#which was cool to find out back when i was looking all this up the first time and again just now

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.

[sayhoneysiren]

What’s Your Siren Energy?

Welcome Sirens! This reading is for entertainment purposes only based on the downloads I receive. Do not attack me if the message doesn’t resonate. Keep in mind this is a collective reading, not a individual one. With that being said, enjoy!

xx Honey Siren🍒

⋆˙⟡♡

This reading will help you find out what type of Siren you are and how to awaken your Siren Energy — Your Siren Energy can help you to become mesmerizing, attract wealth, lovers and abundant opportunities.

CHOOSE YOUR PILE

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE I

Affirmation : 🍓I never do the pleasing. I am the one they aim to please.

You are The Office Siren🎱

“The office siren aesthetic is sophisticated, with a hint of seduction. It’s about strutting through the workplace in corporate garb that screams, ‘I mean business, but make it fashion.’ The office siren spices up the conference room with structured yet feminine pieces that radiate power and confidence. Picture a palette of chic neutrals with pops of red and femme fatale details and you’re halfway there.”

Many of you may resonate with the terms girlboss, boss bitch, ambitious, sassy, domanatrix, seductive, classy or baddie.

The taste of success is a delicious high. Independence and personal success are the things you treasure most.

This smoldering determination is felt in your powerful, sexy aura that screams regality and authority. Internally, you are the lioness that can be tame or feral depending kn the circumstances at hand. People easily get lost in your majestic beauty and become captivated by you.

Many of your coworkers are crushing on you. They admire that you are put together, self sufficient and sophisticated. There’s a high possibility that you work in a corporation or system where people look up to you and sort of worship your presence.

Things to work on: Since you are so driven, you could struggle with perfectionism, the fear of failure or the fear of being seen. Understand that there is a difference between hard work and productivity. “Done is better than perfect.”

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE II

Affirmation : 💋My influence on others is spellbinding.

The Miss Cherry {Coquette} Siren🍒

[ Lisa Rowe Scene ]

The Coquette by Robert Greene- "The ability to delay satisfaction is the ultimate art of seduction—while waiting, the victim is held in thrall. Coquettes are the grand masters of the game, orchestrating a back-and-forth movement between hope and frustration. They bait with the promise of reward—the hope of physical pleasure, happiness, fame by association, power—all of which, however, proves elusive; yet this only makes their targets pursue them the more. Imitate the alternating heat and coolness of the Coquette and you will keep the seduced at your heels."

What’s the first thing you think about when you see a 🍒?

Often times it is associated with sexual actives but it can also represent youth, playfulness, lovers and genius capabilities.

Cherry also rhymes with Fairy 🧚‍♀️. Which is similar to how your Siren energy is. Young spirited, mischievous and naughty.

As you can see in your tarot spread, you are a walking contradiction. One moment you are hot then cold, confident then insecure, extroverted then introverted. You have a dualistic charm that makes you deeply fascinating and magnetic.

You beauty is refreshing and you could have big eyes, pouty lips, a memorable laugh or an endearing smile. Many peiple fall in love with you by your smile alone. There is something forbidden and naughty about your personality that make you more endearing. Again, you may be meant for fame and fortune!

Things to work on: Since your personality is unpredictable learn to better control your moods.

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE III

Affirmation : 💌My lovers easily commit to me and are obsessed with me forever.

The Oceana Siren🪞

People see you as the ‘Quiet Storm’ which is similar to Sade Adu (an Ocean Siren), who is mystical and private but once she enters the spotlight, her presence is groundbreaking and sets the world into a frenzy.

You send people through an emotional mind-field with your Siren energy (especially your exes). Out of all the others piles, you are the most connected to the water elements. When it comes tonyour emotions, you can be a calm sea or a raging hurricane. Even if youndont intentianlly send you exes energy they seem to feel it somehow and want to beg for your forgiveness. They may have a difficult time letting you go and since you starve them of your energy, they end up stalking you to keep in touch with your energy.

Your are a difficult person to grasp. Think of trying to grab a wet fish with your bare hands. That’s how people experience your seduction. You are a hard catch and can never be caught completely.

You prefer to be a loner but you love love. You hold very intense emotions. People don't understand you often, since you’re quiet and quirky but your silence speaks volumes.

Things to work on: You are an old, deep soul and in love, you can easily loose yourself in matters that don’t serve you. Learn to maintain healthy attachments and relationships to people.

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

[sosasturns]

matt sturniolo WE’RE SO DONE

…IN WHICH READER IS FED UP W/ TOXIC!MATT, BLURB ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ just makin @throatgoat4u’s dreams come true (prompt)

your mother always told you don’t trust these men. that they’d smile in your face, make you feel like the only girl in the world, and still be entertaining somebody else behind your back. she told you to keep your heart guarded, to never be too available, to let a man prove himself before you gave too much.

and you should’ve listened.

now look at you. sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone, at the text messages that keep rolling in. matt’s name lights up your screen like a ghost you can’t shake, the vibrations a constant reminder of everything you’re trying to walk away from.

Where U at? Delivered.

you don’t answer.

Why r U not picking up??? Delivered.

you let the text sit. just like you let everything else sit—the late replies, the half-assed explanations, the way he always left you guessing. left you feeling like you were standing on shaky ground, waiting for him to decide what the fuck this was between you two.

We need to talk Delivered.

you laugh under your breath. talk about what? about how he swore up and down that you were the only one he wanted, but couldn’t say what that meant? about how he had one foot in and one foot out, like he was scared to commit but even more scared to lose you?

you used to fall for this. the endless cycle. the fights, the distance, the making up. the way he’d pull you back in every single time, sweet talking his way back into your good graces, back into your bed, back into your life.

but not this time.

this time, you’re done.

you slide to his contact, hover over the block button. you hesitate for only a second—muscle memory, old habits—but then you do it.

you block him.

Unblock this caller.

a weight lifts from your chest. for the first time in a long time, you breathe. no more waiting for him to act right. no more settling for half of what you deserve.

matt realizes a little too late.

when the calls stop going through, when the messages don’t deliver, when he shows up at your place only to find the locks changed and your car gone. that’s when he starts spiraling, when he starts panicking. because this ain’t how it usually goes.

usually, after a fight, you come back. after a few days, after he texts the right things, after he shows up just enough to make you think maybe this time will be different. usually, you cave.

but you ain’t caving this time.

he calls from his friend’s phone. you hang up. he dms you. you delete it. he texts from a random number.

Baby just talk to me Seen

you don’t even flinch.

i’m cool on you. that’s what you send back, before blocking that number too.

Unblock This Caller.

he’s saying all the right things now.

I miss U

I wanna be with U

I ain’t think i was ready cause I was scared

I just want U in my life

i’m done w these other females Delivered

I’m Sorry Message Not Delivered. Try Again

but not once does he say i’m sorry. he never did.

and that’s how you know you made the right decision.

so you put your phone on do not disturb. close your eyes. and for the first time in a long time, you don’t lose sleep over him.

© SOSASTURNS

TAGLIST: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns @adoremattsturns @conspiracy-ash @cheriiboo @mattsleftball @applecidersturniolo @chrepsi @grace-sturnz @emely9274 @almloe @yourmother29

[videokilled]

Vox watched his companion closely after his own slip up. Near disastrous. And even now he could still feel his nerves buzzing with the manic energy the drug was seeping into his bloodstream. He had intended to go back to the kitchen for more- but after that- Vox was thinking about heading the other’s warning a bit closer.

Going easy on it. It had been several days. It wasn’t just a top off. It was more like ending a tolerance break.

He blinked several times and shook his head like he had hair in his face. Focus focus. Cool, calm, in control.

Vox smoothed his sweater down needlessly, and moved toward the bathroom to take his turn in getting ready. He didn’t have any products or pampering items but the hotel had a few staples.

He washed his face for the first time in a century or so which felt weird. Then used the water to try and smooth his hair back. Hoping it would dry how he wanted it too.

The one piece that was partially streaked red wouldn’t stay though. Insistent on leaning forward. The underside bright hibiscus red, and that made his blue brown hair look even more raven shaded by contrast.

Vox gave up after a few more tries grumbling about it and moved back out into the room with his posture much more alike how it was in hell. It felt weird getting ready without wearing a suit. He kept wanting to reach up and fix his bow tie or make sure his suit collar was sitting correctly since he couldn’t feel it.

He came back out to Alastor dropping the towel and starting to get dressed. A smarmy little smile snuck up despite himself, sparing an extra long glance before he finally continued his move into the kitchen. Taking a quick shot of the whiskey they had on the counter. (For the vitamins.) Then scrounged for his cigarettes and lighter before making his way back into the main room.

Just in time for the unexpected bomb that was going back— it jarred him how much it felt….. well jarring to think about.

Back to his routine. His head rejoiced. His safety. His control. His tools and influence and tower- and Val.

Why did it make his chest pinch like that. So much so that he stammered again.

“Ah.. ahyes.”

Or his company would be in shambles. Or it wouldn’t be a return to the comfort of his routine at all.

Vox seemed to visibly fight a panicked thought off. Unaware of it showing so pristinely on his face- even now. His own hand moved up to bracket against his temple. His pupils moving around like they were trying to avoid making eye contact with his thoughts.

“Yesyes..” he said again after he realized he didn’t even have any information to find out when would be the best time to plan their return anyway. What if now was the best time. Well they couldn’t go now. They could- he could- their contract was done. He had said three to five days. It had been three. And yet- he was drawn to this… isolated little cycle they had. It felt surreal. Untouchable.

But it would end. It also dawned on him he wished he would have appreciated it more. But that was much too sappy for Vox the media demon.

“Uh— excuse me.” He muttered like he had sneezed instead of verbally and physically zoned out.

“Whenever your business is complete. I won’t have you blaming me for cutting it short.” He added but it sounded dry and edgeless.

Then Vox lit his cigarette and seemed to once again bounce right back into his smooth recovery after the nicotine hit his lungs.

That one rogue hair leaning forward over his eyebrow like a red banner.

“So these that we’re visiting now- they live in an apartment..? Who are we hoping to find?” He exhaled his cloud

“Or is it the building…”

It was Vox’s turn to give a loud boisterous laugh as he watched the other scurry away like they hadn’t just slept, fucked, and then slept again stark naked. It was cute.

He paused to scrutinize his thoughts once Alastor was gone.

“And you’re weak.” He muttered to himself under his breath.

Vox pulled the cabinet open and pulled the little baggies out.

Oh bless that silly deer. There was a few options too.

He carried the baggy into the kitchen, still naked. He should probably get dressed. But this was absolutely priority.

Taking drugs has a tv, as one could imagine, involved some creativity. (He usually just ate it and damned be the consequences.) But as a person there was a right way to do things. So he did.

Making a little prep area and then pulled it right up through his nose. It had been- a hot century or so since he had done that. The dizziness hit him like a freight train but he just found himself giggling with the adrenaline. Then got more of the powder ready— space it out save some for later.

He paced around for a second. Pushed his hair back with both hands. Then found his clothes. And moved them to a different chair. Intent on getting dressed. At least soon. Vox put his boxers on.. Then pushed his hair back. Walked to the bathroom and peaked just enough to check on Alastor (see if he was still there.) Then walked away to the window. It was a nice view..

And walked back to the kitchen. That was long enough. The effects in snorting it weren’t immediate- but the adrenaline of doing it- and the anticipation was more than enough to get him going.

He pulled more up into his nose.. just a little bit. And started walking around again. Usually he had his phone to occupy him. Go cyberbully some people or wreak some havoc on Velvette’s socials. But he had nothing.

Vox walked back over to his clothes, taking a very deep breath, and started getting dressed. He only got as far as his socks and buttoning his pants up- when he paused again to go walk by the bathroom again.. just to make sure the other was still there. Not lingering really. Just enough to glimpse. Then back to his clothes.

They had poked a lot of angelic bears in the past few days. It had him thinking about his own contract barriers. He was skating closer and closer to them.

He finished getting dressed as Alastor came back out. All fresh and clean his deep skin glistening with the water flecks.

Vox’s mouth watered. But that didn’t mean anything.

He was fixing his cuffs as he approached the other.

“No no- relax with the cheating- I can’t skirt much closer to..” Vox did a very weird seemingly involuntary and unexpected pause and swallow. The drugs making him careless with his own secrets briefly. Depending on Alastor’s perceptiveness he might recognize the sort of loss of autonomy to keep talking.

It was over as fast as Vox could move on.

He waved one hand flippantly,

“They’re clean. I like my Voxtek sweater too much. I sent them to be laundered while you were in your shower.” Maybe a compliment would distract- and turned his back casually to retrieve the other’s pressed clothes that had been folded and left in the foyer. Previously intent on just gesturing. Now he wanted to fetch them.

He placed the stack on the bed when he returned and went back to fixing his other sleeve. Hoping they wouldn’t linger. It was one thing to weed out Alastor’s contracts- but he didn’t want his own skeletons toppling out of his closet.

[hemi-demi]

Jon and Martin doing just a little birdwatching

-

Hey all! I'm still chipping away at the main fic, but wrote a short little thing that I thought might be fun to share here as a bonus! And some bonus art as well, because I really like drawing birds, lol.

