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sp0o0kylights · 1 year ago

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Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset.

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it.

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud.

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds.

Still.

Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink.

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations.

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say.

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’

Nope.

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure.

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake.

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them.

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through.

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing.

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse.

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something.

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here.

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may.

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?”

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house.

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him.

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.”

Likely a lot of things.

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it.

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give.

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.”

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice.

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked.

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle.

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat.

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth.

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.)

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?”

Wayne nodded once, slow-like.

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again.

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?”

“I did.”

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say.

Wayne took advantage.

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.”

“‘Bout trust.”

Eddie blinked at that.

“Trust.” He echoed flatly.

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--”

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.”

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him.

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.”

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway.

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with.

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.”

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like.

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns.

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.”

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.”

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had.

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.”

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.”

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through.

Wayne sat with him as he processed.

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did.

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked;

“What if he finds out?”

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home.

It took Wayne a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret.

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over.

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly. It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself.

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved.

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’

“He won’t.” Wayne said.

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.”

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side.

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other.

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest.

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose.

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine.

Hurt, absolutely, but alive.

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body.

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol.

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door.

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch.

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible.

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup.

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him.

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely.

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior.

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.)

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!”

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it.

Wayne rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door.

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries.

“I think I promised you a game, son.” Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall.

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

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into-deepspace · 3 months ago

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𓆰 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

sylus & (luke & kieran) • accidental baby menace acquisition • reluctant caretaker • comfort no hurt • ao3 link • part 1

reblogs and comments are what keeps your writers alive! requests are open

Summary:

Trouble has found Sylus in the form of two little boys desperately needing a warm shower and some new clothes. Reluctantly, Sylus lets trouble in.

It's a bit of a logistical struggle to get the two boys back to Sylus's main residence. Sylus will usually disappear into his signature red mist, or gun it on his motorcycle, but neither of those things prove viable options when toting along two young children. So, he does what one may expect of a criminal overlord and hot-wires a car.

Perhaps it isn't the best example to be setting to the incredibly impressionable children who watch him do that, but Sylus isn't a parent, or a babysitter. Hell, this could very well be a valuable skill for their future. He's basically doing them a favor, giving them a nice, early head start into the world of automobile theft.

"So cool…" the seemingly more talkative little boy whispers as Sylus gets the car running, the other twin nodding along. Sylus hums and gives a slight, satisfied smile. The kids aren't half bad, he supposes. Not that he's planning on keeping them around, obviously, but he does hope they do well for themselves once he tells them to scram. Which will be soon.

He opens the doors to the car, ushering the two into the back seat. They scramble in, practically climbing to get their little bodies into the car. It's amusing, the way they move. They're so small, navigating a world where nothing was truly made for them, and doing so admirably.

"Buckle up," Sylus tells them. He's no parent or anything, but stars above, even he's not so heartless as to let these kids jostle around in the back of the car while he drives. He watches in the rear view mirror as they pull the seat belts over their laps, clicking them into place. Satisfied, Sylus tells them to hold on tight, and then steps on the gas.

Judging by the giggles and the shouts and squeals behind him, the boys seem to think Sylus's slightly reckless, much too fast driving is purely delightful. Sharp turns and swerving acceleration only pull laughter from the kids. Sylus is starting to think, somewhat ridiculously, that these two aren't scared of anything at all.

It's not long before Sylus is parking in front of his main residence, the tall, huge manor sprawling before them. Sylus leans over to pick up his suit jacket from the passenger's seat. One of the boys (he's not sure which one, their voices are rather identical) asks, "Is this your castle?"

Sylus scoffs. "It's a manor."

"What's the difference?" Now that bit of bravado comes from the mouthier twin.

"That's not important right now," Sylus replies. "Come on. Out." The boys scramble to follow instructions as he steps smoothly from the car, nearly tumbling out of the car as they open the door and hop out.

Sylus makes a beckoning motion as he walks, not bothering to turn. He doesn't have to, really. The children are rather loud as they run after him, little legs working hard to keep up with his long strides. He can hear them just fine, then feel them as the grab onto him, one taking his hand while the other clutches at the fabric of his pants. Sylus watches his step, just to make sure he doesn't accidentally knock one of them over as he walks.

The door swings open as soon as Sylus touches it, reading his biometric information with technology of his own design. He pauses in the foyer, looking over the two boys. They stare up at him, two pairs of big, dark eyes waiting for his next move.

"You two need showers," he decides. The boys say nothing in response. Inwardly, Sylus cringes. Is he going to have to do this, too? Have these two ever seen soap in their lives? Ugh, he really isn't cut out for this sort of thing. "Do you two know how to wash?" he asks, eyes narrowing as he looks over their greasy hair and their dirty clothes.

"We're big boys," the quieter one asserts. The other chimes in.

"Yeah! We know how to take a bath!"

Sylus hums, doubtful. Still though, he's not exactly jumping at the opportunity to wash two street kids himself, so he figures he'll let them work it out. At this point, even getting some soap on their bodies, no matter how clumsily, will be an improvement for them.

