen men set traps before—watched them lay out charm like bait, pull back the spring with well-placed compliments, wait for the inevitable snap of attraction. But him? He never had to set the mechanism. The trap was already armed, already waiting, because it wasn’t something he does; it’s something he is. It was in the way the world tilted ever so slightly for him to have you falling into his arms without even trying. You weren't naïve. You could see the path laid out before you, the one so many girls before you had walked. It was in the curl of his perfect smile, the careless grace of his fingers staying on your ribs- their comfort on a stranger's body, the way he leaned back like the world was his for the taking, if he wanted it. He didn’t chase. Didn’t lure. He simply existed, and they came. Drawn like moths to a flame they swear won’t burn them. Falling victim to his allure seemed inevitable, but for some reason, you didn't mind. If he wanted you to be his prey tonight, maybe you'd oblige.

"And I'm not your baby," you cooed, rolling your eyes with a mock pout, though you couldn't ignore the way the nickname had made your stomach flip when he said it sentences ago, playing a little game of your own, testing if he even knew he was playing his. And then his smile grew again with cheek. The thing is, you didn’t believe in your game though. You didn’t care why he said it, you didn't hate that he called you it. Not at all. Maybe he’d never had to notice the way the traps happen, how the air tightens when he enters a room, how glances hook onto him like fish caught mid-current. Maybe he didn’t even realize that every step he took, every slow blink, long lashes fluttering, every lazy shift of his genetically blessed jaw was a trigger, a silent snap. Or maybe he very clearly did. Maybe he always had.

"Aren't you, though?" Trent's smirk deepened, devilish and self-assured. His hands shifted slightly, sliding lower until they rested just above your ass, pulling you closer into him. "I think you want to be. Actually... I'm pretty sure I'll have you calling me ‘baby’ by the end of the night."

The audacity of him should have annoyed you, but instead, it sent a spark of heat straight through your veins. His confidence was maddeningly attractive, the kind you wanted to knock down but couldn't help being drawn to.

"You sound so sure about that," you murmured, your voice teasing as you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his. The look on your face was playful, a devious smirk pulling at the corners of your own lips as you tried to keep up with his game.

"I'm very sure," he replied, his voice dropping into something lower, something that made your heart stutter. "So sure that I'll put a wager on it." He taunted. 

"A wager?" you asked, your tone feigning curiosity, though you already knew where he was going. He tilted his head slightly, his mahogany eyes that briefly lit a honey hue under a stray strobe light locked on yours. 

"Yeah, a wager.”  He smirked in a way that was confirmation he was very conscious of his looks, of his effects. “I think I'll have you purring in my ear, wanting more of the lips you think are so nice... if I kiss you." The air between you was thick now, buzzing with a tension that had you gripping onto your resolve like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground. You tried to meet his confidence with your own, though the edges of your composure were fraying fast.

"And what if I don't want that?" you teased, your voice quieter now, though it betrayed the truth-you wanted it more than you were willing to admit. You were losing ground on composure. His smirk widened, dangerously charming as he leaned in just enough to make you hold your breath. 

"You do," he whispered, his voice dripping with certainty. He winked at you, then pulled back abruptly, leaving you breathless as he leaned away from you to pick up his glass from the table beside you two. Lifting it to his lips, he took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours. He didn't have to say anything more-he already knew he'd won. Dammit, you thought, mentally clenching your fists at your sides in a futile attempt to regain control. He was right. You wanted to kiss him. Badly. Suddenly you were envious of glassware in an Ibizan club being kissed by his pillowy lips. 

The moment he stepped back, the absence of his warmth left a void, and in a desperate attempt to reclaim the composure you had lost the second your eyes met his, you pivoted, snatching your own glass off another table. Your body turned sharply, leaning into the cool steel railing of the private section, your eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone—anyone—to anchor you back to reality. But you weren’t looking for anyone. You were looking for yourself, for a shred of dignity, for anything to tether you to something other than the pull of him. To not envy a fucking glass of tequila. Even in absence, he lingered—an intoxicant, a slow-burning spell that you couldn’t break so you kept trying to find that elusive dignity. Your chest rose and fell, each breath failing to steady the racing pulse beneath your skin. The tequila in your own grip trembled ever so slightly before you lifted it to your lips, the club lights catching the gloss of your pout as you wrapped your mouth around the straw. You took a slow, deliberate sip, the chilled burn of liquor tracing down your throat, your head tipping back ever so slightly as you swallowed. Unbeknownst to you, every inch of this unconscious display was laid out before Trent like an offering.

The way you bent into the railing, arching your spine slightly, left your already minuscule skirt riding higher, the glittering fabric threatening to reveal the soft curve of your ass. His eyes locked in, laser focused on the plunging curve neckline of your top that strained as you leaned forward, your tits dangerously close to spilling free, rising and falling with each breath you couldn’t seem to control. Club lights flashed in fragmented bursts, kissing the high points of your cheekbones, your collarbone, the delicate dip of your throat as you swallowed more tequila. You didn’t see the way he watched you, but you could feel it—heavy, searing, claiming.

Trent didn’t move. He didn’t have to. He leaned back against the side of the booth, one hand lazily gripping his glass, the other resting at the hem of his shirt as he watched—smug, satisfied, and entirely in control. Confident as he crossed one leg over the other, enjoying his view. The coy smirk on his lips deepened as he took another sip of his drink, dark eyes drinking you in just the same. You, in your reckless attempt to escape him, had only handed yourself over completely. And he knew it.

—

Campbell’s voice cut through the haze of heat and tequila, her arms wrapping around your waist as she stumbled into you, pressing a fresh drink into your hand. You barely registered her words, your head still spinning from the last round, from the smirk that had unraveled you, from the man who had made it his personal mission to toy with your resolve. You flicked the abandoned straw onto the table, deciding you had no use for the pretense of sipping. Instead, you tilted your head back entirely now and downed the remainder of your drink in one go, the tequila burning its way down your throat like gasoline to an already smoldering fire.

Your friend laughed, probably saying something about your reckless pace, but her words were nothing more than a distant hum against the pounding bass and the rush of alcohol in your bloodstream. You smiled back at her, a drunk, lazy grin, pretending to have heard her when in reality, your focus was locked elsewhere—on the heat still lingering over your skin, on the phantom of his touch still pressed into your waist. Then, as if the night hadn’t already conspired against your thin resolve, your friend turned, her face lighting up in pure, intoxicated joy. She saw someone—someone she hadn’t spotted through the crush of bodies yet.

“T!” She yelled before flicking her eyes back to you. “Y/N!!!!! This is my friend T. Have you met? Trent!” Campbell practically screamed, her words absurdly slurred, her excitement cutting through the moment like a knife. You froze. For a second, you thought maybe the alcohol had made you hallucinate, but no—there he was, still, standing right in front of you again, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Mere minutes had passed since he’d pulled away, since he’d left you breathless and desperate for control. But now, he was back, and you’d be lying if you said you could’ve ever forgotten that face after a lifetime. That mouth, those lips in particular. Trent smirked as he leaned in, embracing Campbell effortlessly in a clear platonic yet friendly hug, but his eyes never left you. They remained locked onto yours, unwavering, knowing.

“You have nice lips,” he cooed, a compliment with a past, his voice a slow, syrupy tease, mimicking the very words you had let slip earlier. His smirk deepened as he watched the way your cheeks betrayed you, the flush creeping across your skin before you could stop it. It was like he had a remote control to you, like he could turn you inside out with a mere glance. But you weren’t about to let him keep the batteries.

“Mmm, don’t know if we’ve met,” you mused, turning to Campbell with an expression that was smugly sweet, feigning innocence even as your pulse quickened.

“Really, huh? I thought we had,” Trent interjected smoothly, his voice laced with something dangerously playful. His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, before his lips curled into something downright sinful. “Well… I thought so because when I saw you tonight, I swore those lips were wrapped around…. a straw,” he paused, the innuendo dripping from his tongue like honey. “Maybe it fell…” His eyes flicked down to your drink—the one Campbell just handed to you that was already dangerously close to empty, the second round of tequila you were using as a shield against the slow, intoxicating pull of him. He knew. He knew exactly what you were doing. He’d rallied with girls on a night out before. He knew you were trying to drown the fire, to blur the sharp edges of the want coiling deep in your stomach. A part of you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. But an equally strong part of you—one you were trying to silence with every gulp of Clase Azul—wanted to tell him to fuck you instead.

The moment his name was called, something in you clenched—tight, sharp, immediate. You told yourself it was relief, that the sudden break in his attention was a mercy. But your body betrayed you, your pulse thrumming in protest, your skin still humming where his gaze had lingered. He turned toward his friend, pulled effortlessly into another orbit, another trap he hadn’t even needed to set. It was almost laughable, how easily the world bent to him. Perched on the ledge of the booth, his friend gestured for him to come over, their pristine designer trainers pressed against the seat’s velvet, surrounded by girls whose gazes were already hungry, already waiting for him to just arrive so they could fall at his feet. And yet, for the past hour, he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t strayed. He had been locked onto you, circling, pushing, teasing. And that was the problem.

You hated him for it. Hated the way he had unraveled you so effortlessly, hated the way his words coiled inside your head long after they’d left his lips. You loathed the way he looked at you—like he already knew things about you that he had no right to know, like he had seen past the layers of indifference you tried to wear so well. And worst of all? You hated how much you liked it. It was pathetic, really, how deep he’d already sunk into you, how you could still feel the weight of his smirk pressed against your skin, how the mere echo of his touch felt more intoxicating than the liquor burning in your veins. You weren’t the type to fall for men like this—the ones who knew exactly what they were, exactly what they could do to you. You had seen his type before. Felt his type before. And yet here you were, caught in the same web, helpless against the slow, deliberate pull of him. You wanted to prove him wrong. You needed to. You wanted to walk away and never think of him again, to erase the memory of his voice in your ear, his hands grazing your body like he already owned it. You wanted to prove that you were immune, that you were better than the fallen, that you weren’t one of those girls staring at him like he was something divine. And yet, all you could think about was his wager. How, despite everything, you already felt like you were losing.