Short fic below the cut! Rated G, just a bit of fluff.

Takes place sometime between chapters 4 and 5 of Oathbreaker, but it's spoiler free, so no worries if you haven't read it.

--

“Hey, Jon? What are you-”

Martin had already been speaking quite softly when they tapped Jon on the shoulder. Not quietly enough, as it turns out, as the thought is abruptly cut short by a slender finger pressed against his lips. 

A sudden rush of adrenaline surges through him, and he draws back his cloak, preparing to take the sword from his hip before Jon's tail wraps around his wrist, silently asking him to stop.

Martin tries to speak again, but Jon just shushes him with no real concern as to how rude it comes off, then points up to a nearby tree. 

Tilting his head up, Martin spots a bird. Not a particularly stunning one as looks would go; it's feathers a soft brown with an even paler belly, almost indistinguishable from the bark on which it's perched. 

But its song is far more distinct; a collection of chirps, clicks, and warbles that come in rapid succession and seemingly no rhyme or reason. It's a song he's heard before, but certainly not often, and Jon seems utterly entranced by the creature.

“Didn't take you for a birdwatcher.” Martin half whispers, once Jon allows him to, at least.

“Nightingale,” Jon replies, jumping ahead a few steps in conversation, their eyes scanning the trees for more of the little tawny things before turning back to the bird just above their heads, “don’t see a lot of them in this part of the continent.”

“Yeah, haven't seen one in ages…bit early for them, isn't it?”

“Yes…” Without looking away, Jon settles against the bark of the tree. “Apparently they practice their song in the winter months. Bit of choir practice before the big show.”

“Sorry, ‘show’?”

“Their mating season,” Jon clarifies, drawing their coat a little tighter as a cool breeze rolls last, “Sometime around late spring, I believe.”

“Ah,” Martin stifles a chuckle, “so the little guy is rehearsing his pick-up lines. Wonder if he's nervous.”

The bird's song comes to an abrupt stop, raising its wings up high before flitting off into another branch a few trees away. Jon's eyes follow the motion, and then the bird shoots up through the empty branches above and disappears into the sky. Its song plays out one last time, carried on the wind as it finds another spot for its practice, well out of sight.

“Certainly seems to be…” Jon replies. They almost sound – sad for the little thing. Or maybe they're just sad it left, their head hanging low, shuffling their feet without concern for the sound of crunching leaves now that the bird has left. “Can't say I blame him. Although memorising a song sounds far easier than most courting rituals.”

“Yeah…” Martin notices a bit of debris from the tree stuck to Jon's coat, reaching out to brush off the bits caught against the wool. “Just sing a little tune until someone fancies you. Would be nice if it were that simple. I think I’d much prefer that.”

That earns Martin an odd look, that same calculating gaze once fixed onto the bird now turned squarely in his direction for what feels like far too long. Long enough for Martin to wish he could fly off like that nervous nightingale before Jon can identify the source of the creeping blush that blooms across his cheeks.

Then Jon blinks, bowing their head again before stepping back towards the trail. “Right, so…camp, yes? I ah – saw a spot we could set up just this way.”

Before Martin can ask, Jon has already paced halfway down the path, and he's forced to jog behind to catch up.

Didn't take long for them to set up camp. Jon made quick work of things, nervously bouncing around the site and setting up tents, laying out bedrolls. Hardly sitting still for even a moment. 

Martin would have said something, maybe taken some of the work off their hands, but they seemed far too focused on their tasks. 

And if he did, Jon might have stopped humming whatever song they had stuck in their head, and that would be a shame. He always rather liked birdwatching.

[81pastrys]

Lights out (literally)

Summary— Oscars little girl hates the dark, so when they all of a sudden disappear from the paddock…

Warnings— none

A/N— I’m thinking of Oscar is a bit older here, considering the toddlers age. Tiny bit of Landoscar. Uncle LaLa.

Oscars little girl was quite the character. Pretty independent and kept to herself, well as much as a 3-year-old can. When she was in the paddock it was hard to keep an eye on her. She was shy, quiet, and closed off.

She enjoyed her time with Lando while her dad was on track for way too long she’d say. She ate snacks, had a nap, and was generally bored. There’s not much she can even do at the paddock.

However when all the lights shut off, she’s suddenly easier to pinpoint. Considering she screamed bloody murder. She had a fear of the dark, Oscar knew this, her mum knew this, hell even Lando knew it.

Oscar was near and scooped her up quickly, wrapping her little arms around him as her cries were still heard around the McLaren garage. “It’s okay! Look everyone has flashlights.” Oscar said softly to her. Her tears seeped through his fireproof. She sniffled as the dimmer lights floated around. “I know it was scary.” He reassured her fear was not overlooked in any way.

When the lights fully returned, she had calmed down. Lando was now in the garage from the red flag dished out. “You okay munchkin?” Lando asked the little girl. She nodded her head at him and he smiled. “I have to go look cool on track, are you gonna watch?” He asked.

She looked to her dad and he smiled at her, encouraging her to talk. “Good luck uncle lala!” She said. The boys both melt and she cowers into Oscar’s shoulder. Lando lightly pinched her cheek and got ready to go back out. Oscar wondered around the garage a bit before deciding his next move.

“Let’s go find mama.” Oscar says. He walks around hospitality ultimately running into his wife. “There she is!” He exclaimed when he noticed her. He released the little girl reaching.

“There’s my angel!” She said. “I heard the lights went out.” Looking to Oscar for confirmation, in which he nodded. Their daughter cowered again, this time in her mums embrace. “I’m sorry angel.” She had a business meeting and had to miss Oscar testing, hence why she’s just appeared.

“Gave the garage a fright when they went out.” Oscar chuckled nervously. “She was so brave after she realized flashlights exist, huh?” He tried to get her reaction. He playfully pinched her side, tickling her. She giggled and looked at him.

I feel like Oscar’s little girl would be named Mila 🩷

[sematarygirls]

       ꪆ୧     ׅ    ⬫  A͟L͟L͟ AMERICAN ! READER ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ᰍ 

‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ✶ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ FIX HER UP‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ :  Looks like you’ve gotten yourself ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎   into a bit of trouble, sweetheart.

‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ♯┆WARNINGS.ㅤ─── suggestive

‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ “i dug my key into the si—” Chug-chug-chug—CLUNK. The sound of your cheerful singing died out as your red pickup truck, Dolly, came to a halt. “Oh, no, no, girl, not today,” you pleaded, turning the key in the ignition over and over to no avail. Poor Dolly had been on her last legs for awhile now, but you didn't have the money to get her all fixed up, and you'd rather die than even think of cheating on her with some other rust bucket.

You let out a frustrated huff, hitting the steering wheel. You looked up at your cracked rear view mirror, finding the road around you completely deserted—just your luck.

Reaching over into the passenger's seat, you grabbed your cellphone from your purse and begrudgingly dialed the number for Big Al's Autobody Shop, knowing full well that Al would try to hit on you and then overcharge you for the tow when you turned him down, which you can do when the Sheriff is your brother-in-law.

“Big Al's Autobody, how can I help you today?” Al's nasally voice came through the speaker. He was a bigger man with a beer belly and a big, ungroomed beard that took up half his face.

“Hiya, Al,” you said, your sweet-as-honey voice falling from your lips. “It's Y/N, I seem to have broken down out on Hickory Creek on my way home from Magnolia's,” you informed him, biting your lip nervously. “I desperately need a tow or somethin'.”

“Well, well, if it ain’t my favorite customer,” Al replied, his voice containing an element of flirtation, bordering on creepiness, that sent a chill down your spine. You could practically hear him grinning on the other end of the line, imagining his yellowing teeth and leering stare. “Hickory Creek, huh? That’s a mighty fine stretch of road for a truck to give out on. Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll get you fixed up. I’ll send someone right out.”

“Thanks, Al,” you replied politely, thankful that he wasn't coming himself but still on edge about the kind of men he probably employs.

“No problem, doll,” you cringed at the nickname, quickly hanging up the phone and stepping out of the car, your worn cowboy boots thudding against the pavement. The A.C. had crapped out on you months ago, and without the luxury of the wind whipping into your windows as you went 60, the hunk of metal was sweltering in the summer heat, even as the sun began to set.

You adjusted your bra uncomfortably as you leaned against the side of your truck, sweat gathering in the swells of your breasts as well as about every crevice you had. You shifted your legs, feeling the sticky sweat between them as you groaned. You just wanted to be back home in the cool air of your bedroom, but alas, here you were, waiting for some hillbilly to come get your car.

Your hair stuck to your forehead, dampened from the heat and the rushing around at the diner that you'd done all day, waiting on tables. You brushed the sweat from your brow, watching the sky and waiting around for awhile before the sound of a car engine coming up drew your attention.

You turned, leaning your shoulder against Dolly and crossing your arms as you watched the tow truck approach, getting ready to deal with whatever overweight, sleazy guy Al had sent your way, but you were surprised when a tall, muscular figure stepped out in a white wife-beater with grease stains, a pair of old blue jeans, and boots.

“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, sweetheart,” he drawled, flashing you that all-too-familiar smirk as he adjusted his backward hat on his head, giving you a view of his tousled, sweaty hair for a moment before he put the hat back on.

“Poor girl just gave out on me,” you sighed, watching him intently as he grabbed some tools from the passenger's side of his truck. His arms, coated in a thin sheen of sweat and smudges of grease, flexed as he moved, giving you ample view of his built form.

Rafe Cameron had a habit of coming into Magnolia's Diner every morning to order a black coffee and flirt with you everytime you stopped by his table, flashing that arrogant smirk that had your knees weak, but you knew your daddy wouldn't approve of him, so you tried not to daydream about him too much, but my was he just the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on.

“Please tell me you can fix her,” you spoke up again, knowing it was quite the ask, especially since the sun was quickly setting. You were hoping maybe she just needed a jump or something quick to get you back on the road.

“Don't you worry your pretty little head, darlin',” he winked, walking toward you with his toolbox in hand. "I'll have her purring like a kitten in no time." He said it with such confidence, without even knowing what was wrong, that it calmed your worries about Dolly but made your heart beat a little faster in your chest.

You knew this wasn't standard practice. Most mechanics would've taken the car and left you stranded, but Rafe was determined to fix her up right on the side of the road, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It had between your thighs getting sticky for an entirely different reason.

He set down his toolbox with a thud, opening up Dolly's rusty hood and peering inside with pure confidence in his movements and actions. “Shit, darlin', this piece of junk needs a hell of a lot more than a quick fix.”

“Don't call Dolly a piece of junk,” you defended, your cheeks immediately heating up as you realized how silly you sounded defending the feelings of an inanimate object, but she was more than that to you. She was your mama's prized possession before she passed, leaving it to you. She was family.

Rafe chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet evening air. “I ain't mean to offend,” he said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “But she’s seen better days, hasn’t she?” He reached down, tugging at a rusted piece under the hood, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles shifted beneath the tight fabric of his shirt.

“So, you can't fix her tonight, but... you can fix her, right?" you asked, taking a few steps toward him, your brows furrowed and your bottom lip worried between your teeth.

He looked up at you, noticing the look of concern on your face that you couldn't have hid even if you wanted to. He had a soft spot for you—the sweetest girl he'd ever met. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice smooth and teasing. “I can fix her. Might take a couple of days—maybe even longer if we’re talking parts—but I’ve got no problem putting in the time.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Rafe,” you said softly, looking up at him, now that you two were considerably closer—and he wasn't sitting down in a diner booth—you noticed how tall he was.

His pants tightened at the way you said his name in that soft, breathy tone of yours. He could have busted in his pants at that alone, but that mixed with the way you were looking at him had him damn near dizzy. “Ain't no problem at all.”

“Next time you come into the diner, it's coffee and a slice of pie on me,” you insisted, flashing him one of those sweeter-than-sugar smiles that had him resisting the urge to grab you by the waist and kiss you senseless. He could imagine all the things he wanted those pretty little lips to do—but he was supposed to be a gentleman.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of your phone going off rang out, a startling contrast to the peaceful sound of crickets chirping.

“That's probably my daddy wonderin' where I am,” you laughed nervously, pulling the driver's door open and retrieving your ringing phone. “Hi, daddy,” you answered, pressing it to your ear and turning your back to Rafe, like that granted some semblance of privacy. “No, I'm fine. Dolly broke down, but I'm getting 'er towed to Big Al's,” you explained. “Uh huh, okay, yeah, thank you, daddy. I'll see you soon.”

You hung up, blushing as you turned back around and saw Rafe staring at you intently. “He's—uh—He's coming to pick me up," you told him.

He nodded but looked disappointed. He had wanted to offer you a ride home, get some more time alone with you. “I'll take her back to the shop and get a better look at 'er,” he told you, closing the hood and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I'll update you on her condition and recovery time tomorrow mornin',” he winked, making you smile shyly.

“Thanks again,” you said sincerely. It made your heart skip a beat that he cared so much. “It means a lot to me.”