"All right," Sylus sighs. "Let's go." He turns on his heel once more, waving over his shoulder for the twins to follow him. The pitter-patter of little feet follows him, and Sylus makes a mental note to have the floors in this hallway washed (and get the boys new shoes that aren't so filthy).

He leads them upstairs to one of the many suites that the manor contains, complete with a fully stocked bathroom. Taking a knee by the tub, he turns on the water, letting it run for a few moments and get to a pleasant, warm temperature before he lowers the stopper and lets the tub fill.

""I'm going to leave the room while you two wash up," Sylus says as he begins to pull soaps and washcloths from higher shelves, where the boys would never have a hope of reaching them. "This is for washing your body," he says, holding up a bottle of fragrant body wash, "and this is for your hair," he finishes, gesturing to the shampoo on the tub's edge. He pulls two plush towels from drawers, setting them on the countertop where they boys can reach.

"Shout for me when you are both finished."

Without awaiting a response, Sylus walks out of the bathroom, leaving the two to their own devices. The grout is waterproof and of good quality. His bathroom should be fine.

The two boys begin to chatter amongst themselves, a sound that grows fainter and fainter as Sylus walks down the hallway. He makes his way to the kitchen, pouting himself a glass of whiskey without any real second thought. With a heavy sigh, he makes his way int the nearby sitting room, easing onto one of the several couches there. One arm is slung over the back of the sofa, while the other swirls his whiskey for a moment before he takes a long sip.

And now, without any distracting factors and a glass of alcohol in his hand, Sylus can properly wonder what the fuck he's been thinking this entire time.

An entirely too short amount of time later (though maybe Sylus is being dramatic - he'd had time to make his leisurely way through three glasses of whiskey), the boys begin shouting for him.

"Mister!" comes the yell from the bathroom, decidedly too loud of a noise to be coming from such a small person. "Mister, we're done!" Sylus sighs, groaning quietly as he rises. He sets the wide glass down onto the dark coffee table and begins walking, stopping first at the door where he'd ordered a selection of children's clothes to be delivered, then heading back up the stairs to the bathroom he'd left the two in.

He finds the two wrapped in the towels he'd left, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and giggling amongst themselves as they wait for him. Sylus raises an eyebrow.

"Get dried," he says, turning to the counter and placing the bag of clothes there. He begins to unpack it, pulling out two shirts, two pairs of soft pants, socks and underwear, everything the two might need. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the twins start to shuffle around, wiggling like little bugs as they dry themselves off. He tosses the two stacks of clothes down on the rug they stand on for them to put on when they're dry.

As he flips through his phone, notifying his chef that breakfast the next day will be for three rather than just one, the boys pull on their pants. Sylus sighs to himself, shutting off his phone once the message has been sent off and turning to lean back against the counter with his arms folded.

The boys' hair is still dripping wet. Sylus sighs. Fine.

Sylus stands up straight and takes the two long strides needed to cross the bathroom. He sinks down onto one knee, picking up one of the discarded towels and motioning for one of the twins to come closer. The boy steps up, and Sylus drops the towel on his head.

"It's not good to sleep with such wet hair," Sylus mutters as he towels off the boy's head efficiently, making the kid giggle with the rapid back and forth motion. Once the first kid is relatively dry, Sylus motions for the second, repeating the process.

With tousled hair, the boys go back to dressing, arguing briefly over who gets which piece from each set. Sylus watches for a moment with a raised eyebrow before standing back up and taking his place beside the wall again. He flips through his phone, reading messages from potential and existing dealers, going over invitations to auctions he's been sent. He manages to get engrossed enough in his work that it's almost a surprise when one of the boys speaks up

"Help?" a small voice asks. Sylus stands from where he'd leaned against the wall, peering over the top of his phone with a raised eyebrow. The quieter of the two twins has managed to tangle himself in the pajama shirt, one arm sticking up in the air and the other stuck against his shoulder. Sylus lets out a sharp breath through his nose, amused.

"How did you manage this?" he asks as he kneels, pulling the shirt into place with a firm tug. The boy shrugs in lieu of a proper answer, plopping down on the floor beside his brother to pull on a pair of socks.

It's at this moment that Sylus realizes he doesn't know the boys' names. He blinks silently to himself for a moment. Sylus always makes it his business to know everything about the people around him. How is it that he let this slide?

He crouches, lowering himself closer to the boys' level. Two little heads turn towards him, two pairs of dark eyes blinking in unison.

"What are your names?" Sylus asks without preamble. "I neglected to ask earlier." The louder twin gives a toothy grin.

"I'm Luke!" he says.

"Luke," Sylus repeats. The boy nods, tugging at the collar of his shirt to fidget with it. Sylus's brow furrows. "Don't do that," he scolds. "You'll stretch out the fabric." Then, right after the words leave him, he curses himself inwardly. Dammit, he's starting to sound like some tender little mother. He's really got to stop doing this sort of thing, considering the boys will be long gone from his life very soon.