Campbell’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts once over, her excitement colliding headfirst into the slow-blooming chaos in your chest.

“Did he just compliment you? Oh my god, I think he likes you! He’s never like that. What the fuck, Y/N?” she practically screamed, yanking you from your internal debrief on a complete stranger—a stranger you were now watching too closely, a stranger you should not be watching at all. Trent was talking to someone new. A girl. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t care. But something in your stomach twisted all the same. His body language was relaxed, effortlessly magnetic, the way all of him seemed to be. But his hands? They weren’t on her. You hadn’t noticed that, but he had. And that was intentional.

“I’m sure he does,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, shoving the thought of him out of your head before it could sink any deeper. You tore your gaze away, pretending you didn’t see, pretending it wasn’t pissing you off.

“No, Y/N… like, he can be an ass. He goes so quiet. But that? That was not… He’s never like that. That was effort,” Campbell insisted, voice laced with a mix of disbelief and giddy amusement. You turned to her with an exaggerated gasp. 

“Wow, thanks Cam! And you were introducing us?” You let a teasing grin stretch across your lips, nudging her lightly. “And effort… please.” You looked at her with a smug grin and a roll of the eyes. Campbell dissolved into laughter, shaking her head. 

“No! No! I just mean… he’s actually so nice. Just… reserved. Kind of low-key shy, I think? So people assume he’s rude, but he’s not. Swear. I don’t know. I’ve just never seen him move like that before. To not be distracted.” You hummed, considering her words, rolling them over in your mind like dice. You understood how introverts could be mistaken for standoffish—you’d seen it happen before. Felt it happen before. That’s fine. But Trent? No. That wasn’t the man who had cornered you tonight, who had toyed with you like he already knew the outcome.

Confident. Cocky. Every word precise, delivered with weight and purpose. That was not the behavior of a shy man.

“Hmmm. Interesting.” You mused sarcastically.  Your gaze flickered back to him, drawn as if by an invisible thread. And just as your eyes found him, his were already on you. It was unsettling, the way he was watching you—his expression unreadable, dark eyes sharp with curiosity, studying you like he was piecing together a puzzle. A puzzle that had just whispered his name. And then, in slow motion—deliberate, taunting, knowing—he smirked. Just the barest curl of his lips, enough to make your breath hitch. And then came the wink. A single, devastating flicker of his eye, effortless but deadly. Like an arrow loosed straight at your chest. It was playful. It was mocking. It was a challenge wrapped in charm, a silent dare to see if you would flinch. You had mere seconds to decide: Would you let it hit its mark, let it burrow deep where you knew it would linger? Or would you step aside, get the fuck out of the way before the impact knocked you breathless? Either way, the damage was already done, he’d fired it.

-

The night carried on, and so did you—unscathed, but not untouched. Trent had taken his shot, and while it might’ve grazed you, you weren’t bleeding out. Not yet. Your will was stronger than that, forged in something more unshakable than the way a man could look at you, stronger than the pull of a pretty face and a cocky smirk.  But the truth was, it was touch and go, because he was handsome enough to break and snap it in two at any given moment, and that was a dangerous truth to swallow. 

You and Trent kept to your corners, circling each other like fighters in a ring, locked in a battle neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. It was a silent war waged between you, invisible to the rest of the world but undeniable in the space that stretched and shrank between you all night. The music pounded through the club, deep bass rattling the walls, seeping into the floor, into your bones, but the loudest sound to you was the echo of his voice in your head. The cocky lilt, the playful innuendos, the way he said your name like he already knew how it would taste.

There were stolen glances all night, ones you both thought went unnoticed. Yours lingering on him when he seemed to forget you existed, a strange ache settling in your chest at the sight of him—relaxed, unbothered, moving on. When he wasn’t looking, when he was draped in the effortless charm that made girls hover close, drawn into the glow of him. You watched, quietly simmering, convincing yourself it was indifference rather than irritation, as if you weren’t keeping count of the times he laughed too easily at someone else’s joke, leaned in too close to whisper something into another girl’s ear. Forgetting you.

His on you when you weren’t aware, when you were talking to another guy or laughing into your drink, lips slick with tequila and carelessness. Something darker lingered in his gaze, something brooding—like he didn’t quite like the ease with which you’d left him behind. The way you hadn’t turned your head to watch him go, something sharp flickering behind his gaze, like the sight of you untouched by his presence, yet he was watching other men leaving fingerprints on you. And that left a wound of its own. 

And then there were the moments where your eyes collided, held, and something unspoken crackled between you, across the hazy stretch of the club, across bodies dancing in a drunken stupor, across conversations you weren’t listening to. And in those stolen seconds, something lit behind both of your gazes. It wasn’t tension. It wasn’t lust. It was deeper—raw, unfiltered desire. A recognition that neither of you could explain, and neither of you dared to. Desire, pure and simple, threatening to bubble over. No games, no taunts, no witty remarks to deflect from it. Just the ache of it. It sat between you, invisible but suffocating, until one of you—sometimes him, sometimes you—forced it back down. Swallowed it whole. Let it simmer beneath the surface of your skin, let it coil at the base of your spine, let the moment slip away before it ruined the game you both were too stubborn to stop playing, too stubborn to call it what it was, too proud to let it end in a draw.

-

And so, the night stretched on. The club pulsed around you, an organism of its own—music thrumming, bodies swaying, drinks spilling over the edges of crystal-clear glasses. But slowly the crowd was thinning, the air less electric. The once-packed club had begun to filter down, the air no longer suffocating but oddly vacant, like open water after a shipwreck. Friends had been lost to the night—some tangled into waiting arms for a night of fleeting indulgence, others already gone in cabs, leaving behind only the remnants of the chaos they had brought with them.

You found yourself on a velvet couch, plush and cool against your bare thighs, your phone heavy in your hands as you scrolled through contacts, half-heartedly trying to organize a ride back to your hotel. You stared at your phone, fingers sluggishly typing out texts. Somehow, you had ended up the most sober of your friends—whether by accident or design, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was the sobering effect of knowing that for all the glances, all the unspoken words, all the tension humming between you and Trent Alexander-Arnold…He hadn’t come after you. He wasn’t going to chase you. And you weren’t going to let yourself wish he would.

But just as that thought settled, just as you started to exhale, your pulse dipped into something traitorous—because you felt him before you saw him. A shift in the air. A presence at the edge of your awareness. And when you finally glanced up from your phone, there he was. Leaning against the railing just a few feet away, drink in hand, watching you with the kind of interest that made your skin feel too tight. His lips curled at the edges. Slow. Deliberate. Something you committed to memory without wanting to. You were alone. You hadn’t left with someone else, and it emboldened him all the more. He lifted his glass in a silent, wordless toast. And just like that—just when you thought you’d get out alive—he knocked you off balance again and back into the ring. You dropped your eyes with a dismissive shake of the head acting as if you were disinterested and solely focused on your phone. Your eyes narrowed and focused attempting to ignore how the air had gone thick again, charged with something darker, heavier than before. 

Then within moments, you felt him slide into the seat next to you, his thigh pressing flush against yours, heat licked up your spine. He had finally come to you. His arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, fingers just a breath away from your shoulder—close enough to feel, but not quite touching. Even in his drunken haze, Trent understood boundaries. Or maybe he was testing them, toeing the line between restraint and indulgence. Not that the line was particularly clear anymore. That same scent—amber, vanilla, and something undeniably him—coiled around you like smoke, sweet and sinful. It was almost enough to make you forget why you were actively not giving into this. Almost. But you stayed focused, tapping at your phone with perfectly manicured fingers, trying and failing to string together enough Spanish to confirm your ride. Then—warmth. 

“Nah, don’t do that.” A whisper, low and thick, slipped into your ear, lips so close you swore you felt them brush against the shell. A shiver ran down your spine, but you held your ground. His breath fanned across your skin, and God help you, his lips—those devastating lips—felt just as good when they weren’t even touching you, just speaking. You sucked in a deep breath, hoping resilience would come with the oxygen. “Come home with me, baby.” The words weren’t a plea. They were a promise. A slow, decadent offer drenched in seduction, delivered so effortlessly it was damn near unfair. And just as he was about to give in—let himself slip, let himself press a kiss to the column of your neck, to drag you under with him—you turned. He hadn’t expected that. His breath hitched, gaze locked onto yours, the usual lazy confidence flickering with something less certain.

“No?” You rejected him with a quiet, amused laugh, head tilting as you studied him. Trent blinked, processing, caught off guard. The world rarely said to him, this scenario never happening to him. “You were with other girls all night,” you pointed out, brows raising. “And now you want me to go home with you?” The question dripped with disbelief, with challenge. As if he could just shake off the countless drinks he’d handed to other women, the flirtation, the way he had let them get close—only to turn around and expect you to fall into his hands because you’d made the mistake of playing his game. He leaned in, voice smooth as silk. 

“Yeah, but you knew my eyes were on you.” His voice, when it came, was a slow, knowing drawl that slid down your spine like warm honey. “You put on a hell of a show, baby.” And, fuck, it was calculatedly smooth. It was too smooth. It was like honey laced with something dangerous, honey sprinkled with cocaine, he was something addictive. The way he looked at you then—deep, dark brown eyes, heavy with intent—you could have drowned in them, let them pull you under until you forgot how to breathe. He smelled like temptation, his lips looked too plush, too kissable, and suddenly, the condensation on your empty tequila glass wasn’t the only thing wet. But you weren’t that girl. Not tonight at least. Your resilience putting in one strong shift in stoppage time.

“That’s a you problem.” Your smirk was sharp, head cocking to the side as you shot the words back at him. He exhaled a low chuckle, shaking his head, but then—he tried again.

“C’mon.” And, fuck, he pouted. He actually pouted. Not in a mocking, exaggerated way, but in a way that was so natural, so devastatingly cute, it was almost cruel. His lips pressed into a soft, plush curve, his big brown eyes slightly drooping, and it was disarming. One second, you’d been curious about unbuttoning his shirt just a little more, tracing your fingers down his toned chest, and the next, you were being guilt-tripped by the single most beautiful face you’d ever seen. Then—salvation. Or, Uber. Your phone pinged.