“Don't mention it," he waved you off, picking up his tools and getting ready to hook your car up to the tow truck. As you watched him, you had the feeling that maybe Dolly breaking down wasn't the worst thing to happen.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 /

 

[flowery-mess]

lost in touch

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+! MDNI / sexual content - oral, fingering, protected sex, nipple play, dry humping / use of a blindfold / mentions of tied hands / dirty talk (I tried lol) / inexperienced reader / I think that's it, let me know if you find anything else

Words: 6k

Author's note: can't believe my longest frat Noah fic is a smut😭 I project lot of myself into Ella and this one shot is proof of that lol

frat boy Noah masterlist

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

✨This one is happening in the beginning of their story, let’s say like the third/fourth time they spend the night together…✨

“What’s up with you Noah? You haven’t said a single word yet.” Nick elbowed Noah in his side, pulling him out of the trance he was in.

“Not in the mood.” he replied grumpily.

Noah was actually looking forward to leaving, with or without you, tonight was just one of those days. He arrived an hour ago and was ready to leave immediately. He wanted to know if you’re going to show up, probably yes, so he opted for staying until you do.

When you did show up, he almost felt bad for wanting to leave immediately. You were looking particularly good, black dress with white pattern with long sleeves, a leather jacket over your shoulders, black tights and boots. Your hair and makeup was nicely done and you looked like you were ready to have fun.

You didn’t look out for him, why would you when you usually leave at 1AM, not 9PM.

“So, what are we drinking tonight?” Clara asked you and Molly when you stood in front of the “bar”.

“How about vodka soda for starters?” Molly suggested and you all agreed.

Noah watched you and your friends from his spot on the couch thinking about his options. One, he leaves without talking to you, two, he asks if you want to leave right now and you turn him down, three, he asks if you want to leave right now and you agree.

When Jolly threw popcorn at him and had another annoying comment about why he hasn’t spoken a word, Noah just took out his phone and texted you “meet me in the backyard in a minute?” and flipped his friends off.

He was already waiting for you when you opened the back door that led you to the garden. Frown on his face which didn’t go away even when you said “Hi.” and gave him one of your smiles.

“Hi. I, uh, I’m not really in the mood for a party tonight so I wanted to ask if you’d like to leave, like right now?” when he saw your confused face he continued, “You don’t have to, you can stay of course. I was just thinking about getting some take out and then going home. And I wanted to tell you, because I don’t really know how this thing works.”

He was cute, rumbling and talking too much.

“Well my friends won’t be happy I’m leaving this soon, but I’m actually kinda hungry.”

“Okay, cool.” he didn’t think you’d actually agree, so he didn’t know what was the next plan, because he didn’t have any.

“Okay. I’m gonna tell them and meet you?”

“Sure, I’ll be in the parking lot.”

—

“So, what’s got you in this grumpy mood?” you asked Noah when you left the drive through, enough food for a family of four in your lap.

“I’m not grumpy.” he groaned.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine either.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s just you could have just told me you want to be alone tonight. We don’t have to do this every single week.” lie, you wanted to do this exactly every single week. Noah wasn’t in his usual mood tonight, but he wasn’t rude to you, you just didn’t know how to act around him. You didn’t want him to feel like he had to spend the night with you, if he’d prefer being alone tonight.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight, I’m glad you left with me. One hamburger and I’ll be in a much better mood, trust me.” you laughed at his answer, but hoped it was the truth. You liked spending time with him, he was funny and it seemed like he was more himself when it was just the two of you.

Your eyes watched the streets passing by as Noah drove you somewhere.

“Where are we going? Isn’t your place in the opposite direction?”

“It is, just wait and you'll see.”

“There it is.” you pointed at his face and got him all confused about what you’re talking about.

“What?”

“The smile, you’re smiling.”

“So?”

“So? You’ve been frowning the whole night.”

“I haven’t!” he argued back, but couldn’t help the growing smile on his face.

“Liar.” you threw french fry at him, one that you secretly stole from the take away bag in your lap.

The rest of the ride was silent, you could only hear noises from outside or the radio at low volume. Noah finally stopped the car and your mouth was left hanging open.

The full city view was in front of you, you could see all of the lights under the dark sky.

“That is beautiful.” you stated.

“I know.” you saw his cocky smile.

“Is this where you take all of your girls?” you teased.

“All of my girls?” he was genuinely confused, you were the only one he was “seeing” at the moment.

“I mean when you take girls out on a date, is this where you take them? The view, good food, music. I bet that’s the move for them to fall in love with you.”

“I don’t date.” he shrugged his shoulders and dug into the bag full of food.

“Like never?” you continued eating your fries.

“Never.”

“So you never had a girlfriend?”

“When I was like sixteen? I don’t remember.” you were surprised. He is attractive, smart, has his own place and car, he’s funny and easy to be around.

“Oh, okay.” he just chuckled at your reaction.

“And you?”

“One boyfriend for 5 years.” you told him the truth. Your romantic life was never really interesting. You started dating your now ex boyfriend when you were both 18, broke up at 23 and that was it.

“That sounds serious, why did you break up?” Noah asked.

“Nothing interesting. We just wanted different things, and had different plans for the future. It was more of a friendship than a relationship in the last few months.”

“Still friends?”

“Not really, but we ended things on good terms.”

You finished your food and talked more about random things. Noah was right, after he finished his food he was in a much better mood.

You talked about everything and nothing, but you didn’t know that Noah had one question in his mind since you shared with him that you only had one boyfriend. He was building up the courage to ask, not sure how you’re going to react.

“Can I ask you something personal? You don’t have to answer.” Noah started.

You both made yourselves comfortable, pushed your seats back, folded legs under yourselves and were facing each other.

“Go ahead.” you were scared of what's going to come out of his mouth, in your sober state you didn’t like personal questions, but he wouldn’t ask anything too personal, right?

“You said you had only one boyfriend,” he shifted in his seat and you nodded at him, “does that mean that beside me he’s the only person you had sex with?”

You almost choked on your sprite after he said it out loud. It wasn’t a bad question, you just had a hard time talking about your sex life. Heat got in your face, cheeks turned 5 shades of red and you avoided eye contact.

“You don’t have to answer Ella.”

“Yes.” you answered truthfully, but still continued looking out of the window.

“Look at me.” he said, but you didn’t. “Hey, look at me.”

Noah gently took your chin in his hand and made you face him, he saw the look on your face and immediately felt bad for asking that question.

“I’m sorry I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” he said.

“It’s okay, it’s just not easy for me to talk about those things. I mean, I don’t mind the subject, but I always get like this.” you pointed to your face and finally broke a smile. Noah smiled too, relieved he didn’t make you feel bad or something.

He kept his hand on your chin and looked at your face for any signs of discomfort. When he didn’t find any, he leaned to kiss you. The kiss was slow, gentle, as if he was saying “You don’t have to feel ashamed around me.”

You kissed him back and enjoyed this slow passionate moment. After a few more kisses Noah sat back in his seat, tugging at your hand as a hint for you to crawl over the center console in his lap.

You felt the adrenaline in your body after you found a comfortable position straddling Noah’s lap. This was new for you, all of this. You and your boyfriend never did anything like this.

Noah’s hands were all over your body the second you stopped moving around, one of them grabbing you by your neck and leaning you down to meet him halfway in another kiss. This time more passionate and needy. When you pulled away to take a breath and get rid of your leather jacket, Noah looked at you and said “It’s actually kinda hot, knowing I’m the second guy you let this close to you.”

Because he suddenly felt more confident in this whole thing, he enjoyed being the one that has more experience and can show you how sex should feel.

His big hands gripped the soft skin of your ass and you let out a small moan right into the kiss. You didn’t know what’s gotten into you, but you rolled your hips against Noah’s and felt a new kind of exićitement run through your body. After you realized what you’ve done you stopped, not knowing if it was too much or not. There were layers between you two, but you felt Noah’s dick growing hard seconds after.

“Do it again.” he whispered against the skin on your neck, feeling just the same amount of pleasure from your actions as you did.

So you started moving in his lap again, feeling kinda pathetic about how good it felt. Noah pulled you in another kiss and his grip on your ass tightened. He rolled your dress up to your waist and occasionally lifted his hips from his seat to rub against you.

“Does it feel good?” he used the moment you pulled away to get some air and whispered in your ear before kissing you just under there.

“Mhm.” you just hummed instead of words, your head falling back from the ecstasy you felt was coming closer and closer.

Noah knew you were close by the way you lost control of your hands. You didn’t know where to put them, first one of them was gripping the head rest behind Noah’s head, then it slipped in his hair, then your other hand slid down on his chest because you couldn’t keep it still.

“That’s it, keep going.” he encouraged you with whispered words in your ear and couldn’t stop looking at your face. Your eyes closed, mouth open and head falling backwards every time he moved his hips too. Your movements became messy so his grip on your hips tightened to keep you going until you took a sharp breath in and squeezed Noah with your legs.

You rolled your hips against his few more times to get through the afterwave of your orgasm and then fell on his chest.

That bastard was just smiling, happy from what he just witnessed.

You snuggled into the soft skin of his neck, wanting to stay there forever due to feeling like a horny teenager that just dry humped a guy's bulge.

“That was fucking sexy.” instead of making fun of you as you expected, he growled a whisper into your ear.

That gave you enough confidence to look up at him and give him one of your shy smiles. His fingers grazed the skin of your face before he pulled you into a soft kiss.

“Let’s go to mine, huh?” he rubbed his nose along your jaw, waiting for your answer even though he knew it would be yes by the way your lips turned into an excited smile.

—

At his place, Noah didn’t waste any time and took you straight to his bedroom. He was still thrilling from the new information that he got tonight and wanted to show you just how good can sex be.

He laid you down on his bed and noticed your pink cheeks and shy smile. Cute, he thought. He knows he’s attractive, but he also usually sleeps with girls that are not new to the sex life, so they don’t react to the smallest things like you do.

He put his weight on his elbows and went for a kiss. It was slow and gentle as a signal to give you enough confidence to take the kiss in the direction you wanted it to go.

He felt your fingers graze his neck and then slowly move to his hair. He noticed you liked playing with his hair and he loved it. The different tugs and scratches you did showed him what you like without you having to say it out loud.

When he kissed you on your jaw and used his teeth a little, you always stopped moving your fingers in his hair and tugged on it. That’s how he learned lots of small things you like.

He continued kissing and teasing you, wanting to know how long it would take until you made a move.

Maybe it was Noah’s touch or his lips on your sensitive skin that made you roll your bodies over so you were straddling his lap. You saw his smirk which made you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Hey, look at me.” he took your chin in his long tattooed fingers and lifted your head enough to see your eyes. “Don’t be shy around me, I like to see you get more confident. Don’t hide yourself from me, okay?”

It took you a few seconds before you replied “Okay.”, because you realised there was a lot you haven’t tried, but wanted to. So you appreciated Noah’s words more than he realized.

It was your turn to lean in for a kiss, using your tongue to make Noah open his mouth so you could deepen the kiss.

Your core softly, but enough for you to let out a moan, rolled over Noah’s bulge. You hid your face in the side of Noah’s face again.

“Okay look at me.” Noah had to use some of his strength to make you sit straight and look at his face. “I understand that you’re shy, but sex is about exploring and enjoyment. You obviously have a lot to explore and I want to help you with that, but you have to let me. You don’t have to hide your pleasure from me, I want to see it. And hear it.” his hands were on your thighs, thumbs gently stroking your skin to calm you down.

“I know, I just,” you sighed, mad at yourself for not finding the right words to express what you were feeling. “I guess I’m just really shy when it comes to this. Having sex was always the same ritual for me, I am getting used to all this new stuff.”

“I understand that. Is there something that I can do to help you?”

In fact there was something, but again, speaking your wants and desires was hard for you.

“Say it, I’m not gonna judge you Ella.” Noah saw the hesitation in your eyes and wanted to tell you his desires to make you feel better, but wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t have the opposite effect and scare your pure soul off.

You took a deep breath and hyped yourself as if you were asking him to marry you.

“Maybe you not looking at me would help. Like, close your eyes for the whole time.” you blurted out he almost didn’t understand you. Thank god he did, because if you had to say it out loud again, you’d rather just get up and leave.

He started smirking again, because you didn’t know what you just asked him to do was one of his very favorite things to do in bed.

“Okay.” he said and gently pushed you off of his lap and reached to his night stand. He opened the second drawer and moved a few things around until he found what he was looking for. Once he laid back on the mattress he started proposing his idea to you.

“I can put on this blindfold if that’s something that’ll make you more comfortable.” he showed you what he just took out of the drawer, a simple black blindfold. “And I’ll let you take the lead. You can explore my body, try things you’re shy to do when I can see you. You can put my hands anywhere you want me to touch you, or tell me what you want me to do. I’m all yours tonight, if that’s something you’d like to try?”

The idea alone made you clench your thighs together. He’d let you explore his body, something you’d very much appreciate.

“Okay.” you replied.

“Okay.” he said back and handed you the blindfold. “I’m yours.”

Noah laid down on his back and closed his eyes already. You kneeled next to him and before you put the soft fabric over his eyes you told him “If something makes you uncomfortable you’ll tell me, right?”, because in no way you wanted him to feel like he had to let you do anything to him.

“Of course. I trust you Ella.” and with that you lifted his head gently and put the blindfold where it’s supposed to sit.