"And you?" he asks instead of dwelling on his thoughts, turning to the quieter boy.

"Kieran," comes the soft reply. Sylus nods.

"Kieran," he says, repeating this name as well, committing it to memory. The boy - who Sylus now knows as Kieran - gives a clumsy nod, the kind that small children put their entire torso into. Sylus finds the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Eagerly, Luke scoots closer.

"What's your name, Mister?" he asks, looking up at the man with wide, curious eyes. Sylus furrows his brow. Right. They don't know his name either. Sylus frowns with a bit of a realization.

These kids have no clue who he is. They just… went with him. Hell, he basically just kidnapped them and they came right along without a care in the world. Does he give the "stranger danger" lesson now or save it for later?

Stop. No. Sylus isn't these kids' caretaker, for heaven's sake. What the hell is he thinking, teaching them life lessons? No, he'll just introduce himself. Courteous and not completely uncaring (they're kids, after all), but still maintaining his distance.

Yes.

He debates for a brief moment, wondering if he should give them a false name. Should he introduce himself as "Onychinus," the feared and almost mythical crime lord? It would be prudent, considering his established interest in keeping his identity secret.

Sylus sighs. Still, these are children, he supposes. They don't even know who he is, past the fact that he's a stranger both rich and kind (or stupid, maybe) enough to help them out.

"I'm Sylus," he says flatly. Then, after a moment, calling on the little knowledge he has about children this young, "And you two need to go to bed. It's late. Children are supposed to sleep a lot." The boys pout immediately, and Luke even groans out loud.

"We're not tired!" he asserts, and Kieran nods, backing up his brother. "Let's look around! This place is so cool, pleeeeease can we look around, pleeeeease?" Luke bounces as he speaks, full of the untamable energy children always seem to have. Sylus frowns.

"No," he says, remaining steadfast. "It's late. You two are going to bed." The twins make their displeasure known again, though a bit more softly this time. Sylus sighs. Maybe offering them at least some sort of choice will make them a bit more amenable.

"You have a choice," he tells them, "between a room with one or two beds."

"Two!" the boys immediately decide, apparently eager to have their own, separate beds. Sylus nods, turning towards the bathroom door and motioning over his shoulder for them to follow.

He walks down the hallway once again, with the two following him loudly. He makes a mental note to make sure that bathroom is cleaned and that the clothes in the bag are moved to the closet of their temporary room. Once he reaches an appropriate room (both close enough to his own that he can easily keep an eye on them, and far enough that they won't disturb him), he opens the door, swinging it open and holding out a hand.

With quiet exclamations, the boys scramble in, claiming the two beds on opposite sides of the room. They look remarkably small, almost comically so, as they scurry under the covers of the two queen-sized beds, both seemingly very pleased with the blankets and pillows.

Sylus watches them for a moment, debating. Then, in the interest of keeping both the kids and his residence relatively unharmed, he whistles sharply. Luke and Kieran watch in awe as Mephisto comes soaring into the room, landing neatly on Sylus's shoulder.

"If you need anything," Sylus says, "just tell Mephisto." The mechanical bird flaps, taking off from Sylus's shoulder and landing on the nightstand between the two beds. Immediately, Kieran silently reaches out, little hand petting Mephisto's head. The crow turns to look at Sylus, a remarkably displeased look in his red eyes for something that's nothing but metal and lines of code. What have you gotten me into? he seems to ask, as he's gently pet.

Sylus raises his eyebrows, letting his bird know that yes, in fact this is his new duty for the night. Mephisto lets out a dejected caw, prompting a giggle from the boys.

"He talks!" Luke says, grinning. Sylus hums.

"Indeed he does."

With the boys apparently engrossed in Sylus's crow, the man decides that it's time for him to make his exit. They'll be safe, and Mephisto is sturdy, for all that he complains. With all parties distracted, Sylus leaves the room, closing the door smoothly behind him.

Once he's out in the quiet solitude of the hallway, he sighs heavily, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

Well, Sylus supposes, he'll figure that out in the morning.

#sylus #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus qin #qin che #luke and kieran #luke love and deepspace #kieran love and deepspace #fluff #love and deepspace fluff #jay's writing!#series :: crow's nest

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thedilfdiaries · 4 months ago

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I can't hear it now

acacius x f!reader // 3.6k

summary: A love that was never meant to be. A choice that was never truly yours to make. Acacius was never yours to keep, yet in the dark of night, beneath the weight of duty and desire, he was yours still. For stolen moments, for whispered names, for aching hands tracing the lines of something fleeting, something doomed.