“No,” you hummed, biting back a grin as you stood. “Sorry, baby.” The pet name dripped with mockery, teasing but not unkind. And as you moved past him, you let your hand trail from his shoulder across his chest, fingertips grazing exposed skin in the V of his half-unbuttoned shirt, Your nails scratched lightly over the material, onto his skin then back to the otherside of material, dragging it open a little more as you pulled your hand across him, just enough to feel, just enough to make him shudder. Trent’s eyes fluttered shut. His head fell back against the wall behind him. And you? You caught a perfect glimpse of his chest, pleased with both the sight and the reaction. As you turned to leave, you sent one final, flaming arrow straight at him—a slow, deliberate wink. It hit. Hard. Trent was glued to the seat, body slumped, fingers gripping his glass a little too tight. You didn’t give him the option to get out of the way. And when you disappeared into the night, his lips parted, head tilting back slightly as he let out the softest, most defeated groan naturally accompanied by a gorgeous smile. The arrow of you had ripped right through him. And yet—he only felt more determined. Maybe deluded. But definitely determined to have you. 

-

Deranged. That was the only way to describe it now.

Trent—Premier League star, England international, double-digit millions of followers, idolized and envied in equal measure—was lying flat on his back in the middle of his Ibiza villa’s king-sized bed, limbs sprawled, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths as he stared up at the ceiling like it held the answer to some impossible equation. It was late or maybe you’d call it early. The club had long since faded into a blur of neon lights and bass-heavy music, the sweat-slick bodies and overpriced tequila dissolving into the background of his memory. The house was quiet now, save for the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore beyond the glass doors of his bedroom. He could hear the rustling of palm trees in the warm night breeze, the distant hum of the city still alive somewhere in the distance. But inside his head? It was chaos.

He wasn’t in shock about why he was alone—he could’ve left with someone if he wanted to. Nicked someone on the way out. He could’ve snapped his fingers and picked any girl from the club, kissed her until she thought she was special, just to wake up and not remember her name. But that wasn’t the fucking point. The point was, he was here. Alone. He couldn’t believe that when he looked up at the blank ceiling he saw you.And when he got tired of staring drunkenly at the ceiling confused by his infatuation with rejection, he shut his eyes and it only got worse. The colors, the sounds, the feelings, the visuals all amplified. His body still thrummed with leftover adrenaline, a heat curling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He was wrecked, but not in the way he should’ve been. Not in the way that came from drinking too much and partying too hard. No, he was wrecked because no matter what he did, no matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t get you out of his fucking head. It was pathetic. He shouldn’t be thinking about you. He shouldn’t be replaying every moment of the night, every glance, every smirk, every teasing remark that dripped off your lips like honey, ever decision he made that got him here. But fuck, he was. And it wasn’t stopping. And when he closed his eyes, he wasn’t met with darkness—he was met with you.

Every time, he saw you. Your body swayed behind his eyelids like a fever dream, the curve of your ass barely covered as you danced, just enough to drive him insane. He could see your lips wrapping around the rim of your glass, the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed down tequila like it was water, unbothered, unfazed—except for when he spoke to you. He remembered how you felt. God, he remembered. The warmth of your soft skin under his fingers, the way your nails scraped so innocently across his chest when you walked away, yet it felt like you had ripped something out of him. The brief but damning moments of contact, your bare waist under his hands, the soft graze of your hands on his neck marking him worse than any nail-digging scratch ever could. He remembered your scent—sandalwood and crushed magnolia—velvety, intoxicating, still clinging to his senses like you had been in his bed instead of dancing out of his reach all night and now stuck in his head. He should’ve been able to shake it off. He should’ve been able to roll over, let sleep take him, wake up tomorrow with the night nothing more than a passing thought. But instead, he lay there, the memories of you painting themselves across the darkness behind his eyelids, vibrant and inescapable. Even in the loudest parts of the club, he had still heard the hushed, breathy lilt of your laugh. Even among the hundreds of people pressing in, he had still smelled you, the scent hitting him in waves, making his head spin. You were fucking magnetic—and yet, the thing that drove him insane was that you repelled him. You wouldn’t let him in. And now, lying there, frustrated, strung-out, drunk but painfully clear-headed, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time. Want.

It wasn’t just lust, though that was there—fuck, was it there. It was more. It was an itch under his skin, an ache in his ribs, an obsession brewing before he could even recognize it as such. His jaw clenched, his body tensing as he shifted, only then realizing the other problem. He was hard.  Of course, he was. Frustration crackled through him like static. The tension coiled low in his stomach, hot and unbearable, and when he finally registered the problem pressing against his boxers, he let out a vicious groan, yanking a pillow over his face like it could somehow suffocate the thoughts of you out of his system. It didn’t work. He prayed another layer over his eyes could blind him from the memories of you but you were everywhere and he felt it, he was completely bricked at the mere idea. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. After a night like that, a night of watching you, touching you, failing to get what he wanted, his body was betraying him. 

Trent Alexander-Arnold didn’t win tonight and he didn’t like that.  His head hit back against the pillow behind him with a thud, frustration tightening in his chest. He ran a hand down over the pillow covering his face, exhaling harshly into it, willing himself to think about anything else, anyone else. But it was pointless. It was you. Only you.

With a sharp exhale, he yanked the pillow off his face and sat up so fast the room spun. His head was a mix of tequila and longing, swimming in the aftershocks, a heat pressing against his temples that wasn’t from the alcohol alone. His fingers twitched as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand before laying back down because he felt so dizzy. Trent sprawled out in his bed, one arm thrown over his face, the other gripping his phone with a tension that could’ve had his knuckles going white. The room was still spinning, his head buzzing with the lethal mix of alcohol and frustration. He could still taste the night on his tongue—tequila, sweat, your fucking perfume. His chest rose and fell in slow, frustrated breaths, his mind running in endless circles around you. His messages were open. His thumb hovered over the screen. His jaw was tight. He was not that guy—the one who chased, who stayed up obsessing over a girl who had barely given him the time of day.  He never needed to be. But here he was, his thumb moving before he could second-guess it, scrolling with a desperation he hated himself for, furiously until he landed on a number he prayed he kept. And then, finally— Campbell.

He hovered for a second, jaw tightening, something like shame flickering in his chest. Here he was, sending a text at an ungodly hour to not even you, your friend, that’s how little you gave him. But fuck that. He didn’t care. The message sent before he could think twice.

'Yo, it’s Trent. Hope you got home safe, Cam.'

Polite. Casual. Normal. Except behind the screen, he was anything but casual. His foot bounced against the bed as he lay there waiting for a response, fingers tapping against his stomach, restlessness clawing at his insides. He was wound so fucking tight it was ridiculous. It took Campbell a while to reply—probably because she was drunk and not a man currently losing his mind over a girl who had barely entertained him. Finally, his phone buzzed. He nearly dropped it in his haste to read the message. Was Campbell confused? Massively. But did she have an inkling? Yeah. 

'Home safe… so is she in her room. U good?'

She laughed to herself staring at the unexpected text she received but entirely smug, but she figured she’d give him a little something, a crumb of hope that you were at least in your own room, alone or not, he could think what he wanted. Trent exhaled through his nose, rubbing his free hand down his face. Campbell knew. Of course, she knew. It wasn’t common for them to text and definitely not at this hour. He should’ve just left it there. Should’ve ignored the obvious taunt, tossed his phone to the side, and forced himself to sleep. Instead, his thumbs moved before he could stop them.

'Course. Where you lot staying?'

Blunt. Straight to the point. No room for misinterpretation. Campbell, predictably, ate that shit up. His phone lit up again, and he could practically hear her giggling behind the text.

'Maybe I'll tell you in the morning. Night xx.'

Trent groaned so loudly it echoed in the empty room. He tossed his phone onto the bed beside him and ran both hands over his face, tugging at his curls in frustration. This was stupid. He was stupid. He never did this. Never chased, never sat in bed like some lovesick idiot hoping for a text, not even from you, from your friend, never let someone burrow so deep under his skin after one night. But you had. Fuck, you had. And now he was paying for it. Why did he play a game with you if it wasn’t one he would win? 

His body was still buzzing, the tension rolling through him making it physically impossible to lie still. He felt hot, like the club was still pressed around him, like your scent was still curling around his lungs. He rolled his head back onto his pillow, and instinctively let his hand fall to cup his dick over the fabric of his boxers, a natural position but tonight, even so, it was too much. He let out a pathetic frustrated whine at the mere thought of that ever being your hand. He felt like a boy desperate just for a touch, but he wasn’t a boy, he was a greedy adult now, he craved more. He wanted to show you, hold you properly this time, get a do over, dig his fingers into the flesh of your hips and fuck you. He hated how you oozed sex appeal, dangling yourself in front of him tauntingly and yet beautifully, even in your rejection. His skin was tight, his muscles coiled. He needed to do something before he lost his damn mind.

With a sharp exhale, he rolled out of bed, tugging his boxers off and tossing them somewhere in the dark. His feet carried him straight to the en-suite, his mind already set on one thing. A hot shower. Maybe that would help. Maybe it would calm him the fuck down. Steam filled the glass enclosure as he stepped under the spray, his hands bracing against the cool tile as the water pounded against his muscular  back. He let his head hang between his shoulders, chest rising and falling as he willed the tension out of his body. It didn’t work. Not when the moment he closed his eyes, you were still there. 

Your body pressed to his in the club. The teasing glint in your eye when you smirked up at him. The feel of your fingers dragging across his chest, the ghost of your touch still seared into his skin. His head fell back against the tile with a thud, his breath coming out ragged as frustration curled tight in his gut. He was fucking losing it. And when he finally caved—when he finally let himself relieve the ache you had left him with, his hand wrapped around himself, lips parting in a quiet groan—he hated that it was you on his mind. Not just your body. Not just the way your lips had wrapped around the rim of your glass. But the way you had laughed at him. The way you had walked away, unbothered, untouched, unfazed. The way you had denied him. It made him feral.

When it was over—when he had groaned his frustration into the heated air, his body finally giving in to exhaustion—he stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling, water still cascading over his head. And then, with a shake of his head, he turned the knob, making the water ice fucking cold. Maybe if he froze himself out, he could shake you off. Maybe if he stood under the arctic blast long enough, he could purge you from his system. Spoiler: He couldn’t.