“You can also tie my hands if you want to have full control.” he said it as a joke, but when you answered in a serious tone “No, I want you to touch me.” he knew he just woke up something inside you.

Given this opportunity, you wanted to have the full experience and take it slowly.

You leaned to capture Noah’s lips with yours. When you did, it was like a new spark between you two. He showed you he trusts you with his body and you showed him that you trust him too by agreeing to do this.

You continued kissing his soft lips and playing with his hair for a minute, getting comfortable in this familiar position before you knew what you wanted to do next.

You slowly moved your kisses from his lips to his jaw, giving him small pecks and moving in the direction of his left ear. You brushed your nose along his jaw before giving your attention fully to his ear. You bit at his earlobe a few times, adding more pressure with each bite. To erase any pain it could cause you used your tongue and licked his skin.

It seemed like suddenly you felt everything. You felt his solid chest under your hands, his breath tickling the skin on your face, his fingers twitch from time to time and the smell of his skin combined with his cologne.

You continued kissing his neck, sucking just a bit more at places where you felt his breathing change.

When you reach the fabric of his black t-shirt you said “I’m gonna take your shirt off.” in barely a whisper. He lifted himself and helped you out of the soft fabric.

You straddled his lap and your eyes scanned his chest. You always took a look at his body when you could, but this time knowing he can’t tease you about it, you let your eyes wander over his wide tattooed chest as long as they wanted to.

His arms were laying next to his body, because as he promised, he let you have the lead even with his touch on your body. You grabbed them and put his hands on your thighs and felt him give you a small encouraging squeeze. Your fingers wandered over his forearm, biceps, shoulders all the way to his chest. First you traced the lines of his tattoos, seeing goosebumps on his skin from your touch. Small things like these made your confidence shoot through the roof.

You noticed a particularly sharp breath when your fingers accidentally touched his nipple. You as a woman knew this was a sensitive part of the human body, so you wanted to know just how sensitive it is for Noah. Your fingers on both hands made small circles around his nipples and you felt another squeeze on your thighs. His pink nipples hardened under your touch and you couldn’t help yourself from leaning down and taking one of them in your mouth.

“Oh shit.” Noah whispered at the sudden hot feeling of your mouth, his mouth left hanging open.

You licked and sucked on his nipple a few more times before you moved for the other one. You felt Noah’s dick hard between your legs, his hips occasionally lifting a bit to get some fraction.

When you came back for Noah’s lips that were still open from the pleasure you just gave him, you had the perfect opportunity to slide your tongue inside his mouth. Again, he let you take the lead even when it came to kissing you, but you felt his lips turn into a smile. He was already feeling more confidence from your actions.

Your hands slid from his chest lower and lower until you reached the waistband of his jeans. You disconnected your lips and started undoing his belt. Once again he helped you to take his clothes off and when you saw him only in his underwear you realized you haven’t taken any of yours off.

Standing at the feet of his bed, you got rid of everything except your underwear and crawled back to where Noah was waiting for you.

You straddled his lap again and reached for his hands. They felt too big in your own hands, but they felt too good when you placed them on your waist. Noah’s fingers started to trace patterns in your soft skin, waitting for your next move. You moved them by his wrists all the way to your chest. He slid his thumbs over your still bra covered nipples, returning the pleasure from earlier. One of his hands grabbed you by the back of your neck as he lowered you enough for his mouth to reach your boobs. He sucked on your nipple through the thin lacy fabric and then took it between his teeth. You let out a silent moan.

“You can be louder. I know you want to be. I want to hear you, don’t hold back.” he whispered into your skin before he laid back down again.

You couldn’t help the smile on your face, even though he couldn’t see it. He made you feel things your ex boyfriend never did. He made you feel wanted.

Your attention was back on his chest, his breathing back to normal as he was waiting for your next move.

You got off his lap and kneeled between his legs. Tracing your fingers along the waistband of his black Calvin Klein’s you noticed the wet spot where the tip of his dick would be. You wanted to try to be a little tease, so you palmed him over the black thin fabric with your thumb going over his tip.

“Fuck that feels good.” the fact is, even though dirty talk makes you blush and hide your face, it also turns you on, so when you combine Noah’s words and the fact that he can’t see you? Wave of confidence.

Leaning down your hands grabbed his thighs and your tongue teased him still over the fabric. You heard another “Fuck.” mumbled under his breath.

Your nails were gently scratching his skin and your mouth planted small kisses above his underwear. You felt his dick twitch from your touch, enough for the teasing you thought.

When you pulled the black underwear down his legs, his dick was hard and red. You took a moment to take the sight in, Noah laying as vulnerable as someone can be in front of you. He looked hot, even when he was laying still, silently calling for your touch, he was the most attractive guy you ever laid your eyes on.

You laid on your front between his legs and reached for his hard cock. You licked a stripe from the base to the tip, a few drops of precum landing on your tongue.

“Yeah, that’s it.” he groaned out, happier than ever to finally being touched there.

You stroked his shaft a few times, watching his facial reaction. His mouth was open, his chest going up and down and his hands were gripping the sheets.

When his precum wasn’t enough you took him in your mouth, slowly. Noah let out moans and grunts, feeling the warmth of your mouth was almost enough to finish him.

You let your saliva drip on him, making it easier for you to slide your hand up and down. When you didn’t have him in your mouth, your lips were grazing over the skin of his thighs, gently placing kisses there. You were experimenting with the pace, changing it from slow to fast to slow again.

“Fuck, don’t stop!” his breathing became quicker with every move of your hand. You took him in your mouth again, enjoying the feeling of him filling your mouth. When you flattened your tongue and smacked the tip of his swollen dick on it, he let out a sound that went straight between your thighs.

You continued the movement of your hand in steady pace, watching his face as he was getting closer and closer.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop!” he begged you, “I’m so close!” he moaned and seconds after that you felt hot liquid on your hand that made you look down.

You gave him a few more strokes before you stopped, watching the mess he made on his tummy and on your hand.

“Fuckin hell.” he let out a sigh of satisfaction, his dick still twiching from the intense orgasm. “Come here.” he reached for you with his hand and you crawled to face him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, messy and needy one.

“Let me clean you up.” you whispered against his lips and ran to his bathroom to wash your hand and then get some towel to wash the mess he made over himself.

“Are you okay? Do you want to continue?” Noah asked you when you came back from his bathroom.

“Yeah, I do. Do you?” you asked him back.

“Fuck yeah.” he was so turned on by this whole blindfold thing, he was ready to continue.

You just chuckled at his reaction and threw the wet towel on the floor after you were done.

You didn’t really know what to do, so you laid yourself on Noah’s chest and started kissing him again.

You were wet and ready to be touched by him.

After a while you started to be impatient and rubbed yourself over his dick just like you did in the car earlier.

“I know what you want, but I want you to ask for it. Put my hands where you want them.” he whispered between kisses.

It took you a few seconds of talking to yourself before you took one of his hands and slid it between your thighs.

Noah’s fingers teased you over your lacy panties, enjoying the whimpers he got from you in response.

“Noah.” you moaned. You were so worked up from this whole thing, you were sure you could come just from these gentle touches.

“Yeah? Let’s take these off.” he helped you take off your panties.

His hand was back between your legs, spreading your folds and teasing your entrance. You laid your head on his chest and moved your hips, desperate to get more from him.

“That’s it, ride my hand.” he encouraged you to move your hips again. His thumb found your clit with the right amount of pressure and his fingers continued to tease you.

“Good job, keep going.” he slid one of his fingers inside with ease given how wet you were.

You let yourself be louder with your moans, thinking his chest will muffle the sounds, but Noah could hear you pretty clearly. Your moans and the grip you had on his biceps made him hard again and he wasn’t far from letting his moans slip as well.

“You’re so sexy.” he felt you squeeze his fingers after he whispered more dirty things in your ear, smirking to himself.

“You like when I talk you through it don’t you?” he felt you squeeze him again, enough for him as an answer.

“Noah, fuck!” by the way you moaned his name and quickened the pace of your hip movements he knew you were close, so he slipped second finger in, giving you the right angle of his hand so after a few more rolls of your hips you reached your orgasm.

You stayed laying on Noah’s chest as his fingers made their way from your core to your mouth, leaving a wet trail on your side where he dragged them until he reached your lips and pushed them open. You licked his fingers clean, tasting yourself.

Noah couldn’t see you, but that didn’t stop his imagination and the groan from his throat.

“Everything okay? Can we continue?” he asked again, not sure if this wasn’t enough for you to stop for tonight.

“Yes.” you whispered.

“Is there a position you want to try?” his question surprised you.

“I don’t know.” you answered truthfully.

“What position feels the best for you?”

“I don’t know, I usually don’t reach orgasm from penetration.” you shrugged your shoulders. Noah still had the blindfold on so it was easier for you to confess.

“That’s okay, that’s normal.” he kissed your forehead, “You can tell me if you want to be on top. Or if you want me to take it off and take the lead from now. Huh?”

“Nah, you keep it on.” you ran your fingers along the fabric over his eyes.

“Looks like someone is enjoying themselves.” Noah laughed in a sincere way.

“Maybe.” you ran your finger down his nose and lips. You grabbed his chin and turned his head so you could kiss him. You sat properly on his lap without breaking the kiss.

“Can you move a bit so your back is against the headboard?” you whispered against his lips, already sure of what position you want.

Noah did what you asked him without asking any questions, his back against the headboard so he was in a more sitting position. You wanted to be on top, but also wanted to be close to him. You took your bra off and guided his hands to touch you there.

Your sudden act of confidence made him feral, he bit your lower lip and squeezed your tits.

When his thumbs found your nipples again, your head fell again in a bliss which gave him enough space to move his kisses to your neck and then to your chest.

He played with your skin, kissing, sucking and biting to get more moans from you.

When he felt your hips move, your wetness covering his dick and the silent moan of his name he told you where to find condoms in his night stand.

“Oh fuck!” Noah groaned when you slid down his dick, your mouth left open from the stretch.

Noah’s mouth immediately went for your neck while you enjoyed the feeling of being full.

When you started moving you felt Noah bite your skin. You haven’t tried much in this position so far in your intimate life, so you tried different moves.

First you were just slowly rolling your hips forwards and backwards. Noah encouraged you with his hands on your ass and “That feels so good.” in your ear every few seconds.

Then you grabbed his shoulders to stabilize yourself and moved up and down, enjoying every moan that left Noah’s throat when you bottomed him out. His head was resting on the headboard so you could watch his face every time you repeated your moves.

You enjoyed trying all the ways you can move your hips in this position, until you found a rhythm that felt the best for you. From then it was just a messy pace and hands all over each other. Your kisses went from slow and gentle to rushed and messy. Your fingers were scratching Noah’s back, leaving red scars there for sure. Meanwhile Noah licked his own fingers and slid them between your bodies to touch your clit.

Movement of his fingers became messy too the closer you got him to the second orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum!” he said through gritted teeth, the squeeze of his hand on your ass proving his point.

The state he was in sent a wave of pleasure through your body. He was under you, with a blindfold over his eyes, mouth open and only moans slipping out. His hair was a mess and his skin was sweaty.

You were in your own bubble admiring the man under you, you didn’t even realize the warmth between your legs. Noah’s loud moan brought you back and you rode him through the aftershock of his orgasm.

His hand was still on your clit and as you felt your own climax approaching you reached for the black fabric that was covering Noah’s eyes and took it off.

Something inside you wanted him to see you when you come around his dick, with his hand on your clit and you on top of him. You wanted him to see it.

His brown soft eyes looking up at you with mouth open in shock but with admiration was what you needed to fall over the edge. Your head fell backwards, your breathing stopped for a second and you were sure you were seeing stars.

When you looked at Noah again, his smirk was all over his stupid pretty face. He didn’t have to say anything, it was all written all over his face.

You both cleaned yourselves up and changed into sleeping clothes. Noah brought you a glass of water from his kitchen and lifted his blanket for you to lay down.

You wanted to thank him, but didn’t know if it was appropriate or how to do it. Thankfully, like if he knew what was going on your mind, he spoke up first.

“It was nice seeing you come out of your shell tonight.” you hid the lower half of your face under the blanket even though he couldn’t see you anymore. The lights were turned off and you were both laying on your backs.

“Thank you.” your words were muffled by the blanket and Noah chuckled at your shyness.

He changed his position to lay on his side, the dim street lights allowing him to see only features of your face.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. Sex should be fun. I’ll wear the blindfold more often if it brings out your deepest kinks and desires.” he joked, enjoying the face you make every time he says something like this. You hid yourself completely under the blanket, but couldn’t help the laugh that was coming out of your mouth.

“Shut up.” you slapped his chest and turned to lay on your chest to face him.

“Okay, I’m done with teasing you for today.” he did as he promised.

You didn’t fall asleep straight away, Noah asked you about your first and last relationship, this time in a serious way. You asked him about not having a relationship ever.

You got to know each other a bit better that night, moving your friendship to another level.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

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‘Aperture’

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

Chapter Index:

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

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

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

Chapter 3- 'See You' | 'Aperture'

word count - 11.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, the roles reversed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He devoured you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

Incredibly professional.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘They can be yours… again. xx’

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

-

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

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

And you? You were just as bad.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Game on.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Permanent. Unchanging. Completely insensitive to the light.