But love does not always mean staying. And when his words reach you at last—words of longing, of regret, of a desperate plea—will you go to him? Or will you let the fire consume him, the way he has already consumed you?

warnings: mdni, 18+, alludes to smut, acacius is married, forbidden love, this is pure angst like I hurt myself writing this lol I wanted it to hurt real bad... I am sorry.

notes: this is for Freya's @almostfoxglove 's angst challenge. this was my moodboard. I have not written for Acacius at all so please be gentle with me. The moodboard and song Freya so kindly created and linked really gave me an idea instantly so thank you for giving me such a beautiful idea, this was probably the easiest I've ever plotted out a fic before and it's all thanks to your creative genius. Big thank you to my baby @thundermartini as always for being my biggest cheerleader, reading this over for me and always assuring me. how could I ever write anything without you? I love you so much <3 and big thank yous to my other cheerleaders for always supporting me big time @itwasntimethatdidit40 @sawymredfox and @myownwholewildworld I love you all so so so much <3

masterlist

The room lay bathed in shadow, the moonlight slipping through the narrow slats of the shutters, casting silver bands across the floor. The air was thick—heavy with the mingled scents of sweat and skin. Distant voices carried from the villa beyond, but they were meaningless here, swallowed by the hush of this stolen moment.

Acacius’ hands found you, firm and unrelenting as he pressed you against the cool stone wall. His tunic hung loose, its ties undone, revealing the golden plane of his chest, glistening in the dim glow. His lips were warm upon your throat, tracing a path of fire that left your breath unsteady, and your limbs weak.

"You are reckless," you murmured, though your hands betrayed you, tangling in his dark hair, nails grazing his scalp.

"Reckless?" His voice was a low whisper, rough with amusement, yet laced with hunger. "And yet you are here, pressed against me, trembling beneath my touch."

You said nothing, could say nothing, for his mouth was upon yours in an instant—urgent, possessive, as though he might claim you wholly in the space of a single heartbeat. You let him, let yourself drown in the sensation of him, for when all else was stripped away, this was all that remained.

His hands slipped beneath the folds of your clothing, calloused palms branding your skin as they traced the curve of your waist. He drew you closer still, until there was nothing between you but heat and need. A gasp escaped you, and he exhaled a quiet laugh against your lips.

"Soft, sweet thing," he murmured, though his voice held no mockery. "Do you know how often I dream of this?"

"Then do not speak of it," you whispered, though even as you said it, you knew it was futile.

"Let them hear you," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "Let them see what you do to me."

A laugh trembled at the edge of your lips, but it died the moment his mouth found yours again, slower this time, less desperate—deep and consuming, as though he wished to savor every moment, every taste. His hands roamed you as if memorizing you, as though the mere thought of parting was unendurable.

For a fleeting breath, you allowed yourself to forget the wife who awaited him beyond these walls, the life he could never offer you, and the cruel weight of reality that loomed just beyond the night’s embrace.

But then his lips left yours, trailing lower, and your mind unraveled once more, dissolving into nothing but him, only him.

"Acacius," you whispered, his name slipping unbidden from your lips, trembling upon the air between you.

He stilled, his forehead pressing to your collarbone. His breath came heavy, ragged. "Say it again," he murmured, hoarse with longing, his grip tightening upon your hips.

You obeyed, softer now. "Acacius."

He lifted his head, meeting your gaze, and in his dark eyes burned something raw, something perilously close to love—but shadowed with something else, something darker still.

"I am unworthy of you," he said, the words thick with sorrow. "But I would sooner rend the stars from the sky than let you go."

You cradled his face between your palms, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw. "Then do not," you pleaded.

If only it could be so simple.

His lips found yours again, fevered with desperation. His hands roamed your body, as though trying to commit each curve, each breath, each shiver to memory—as though he feared this would be the last time.

And perhaps it would be.

The bed was scarcely large enough for one, but neither of you cared as he laid you upon it, the weight of him pressing into you in a way that made you ache, made you crave. Your hands roamed his broad shoulders, pushing the fabric of his tunic aside, eager to feel the heat of him, the solidness of him.

A growl rumbled low in his throat as he shuddered beneath your touch. "You undo me," he confessed, his lips ghosting over your skin.

You smiled, breathless. "Then show me."

He did.

The world beyond ceased to exist, lost in the press of his body, the reverence of his hands, the whispered prayers of your name against your skin. He worshipped you as though you were something sacred, something divine.

And for a time, you allowed yourself to believe it.

When at last you lay spent in his arms, his breath stirring against your temple, he murmured something soft, almost inaudible.

You did not ask him to repeat it. You did not wish to break the fragile peace that had settled over you both.

But peace is a fleeting thing.

As the first light of dawn crept through the shutters, reality stole back in with it.

"Do you ever wonder?" you whispered, breaking the silence.

Acacius stirred, his lips grazing the tender hollow beneath your ear. "Of what?"

"What it would be like," you said. "If we did not have to hide. If this," you gestured faintly between you, "was not all we could ever have."

He stilled. You felt it in the way his fingers once idly tracing patterns against your skin, froze. The weight of your words hung heavy between you, thick as the morning air.

"It is better not to think on such things," he said at last, his voice rough, his gaze falling away as he sat up. "I cannot give you what you deserve."

The words struck as surely as a blade, though you had known them long before he ever spoke them aloud.

"But you will take all that I may offer," you said, sharper than you had intended.

His head snapped up, a flicker of pain in his dark eyes. "Do not say that."