“Fuck!” He shivered, backing into a corner of the shower. It was too cold and he was too hot, goosebumps raised over his skin. When he finally dragged himself back to bed, drops of water still trailing down his back, he barely even bothered to check his phone. He already knew Campbell wasn’t going to text back. And he already knew, with a gut-sinking certainty, that he wasn’t going to sleep a damn bit.

-

You hadn’t slept well, let's say that. So this morning the bathroom air was thick with steam, the scent of warm vanilla and creamy sandalwood curling into the humid space as you smoothed lotion over your skin, fingers gliding over the curves of your thighs, the planes of your stomach, the dip of your collarbones. You needed a fresh start, and to wash last night away. Your body still held the heat of the shower, water droplets lingering in the hollows of your collarbones, disappearing beneath the barely-there fabric of your lace panties. Your headache pulsed—a dull throb behind your temples that had you closing your eyes for a brief moment, pressing your fingers into the ache. You weren’t sure if it was from the shots of tequila you’d thrown back like water, fueled by the reckless, wild-eyed version of yourself who had existed for the night… or if it was because that version of you had refused him.

The thought made your lips press together, a sigh slipping through your nose as you leaned forward against the counter, letting your weight rest against the cool marble. Had you made a mistake? Your pride said no. Your self-respect said absolutely not. But your body… oh, your body was humming with a different answer. Even in your dreams it purred for him. 

Even through the haze of liquor, through the blur of flashing club lights and the deep bass of the music, your memory of Trent was untouched—dangerously clear. You could still see him, still hear the cocky lull of his voice curling around the words ‘come home with me, baby.’ Why the fuck didn’t you go!? You screamed at the pent up version of yourself in your head. The way he had looked at you—hooded gaze, tongue running across his bottom lip, those fucking dimples peeking out even in the low light—had been enough to make your thighs clench again in the en suite now. God, he was pretty. And last night’s version of you—intoxicated, stubborn, righteous in your rejection—had left you with nothing but what-ifs.

With an exhale, you pushed off the counter, fingers reaching blindly for your phone. Your headache was mild, your regrets minor, but the ache low in your belly? That was not so easily ignored. You hit next on a shuffle of a playlist, J. Cole’s In the Morning filled the room, the slow, sensual beat vibrating through the air as you moved toward the bed, stretching like a lazy cat as you let yourself sink into the music, into the soft sheets beneath your knees. Your hands roamed absently as you imagined what could’ve been—the heat of Trent’s body pressed against yours, the roughness of his hands on your hips, the deep pull of his voice in your ear as he whispered something sinful, something that made you dizzy, something that made you weak. You sighed, tipping your head back, running your fingers along the tops of your thighs as you smoothed in the last of your lotion, a mix of warmth and frustration curling in your stomach.

And meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, mere yards away, outside your very door… Trent was standing in the dimly lit hallway of your hotel, back pressed against the opposite wall, phone in hand, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. He felt good. Smug, even. He had gotten the hotel name. He had the floor number. All it had taken was a bit of charm, a well-placed dimpled smile, a sprinkle of that Scouse accent, and a reluctant but meddling Campbell.

Campbell, of course, had put up a fight. But Campbell was nosy. Campbell wanted the tea. Campbell wanted to see what would happen and knew you well enough that sober you, was fine if Trent did manage his way. And so, when Trent had texted her again—his persistence a little embarrassing even to him—she had sighed dramatically and dropped the hotel name in his messages with nothing but a laughing emoji and a single word:

'Try.'

Oh, he was trying. And he had gotten this far. The door in front of him felt heavier than it should have though. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly. He’d played in Champions League finals, for fuck’s sake. He knew how to handle pressure. But this? This was different. Because last night, he'd lost. The rejection had tasted bitter, familiar in a way that made his stomach churn. He knew what it was like to feel the sting of a loss he thought he should have won. 2018 had taught him that. He had played in a Champions League final, full of fire and promise, only to watch another club lift the trophy at the final whistle. But the next year? He came back. He played again. And he won. Last night, you had been his 2018 heartbreak. This morning? He wanted it to be his 2019 redemption. His breath came slow, measured, steady as he reached up, knuckles hovering over the door for the briefest second. And then, before he could think twice, before he could talk himself out of it— He knocked. He paused and shook his head to focus before he did a second time. Two, that was normal right? How often do you knock? What the fuck was he doing at your hotel! His thoughts began to spiral. You heard the second knock, brows furrowing as confusion settled into your sleepy, mildly hungover and certainly needy haze. Room service? No, you hadn’t ordered anything. You assumed Campbell was still dead to the world, and Delaney and Foster had all but sworn off movement until lunch—so who the hell was at your door? Gripping your towel tighter, you hesitated, mentally flipping through half-formed Spanish phrases in case you needed them. You mumbled a ‘No, pero gracias,’ under your breath, rehearsing, before cracking open the door just enough to peek out. And that was when your stomach flipped. Because standing on the other side—looking entirely too smug for someone who’d been left high and dry last night—was Trent.

You froze. For a split second, the world narrowed to just him. The sight of him shown through the sliver of the door made your heart just about stop.  The cocky slant of his smile. The way his dimple crept in as he tilted his head, dark eyes flickering down, clearly clocking the towel barely secured around your chest. None of it alarming or threatening to you though which maybe confused you the most but then the voice you wished so badly was in your ear a little more last night spoke up. 

"You alright, baby?" His voice was syrupy smooth, thick with amusement. Your jaw slacked in confusion as you unlatched the secondary lock and opened the door a little more. Your grip on your towel tightening.

“Erm… hi?” You blinked up at him, skeptical, still caught off guard. “What are you—” Before you could finish, he stepped forward, cutting off your words, guiding you back into your room as if this had been the plan all along, something you two decided last night, like old friends, like this was normal.

“Just makin’ sure you got home safe.” His voice dripped with feigned innocence. “Since you wouldn’t let me do that last night.” You narrowed your eyes at him, fighting back the unwilling curve of your lips.

“So that’s what you were trying to do?” You cocked your head, watching as he strolled further inside like he owned the place. His eyes surveying the room, he shrugged as if accepting the interior causing your brow to furrow because you didn’t ask and you didn’t invite him in either but here you were. And the worst part of it, you liked all of it, every second. 

“Yeah,” he said smoothly, plopping down onto your bed, entirely too comfortable. His fingers ghosted over the outfit you’d laid out for yourself, taking in the delicate lace bralette with a barely-there smirk. “Can’t say it wasn’t—you didn’t let me take you home, so how would you know?” He quipped so obnoxiously innocent, you huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you watched his big hand drag underneath the strap of the tank top you’d planned to wear but now you weren’t so sure you wanted to put it on.

“You’re…” You trailed off, searching for the right word. Because it wasn’t something bad, not exactly. But it was something. Something sharp and annoying but so annoyingly attractive, it made you want to drop your towel. Then it hit you. Campbell’s voice rang through your mind, reminding you of the comment she’d made when you first clocked Trent’s game. “You’re bold,” you concluded, smirking as you bunched up the clothes on the bed from beside him, swiping them. “For someone who pretends to be shy.” You elaborated, adding a bit of clarity. Trent only shrugged again, so nonchalant, like it wasn’t an accusation, just an observation he wouldn’t deny. Your jaw dropped in playful shock, an open-mouthed, amused smile stretching across your face. “Oh, so it’s on purpose?” You laughed, raising your brows. 

“Dunno what you’re on about, y’know.” Trent leaned back on his palms, looking entirely unbothered.  You rolled your eyes because if he was going to act like he lived here now, you were at least going to put on some clothes. You think you wanted to put them on at least. You turned toward the ensuite. But you didn’t really shut the door, not entirely—it was a big room, and it wasn’t like that—but as you peeled off your towel and reached for the lace bralette, Trent got an eyeful in the mirror. His throat went dry. Bare back. Tiny lace thong. Soft curves in all the right places. Memories of last night he didn’t share with you but of you came flooding back. His jaw slacked for half a second, brain short-circuiting, before he swallowed hard and yanked his phone out of his pocket like it was a goddamn lifeline. Focus, man. Clearing his throat, he shook his head, grasping for anything else to say before he lost all composure.

“So, you want some breaky?” He spoke up. The sudden shift caught you off guard. Emerging from the ensuite, you adjusted the waistband of your tiny Magda Butrym shorts, the lace trim peeking out, paired with a delicate gold Miu Miu knit tank.

“What?” You gave him a skeptical glance as you leaned into the mirror, moving to put in your earrings attempting like this interaction was not affecting you. “Did you not go home with a girl last night? Is that why you’re here?” You questioned him. Trent, who had been subtly (or not so subtly) watching your ass, snapped his gaze up, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

“What?” He blinked. You smirked at him through the mirror, amused at the obvious shift of his gaze's direction. 

“I’m just saying, if you're concerned, I won’t say anything about ruining your perfect track record—” You offered him a plea bargain, wondering if he was here merely for reputation damage control.  

“My what?” His brows knitted together.  You turned to face him, still grinning, but he looked—sincere. Maybe even… offended? So you paused. 

“I’m just saying it’s fine you didn’t have to do this… show up here, make amends.” You said more gently, feeling bad that he looked a little taken aback by your call out. “Last night…” You began a sentence but really had no idea of its direction or ending so you hesitated staring back at him. You don’t think you misread him but then again right now, you felt bad with such an assumption.

“And I’m just askin’ if you want food,” he said simply, flashing an innocent smile that made you hesitate. Your mind ran through a mental list of all the reasons this was a bad idea. You had successfully escaped him last night. You had set your boundaries. You had won. But won what? A night alone? Because right now, you were losing again to the same dimpled grin and twinkly brown doe eyed threat you thought you’d avoided. Then you looked at him—his boyish grin, his easy charm, the way he was so annoyingly persistent but never pushy—and before your brain could stop you, your mouth betrayed you. 