•

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

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

Next part - Chapter 4 Coming Soon!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Stay

Synopsis: in which Wally gets offered a better position at a school to play football. It’ll get him out of town, away from Split River, away from you. But you would never ask him to stay… would you?

Notes: Angst!! Happy endings!

The news comes casually, like it’s not about to rip your world apart.

“So, yeah,” Wally says, scratching the back of his neck. “I got the offer.”

You blink. “What?”

He shifts on his feet, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s nothing, really. Just… a chance to leave. Something new.”

Something new. Something that isn’t this town. Something that isn’t you.

Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to nod, to play it cool. “Oh. That’s—” Your voice catches, so you clear your throat. “That’s great.”

Wally hesitates. “Yeah?”

You don’t meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

A long silence stretches between you. You’re standing outside your house, the porch light casting a dim glow over you both. It’s late—later than he usually stays. Maybe that’s why he’s telling you now, when everything is quiet and there’s no one around to hear the way your heart is breaking.

“You don’t sound like you mean that,” Wally says, and there’s something in his voice—something careful, like he’s stepping around glass shards.

You swallow hard, crossing your arms. “I do. Really.”

For once, he doesn’t joke. Doesn’t smirk. Just watches you, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“If you told me to stay…” He trails off, shifting closer. “I think I would.”

Your breath catches.

The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue. Stay.

But you don’t say them.

Because who are you to hold him back? Who are you to ask him to stay in this town, where nothing ever changes and the walls feel like they’re closing in? Wally’s always wanted more. You can’t be selfish.

So you say nothing.

And that’s what makes him go.

—

The first few days without Wally are hollow.

You feel the absence of him like a missing limb—reaching for your phone before remembering there’s no reason to. Walking past his locker at school and instinctively glancing over, only to find it empty. Your world feels quieter without him in it, like the color’s been drained from everything.

Dawn and Maddie notice, of course. “You’ve been weird lately,” Maddie says at lunch, nudging you with her foot under the table. “I mean, weirder than usual.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

Dawn gives you a knowing look. “Have you heard from Wally?”

Your chest tightens. “No.”

Not since that night. Not since you let him walk away.

You pretend it doesn’t bother you. Pretend you don’t wonder if he’s already settling into his new life, already forgetting about you.

But late at night, lying in bed, all you can think about is the way he looked at you before he left—like he was waiting for you to stop him.

—

When Wally comes back, it’s unexpected.

It’s a Friday night, and you’re sitting on your front steps, staring out at the street without really seeing it. The autumn air is crisp, the smell of burning wood lingering from someone’s fireplace. You don’t know why you’re out here—maybe because the house feels too quiet, maybe because part of you still hopes—

Then you hear footsteps.

Your heart jumps before you even see him.

And then there he is.

Wally stands at the bottom of your steps, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking like he’s been through hell. His hair’s a mess, his eyes tired, but it’s him. And suddenly, you can breathe again.

You scramble to your feet. “What—” Your voice cracks. You swallow. “What are you doing here?”

He exhales, shaking his head like he doesn’t know where to start. “I—” He hesitates, then steps closer. “I couldn’t do it.”

Your breath hitches. “Do what?”

“Leave.” His voice is quiet, raw. “I thought I could. I thought it was what I wanted. But then I got there, and everything felt wrong.”

You just stare at him, heart pounding.

Wally takes another step up, closing the space between you. His hands are shaking. “I missed you,” he says, voice thick. “I missed this.”

Your throat tightens. “Wally…”

His eyes search yours, desperate. “Tell me to stay.”

Your heart is racing, and suddenly, it’s not about being selfless. It’s not about holding him back. It’s about the fact that you don’t want to be without him, that every day without him felt like something was missing.

“Stay,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

Wally exhales sharply, like he’s been waiting to hear it this whole time. Then he’s closing the distance between you, arms wrapping around you, holding on like he’ll never let go.

“I’m staying,” he murmurs, burying his face in your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, you believe him.

[yurinaa-world]

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jing Yuan, Sampo, Veritas Ratio, & Aventurine x female reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with female Nameless! reader who is secretly a phantom thief. stealing treasures around the galaxy that belonged to her deceased parents

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒪𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉

💫𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈"

It took you a while to slyly squirm between the vast amounts of people that are around the general’s office. Going into a place like that isn’t going to be helped just by looking at the schematics of the office willy-nilly

Charming people into being your ally with a couple of persuasion tactics is quite an easy feat for you. But the one you need to keep your eyes on is your dearest general who apparently shows up at every corner you take.

Every man has desires, right? Like not wanting to do work or being quite slothful when it comes to his work—you’ve seen him out and about, running around in places he shouldn’t be in. The night is no excuse. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To the esteemed Arbiter-General,I hope this note finds you well. It is with great delight that I announce my next challenge—tonight, beneath the moon's watchful gaze, I shall claim what is rightfully mine. A certain treasured weapon in your collection calls to me, and I intend to take it.

I invite you to my stage; try and stop me.—Your Phantom Thief

A dancer needs a stage.

Tonight, his office will be your stage to dance on.

The moonlight filters through the windows, casting silver streaks across the polished floors. The weapon—the prize of the evening—rests upon its mantle, the marks on the blade almost glowing in the dark—with your name on the steel (not literally), but begging you to steal from its mantle.

That weapon was dear to you, And now, it was reduced to nothing more than decor in the office of the Arbiter-General.

How insulting.

You move silently, a phantom gliding through the dark, each step perfectly placed. The window behind you remains open, the cool breeze dripping from the window, which also will act as your escape. 

Your fingers hover just above the weapon’s hilt. Close—to close—

Then, a voice, low and amused:

“Tell me, thief, coming in here at this time of night, you went with your word, I'm quite flustered.”

A sharp jolt of adrenaline spikes through your veins. You turn your head, gaze settling on the figure near the entrance. Not that you’re too shocked—or even at all, just caught slightly off guard (since you didn't sense him in the slightest), but that's fine 

Jing Yuan leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, golden eyes sharp beneath half-lidded eyes—you can’t fooled by this laid-back attitude.

You let out a soft hum, fingers brushing the weapon’s hilt. “Flustered, General? I didn’t take you for the shy type.”

He chuckles, stepping forward. “Bold words for someone caught red-handed.”

You twirl the weapon in your grip, testing the weight. “Caught? Don’t forget I invited you to see my presence.”

Jing Yuan tilts his head, amusement flickering across his features. "Ah, so this is a performance, then? How gracious of you to send an invitation."

You twirl the weapon once more before resting it against your shoulder, light on your feet as you take a step back. "A dancer needs an audience, don't you think?"

The Arbiter-General chuckles, unhurried as he closes the distance between you. "And yet, you expect to leave before the final act?"

"Of course," you say smoothly, taking another step toward the open window. "A proper phantom never lingers for an encore."

Jing Yuan exhales a mock sigh, placing a hand over his chest. "How cruel. And here I was, hoping to ask my esteemed guest for a dance."

You smirk behind your mask. "Then keep up, General."

With a flick of your wrist, a small, metallic sphere drops to the floor between you.

The second it makes contact, a burst of thick, shimmering smoke explodes outward, swallowing the room in a dense haze.

You feel the shift in the air before you see him, his hand reaching for you through the smoke. A mere second’s delay, but it’s enough for him to grasp the edge of your cloak just as you leap onto the windowsill.

For a moment, you’re tethered to him.

A single thread in the grand performance.

Then, with a sharp twist, the fabric tears, and you slip free right through the window

You’ve got a chokehold on his heart. He loves the mysterious personality, makes his heartbeat with how swiftly he moved and caught off guard—even slipping through his guards. 

Only a few days or so before the realization hits. It’s odd, right, the second the Astral Express made its appearance, the weapon went missing just like that. Makes the gears in his turn to you—a gut feeling you could say, like a little slip up from your part made the puzzle pieces match up. That ripped piece of cloak remained in his hands till he got his hand on you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The torn piece of your cloak never left his possession.

Jing Yuan kept it between his fingers, idly twirling it as he mulled over the events of that night. The way you moved—put him in utter awe, he was so sure that he got but you slipped from his grasp just like that (if that isn’t something then what is).

Jing Yuan wasn’t one to rush things—no, a hunter doesn’t startle his prey before the trap is set. Instead, he watched. Observed. Let you think you had slipped away completely unnoticed.

One second, you were standing there, and the next—a firm yet effortless tug had you pinned against the nearest wall, a warmth pressing against your back. His voice traced with amusement, ghosted over your ear.

"Ah," Jing Yuan mused as if greeting an old friend. "What a troublesome little phantom you are."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t struggle. No, that would be too obvious. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, faking innocence. "General, this is quite the way to welcome someone. Should I be flattered?"

His grip didn’t tighten, but he didn’t let go either. "Flattered? I’d say caught is the better word."

You felt it then—something brushing against your shoulder before it was raised before your eyes. That small, torn piece of your cloak, held between his fingers like a prized relic.

Your lips curled into a smirk behind your mask of feigned composure. "I’d say you're quite sentimental, keeping that."

Jing Yuan chuckled, and that was the dangerous part—the way he wasn’t angry, wasn’t accusing. Just entertained. Thoroughly entertained.

"Keeping it?" He hummed, lowering his lips just near your ear. "No, no. I was simply holding onto it until I could return it to its rightful owner."

"How generous of you," you mused, your voice steady despite the weight of his presence. "But I must admit, General, I don’t recall asking for it back."

Jing Yuan exhaled a soft chuckle, his grip still firm, keeping you in place as though he were indulging in a moment he had long anticipated. "Mm, true," he conceded. "But you did leave in quite a hurry. I thought it only fair to return what was left behind."

You can't but a scoff leave your lips as you look to the side—this wasn’t what he expected"And here I thought you’d be more interested in the weapon I took rather than a scrap of fabric."

"Who’s to say I can’t be interested in both?"

💫𝒮𝒶𝓂𝓅𝑜 𝒦𝑜𝓈𝓀𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇-𝒯𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒𝒹 𝒮𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓃"’

How funny, He wasn't doing anything shady,  he's not that type of guy y’know,  sure, it was odd that you both were at the exact same museum at the exact same time of the night, BUT! He was just checking the place out and not doing anything bad per se. 

Maybe his butter fingers were looking for a certain painting to take from the museum for quite a high-paying client of his, only to run in out of nowhere with your cool moves and leave him there to deal with the guards and be thrown into jail.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To the Curators of the Everwinter City Museum,

The painting in your possession was never yours to keep. Tonight, I’ll be taking it back.

Do what you will—I’ll see you at midnight.

—Your Phantom Thief <3

That painting was nearly yours.

Just against the wall of the museum with a small tether around the painting to keep guess from getting too close to the piece of art with some reinforced glass to protect the piece. It belonged to you and only you.

A few more seconds, and it would be back where it belonged.

But before she could make her final move, a slow, amused clap echoed through the dimly lit room.

“Well, well. Here I was, thinking I’d have to go through a whole song and dance to get my hands on that.” 

you sized him up. “And you are?”

Sampo pressed a hand to his chest, faking offence. “C’mon now, don’t tell me you haven’t heard of me! Sampo Koski—businessman, entrepreneur, and, in this case, the rightful owner of that painting.”

Of course, you knew him.

You raised an eyebrow beneath your mask. “Rightful?”

“Well, rightful once I deliver it to a very generous client,” he admitted with a grin. “And let me tell you, they are paying a lot for it. So, how about we make this easy? You walk away, I take the painting, and no one has to get in trouble.”

Then, in one swift motion, he lunged—not at you, but at the painting.

Clever. He was trying to force you into a choice: either fight him for it or lose it entirely.

you twisted away, evading his grasp, and the chase began.

You led him through the showroom, past display cases and velvet ropes, weaving through the maze of priceless artifacts. Sampo was grinning the whole time, his own amusement growing as he tried to cut her off at every turn.

Then, just as he thought he had you trapped—

A sudden blare of alarms filled the room.

Sampo barely had time to register the sound before the security doors slammed shut behind him.

He blinked. Then looked at you, who was perched on the railing of an upper-floor balcony, painting secured under your arm.

"I’d stay and chat, but you look like you’ve got company.”

Sampo turned just in time to see guards storm into the room.

"Hey—!" He raised his hands, backing up. "Now, fellas, I know how this looks—”

Just like how he got out of that jail cell by being a slimy worm, he can do the same by finding you out—why? You stole his thunder, put him in jail, basically made him lose big bucks on this simple deal; live in his head rent and that is no can do for dear ol’ Sampo. A week or so to find your pretty face.

Just for him to find that you are his dear old friend the Astral Express, how about you two make a deal?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

At first, it's just a tiny,  grudge. That thief got him thrown in prison.

One moment, he was trying to secure a high-paying deal, and the next, he was on the floor, guards dragging him away, all because some masked woman thought she was clever. He spent weeks in a cold, miserable cell, spinning lie after lie just to escape.

And worst of all, he lost one of the biggest clients he had.

They say, in business, there are wins and losses but this was too big of a loss for him to let go.