"Why not?" you challenged, sitting up, putting space between you. The warmth of him, once a comfort, was now a memory. You already missed it. "It is true, is it not?"

Marcus raked a hand through his dark hair, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. "You think this is easy for me?" he asked. "You think I do not loathe myself with every step I take from you? With every lie I speak to her?"

You flinched, and he saw it.

"Do not speak of her," you whispered. "Not here. Not now."

His hands came to your arms, gentle but firm, forcing you to look at him. "I would protect you from all of this," he swore. "From her. From them. From myself."

You laughed then, but there was no mirth in it. "You cannot even protect yourself, Marcus."

His hands fell away. The silence between you was deafening.

"I love you," he said suddenly, the words scarcely more than breath, yet they shattered you all the same.

Your throat tightened. Your eyes burned. "Then fight for me," you pleaded. "Do not let this be all we are."

For a moment, you thought he might say yes. You saw the battle waged behind his eyes, the war between duty and desire. But then his shoulders sagged, and he looked away.

"This holy ground burns my feet. I cannot stay, and yet I do not want to leave," he said, so softly it nearly broke you.

Tears slipped free, and you did not stop them. You turned toward the door, your movements slow, heavy with the weight of what had just been spoken—of what had been left unsaid.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your discarded garments, the fabric cool against your skin as you pulled them back into place. Each tie fastened, each fold smoothed, felt like sealing away a part of yourself, tucking it back behind the mask you wore beyond these stolen hours. The warmth of his touch still lingered, but it would fade, as it always did.

"Wait," he said, his voice cracking. "Please."

You hesitated.

He reached for the simple band of gold upon his finger, hesitating only a moment before sliding it free.

"Take it," he murmured, pressing it into your palm. "Keep it. Until we meet again."

You hated how easily you let yourself believe him. How your heart still clung to the idea that there would be another moment after this, another night where his hands would map your body and his lips would trace words he was too much of a coward to say aloud.

You swallowed hard, forcing down the ache that lodged itself in your throat. “And if we do not?”

Acacius exhaled sharply through his nose, his head bowing for the briefest moment before he shook it, as though warding off the thought itself. “Do not speak of such things.” His voice was strained, rough with something perilously close to despair.

You stepped back, slipping the ring into the folds of your clothing. It should not have felt so heavy. And yet, it did.

Acacius turned away, his movements rigid as he reached for the table in the dim corner of the chamber, where his armor lay in a careful arrangement. A small scroll of parchment rested beside it—deliberately placed, waiting.

He picked it up, his fingers lingering over the edges, then hesitated before pressing it into your hands.

“If ever you should change your mind,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the space between you, never daring to meet your gaze, “open it.”

You hesitated, fingers curling but refusing to take it. “What is this?”

His jaw tensed, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “A choice.”

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “No. It is another way for you to break my heart.”

Acacius flinched as though you had struck him.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Slowly, your fingers closed around the parchment. Without a word, you tucked it away, into the same hidden place where his ring now rested.

And then you turned.

You did not look back.

He did not call you to stay.

—

Days passed. You did not open the letter.

Every night, you traced the edges of the ring beneath your fingertips, feeling its warmth against your skin, like it still held his touch.

He did not come to you again. You did not go to him.

Then, a week later, you cracked.

It was late when you unrolled the parchment, your hands shaking, the candlelight flickering against the ink-stained words.

My love,

I do not know if these words shall ever reach you. Perhaps they should not. Perhaps it is a cruelty to write at all, to leave behind mere ink when I have already left so much else. And yet, I must. I must, for the weight of what I carry cannot go unspoken.

I did not wish to leave you—never think it so. Had the gods willed another path, I would have taken it, would have stood against fate itself with sword in hand if it meant remaining by your side. But this world is not merciful, nor does it grant peace to men like me. Had I stayed, it would have torn me from you in ways far worse than this. That, I could not allow.

You were my only sanctuary, the one truth I never questioned. To love you was the sole virtue of my life, the one act I shall never repent. And though I am lost to you now, though the fates have severed what was once whole, know this: I am yours, now and always. Neither time nor death shall unmake what we were.

I pray the gods are kinder to you than they have been to me. That joy may find you once more. But if it does not—if the world turns cruel, if you find yourself adrift and wonder whether I still think of you—know that I do. In this life and the next, I shall always think of you.

And so, I ask this of you, though I have no right to, come to me I beg it of you. If there is still a place in your heart that has not turned against me, if even the smallest ember of what we were still lingers, meet me where the olive trees stand at the edge of the city, where the river bends and the world quiets. Let me look upon you once more before the gods tear me away, if only to commit your face to memory, to carry the light of you into whatever darkness awaits me. If nothing else, grant me this.

With all that I am,

Acacius

The candle’s flame flickered against the parchment, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Your hands trembled as you read Acacius’ words, your breath catching on the weight of them.

Each sentence carved through you like a blade, slicing past your anger, your sorrow, your resolve. I am yours, now and always.

How dare he? How dare he write such things, spill out his soul onto parchment, and yet still choose duty over you? Still choose a life where you were nothing more than a whispered secret?