“…Okay.” As you grabbed the matching knit sweater to your set and slid on your Loewe cream slides, you glanced at Trent. “Pass me my phone?” You asked him with a blank stare. He was still perched on your bed like he belonged there, far too at ease in your space. Stretching one long arm out, the veins bulging, his muscles flexing as he unplugged your phone and tilted the screen toward him—smirking the second he saw the song he’d been listening to this whole time still playing. "In the Morning." His brows shot up cheekily. 

“Thinking about something this morning?” His voice dripped with smug amusement, that teasing lilt curling around every syllable. Trent certainly was, that’s why he showed up, he hadn’t slept, so yes tongue in cheek but he was also curious if you’d bite. Instead, you rolled your eyes, stepping closer and snatching the phone from his grasp. Your fingers brushed his—just for a second, fleeting but charged. Not aggressive, not rough. More like… a preemptive escape. Because if you had let him, Trent would’ve held onto your hand. Would’ve used it as an excuse to pull you forward, onto his lap, into that damn bed. And the person you were most worried about in the room, wasn’t him. It was you. You might’ve let him. But no. Breakfast—you could do. Everything else? A catastrophe waiting to happen.

“Oh, hush. Get over yourself, honestly.” You teased, tossing the phone into your bag like the conversation was already done. “It’s on my favorites playlist.” Trent let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back onto his elbows. You meant it as a throwaway comment, but for some reason, it hit him differently.

He was sitting in your bed, still feeling the warmth of where you had been before you got up. He had seen you damn near naked, so comfortable in your own skin, moving through the room like you were a part of it, dripping in confidence without even trying. Radiating a sexiness he wasn’t sure he’d experienced before. He had watched you laugh at him, throw banter his way, roll your eyes in a way that made him want to press his thumb into the soft crease between your brows just to smooth it out. And now this. This small, seemingly insignificant thing, a throwaway comment to you. One of your favorite songs—was one of his.

And sure, the need to have you, to feel you against him, to ruin you in the very bed he was still sitting on—that hunger was still raging, hot and undeniable. But this was something else. Something new. Trent had spent mornings with women before. Hell, plenty. But they never felt like this. Like… something real and you hadn’t even slept with him last night. Like something he actually wanted to stay in, rather than counting down the minutes before he slipped out the door. Which was funny, because in his mind, he could already see a different kind of full-circle moment. Maybe this time, he started out like this—patient, lighthearted, taking his time—and ended the way he actually wanted, with you beneath him, breathless, saying his name the way he knew it would sound dripping from your lips. A long game. Maybe he was good at those too.

But was it a game? Because when he looked at you, now struggling with the hotel safe, brows scrunched in frustration as you tried to figure out how to lock your valuables inside, he didn’t just think about fucking you senseless. He thought you looked… cute.

And that realization nearly gave him whiplash. Cute? Did he just think that?  About some girl he was supposed to just be chasing? Why was he chasing to begin with? Some girl he should be focused on getting into bed, not finding utterly adorable while struggling with a safe? What a mess. What a melt.

•

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

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

Next part - Chapter 2 - Winnings

📷 ��� 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[szariahwroteit]

FUNGIRL A Trent Alexander-Arnold + Original Character Erotic Series.

Chapter 2

18+ Minors DNI

In the week that saw Trent photographed by paparazzi on a rather intimate date with an emerging model, Amber had gone radio silent. Completely ignoring him was as mature as she was willing to be.

Every message and FaceTime went unanswered; he followed her on Instagram before she promptly blocked him, confident that this time would be the last.

Although Amber understood that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, the fact that he’d stepped out so publicly with a woman felt as though he was claiming her, and in a way, shitting on her.

“Are you going to walk around looking like a sad puppy?” her older sister Natalia smirked empathetically.

Unlike her younger sister, who had left their hometown in Los Angeles to study law in Harvard before moving to London when she was offered a job within one of the most reputable firms in the city, Natalia stayed home in Los Angeles with their parents and younger brother.

By no means was it her proudest moment, but one night Amber officially reached her breaking point. She needed to get the hurt she felt off her chest, and her older sister offered an ear without any judgment.

“Maybe,” Amber pouted as she made her way back into the office, smiling politely at the familiar faces she passed as she returned from her lunch break. 

“You're way too cute to have any man making you feel this way,” Natalia smiled empathetically. 

As Amber made her way back towards her desk, the floor’s receptionist called her name and waved her over. “Amber! You have a delivery,” she said, holding up a medium-sized cardboard box and a small bouquet of pink roses.

Amber’s heart skipped a beat as she approached the reception desk, her mind racing. Could it be from Trent? She quickly squashed that thought, reminding herself of the last week’s events. Still, a flicker of hope ignited within her as she took the flowers and box from the receptionist.

“Who are they from?” Natalia asked curiously, her face contorting into a curious frown on her sister’s phone screen as Amber turned away from the receptionist to make her way over to her desk. 

“I don’t know yet,” Amber replied, carefully removing a small white envelope from the flowers. Inside, she found a white piece of card with something scribbled on the back of it. Turning it over, her heart skipped a beat.

“Call me when you get these. - Trent,” she read aloud, her voice tinged with surprise and a hint of disbelief. The words echoed in her mind, stirring a mix of emotions that she had been trying to suppress. 

“What’s in the box?” Natalia asked, leaning in closer, her curiosity piqued.

Amber carefully set the flowers down on her desk, propped up her phone and opened the box, her heart racing with anticipation. Inside, she found an unmistakable ox-blood box and instantly froze.

“No fucking way!” Natalia gasped into her sister’s ear-pod, her voice barely above a whisper. “He brought you Cartier?”

Amber’s hands trembled slightly as she lifted the lid of the jewellery box, revealing a set of beautiful diamond earrings. 

The earrings were absolutely beautiful, dancing against the low lighting of the office floor. As the daughter of a high-powered lawyer and a former beauty queen turned relationship guru and therapist, she knew luxury. Her childhood was one filled with debutante balls and societal engagements. 

But this was different. The diamonds she held in her hand symbolized so much more than beautiful jewellery. 

“Diamond earrings!” Natalia exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and caution as she watched Amber’s face drop.

“I…I don’t want them,” Amber stammered, her heart racing for a different reason now. “This is too much. It feels wrong, I have to send them back.”

“What do you mean?” Natalia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“We’re not together, I’ve been avoiding him since the pictures of him came out on the internet. If this is an olive branch it feels wrong.” The idea that Trent thought she could be brought made her skin crawl, that her pride and self respect came at a price no matter how beautiful the jewellery was. 

The gift, or olive branch, or whatever he thought this was, felt as though it had been given as a means of balm for the hurt she felt and keep her in a place of wading. A means of keeping her around and, most importantly, as if that was what he thought she wanted from him.

Amber’s vision blurred slightly as she fought back tears. “I don’t want to be someone’s consolation prize,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to feel like I’m being bought or have a price, this doesn't make up for my feelings.”

Natalia sighed, her expression softening. “I get it, Amber. But maybe he’s trying to show you he’s serious about wanting to make things right. This isn’t just a random gift; it’s a statement.”

“Or it’s a way to keep me there without actually keeping me,” Amber countered, shaking her head. “I don’t want to fall for it. I need to stand my ground.”

“Then do that,” Natalia encouraged, placing a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “But you should at least talk to him. You owe it to yourself to hear him out instead of beating yourself up about it. You can’t just ignore everything and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Amber took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I know you’re right. I just… I don’t want to keep hurting myself. I don’t want to be vulnerable with him.”

“Then set your boundaries,” Natalia suggested. “You can tell him how you feel without giving in. You’re stronger than you think.”

Amber nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. “Okay, I’ll call him. But I’m not keeping the bag. I’ll return it, and I’ll make it clear that I don't see him as a meal ticket.”

“Good plan,” Natalia said, her voice filled with support. “You deserve to be treated with respect, not as a prize to be won back. Stay strong and call me later, I love you.” She continued before ending the Facetime call. 

Placing the lid back on the orange box, Amber packed it back into the bigger cardboard box it was delivered in and placed it safely beneath her desk. 

With a newfound determination, Amber picked up her phone and dialled Trent’s number. As it rang, she felt a mix of anxiety and empowerment. She was ready to confront him, to voice her feelings, and to reclaim her power in this situation.

“It’s me,” she said when he finally picked up, her heart pounding. “Trent, I don't want it.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Amber could almost hear Trent processing her words. “What do you mean?” he finally asked, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.

“I mean the bag,” Amber clarified, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. “I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this. It feels wrong, and it feels like you’re trying to buy my forgiveness.”

“Amber, I—” he started, but she cut him off.

“No, let me finish,” she insisted, her heart racing. “I’ve been avoiding you because I needed time to think. I saw those pictures, and it hurt. I know you said you didn’t want anything serious from anyone, but those pictures suggested otherwise. So I’d rather quit while I’m ahead.”

“Amber, please,” Trent interjected, his voice rising slightly in urgency. “I never meant to hurt you. Those pictures… they were a mistake. I was trying to figure things out, and I didn’t think about how it would affect you.”

“Exactly,” Amber replied, her voice firm. “You didn’t think about me and I wish you did,” she sighed sadly. 

“I know,” he said, his tone softening. “And I’m sorry. I should have communicated better. I should have been more considerate of your feelings. I just… I got caught up in everything, and I didn’t handle it well.”

Amber felt a pang of sympathy for him, but she quickly reminded herself of the hurt she had felt over the past days. “Please just give me an address I can send the purse and flowers and I’ll be out of your hair, Trent.”

Thankful for the current scarcity of staff on the office floor, Amber squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled the phone away from her ear before hanging up abruptly. 

She knew if she stayed on the phone to Trent any longer her true feelings were liable to slip and she refused to take any more blows to her pride where he was concerned. 

Hours away from the capital in Liverpool Trent sat completely stunned. He gathered Amber wasn’t impressed with his recent antics, based on her silence over the last week or so, but the hurt in her voice had caught him off guard. He had expected anger, maybe even some tears, but the way she had calmly stated her boundaries made him realize just how serious this was. 

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had thought the bag would be a way to bridge the gap, a gesture to show her he cared. But now, it felt like he had only made things worse. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered to himself, sinking into the edge of his bed as he took a seat. 