And maybe he was into your mysteriousness, it put him to shame. You were the only thing he could think about while he spent the days in prison.

Sliding into the seat across from her, he gave her his best charming-but-wounded grin. “You know, most people would send a little care package. Maybe a ‘Sorry for letting you rot in jail’ card.”

you didn’t even look up. “I’m not most people.”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Clearly.”

There was a pause. Then you finally looked at him, unimpressed. “How’d you figure it out?”

Sampo leaned back, grin widening. “Oh, I put the pieces together while starin’ at those lovely cell walls. Y’see, I had a lotta time to think, thanks to someone.”

Sampo’s grin didn’t waver, but there was an edge to it now, something sharper beneath the usual easy charm.

“At first, I thought about holding a grudge,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Because, y’know, getting locked up in a frozen cell for weeks? Not exactly my idea of a vacation.”

You didn’t react. Just watched him, silent, patient. It was infuriating how unreadable you were.

Sampo leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “But then I got to thinking… You didn’t just steal a painting. You stole my deal. You stole my time. And the worst part?” His smirk twitched, a little too forced. 

“I spent all those days in prison thinking about you,”

You can’t help but scoff at his words—but he seemed serious on his part.

“Perhaps we take some time and understand each other differences.” 

💫𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒶 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹"

He felt things were off, small sensors were never seen on the cameras before, or The same sensors somehow were on the door, he’s doubtful for any reason Herta’s space station would have something like that, but the other folks there told him otherwise. 

Until that letter made its appearance that confirmed his suspicions.  

Yet when he went to check on the artifacts later on, he found you and your grubby little fingers all over the precious release—your dirty hands ready to steal knowledge away, which is something he can not allow. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To the Brilliant Minds of Herta Space Station,

Your relic has waited long enough—it’s time it came home. Tonight, I’ll be taking it. Feel free to make it interesting.

See you soon.

—Your Phantom Thief 

"Late, are we?" he mused to you. "Disappointing."

Your grubby little hands so close to touching the artifacts, before getting stopped by a voice—not that it scared you, but you thought you got rid of all the rats in the space station from getting in the way.

You sighed, straightening up but not turning around just yet. "And here I thought the esteemed Dr. Ratio would be a bit more subtle," you said, rolling your wrist as if the whole thing bored you. "Do you always greet your guests with such little faith?"

“You? Insinuating someone as yourself as a guest, don’t be so delusional.”

You finally turned to face him, your mask concealing the small smirk tugging at your lips. "Ouch. And here I was hoping for a warmer welcome."

Dr. Ratio didn’t bite at your words, he knows better than to do so. Funny, he was wearing that hideous bust.

"You know," you continued, eyes glancing over his figure, "if you spent less time making yourself look... distinguished and more on actually stopping me, you might have had a chance."

Dr. Ratio raised a brow, his gaze flicking over to the relic, then back to you. "Such confidence for someone who’s standing in front of me," he replied dryly, his voice laced with a challenge. "I hope you realize, delusional or not, I'm not letting you take it."

You can’t help but grin at those words

“You know what, I have to thank you, for giving him another idea for the next thing to swipe.”

Dr. Ratio exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh? And what exactly would that be?"

You took a step closer, tilting your head slightly as if considering your answer. Then, with a flick of your wrist, you tossed a small device toward the relic’s display case. A sharp click echoed as the lights dimmed just a fraction—a misdirection, a sleight of hand. His attention barely wavered, but that was all the time you needed.

By the time the lights steadied, the relic was gone.

But something else was missing.

Dr. Ratio's eyes narrowed. His hand twitched toward his collar as if adjusting his posture—but no, his bust.

It was gone.

You twirled it between your fingers as you stepped back into the shadows, the absurd gold-rimmed likeness catching the dim light. "Distinguished indeed," you mused, barely containing your laughter. "Not my usual bonus prize, but I couldn't resist."

You gave him a playful salute, the bust and artifact still in hand. “I’ll be sure to put it somewhere special.”

And with that, you vanished, leaving only a faint trace of laughter in your wake.

He's quite furious in the moment, You had stolen his bust—that phenomenal face-sculpted mask that he always wears, your fingers were able to get the better of him and steal something that was literally on his head. Ridiculous.

If you truly believe you’ll get away with this then you’re sorely mistaken. He’ll have you figured out in mere hours, he’s a man of knowledge after all. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It doesn’t take him long.

For all your skill, wit, and misdirection, you made one crucial mistake: you underestimated him. Dr. Ratio has always prided himself on his intellect, and this time is no different. The way you moved, the subtle way you carried yourself, the moments where you seemed just a little too familiar with high-security systems—it was enough for him to start watching you. And when he watches, he finds answers.

So when he finally confirms it, he doesn’t waste time with pointless theatrics. No grand confrontation, no drawn-out accusations—just a simple, inevitable checkmate.

You took his bust and an artifact, he won’t let this go

You return to the back to the herta’s space station, so shamelessly, only to find Dr. Ratio waiting for you, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The moment you step past him, his voice cuts through the air.

“I must say, you really had me fooled. Or at least, you tried.”

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn to meet Dr. Ratio’s golden eye, glowing with sharp amusement. He stands in your path, posture relaxed yet deliberate, like a predator that has already snared its prey.

“A phantom thief, masquerading as a Nameless. How utterly predictable of you.” His tone is as smooth as ever, but there’s something razor-sharp beneath it.

Your mind races through possible explanations, quick lies, anything that could throw him off—but one glance at him tells you it’s already too late. He knows. He’s known for a while.

Still, you refuse to make it easy for him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your voice is steady, casual even, as you fold your arms and raise a brow. “But if you’re looking for a compliment on your detective work, I’d say you need to try harder. I’ve been nothing but an upstanding citizen.”

Dr. Ratio chuckles, low and amused. “Oh? Upstanding citizens don’t typically steal priceless artifacts—let alone my bust.”

you blink. Then, without missing a beat, you grin.

"Your bust? Oh, please. I prefer to think of it as a… relocation. It looks much better in my collection."

Dr. Ratio exhales through his nose, shaking his head as if you’re the most amusing thing he’s come across in ages. “A thief with an ego. How original.” He steps closer, his golden eye gleaming with something between intrigue and satisfaction. “Though I must admit, it takes a special kind of arrogance to waltz back in here so shamelessly. Were you testing me?”

You shrug. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

His smirk deepens. "Not at all. In fact, I quite enjoy being tested—especially when the outcome is so predictable."

“Then if I'm so predictable, steal it back from me, Doctor.”

Somehow he likes those words.

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

He’s a man with many treasures and money with many wanting to nab some of his riches away with him. None have truly done so always getting caught by him. Pity, it is fun watching their little “heists” and soon fail almost Immediately.  

Only when you leave him speechless in your appearance, holding the pretty neckless—which first caught his eye when he saw it— in between your fingers with a smile on your face. He feels his heart racing at a challenge. Just disappearing without even bothering or threatening him

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To Aventurine, one of the ten stone hearts,

A precious thing should be where it belongs. You understand that better than anyone, don’t you?

I’ll be reclaiming the pendant soon. Consider this a courtesy—an opportunity to turn the odds in your favor, if you think you can.

Midnight. Try and stop me.

—The Phantom Thief

Usually, heists when it comes to his collections, never work out, they always get caught. When he saw your letter he didn’t take seriously, since ‘that's what they all say’ 

Until he saw you.

Standing in his private vault, completely at ease. No fear, no panic—just a quiet confidence as you held the pendant between your fingers. The same pendant that had once caught his eye, gleaming under the dim lights of the few lamps turned on, in his home.

For the first time, Aventurine was left speechless. Not because of the theft itself, but because you knew he wouldn’t stop you. And strangely enough, he didn’t.

“You don’t mind I take this back, you already have many pieces of jewelry, one missing won’t do you harm.”

Blowing him a gentle kiss before slipping away from his gaze into the night, just as the guards arrive.

Far late. 

You utterly stole his heart. He felt his thoughts completely overran by that night. Perhaps regretting not saying anything in that moment, if he did maybe your ‘conversation’ could’ve led on for more than the short words that were exchanged.

It takes him a while but he wants to meet you again. Even if you would take all of his jewels this time.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Since that night, his thoughts had been filled with one person.

You.

The recollection of your victorious smirk, the glint in your eyes as you stood there, so confident in his home, haunted him. He had let you go, and now, your absence was more than he would ever acknowledge. Maybe if he had been more vocal, drawn out the conversation a little bit longer, things would have turned out differently. But he had hesitated. And you had vanished.

And Aventurine didn't like being left in the dark.

It was time, but he pieced it together. The rumors, the trends, the thefts across different worlds—it all pointed to one person. You. And as it would later turn out, you were closer than he expected.

The realization hit him like a good hand. You weren't just a fleeting mystery; you were someone he had already encountered more than once.

You were a Nameless.

The revelation didn't anger him. Instead, it thrilled him. You'd been in his face the entire time, double-dealing in two identities so seamlessly. The friendly Astral Express member by day, the dark phantom burglar by night.

So, now what?

Aventurine wasn't the type to be blabbing secrets in your face. No, he had something far more delectable in mind. He wanted to see how long you'd think you could keep up the charade, how long you could stand there and hold his gaze without realizing he already knew everything.

And above all else, he wanted to see you again—on your terms, this time.

So he did something for you.

A plain card, inserted in your belongings while you weren't paying attention. No threat, no accusation—just a letter scribbled in neat, purposeful writing.

"It took me long enough, but I found you. Do you find me now?"

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[wirewitchviolet]

Let's talk about how Ranma is trans in the 2024 anime, part 1

Way the hell back in 2018, after a random exchange with a friend, I sat down and wrote a series of four blog posts where I looked at the manga Ranma ½, which ran from 1988 to 1996, explicitly through a lens where I assumed the protagonist is in fact a trans girl. A major component of the series being that Ranma and several other characters fell into various pools in a cursed set of natural springs causing them to magically change into whatever tragically drowned in one when hit with cold water, then back to their original body with hot, and Ranma fell in the girl one, so it was bound to be a series that would crack a lot of eggs regardless, but my memory of reading it years before transitioning was that it worked on a mundane level too, particularly later. I did somehow forget a bit towards the end where Ranma honestly just kinda straight up comes out of the closet, but I'm not going to link to that panel yet again for the sake of preview links not blending together. Anyway, those posts were already the most popular things I ever put on this blog and have never stopped circulating, despite it being a pretty old and largely forgotten series at the time.

I had always had the idea that I really should go back and also watch the anime adaptation(s) of Ranma, which deviates a good bit from the manga, but that is 161 episodes, 3 movies, and 11 OAVs which are terribly terribly paced, and I don't actually get paid for this. But then lo and behold, here's a brand new anime adaptation coming out decades later, looking really nice, and surely that will deviate even more from the source material, so here I am diving in to find all new bits of gender stuff to talk about, under the fold here and-

Oh. Turns out the new anime series is actually an EXTREMELY faithful adaptation of the original manga and the only deviations I've actually noticed are that there's a little bit less nudity and the one scene with Ranma's breasts fully on display goes the route of not drawing nipples. And really that's only significant because the original anime adaptation somehow got away with that one. Speaking of the original anime run, this adaptation brings back the entire surviving voice cast, and continues the tradition of coloring Ranma's hair red in cold-water form as an extra tell for the audience. And speaking of color, one thing this adaptation does now and then that I really appreciate is punctuating certain scenes with the sort of cool pastel palettes (see above) that were used for the cover illustrations of the original manga.

Another thing the 2024 anime does is throw in a quick little vignette before the opening credits of each episode to restate that Ranma and Akane are engaged, and the feminizing water thing, which mostly feels like it's there as just a little extra emphasis that regardless of all the other shenanigans going on, those two are the one actual couple and making it clear that the rest of the tangled web of crushes and obsessions don't really matter. Something I feel like this adapatation is keen to emphasize in general. In fact, being as nearly 1 to 1 an adaptation as it is, the title of every episode is directly lifted from the chapter names of the manga, so we can just slap together a little infographic and see what's getting compressed a bit and what's getting the time it needs to breathe!

We're chewing through the extended fight scenes pretty quick and slowing down any time Akane's having an emotional moment or some time in the spotlight basically. Which makes sense since the action scenes in the manga are like all full page splash images with a word of text and need to be flowing quickly, and because we have the benefit of hindsight knowing that the Kunos become irrelevant real quick. We're also squeezing out a little early identity crisis stuff for Ranma in the process (there's an early dream sequence after first meeting Kuno, coming to grips with the whole "since I'm a girl, dudes want to sleep with me" realization that barely makes it in and a few early moments of internalized misogyny that get dropped), and we really give Shampoo's debut some space (not QUITE as much as the above suggests, most of episode 10 is wrapping up a three parter on the ice skating with her just punching through the wall as a cliffhanger at the end).

The whole thing is also paced out to nicely cover the first four volumes of the manga, out of 38. They might up the compression rate a little, but as it stands, it's going to take another 8 or 9 seasons to get through everything at this rate. In comparison, my first blog post got through three times this much of it, but the original anime covered only the first half of this in the same episode count (and then for some reason introduced Shampoo and Mousse early and didn't get through the ice skating until episode 27).