Your vision blurred, a single tear spilling onto the page, smudging the ink where his name had been signed with careful, deliberate strokes.

You hated him.

You loved him.

The fire crackled beside you, the embers shifting like they, too, could feel your turmoil. You held the letter over the flames, hesitating just for a moment—just long enough to wonder if you'd regret it.

Then, with a sharp inhale, you let go.

The parchment curled as the fire devoured it, blackening at the edges before collapsing into itself. The words disappeared, burned away as if they had never been written at all. But you felt them, still, seared into your skin, your soul.

You pressed the ring tethered around your neck against your lips. You should throw that into the fire, too. Should rid yourself of every last piece of him.

But you couldn't

Days passed.

You should have let it go. Should have cast the ring into the river, let the current carry it far beyond your reach. Should have buried the memory of him in the recesses of your mind, left it to rot like the dying embers of that flame.

But you did not.

Instead, you wrote.

Your hand trembled over the parchment, but the words came quickly, as though they had been waiting to be freed.

Acacius,

I have burned your letter.

Not for hatred—though I wish I could hate you. Not for anger—though I should be wrathful. No, I burned it because to read it again would be to let it wound me anew, and I have suffered enough at the hands of your absence. Your words, though fair, are a cruelty. They speak of love yet bring only sorrow.

You write that you did not wish to leave me, and yet you went. You write that you have loved me, and yet you chose a life where I am nothing but a shadow. You speak of the gods as though they are the authors of this pain, but it was not their hand that severed us—it was yours.

And yet, I am a fool. A fool, for I write you still. A fool, for though I know you will break me again, I offer you this:

Come with me.

Leave the battlefield. Abandon your duty, your name, your oaths. Let the burdens of Rome fall from your shoulders. We will go where no man knows us, where no law binds us, where the weight of our sins shall belong to no one but the gods themselves. You speak of fate as though it is unyielding, but I do not believe in fate. I believe in choice.

So choose me.

Come to me, Acacius. And if you do not, if you cannot, then let this be the last time my name passes your lips, the last time you think of me beneath the stars.

With all that I am,

Yours

The moment you set the quill down, you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. You had bared your soul upon the parchment, laid it before him with trembling hands. And yet, you did not send it.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Days turned to weeks, and still, the letter remained hidden away, unsent, unread.

And then, one evening, when the city was bathed in the amber glow of torches and the streets murmured with whispered news, you heard his name.

You did not want to turn, did not want to listen. But the words struck you like a blade to the chest, piercing through bone and marrow, hollowing you out from the inside.

Acacius was dead.

They said he fell in battle, a sword through his ribs, the blood pooling beneath him dark as the night sky. They said he fought like a man possessed, as though he had nothing left to lose.

Your breath left you. Your knees buckled, but you did not fall. You could not fall.

You had waited too long.

The letter still sat, unsent. He would never read it. Would never know.

The world felt unbearably still.

But grief did not move you to tears. No, grief moved you to action.

The moon was high when you reached the place where they had laid the fallen. The air was thick with the scent of death, blood, and smoke, and the torches lining the corridor flickered against the stone walls like restless spirits.

You had no right to be here. No place among the mourning wives, the grieving mothers, and the sons who had come to claim the fathers they would never see again.

But you came anyway.

Acacius was there, just as they had said. His body lay upon the raised stone, displayed beneath the flickering torchlight, surrounded by the scent of burning oils. There were no mourners. No whispered prayers. Just silence.

Just you.

He looked almost peaceful, as though he had simply closed his eyes and drifted into slumber. But the truth was written in the deep wound beneath his ribs, in the dried blood that marred the golden skin of his chest.

He had died a soldier’s death.

Your breath came shallow, uneven, as you stepped forward. No one stopped you. There was no one left to do so.

Slowly, carefully, you reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his skin. He was cold. Cold in a way he had never been before. A lump formed in your throat.

“You fool,” you whispered, the words meant only for him. “You were supposed to come back to me.”

But he had not.

You had given him a choice, and in the end, he had made it. He had chosen the battlefield over you, just as he always had. And now he had paid the price for it.

Your fingers curled around the ring that still hung from your neck, the small band of gold that had once rested upon his hand. You held it tightly, as though you could somehow press all your grief into it, as though it might carry the weight of your sorrow in place of you.

It would be easy, you thought, to slip it back onto his finger. To leave it with him, to bury it alongside him when the time came. But something inside you rebelled at the thought.

He had left you behind in life. You would not allow him to do so in death.

Carefully, you took the ring and tucked it away once more, pressing it against your skin as though to keep him there, with you, even now.

Then, with hands that did not shake, you reached into the folds of your cloak and withdrew the letter. The one you had never sent. The one that had remained hidden away for far too long.

Your eyes burned as you looked at it, the inked words staring back at you, mocking you with all the things he would never hear.

A fool’s hope. That was all it had ever been.

And yet, still, you bent forward, pressing the parchment into the stillness of his hands.