Trent stared at his phone for a long moment after Amber ended the call. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, her words echoing in his mind.

"Please just give me an address I can send the purse and flowers and I'll be out of your hair, Trent."

Out of his hair? Those were fighting words if he ever heard them. He wanted to argue back, to tell her she was being ridiculous and that he cared about her more than any bag or public appearance could prove. But something in her voice stopped him cold.

She wasn't asking for apologies or promises, or even his attention. She was setting boundaries, making it clear what she would and wouldn't accept from him moving forward.

Trent sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process everything that had happened. What made matters worse was that he liked Amber, she was a beautiful woman and a pleasure to be around in more ways than one. 

Each of their encounters had been intense passionate, exhilarating...and sometimes messy. But he loved his life as is, he loved the freedom to do as he pleased without consequence or explanation. 

To Trent, going to dinner with a girl he’d been introduced to by a friend was him exercising his freedom as a single man, a man without consequence or explanation.

As one of the brightest stars in football, he had always been in the spotlight, and he had revelled in it. But now, he was faced with the reality that his actions had consequences, and those consequences were hurting someone he genuinely cared about.

He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling as he replayed the conversation in his mind. Amber’s voice had been steady, but the hurt was palpable. He had never intended to hurt her; he had just been trying to navigate his chaotic life, and in doing so, he had.

Trent picked up his phone again, scrolling through his contacts until he found Amber’s name. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button. What could he say that would make any difference? He had already hurt whether or not it was in his intention to, and now he was left with the aftermath of his choices.

He thought back to their time together—the laughter, the late-night conversations, the way she lit up when she talked about her dreams. She was more than just a pretty face; she was ambitious, driven, and had a fire in her that he admired. But his admiration didn’t outweigh his desire to do as he pleased.

His desire to look for those same qualities in other women. 

Trent felt a pang of guilt wash over him as he acknowledged the truth of his actions. He had taken Amber for granted, assuming she would always be there, waiting for him to figure things out. But now, he was faced with the reality that he might lose her for good if he didn’t change his approach.

He set his phone down and stood up, pacing the room as he tried to gather his thoughts. He needed to do something meaningful, something that would show Amber he was serious about wanting to make things right. The bag and flowers had been a misguided attempt to bridge the gap, but now he realized that they were just superficial gestures. What he needed was to confront his own feelings and be honest with her.

After a long fortnight of football matches and travelling, he had plans of spending his hard-earned weekend relaxing, but instead, he now stood trying to map out the quickest route to drive from Liverpool to London. 

His decision was impulsive, but he couldn’t shake the hurt in Amber’s voice from his mind no matter how hard he tried. The way her Southern Californian accent lacked its usual charm. 

Letting out a sigh, Trent stood from his bed and made his way into his closet to find something appropriate to wear. He rifled through his clothes, pulling out a crisp white shirt and a black sweatsuit. 

As he dressed, he mentally prepared himself for the conversation he hoped to have with Amber. He needed to be honest about his feelings, to show her that regardless of whether or not wanted to do as he pleased, he understood the gravity of his lack of consideration. He wanted her to know that he cared about her.

Once he was dressed, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. The drive from Liverpool to London was about two and a half hours, but he was determined to make it in less time. He needed to see her, to talk to her face-to-face. 

As he drove, he replayed their last conversation in his mind, trying to anticipate her reactions. Would she be open to seeing him? Would she even want to talk? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the road ahead.

When he finally arrived in London, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the frost-bitten city. 

As he drove towards the city centre he came to a humbling realization, he’d sent the gifts to her office building not because he knew that’s where she’d be, but because he didn’t know where she lived and he was able to obtain the office’s addresses with a google search. 

Every time they’d been intimate it had been in the confines of a hotel room, a fleeting moment of passion and desire before he went on his way again, before he went on to the next. 

Pulling onto the side of a street, Trent pulled out his phone sifting through it until he found Amber’s contact again. 

Part of him knew she didn’t owe him her time or attention, but he still felt compelled to reach out. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button once more. What could he say that would make any difference? He had already hurt her, and now he was left with the aftermath of his choices.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to send a text instead. 

Trent: Amber, I’m in London. Can we meet?

He hit send and waited, his heart racing as he stared at the screen. The minutes felt like hours as he watched the three dots appear and disappear, a constant reminder of his anxiety. Finally, his phone buzzed.

Amber: I’m busy, Trent.

The response stung, but he refused to let it deter him. He quickly typed back. 

Trent: I understand, but I really need to see you. Please, just a few minutes.

He waited, his palms sweaty on the steering wheel. After what felt like an eternity, she replied. 

Amber: fine. 

Trent let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as her previous message was followed up by an address to her apartment building. 

Amber: Meet me at my place in 20 minutes.

Trent's heart raced as he typed a quick acknowledgement. He quickly entered the address into his GPS, feeling a mix of excitement and dread. This was it—his chance to make things right, to show Amber that he genuinely cared about her feelings.

As he drove through the bustling streets of London, he couldn’t help but think about how selfish he’d been, not only to Amber but the others. The laughter they shared, the way she challenged him, and the warmth of her presence. He had been so caught up in his world that he hadn’t considered how his actions would affect her. 

Arriving at her apartment building, he parked and took a moment to collect himself. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. This wasn’t just about the bag or the flowers; it was about their connection and the trust that had been shaken.

He walked up to the entrance and buzzed her apartment. After a moment, he heard her voice through the intercom. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

There was a pause, and he could almost hear her weighing her options. Finally, the door clicked open. He stepped inside, his heart pounding as he made his way to her floor.

When he reached her door, he took a deep breath and knocked. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and he felt a rush of nerves. What if she didn’t want to see him? What if she slammed the door in his face?

But the door opened, and there she stood, looking both beautiful and guarded. Amber’s expression was a mix of surprise and wariness, her arms crossed over her chest as if to shield herself from whatever he might say.

“Trent,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” he replied, his heart racing. “Can we talk?”

Amber hesitated, her eyes searching his face for something—an apology, a reason, a sign that he understood. Finally, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter. 

The apartment was cozy, filled with soft lighting and the faint scent of vanilla. It felt like a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the chaos of their recent interactions. 

“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the stylish small white couch. He took a seat, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. 

“I’m sorry for everything,” he began, his voice earnest. “I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you. I was caught up in my own world, and I didn’t consider your feelings at all.”

Amber remained silent, her expression unreadable. He could see the hurt in her eyes, and it made his chest tighten.

“I thought sending the bag and flowers would help,” he continued, frustration creeping into his voice. “But I realize now that it was a stupid move. I was trying to fix things without really understanding what I needed to fix.”

“Trent,” she finally spoke, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “You can’t just throw gifts at someone and expect everything to be okay. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was an idiot. I thought maybe if I showed you I cared tangibly, it would make up for everything.”

Amber’s expression softened slightly, but she still looked guarded. “You hurt me, Trent. Seeing those pictures… it felt like a slap in the face to have you tell me you don’t want anything serious with anybody and then be out so publicly with someone. I feel worthless.”

“You’re not,” he insisted, leaning forward. “You’re not worthless, Amber. You’re an incredible woman.”

“Just not one you care to take seriously,” Amber said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “I’m just sex to you Trent.”

Trent felt a sharp pang in his chest at her words. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re so much more than that to me. I’ve never seen you as just a fling. I care about you, Amber. I really do.”

“Then why did you let the world see you with her?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “As a man who’s adamant he wants to be single, why claim her like that? Because I’m just pussy to you, worthless, replaceable pussy.”

Amber couldn’t even articulate the idea of her not being enough for him, it hurt entirely too much. But deep down that is exactly how she felt. 

Trent's heart ached at her words, the raw pain in her voice cutting deeper than he had anticipated. “Amber, please don’t say that,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “You’re not just sex to me. I’ve never treated you like that. I was trying to figure out my life, and I messed up. I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you, and I’m so sorry for that.”

“Maybe this should be it, Trent.” Amber interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion. “Maybe this is where we draw the line. I can’t keep putting myself in a position where I feel like I’m not enough for you. I deserve better than that.”

Trent felt a wave of desperation wash over him. “No, please don’t say that. I don’t want to lose you. I know I’ve messed up, but I want to make it right. I want to show you that I can be better.”

“Better?” she echoed, her eyes narrowing. “What does that even mean? Do you think a few nice words and a bag can fix this? You think I’m just going to forget how you made me feel? How I've made myself feel?”

“No, I don’t think that,” he said, his voice earnest. “But I want to try.”

Amber shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please don't say things we both know you don't mean.” 

“Amber, I mean it,” Trent said, his voice filled with urgency. “I know I’ve hurt you, but that wasn't my intention.”

“The thing is Trent you did and it's both our fault, when you told me you had no interest in anything serious I should have listened.” Amber pointed out painfully, her voice soft. “But I let myself hope for something more. I thought maybe you’d change your mind, that we could be something real. And then I saw those pictures, and it shattered everything.”

Trent couldn't bear the look on Amber’s face, standing from his seat he strode over to wear she stood clutching her body for some form of comfort in such an uncomfortable situation. 

Amber’s breath caught in her throat as Trent pulled her body into his arms, allowing her to cry into his chest as he held her. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured again, feeling the warmth of her body against his and the weight of her tears soaking into his shirt. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was foolish and thoughtless, and I can’t express how much I regret it.”

Amber’s sobs began to quiet as she leaned into him, her body trembling with the release of pent-up emotions. “This isn't right, this isn't what you wanted,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “You shouldn’t have to feel obligated to comfort me.”

Trent tightened his grip around her, unwilling to let go. “Stop,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “If I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be.”

Amber searched his gaze, looking for any hint of insincerity, but all she found was a deep-seated regret and a flicker of hope.

Laying her head against Trent’s chest, she allowed herself to be fully vulnerable for the first time since the fallout. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a sense of comfort she hadn’t realized she craved. 

“Come back to Liverpool with me tonight, spend the weekend with me,” he murmured into her hair, his voice low and earnest. “Let’s talk this through, away from all the noise and distractions. I want to show you that I’m serious about making things right.”

Amber pulled back slightly, searching his eyes for any sign of insincerity. “You really think that’s a good idea? After everything that’s happened?”