Anyway, like I said, this doesn't really change things up enough to have a lot to say about how clearly Ranma is trans. Jumping back to the start though yet again, it really cannot be emphasized enough though just how clearly, even from the very first episode, she is SO much more comfortable presenting as a girl, not at all nervous meeting Akane's family like that, then suddenly super tense and awkward and closed off when interacting with... really anyone while boy-moding. So I guess it's time to bust out some of these other lenses to look at this...

Let's talk about how Akane is gay, part 1

I mean, we've established she's into Ranma, with extra emphasis in this adaptation, and we've established that Ranma is in fact a girl, but that's just the one data point. What else do we have? Well, she's quite explicitly not a fan of guys, particularly guys who are attracted to her, and we're keeping plenty of a focus on that while not wasting time trying to pretend Kuno matters at all in the grand scheme of things. The closest she ever comes to showing interest in a guy is Dr. Kuno, and the anime here is strongly emphasizing how that's less of a real crush and more just emulating her oldest sister (Nabiki of course is also some flavor of queer, and I don't think anyone has ever questioned that) since that's kinda what you do, right? She also gets intensely jealous of the idea of Shampoo kissing Ranma while assuming Ranma is a girl, talks about how hot she is, and hell, at the start of things when everyone's assuming they've somehow gotten into a situation where one of the three sisters has to marry a cis girl, Nabiki points out how that works out perfectly for her. Because she is extremely gay.

Let's talk about how Ryoga is trans, part 1

OK so this isn't the same absolute slam dunk as Ranma turned out to be, but there is a surprisingly strong case to argue that Ryoga is also a trans girl. What do we know about Ryoga after all? Real real socially awkward. Only has one sorta-friend from childhood, who turned out to be trans later. Can we call Ryoga a furry? I'm not even talking about the pig curse, but there's this whole feral wolf vibe before that's even established. In a series where basically every guy who is ever introduced is a horny creep obsessed with rigid gender roles, Ryoga does not bat an eye at seeing women naked (which comes up oddly often), spends a lot of these early arcs hanging out with the gal pals to help practice gymnastics and skating, deals well enough with the pink heart collar and being called Charlotte, and like so many of us, Ryoga is introduced to the series indignantly sputtering about how Ranma's situation shouldn't really be called a curse and is a situation we'd be happy to be in. You could argue that Ryoga's saying this just relative to the pig curse, I guess, but I do at least get the vibe that Ryoga wouldn't be too super worried about finding hot water with that one.

Speaking of the pig curse, I feel like every time I revisit Ranma I have a different perspective on the whole "P-Chan" situation. With this adaptation, it does feel significantly closer to "it's really just this super awkward situation where I've been looking for a good moment to explain and at this point it's been so long she'll probably kill me" than "I am a loathsome sex offender using a disguise to snuggle up with this girl who thinks I am a small animal" and Ranma is doing an appropriate amount of "I'm not going to blurt it out, but you should seriously come clean already" so, glad to know we're downplaying that.

Also, the emphasis on Ranma and Akane as The Couple in this adaptation really makes it clear that Ryoga isn't so much into Akane as just kinda... incapable of conceiving of any sort of existence that doesn't involve being Ranma's rival/friend/polycule member.

Anyway, I guess that's where I have to leave this until the second season drops? Have a patreon link?

[smallestapplin]

It won’t come off

Warnings : first contact au, major character death (reader dies), Bee and reader are close despite the language barrier, could be read as platonic or romantic. Italicized dialogue means only one understand.

This was commissioned by : @bellafragolina

Word count : 1,596

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You were just so small compared to him, to see someone so tiny and squishy he couldn’t believe his optics! You looked up at the towering mech in a mix of awe and fear, you didn't even come up to his knees, he's so massive to you. You speak yet he can’t understand you, he can see your intake moving but it's a bunch of cute mutters and squeaks to his audials, but that’s okay!

“Don’t worry little buddy I got you. Oh primus, this is great! I get to show you around, I’m sure A-a-tron and Steve will love ya!”

He’s gentle with you despite his excitement, picking you up with care and even taking you small little space craft with him. You don’t understand anything he says, it sounds like whirls beeps and clanking to you, but that should be fine, right? It’s clear he’s a sentient robot of sorts, you wish you could communicate and ask.

But with how damaged your space craft is, you don’t think that would be possible.

You two swiftly fall into a routine, he works and you scavenge around for any metals you can use to repair your ship, though you’re glad you still had food and supplies on board. You don’t get a lot of time to do so, however, this mech loves talking to you even if you can’t understand him, you can hear his tone.

It’s cute how he lights up when you answer, it gets him rambling that much more. Being down here with no light, unable to tell how long you’ve been here, makes it hard to keep track of how long you’ve been missing, surely communications back home would try to find you, right? Looking back at the yellow bot you smile, maybe being stuck here isn’t so bad, though you’re not sure how much food and water you have left or how long it’ll last you.

Though over the course of your stay you’ve picked up on a few words, one of which at least part of his name, the look of joy that crosses his face and the whirling metal sound which you could only think was a squeal, lets you know he’s overjoyed to hear you call him ‘Bee.’ Though he has a much harder time with your language, you can hear him call you ‘little buddy’ all the time, it’s adorable in your eyes, it worries you a little how long he must’ve been here alone.

You heard it first, the sound of something falling? Maybe it’s because everything on this planet is so much louder, but you hid in the hole in Bee’s chest plate not wanting to take chances. You hear Bee coo at you, placing a hand over where you hid, thinking you’re just so cute. Only moments later do you hear talking, and Bee excitedly rambling as your name pops up a few times.

You wish you could understand them better.

“Little buddy? Orion, please, he’s insane.”

“Dee, be nice, he can help us find a way out!”

“Oh yeah, sorry little buddy is just shy! I mean I don't blame them for how small they are, but they are so cute! Best company ever. Now that you two are here we can have massive sleepovers, dude it’ll be great-“

Even from Bee’s chest you can hear the annoyance of one of them. Being able to hear things but not see them is horrifying as you can recognize the panic in their voices, the sadness, the anger, feel when Bee is running and freaking out. Just what is happening out there? You almost didn’t want to leave the safety of Bee’s chest plate, it was safer here, and he’d protect you!

B127 cringes, looking like a guilt turbofox as Alpha Trion and now the others stare at him, yeah having a cog would be so cool! But where would his little buddy stay? you’re too close to where his cog would go, too close to-

“H-hey, you can’t just-“

“An organic?” From the open chest plate Alpha Trion holds you up, such a small little thing, fleshy and squishy.

You shake under the new bots' glazes, all of them staring you down, some in awe, some in curiosity, some in bewilderment, but the large purple one is not easy to read like they are, or even like Bee is. The yellow bot reaches for you as you shakily call his name, your voice as small as you are, and quaking in fear at this newcomer.

“They are my friend, you can’t just take them!” Even as nervous as he is, he refuses to let you get taken from him, he can protect you just fine.

Alpha Trion glances between you and the newly fogged yellow bot, before carefully handing you back to him. You cling to Bee’s zero, just as he clings to you, holding you close to his helm and trying to mutter soothing things to you.

“I see you are fond of them, but let it be known this entire world can hurt them or worse, they are too soft to handle this place on their own. And with your next journey ahead, I fear what may happen to them.”

Though the older cybertronian warns him, Bee holds you closer.

“I can protect them! I have up to this point, even before all this, they are my little friend, we spent so much time in the mines together, they even learned how to say a nickname for me!”

Their usual silly cybertronian was determined, optics narrowed filled with promise that nothing could get between him and you. Though Alpha Trion was not convinced, merely giving a solemn nod before the first blaster set off. Back into Bee’s spark chamber you went, and they went running once more, trying to figure out their new T-cogs. You groan at the whiplash from going to sit in Bee’s spark chamber, to a driver’s seat, back to the spark chamber, and constantly flipping between a soft blue and the chaos happening outside.

When everything finally goes still you wish it made you calm down, but it only made you worry more, Bee was never quiet, there was always sound around you, his humming, his chatter, the sound of his work around you, nothing was ever still like this. Yet you stay put, Bee is the only one you trust, he’d keep you guarded.

When the sound returns you breathe a sigh of relief, even if it sounded angry, at least Bee was talking.. all this adventuring has made you tired and hungry, you can’t wait to go back to the mines and back to your ship. You nuzzle against the blue pulsing thing in his chest plate with you, briefly noting how Bee’s voice shakes as you do so.

He speaks to you, yet you can only understand him saying ‘not’, maybe if you wait a little more you two can get things settled. Bee tried but taking on so many bots at once in such chaos, and trying to help Orion and Elita out was overwhelming, but he’d do it, he can’t let anyone down when they’ve done so much for him.

It was a slip up, he didn’t get the blast coming but it didn’t go too deep in his plating, he can still fight!…what is all this red stuff leaking from his chest plate? It’s no oil he’s ever seen before. His spark sank, swiftly taking cover from all the fire to rip his spark chamber open and pull you out.

You’re weak.

It hurts to move.

Your pained whimper makes his eyes leak, you can hear him frantically muttering to you, comming someone like Orin for help, but you can’t take it, he sounds so upset.

You place a hand to his face plate, softly speaking to him trying to settle his nerves, but it's just making him cry that much harder. You’re certain he’s apologizing, for what you aren’t sure, but you’re just happy to have met him and seen life beyond your stars.

“It’s okay…I’m here. Bee, please don’t…don’t feel bad.” You know he can’t understand your words, your languages apart, but the love for him united you both.

Your eyes feel heavy, but he needs you, you know he does, he’s your friend, you can’t leave him. Orion appears in view, saying something to Bee but the yellow bot lets out a wail, not wanting to let you go, you’re hurt, you need him!

You’re human.

You’re soft, just like Alpha Trion said.

This world was against you, such small thinsg to them would be the end of you.

If only Bee had taken it to spark to realize just how fragile his squishy friend was, he was sure you’d never get hurt.

Some friend, he is, right, little buddy?

Yet your body is limp, you aren’t answering his ever growing yells of your little name, you can’t leave him, you can’t…

Orion places a servo on Bee’s shoulder, letting his friend grieve such a heavy loss. You would want him to live, to fight on, protect anyone from your fate. But the larger bot stays quiet, keeping his thoughts to himself as Bee refuses to let your limp body go.

And he’d have to until you can have a proper going away after they stop this madness.

But he can’t let you go, even placing your body in his spark chamber again and weeps. You’re limp, you’re losing your warmth.

And this red stuff won’t come off.

[darlingsfandom]

Hello darling! Can I please please please have a sexy fic where cillian sees me at a fan event ,gets super turned on by me and looks for me and then when he finds me he "punishes" me for being a tease and making him all hard during an event,and he is a bit rough but still cillian ,thank you 💘

I got you babe.

tw: fingering, semi-public hook up, swearing !

not proofread .

It was a dream come true, the glitz and glamour made your head spin in a way that you’ve never felt before. So many famous faces walking by, flashing photographers snapping every passing second , how could this event get any better? It was hard to say until your eyes locked on the man you had been hoping to see this evening.

Cillian Murphy, well known Irish actor who can make anyone swoon over him with just a smile. The whole reason you were there was to see him but the universe had other plans for you. The evening was absolutely beautiful, the food was delicious and the drinks were unlimited so it was fair to say you had a few but nothing too crazy.

The night was coming to an end and you still haven’t made your way to the man of your dreams but what you didn’t know is that he had an eye on you all night. He watched from afar to examine what you were about. He took note of your dress and how it stopped mid thigh, the way you stood tall and proud in your heels but he still stood taller than you. This man wanted you. Cillian finished his final sip before finding his way over to you only for you to bump into him stead. Neither of you said a word as you stood there looking up at him through your eyelashes. He put his hand out for you to shake and of course you did.

Your heart skipped a beat before running a million miles a minute as he took your hand and brought it to his lips to place a gentle kiss upon it. A small blush creeped over your cheeks when he pulled away only to grab your hand and walk with you towards the bathrooms. Luckily for the both of you, some other celebrity had tripped and spilled the contents of the table onto the floor as if this was a comedy movie come to life.

Cillian took you into a stale before he locked the door and pinned you against the wall. As many times as you thought of this man in the most inappropriate way hooking up in the bathroom was one of those ways. His lips brushed against yours and no questions were asked as you kissed back wrapping your arms around his neck. His lips moved to the side of your neck making a small moan leave your mouth.

“Such a tease, looking at me all night with those fuck me eyes.” He mumbled into the side of your neck. He wasn’t wrong. His hands ran up and down your sides before he reached behind and grabbed your ass while biting at your exposed cleavage.

No words could slip out of your mouth just little gasps and whimpers as he reached under your dress to pull your panties down around your ankles. The cool air made you shiver until the pads of his fingers gently stroked over your folds. His mouth curved into a smirk watching how quickly you gave into his touch. Cillian slipped his fingers inside of you and you gripped his shoulders. His fingers were thick and rough compared to your own. The way you whimpered for him just made him harder in his pants but he wasn’t giving in just yet.