“Here,” you whispered. “Take it, Acacius. Take the choice you never made.”

He could not read it now. But perhaps, if there were gods beyond this life, they would allow him to hear your words. To know that, even in the end, you still wanted him.

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the lines of his face, memorizing every detail before the earth claimed him. He had always been beautiful, even in death. And that, more than anything, shattered you.

A quiet breath left your lips as you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his. His scent was faint now, masked by the oils and the cold stillness of his body, but it was there. Just enough to remind you of what you had lost.

Then, with all the tenderness you had once held back, you kissed him.

One last time.

His lips were cold, unmoving, but you kissed him anyway. Slowly. Softly. As though, for a moment, he might still kiss you back.

But he did not.

He never would again.

When you finally pulled away, your vision blurred with tears you refused to shed. You had lingered long enough.

So, with one final look, one last whispered goodbye, you turned and walked away.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #marcus acacius fic

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cherryflavoredwords · 1 year ago

Text

I Saw Her For the First Time

I saw her for the first time, and I was lonely for the last time

Pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

Summary: you’re practically the girl of her dreams. it’s a shame her friend saw you first.

Author’s note: HELLO i’m back at it again with pure fluff. i didn’t know exactly how to label this one so i just put modern ellie but it has a little bit of guitarist ellie and also nerdy ellie. hope you like it !

Photo creds: elliesxgun and vamp4r3 on pinterest :)

I stand with Palestine, you should too.

Boycott TLOU | Useful links | DAILY CLICK | Educate yourself

• • • •

ellie was absentmindedly playing a made-up melody on her guitar, softly strumming away as she listened to the conversation her friends were having. lisa, her roomate and vocalist of her band, was telling everyone about the new girl she had been talking to. it was the first time she heard your name.

"she's hot,” was dina's final veredict once she was done scrolling through your profile. she passed the phone to jesse, who immediately agreed.

“i know. she’s really cool and funny but she’s really into comics and fantasy movies and i don’t know shit about that.”

"so, she's a nerd."

"basically, but a pretty one. it’s just that ninety percent of the time i don't know what the hell she's talking about." lisa's complaint was followed by a tired sigh as she threw her head back on the couch. then, she looked to her side, where ellie was. "she reminds me of you, actually."

she instantly frowned, "are you calling me a nerd?"

“i mean…” jesse trailed off before dodging the water bottle ellie threw at him.

"you like all those things, right? maybe you could help me with her."

"help you how, exactly?"

"well, i kinda already told her i like all of what she mentioned so whenever that comes up you'll take over and say whatever makes me look cool."

"what's in it for me?"

ellie sat emotionless as her friend began listing everything she could do for her in exchange for her help, such as deep cleaning the apartment or buying her favorite snacks every day.

she let out a low whistle, “someone's desperate.”

“dude—”

“why can’t you just talk to her about something else?”

“because i already told her i liked all of that stuff! keep up.” lisa rolled her eyes. “tell me if it’s not worth it.” she quickly typed in your instagram username and passed the phone to her.

ellie’s eyes almost widened at the sight of you, but she managed to mask her reaction just in time. she silently scrolled down your instagram profile, clicking on the posts that caught her attention the most.

"so, what do you think?"

"uh, she's alright."

you were more than alright.

"you have such high standards,” dina huffed.

yes, and you apparently met them all.

lisa snatched the phone back from her hands as the group began discussing a new topic; ellie’s picky taste in women, even when they practically threw themselves at her. it had been a while since her friends last saw her on a date or even having a crush.

ellie threw her head back with a groan as she stood up from the couch, “are you going to keep talking about me or are we gonna rehearse?”

their band was a regular on friday nights at one of their town’s most popular bars. over the time they had been playing there, they had gathered an audience of people that went to see them. ellie would hate to disappoint them, or maybe she just hated when the conversation was centered around her.

“i think we’re gonna keep talking about you,” dina joked as she picked up her bass.

once rehearsal was over, lisa practically ran to her phone to check if she had any new messages from you. apparently, she had asked to go on a date next week and you had said yes.

“you’re gonna to have to teach me everything you know,” lisa mumbled to ellie with her eyes glued to the phone as she quickly typed her reply to you.

“great, just how i wanted to spend my free time.”

even though ellie had no real interest in doing that favor to her friend, she stuck to her word. whenever the “nerdy topics”, has lisa had called them, came up, she took over the conversation. that part of the plan wasn’t awful, in fact, ellie secretly enjoyed the moments she got to talk to you, but she had to keep reminding herself that you weren’t actually talking to her, but lisa.

it had been a confusing last couple of days.

“just try to not let those topics come up in the conversation and if they do, just agree with everything she says,” ellie advised lisa, because not even her intensive teaching could help the poor girl to memorize anything. “re-read the conversations i had with her. that could work. especially the one we're having right now."

“you’re trying to sound like me, right?”

“sure, i’m making some spelling mistakes and everything.”

“fuck you,” lisa laughed from the bathroom. “alright, tell her i’m on my way.”

“remember to read the last few messages in case she brings them up.”