“I do,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want to prove to you that I can be better. I want to show you that I care about you, not just with words, but with actions.”

She hesitated, her heart torn between the desire to believe him and the fear of getting hurt again. “What if it doesn’t change anything? What if we just end up in the same place?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, his voice steady. “But I need you to give me a chance. I can’t fix this without you.”

Amber took a deep breath, weighing her options. The thought of spending the weekend with him was both thrilling and terrifying. She wanted to believe that the dynamic could change, that he could be the man she wanted him to be. But the fear of being hurt again loomed large in her mind.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come with you. But I need you to be straight up with me, if this isn't what you want I’d rather you let me down easy.”

Trent nodded, his expression earnest. “I promise, Amber. I’ll be completely honest with you. I don’t want to play games anymore. I want to be real with you.”

Amber felt a flicker of hope at his words, but she still held onto her reservations. “If there are going to be other women I’d rather not know,” she said in complete disbelief of her own words as they left her lips.

Trent made her feel pathetic, but still she couldn’t bring herself to fully cut ties. 

“I understand,” he replied, his voice steady. “I won’t put you in that position. I want to focus on us, on what we have. I know I’ve messed up, but I want to make it right.”

Amber nodded slowly, feeling a mix of hope and apprehension. She was stepping into uncharted territory, and while a part of her was excited, another part was terrified of the potential heartbreak that could follow. “Okay,” she said, her voice firmer now. “Let’s see where this weekend goes.”

“Let’s,” Trent smiled softly as their eyes met, the tension between them easing just a bit. He could see the flicker of hope in Amber’s eyes, and it filled him with determination. This was his chance to prove himself, to show her that he wasn’t the man his actions suggested.

As Amber gathered her things in preparation of an impromptu weekend in Liverpool with Trent, her heart fluttering in her chest as he sat comfortably on her bed watching her. 

“Come here,” he said softly, gesturing for her to join him. Amber hesitated for a moment, her heart racing as she considered the implications of moving closer to him. But the warmth in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes drew her in.

She walked over and sat beside him, feeling the familiar spark of connection that had always been there between them. Taking her hand into his, he guided her on top of him so she straddled his lap, her cheeks flushed as he gazed up at her. 

“Where are the earrings and flowers I sent?” Trent asked, a hint of a smirk present in his voice. 

“I threw the flowers in the trash and the earrings are in my closet,” Amber replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. She felt a mix of defiance and vulnerability as she looked down at him, their positions shifting the dynamic between them. 

Trent raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “You really didn’t like the earrings?”

“It’s not that I didn’t like them,” she said, her tone serious. “It’s just… it felt wrong. Like you were trying to buy my forgiveness or something.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I get that. I thought it would help bridge the gap, but I see it fell flat. I want you to keep it, though.”

Amber's heart raced at his insistence. “Trent, I can’t.”

Trent’s gaze was unwavering, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and sincere. “You can and you will, it’s yours.

Instead of continuing their back and forth, Amber climbed off of Trent’s lap to continue packing for the weekend. 

As she moved around the room, gathering her essentials, she felt Trent's eyes on her, a mix of admiration and concern etched on his face. The tension in the air was palpable, and Amber couldn't shake the feeling that they were at a crossroads.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Trent asked, breaking the silence as she folded a few clothes into her overnight bag. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

Amber paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m not doing this because I feel pressured. I’m doing this because I want to,”

As present and in the moment as Trent was, he allowed his eyes to slip and study her figure as she stood in an oversized tank that showed off the swell of the sides of her breasts and a pair bicycle shorts that looked as though they’d been painted on. 

The idea that he’d made such a beautiful girl question her worth didn’t sit right with him, regardless of whether or not he was looking for anything serious with anyone. 

By the time Amber had finished packing a small Louis Vuitton duffle bag, outside was completely dark. Making sure all of the lights in her apartment were off, she followed Trent out into the evening. 

The drive from just west of central London to Liverpool took about two and a half hours, but the time seemed to fly by as they talked and laughed, the tension between them slowly dissipating. Amber found herself relaxing in Trent’s presence, the warmth of his smile and the sincerity in his voice easing her worries, if only a little.

As they drove, they discussed everything from their favorite movies to their childhood memories, and Amber felt a sense of normalcy returning. It was as if the weight of the past week was lifting, and she could almost forget the hurt that had lingered between them.

By the time they got to Trent’s neighborhood the nighttime had completely taken over, Amber sat in quiet awe as she took in each large, beautiful house they passed. 

This would mark the first time she’d ever been in Trent’s space and she couldn’t help but wonder what the premier league star’s house would look like. 

Trent parked in the driveway of a sleek, modern house that stood out among the others on his street, its clean lines and expansive windows inviting curiosity. Amber felt a flutter of apprehension and excitement as he turned off the engine and opened the door for her. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a faint smile, leading her up the stone walkway. The house was impressive, a testament to his success, but it felt oddly warm and inviting. 

As they stepped inside, Amber was immediately struck by the spaciousness of the living room. High ceilings, contemporary art pieces adorning the walls, and minimalistic furniture created an airy atmosphere. Cozy textures were layered throughout, and soft lighting cast a gentle glow, making it feel almost intimate. 

“Make yourself at home,” Trent said, casually tossing his keys onto a nearby counter. Amber wandered further into the space, taking in the details—the bookshelf filled with an eclectic mix of novels, the framed photos capturing candid moments from Trent's life with his family.

“Wow, this is really nice,” she remarked, turning to face him with a genuine smile, feeling a little more at ease. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

He chuckled softly, leaning against the kitchen island. “Thanks. It’s taken some time to make it feel like home. I travel a lot, so I wanted somewhere to come back to that felt… personal.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Amber replied, her gaze drifting over the sleek appliances and the small touches that hinted at his personality. “It feels lived in.”

“Exactly,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Want something to drink? I think I have a decent bottle of wine stashed away somewhere.”

Amber bit her lip, considering. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

As Trent disappeared into the kitchen, Amber took a moment to absorb the environment fully. The artworks scattered throughout the space hinted at a sensitive side she hadn’t quite seen before, the mix of personal and professional resonating with her more than she'd expected.

“Here we go,” he returned a moment later, a bottle of red wine in hand and two glasses dangling from his fingers. “I hope you’re a fan of Merlot.”

“Always.” Amber smiled as he poured the rich, deep liquid, the aroma filling the air.

They settled on the couch, their knees almost touching but with enough space to allow for the tension that still lingered in the air. As they shared the wine, they spoke lightheartedly at first, their laughter echoing through the living room.

But as the evening wore on and the bottles dwindled, the atmosphere shifted subtly. Amber felt the weight of their earlier conversation press upon them, and she realized that they would have to address the elephant in the room sooner or later.

“Trent,” she began, twirling her glass nervously. “I appreciate you bringing me here and wanting to make things right, but I need to know what you really want from this.”

Trent set his glass down, his expression growing serious. “I want to be honest with you, Amber. I like you and I want to continue seeing you, but I also need time to figure things out.”

Amber felt her heart race as his words hung in the air, the weight of his admissions settling over them. “You like me?” she repeated, searching his eyes for any trace of insincerity, but all she saw was earnestness.

“I do,” he said, leaning slightly closer, his voice low. “But I also know I’ve messed things up. I want to be real with you moving forward, but I can’t promise some fairytale outcome overnight.”

Her pulse quickened at his honesty, the mixture of hope and uncertainty swirling inside her. “So, you’re saying you want to see where this goes?” 

“Exactly,” he replied, his gaze steady. “But I need to do it right this time. I don’t want you to feel like you have to earn my attention or that I’m keeping you at arm’s length. You deserve better.”

Amber couldn’t help but smile slightly at his words. The vulnerability he was showing was so different from what she’d experienced before with him. “I just don’t want to go back to feeling like I’m not enough or like I’m something to do when there’s nothing to do.”

Trent reached out, taking her hand in his and squeezing gently. “You are more than that. You have to believe me.” 

His touch sent a shiver up her spine, igniting a chemistry that had been brewing between them all along. Still, the remnants of her heartache loomed heavy. 

Pushing all rational thought to the back of her mind, Amber leaned into Trent pressing his lips against hers as he melted into his seat, swiftly pulling her body on top of his. 

Lost in the moment, Amber felt the warmth of his body envelop her. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve ending as she responded instinctively to the heat radiating between them. It was unlike any kiss they had shared before—fueled by the pent-up emotions from their tumultuous journey, each brush of his lips against hers whispered promises of something more.

Trent’s hands found their way to her waist, holding her firmly yet tenderly as though she might slip away if he didn’t. She reveled in the feeling of being wanted, the way he kissed her with a desperation that mirrored her own longing. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them tangled in each other and the weight of their unspoken feelings.

As they pulled apart, breathless and wide-eyed, Amber searched Trent’s face for a hint of what he was thinking. “I—”

“What is it?” he cut her off softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“I want you to fuck me,” Amber murmured, her heart racing at the audacity of her words. It felt both liberating and terrifying to voice what she desperately craved. 

Trent's eyes darkened with intensity, a mix of surprise and undeniable hunger flickering across his features. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. 

Amber nodded, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. “I need to feel something real right now, something that reminds me of the connection we have. It’s been too much chaos lately, I just want to feel you.”

And feel him she did. 

Amber lay back on the plush sofa, her legs spread wide as Trent knelt between them. His hands gripped her inner thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin as he gazed up at her with hungry eyes.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he groaned, his breath hot against her dampening pussy lips. "I could eat this sweet little pussy all day."

Trent dove in without hesitation, his tongue delving deep to taste Amber's arousal. She let out a sharp gasp, hips bucking slightly at the sudden sensation.

"Oh god... Trent..." Her voice trailed off into a moan as he worked his magic, lapping and sucking with increasing fervour.

He alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick flicks against her sensitive clit. Amber's head thrashed from side to side, her shiny black hair splayed across the cushions as she struggled to maintain coherence.

"That's it, baby... just like that," she panted. 

Trent's hands slid up Amber's body to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the hardening nipples. He suckled harder on her pussy, determined to make her come undone.