“Please don’t stop!” You choked out as his fingers pumped faster inside of you. Your hand moved up into his hair , giving it a slight pull which made him moan. He was working you over with just his fingers and it was everything you had dreamed of. Cillian kissed you again but this time he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You sucked on his tongue while he brought you closer to your orgasm. The knot in your stomach was about to burst as he made you feel so good.

“Be good and cum for me ya.” He mumbled.

It took only about ten seconds before your knees buckled in and a moan ripped out from your chest as your hands squeezed his arms. He looked at you with a sly smirk and sense of pride.

“Don’t you worry, I’m only gettin started doll.”

[weevilreg]

🦖 ⼃dinosaur playdate .ᐟ

ft. reg van & jackie | they/she prns for van

First ever full fic I've written so it might be kinda bad but I had the amazing idea of little friends van & jackie and jumped on it! Hope that over time I improve my writing skills and learn stuff but for now i hopes u enjoy!! ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა

Usually when she’s regressed, Jackie’s alone.

Or at least she’s with Shauna, her caregiver. She’s not too open about her regression, the team knows of course, but she’s never regressed when around them.

Until today. She had already woken up small, and although she was content staying at home with Shauna, she had forgotten that Shauna already had plans.

Tai and Shauna had work to do, school stuff that while small Jackie couldn't really care about. It also couldn’t be rescheduled according to Shuana, and so here they were, Jackie clutching her hand as Shauna knocks on the door of the Turner residence.

Tai’s parents aren’t home, Shauna had reassured her on the drive here, but Jackie was still a little nervous.

Jackie liked Tai, she was smart and kind and helped her keep the team in check, she figures if there’s anyone on the team she’d be okay with being small around for the first time it was her.

She still ducks behind Shauna when the door opens, though. Clutching her flannel as Shauna says hi and leads them into the home.

Eventually she lets go, though. Offering a small wave to Tai when she greets her.

“Van’s playing in the other room if you want to go join them.” She offers and Jackie pauses, her ears picking up the faint noises drifting from the mentioned room.

She hadn’t known Van would be here.

It made sense, though. Tai was Van’s caregiver, afterall.

Jackie glances at Shauna, who gives her an encouraging nudge before turning back to Tai to talk about their big kid stuff.

Jackie shuffles across the floor, sparing another glance over her shoulder before she rounds the corner into the room where the noises were coming from.

She finds Van on the floor, slamming her toys against one another in a form of play unfamiliar to Jackie.

Jackie hovers, going unnoticed for a few seconds until Van’s eyes catch a glimpse of the sparkly sneakers beside her.

The two look at each other for a moment, Jackie offering a hopefully friendly smile and a small hand wave before Van smiles back. “Wanna play?”

Jackie glances at the pile of toys Van had laid out before her, noticing how they were all dinosaur figures of various shapes and sizes. Van seems to notice, picking one of them up. “This is my t-rex, do you like him? What dinosaurs do you have at your home?”

“I don’t have dinosaurs at home.” She admits after a moment, crouching down on the floor beside them.

“Oh.” Van says, eyebrows briefly scrunching together. “What kind of toys do you have then?”

Jackie shrugs, she had her bunny stuffed animal, but that wasn’t a toy, he was a friend. She did have a few barbies tucked in a box up at the top of her closet, but unless Shauna was over she couldn’t reach them.

“Sometimes my barbies.” She eventually says, shrugging.

“Oh. I don’t have those. I can teach you how to play dinosaurs though, if you want.” Van offers, and after a pause Jackie nods, smiling softly. “Yes, please.”

“Okay!” Van says excitedly, messily pulling the pile of dinosaur figures closer to the two of them.

“Usually I’m the t-rex,” she gestures to the dinosaur in question and Jackie nods, vaguely familiar with at least the most popular types of ancient lizard monsters. “And when Nat plays she’s the triceratops, it’s the one with the cool horns, see?”

Jackie nods, its horns were pretty cool, it had three whole ones! She could see a little Nat making it stomp around.

“Which one do you want to be?” Jackie presses her lips together, turning to study the pile of dinosaurs.

There's a lot of them, some with long necks, others with sharp horns and some with spikes on their backs.

One catches her eye though, it's orange in color with a pointy head and a pair of leathery wings.

She picks it up, turning it in her hands. “I like this one.” She says and Van nods, leaning over to look at it.

“A pera- uh, terry, a flying one,” she says after a few attempts at the dinosaur's undoubtedly long name. “I like those, they're cool.”

Jackie nods in agreement, clutching the new toy in her hands before Van picks up their t-rex again.

“Okay, so the t-rex is the big boss dinosaur, it eats all the other ones.” She says seriously, but Jackie frowns lightly, looking down at her dinosaur.

She’d just gotten hers, she didn’t want it to get eaten. “Can they be friends instead of fighting?” she softly asks, toying with its bendy wings.

Van presses their lips together, considering the offer. She always made the dinosaurs fight, just like in the pictures in her books, even when she was playing with Nat.

But Jackie wasn’t Nat, and this was her first time playing dinosaurs, and maybe she didn’t have any dinosaur books to look at. It made sense, she didn’t have any dinos so why would she have dino books?

Plus, before Jackie and Shauna had come over Tai had told her to be nice to Jackie, and she didn’t want to be mean and eat her dinosaur, she had just got it after all.

“Okay. What will the dinosaur friends do?” She says after a moment, feeling proud of themself when Jackie beams happily.

“Um, well maybe they could play soccer?” Jackie offers and Van nods in excitement, having never considered making the dinosaurs play her sport.

“My t-rex can be the goalie even though he has small arms.” Van says, arranging some stray blocks into a makeshift goal. Jackie nods as she moves her dinosaur as well as a few others into positions across the carpet mimicking that of their team when they played.

They pause for a moment to search for a ball, Van eventually finding one from a coin machine small enough to work.

They flick it around in tandem with the stomps of their dinosaur’s feet, giggling whenever they actually manage to hit it.

Van even manages to stop it a few times by shifting their t-rex sideways, and Jackie also manages to get a few goals past them, making the dinosaurs pause to jump around and celebrate whenever it happens.

Eventually though Shauna returns for her, and after hugging Van bye and thanking Tai they head back out the front door.

Jackie tells Shauna about her playdate when she asks if she had fun, including all the new dinosaurs facts she remembers that Van told her in-between their fun.

But after she finishes Jackie grows quiet for a moment, eventually softly asking if she could maybe have another playdate with Van again sometime.

“Of course,” Shauna says with a grin, internally delighted that Jackie had made a little friend. “I’ll have a talk about it with Tai when we get home.”

Jackie nods happily, and after a moment quickly adds, “Can I get some dinosaurs too?” Shauna chuckles, her nod not even being considered before it happens. “Sure.”

[justatypicalwizard]

Meta-isekai | K. Bakugo ✧ Act II Scene I

-`♡´- In which Bakugo gets isekaied into a shoyo romance. -`♡´-

Peak stupidity ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Act II ༊*·˚

Scene I: Winning the martial arts competition (easy)

ʚɞ “Okay, so you said I’m a part of the martial arts club, yeah?” Bakugo whispered to The Cat sitting on his desk. He was currently getting ready for school and scheming the first move in their big plan.

“Yes, and there’s an upcoming event connected with it today.” The Cat answered, its tail drawing lazy circles in the air behind it.

“The school sports day, I’ve heard about it from others. I learned that the previous Katsuki signed up for tug of war.”

“Yes, but because you haven’t been to a training yet you don’t know that in the morning, during the sports day, you will be competing against other schools in the finale of the regional martial arts cup.”

This made Bakugo turn around and crook a brow. Getting to kick some asses early in the morning only to get to kick more asses in the afternoon? What a pleasure.

“Not a problem.” He shrugged.

“It will be extremely important. The school didn’t really gain any significant wins for a while now so everyone is rooting for your club to break the hoodoo. With my boost to luck Crush will also be watching.”

“Not a problem.” The blonde repeated turning back towards his wardrobe.

ʚɞ Certainly, winning the martial arts cup wasn’t a problem. Bakugo, although trained in many forms of contact force, refreshed his memory on the rules of the particular style that he was competing in. Finding the training clothes in a locker at school he went to extra-early training just before the cup. It was mostly good stretching, briefing about the strategy, pairing and rules, as well as some light combats to get the team into a fighting spirit.

ʚɞ Some of the faces of his teammates looked familiar, as if he saw them previously. They must have been people from his UA but from other classes, that he only passed on the corridors. Anyway, they all seemed to get along well while not being too intimate with each other.

ʚɞ Curious students quickly filled the gymnasium. Most were from UA, but there were also a bunch from other schools as guests cheering for their players. It was getting louder and louder up to the point when the overlooking coach began the competition.

ʚɞ No all of the present competitors were actually taking part. Some of them came as substitute players, others weaseled their way in to skip school. The chosen group was fairly slim, Bakugo being one of them.

ʚɞ All of his combats went quite quick, no one standing a change against him. It made the crowd cheer every time he stepped onto the mat. People pointed fingers at him, girls whispered and dudes clapped their hands loud every time he won.

ʚɞ When the cup was over, the medals were handed (gold for the blonde) and respects were paid, Bakugo got swarmed by his teammates and their friends.

“How did you do it? Did you get superpowers overnight?” One of his teammates laughed.

Some of them started to point out how shaken they were with his form. He was good, that’s why he played a part in the finale, but not that good! At one point the discussion got loud and out of Bakugo’s control. They started asking questions.

“I trained at home.” He gave them a white lie. He did train at home - back in his universe, with the thought of encountering actual villains, being in danger and relying his life solely on his skill and power. They didn’t need to know that part.

“Soo cool! Did the coach help you?”

“No, I’ve done it by myself. Just did some research.” He shrugged it off.

“But why didn’t you tell us?” Another one of his teammates, a rather thin guy who sat the whole tournament on the bench, asked.

This stirred some interest. You could have trained with us. We would all get better. You could have at least showed us where you learned all these things so we could try ourselves.

“Have you done it to be the best? Behind our backs?” The thin subsidiary crossed his arms on his chest.

All of them looked his way. Some had eyes wide, the thought never occurred to them but now, when it had been said aloud, it was the only scenario they could think about. Others glanced away and clammed up, they seemed to have expected it. Did the other Katsuki have had some quarrels with them before?

“Tell them you trained to impress someone.” Suddenly, Bakugo felt a weight on his shoulder. The Cat’s whiskers tickled his cheek. “She’s watching.”

From the corner of his eye he saw her, the Crush. Indeed she was standing with a group of friends, the same from the classroom Bakugo noted, and listening to the conversation. The quarrel must have created a small commotion. 

Bakugo shrugged to get The Cat off but it clawed his collarbone making the boy bite the inside of his cheek not to hiss in pain.

“Say it!”

“Is it true? Did you do it to outperform all of us?”

“Say it, she’s watching!”

“Don’t be silly, you’re accusing the person who gave our school a gold medal of training on his own, in his own free time? If anything, you should be ashamed you didn’t think about it yourself.” A guy too tall for his own good (and his back) smirked and pointed an accusatory finger towards the slim subsidiary.

At that time nobody, including Bakugo, knew that the tall guy, in a green shirt with the number 10 on the front and back, was a secret fan of the explosive blonde. The previous Katsuki might have recognised him. Number 10 tried to join the martial arts club but his physics were not the best for such a sport. The coach did try him out but soon they both realised he was not meant to be. At that time he shrugged it off as too-tall-for-this but in reality he was too-lazy-for-this.

Number 10 was not eager enough to overcome the weaknesses that made him a mediocre individual sports’ player. Instead he opted for disciplines where one competed with a team, a team that would make up for his imperfections. He was fine with it. He was tall and had long arms which gave him a headstart in basketball. Still, Number 10 admired people who could become stars on their own. It was a jealousy free type of admiration. Adding his natural nonchalance to the mixture, he had no problem standing up for Bakugo.

“I’m not even surprised he didn’t tell the team. Everybody knows that your manager has a boyfriend in a different school and she tells him all the juicy stuff. If I were Bakugo I wouldn’t want the enemy team to learn about my technique either.”

Another thing that nobody, including Bakugo, knew about Number 10, and what saved the day, was that he was a massive gossip.

“That’s true. Sorry.” Someone caught up with the basketball player and the air shifted from anger and disappointment to cheers and back slaps once again. 

“So, did you really train on your own to win for us?” His teammates pried.

“Hah, as if I ever told you nerds!” He clicked his tongue but smirked.

It was not meant to be mean but cocky, playful. The blonde had no clue what the other Bakugo was up to but now he was in town and he will simply be himself until he achieves his goal. Grabbing his water bottle he sprayed some of it on his hand and combed the wet fingers through his hair making it slick for a moment.

“I’m out.” Bakugo threw over the shoulder as he turned towards Crush as her group of friends only to walk through them with a short glance her way. It made everyone turn around a watch as he exited the gymnasium into the sunny day outside.

Katsuki didn’t know what happened behind his back, whether they were still looking the way he disappeared, if they were talking between each other about him, did the girl blush even? It didn’t matter though, he’s done his part and done it sharp, on point.

The Cat sat on a fence in the distance, its lazy swaying black tail caught Bakugo’s eyes. It gave him a thumbs up. 

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