“Like this?” Trent asked raising his head, his chin and lips glistening with her arousal as he puckered them and allowed a bead of his spit to fall into her clit, before sucking it back into his mouth, his eye’s never leaving hers. 

Amber's eyes widened as Trent's saliva hit her sensitive clit, the added moisture sending shockwaves through her body. "Yes, god yes..." she whimpered, arching into his touch.

Trent continued to lavish attention on her sex, alternating between sucking and licking in a relentless rhythm that had Amber teetering on the edge of climax. She could feel the pressure building inside her, coiling tighter with each pass of his tongue.

"I'm so close... don't stop," she begged breathlessly, fingers tangling in Trent's tapered curls.

He obliged, as he devoured her pussy like a man starved. The room filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and wet slapping noises as he ate out Amber with wild abandon.

Just when it seemed he might push her over the precipice at any moment, Trent pulled back slightly. “Reach down and spread pussy open for me,” he instructed. 

Amber's heart raced as Trent commanded her to spread her pussy open for him. She instinctively tried to close her thighs, but he held them apart with a firm grip.

"Please... I'm so sensitive," she whimpered, feeling exposed and vulnerable in that moment.

Trent didn't relent, his intense gaze never leaving her face. "That's the point, beautiful. You're mine to play with right now."

With shaking hands, Amber reached down and grasped the swollen lips of her sex. She parted them slowly, revealing the glistening pink flesh within. A trickle of arousal escaped, dripping down onto the sofa cushion below.

"There you go," Trent purred approvingly, leaning forward once more to lap at her juices greedily. His tongue delved deep into her folds again, swirling around her clit before tracing up and down each side of her slit.

The added stimulation from spreading herself wide made everything feel even more intense for Amber.

Amber's head thrashed back and forth as Trent worked her over, the combination of his skilled tongue and her shameless display pushing her to the brink. "Oh fuck, oh my god... I'm gonna cum baby!" she wailed.

Trent responded by redoubling his efforts, sucking harder on her clit while thrusting two fingers deep into Amber's twitching channel. He curled them just right, rubbing that sweet spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

With a keening cry, Amber shattered once more beneath him. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around his invading digits as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her. This time, Trent didn't pull away – he kept eating at her sex until she'd ridden out every last tremor.

Only then did he withdraw his fingers and sit back on his heels to admire his handiwork: Amber lying spent and sated on the sofa, thighs still parted in invitation.

“More,” she breathed, her fingers gently tracing over her sensitive pussy as their eyes met. 

“More?” Trent repeated. 

Instead of offering him a verbal response, Amber sat up and moved over onto her hands and knees, a deep arch in her spine. She wanted him to fuck her until the hurt and embarrassment she’d felt over the last week were wiped clean from her mind. 

Trent's eyes widened at the sight of Amber presenting herself so wantonly. He swallowed hard, his cock throbbing in response to her display. 

"Fuck, baby... you're incredible," he murmured, a low growl building in his chest as he pulled off his pants and boxers. His rigid erection sprang free, thick and pulsing with need.

Trent positioned himself behind Amber, running the head of his dick along her soaked folds teasingly before pushing inside. She was still sensitive from her previous orgasms but welcomed the stretch as he filled her gradually.

"Ohhhh shit..." she moaned, arching back into him before he abruptly pulled himself from her. 

“I need you in my bed,” Trent growled, his voice thick with desire, as he quickly grabbed Amber's waist and spun her around to face him. He claimed her lips with a fierce kiss, tongues dancing as they both breathed heavily through their noses, the tension crackling between them.

“Let’s go,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek, as he scooped her up effortlessly, causing her to gasp in surprise. His hands gripped her thigh while she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the unmistakable heat of his body against hers.

With a powerful stride, Trent carried her upstairs to his bedroom, their breaths mingling with the urgency of their need. He kicked open the door, quickly stepping inside before gently setting her on the bed. 

Amber's heart raced as he stepped back to admire her; the flush of passion coloured her cheeks, and her body gleamed with a sheen of perspiration, the sight of her drove him wild. 

“Can I return the favour?” she asked, eyeing his long, thick cock that hung heavily beneath them. 

“You want to?” Trent asked taking hold of his length, slowly stroking from tip to base and back again as Amber crawled to the edge of the bed. 

Amber's eyes widened at the sight of Trent's impressive erection, her gaze locked onto it hungrily. "Yes," she breathed, reaching out to wrap a hand around his shaft. "I want to taste you."

Without waiting for an invitation, Amber leaned forward and took him into her mouth, moaning softly as he filled her oral cavity. She began to bob her head slowly, savoring the saltysweet flavor of his precum on her tongue.

Trent let out a low groan as Amber worked him over with skillful lips and tongue. Her free hand fondled his balls while she sucked gently on the tip of his cockhead.

"Fuck... just like that," he encouraged through gritted teeth, fingers tangling in Amber's hair. "You're amazing."

Emboldened by his praise, Amber increased the pace of her ministration.

Trent watched in awe as Amber made a mess on him, saliva and pre-cum coating his cock as she took him deeper, the warmth of her mouth and her eyes never breaking contact with his driving him wild with lust. He could feel the heat pooling in his belly, every flick of her tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him.

“God, Amber,” he gasped, tilting his hips forward to meet her mouth as she sucked harder, pulling him in deeper until her throat constricted around his length. 

In response, she moaned, sending vibrations through his shaft that had him groaning louder. The sight of her on her knees, completely absorbed in pleasuring him, was more arousing than he could have imagined. 

“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to let her catch her breath. “You’re doing so good, so messy for me.”

Spit dripped from Amber’s chin gathering on her chest and flat stomach as she allowed Trent to have his way with her mouth and throat. 

Reaching between her own legs, Amber gagged as her fingers came into contact with her clit, instantly sending a chill down her spine as she refused to break eye contact with the man before her. 

As Trent's cock slid deeper into her mouth, Amber felt a surge of pride and desire. She loved the power she wielded with her lips and tongue, the ability to make him groan and tremble beneath her touch. Her own arousal grew with each thrust, juices dripping down her thighs as she sucked him harder.

Trent tangled his fingers in Amber's hair, guiding her pace as he rolled his hips against her face. "Just like that... fuck yes," he panted, eyes locked on hers as she worked him over.

Amber moaned around his length, sending vibrations through his shaft that had him gasping for breath. She could taste the salty tang of his precum mingling with the musky scent of their combined arousal filling the air.

Lost in the moment, Amber forgot about everything else  Trent's fame, their complicated relationship status, even her dreams for a more meaningful connection. All that mattered was pleasing this man who stirred such intense passion within her.

Amber’s mind turned to mush as Trent fucked her throat, his hand gripping her hair into a messy ponytail as she took him. 

Trent hated how selfish his thoughts may have sounded, but there was no way he was actually going to allow Amber to walk away. His interest in other women didn’t take away from what he felt towards her. 

Pulling her mouth off of him Trent watched in awe as a string of her saliva ran from her lips to his hard dick. 

As Trent pulled out of Amber's mouth, she gasped for air, eyes glazed with lust. He was so hard and thick in her hand, the head glistening with saliva. 

"Hmm... you taste amazing," she purred, stroking him slowly as she looked up at him through heavy eyelashes.

Trent shuddered at her touch, his breath hitching in his chest. "You're fucking incredible," he rasped, reaching down to help her off the bed. 

Amber let him pull her to her feet and then turned around to present herself once more. She spread her legs wider, giving Trent an unobstructed view of her dripping pussy.

Trent stepped forward, his eyes locked onto Amber's glistening sex. With a reverent hand, he cupped her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her back against him.

"You're so ready for me," he growled approvingly, rubbing the head of his cock along her slick folds. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name."

Amber shivered at his words, a thrill running through her at the promise of rough passion. She reached back to guide him inside, but Trent wasn't having it. Instead, he gripped both of her hips and slammed into her with one powerful thrust.

A sharp cry escaped Amber's lips as she was filled to the brim by Trent's thick length. He didn't give her time to adjust before pulling out and driving in again, setting a relentless pace that had them both panting within moments.

"Yes... just like that!"

Trent grunted with each powerful stroke, his hips snapping forward to bury himself in Amber's heat again and again. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, her inner walls rippling along his length as he claimed her thoroughly.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, sweat beading on his brow from exertion. "Take it all, baby."

Amber moaned wantonly, pushing back to meet every thrust. The slap of skin against skin filled the room as Trent thrusted into her with abandon, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

He reached around to thumb at her clit roughly while continuing to piston into her slick channel. The added stimulation had Amber seeing stars within moments.

"Oh god... I'm going to cum!" she keened loudly.

Within an instant Amber was beneath Trent, their foreheads pressed against the other and her legs over his shoulders as he buried himself inside of her, making her take every last inch of him as he bottomed out. 

“Trent, you’re so big!” Amber squealed, the indescribable pleasure she felt accompanied by a dull ache. 

"Shhh, take it," Trent whispered against Amber's ear, his hips never ceasing their relentless rhythm as he pistoned in and out of her clenching heat. "Your little pussy was made for my cock."

Amber whimpered, trying to catch her breath between cries of pleasure as Trent's thumb rubbed merciless circles over her hypersensitive clit. "Don't stop..."

With a guttural growl, Trent slammed into her one final time, holding still as his release hit. Amber felt each hot spurt of his cum filling her to the brim, marking her insides with his claiming essence. "Fuck yes... give it to me," he panted, grinding against her to prolong the sensation.

As Trent slowly withdrew, his softening member slipped free with a wet sound, followed by a trickle of their combined fluids onto the bed sheets below.

As caught up in pleasure as he was, Trent noticed Amber had rolled away from him, putting some distance between them in his spacious bed, an action he didn’t approve of. 

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Trent pulled her body against his, turning her so she faced him as they both lay catching their breath. 

As their eyes met, a moment of vulnerability passed between them. The haze of passion began to lift, revealing the reality of their situation. Amber's heart raced, not just from the physical exertion but from the emotional weight of what had just transpired.

"That was... intense," she breathed, her cheeks flushed as Trent tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Trent smiled softly, brushing his thumb along her cheek.

“Yes.”

[jude5bellingham]

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