“thanks, el. see you later!” and with that, she was out of their shared apartment.

ellie sighed, dramatically plopping down on the couch. she swept her gaze over the living room in hopes to find something to do to keep her mind occupied, but nothing seemed appealing enough. she used her phone for a bit, but she couldn’t fully concentrate on what she was seeing.

after tossing and turning for a while, she ended up falling asleep. it wasn’t until two hours later she was suddenly woken up by lisa’s voice mixed with somebody else’s. the sound of the door shutting closed was what made her fully open her eyes, instantly setting them on the two people that had just entered the apartment.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up,” lisa apologized, but ellie didn’t even acknowledge her. instead, she looked past her friend to the person behind her.

you were standing there, an apologetic and slightly embarrassed look on your face. “i didn’t mean to intrude, i’m sorry.”

ellie sat up straight, her fingers combing through her short hair in an attempt to make herself more presentable. “it’s fine, don’t worry.”

an adorable smile formed on your lips, “you’re ellie, right?”

you didn’t wait for her confirmation and proceeded to introduce yourself while she thought about how crazy it was that you didn’t know how many times you two had already spoken.

ellie remained silent, watching you smile shyly at her. then, she realized she hadn’t said anything in a while and it was probably really weird. “it— it’s really nice to meet you.”

“i’m going to the bathroom, i’ll be right back,” lisa said before gesturing you to take a seat on the couch.

hesitantly, you sat down next to ellie. there was another moment of silence in which you looked at her with uncertainty, fearing she might be uncomfortable with your presence. you didn’t know if it’d be best for you to talk to her or to just wait for lisa to come back, not wanting things to get even more awkward.

when ellie returned one of your quick glances, you decided to say something.

“sorry about coming here without letting you know first. i can’t go home yet, my roommate has a guy over,” you admitted with a grimace.

ellie nodded, laughing softly at the reason you were there. “i don’t mind, really.”

“thanks, anyway,” you grinned.

“so, how’d the date go?”

“uh, good.” your answer wasn’t completely honest, ellie could tell. she narrowed your eyes at you, not wanting to pry but at the same time dying to know.

“are you sure about that?”

“you’re her friend, i can’t gossip about her with you.”

“we’re actually not that close.”

you playfully bumped your shoulder into hers before your eyes set on her for a few seconds. she tilted her head as she returned your gaze, silently trying to convince you to talk.

“i don’t know if you’re very persuasive or if i’m just too weak.”

ellie’s smile widened as you sighed, giving in.

“i had a great time,” you began, searching for the right words to say, “but we didn’t hit it off as well as we did through text.”

“that’s weird.” her mumbled words were followed by an awkward chuckle.

“yeah, i know. don’t get me wrong, though, she’s great, but it felt like i was hanging out with a friend. that spark, i guess, you hope to feel on a first date just wasn’t there.”

ellie nodded as she took your words in. “i’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“oh, it’s fine. we talked about it on the way here. it’s all good. actually, she invited me to see you guys play on friday. you’re the guitarist, right?”

“yeah,” ellie smiled proudly, sitting more comfortably on the couch. “we’re really good. well, you’ll see for yourself. don’t wanna get your expectations too high.”

“it might be a little too late for that,” you replied just as lisa came back.

there was a smile on her lips, she had managed to hear the last bit of the conversation. “we’re great, actually.”

you hummed, “we’ll see.”

“hey, want me to show you the records i was telling you about?”

“can you tell me where the bathroom is, first?”

“sure, it’s the door at the end of the hallway. come to my room afterwards.”

“got it.” you nodded as you stood up from the couch, ellie’s curious eyes following you.

she looked away just in time, because lisa’s gaze fell upon her the moment you were out of sight. “what do you think?”

“she’s cool. plus, she friendzoned you so i gotta give her more points for that.”

“she did not friendzone me!” she protested in a hushed voice. “we friendzoned each other, it was a mutual decision.”

“sure, lis, whatever you say.” ellie went to her room immediately after that, not giving her a chance to defend herself.

she was feeling strangely happy about the outcome of lisa’s date. her friend had always been a player, taking advantage of her ‘rockstar’ status. ellie had done that, too, but lisa loved to be involved with multiple people at the same time. with the short interactions ellie had shared with you, she knew you deserved better than that.

ellie opened her bedroom door as she hummed a melody, not expecting to have company. you were by her bed, closely inspecting one of her action figures. she stood under the doorframe, momentarily frozen at the sight. then, a soft chuckle escaped her lips, alerting you of her presence.

“i’ve been meaning to get this for a while—” you began saying, stopping yourself mid-sentence once you looked up and realized that it was ellie the one standing there and not lisa. “oh, hey. what’s up?”

ellie just smiled as she made her way to her bed under your confused stare. “nothing much,” ellie casually replied as she threw herself on the bed. “just love the comfort of my room, y’know?”

your eyebrows rose slightly, immediately leaving the action figure where you found it, “your room? i’m sorry! there were stickers on the door of lisa’s favorite characters—”

ellie laughed as you kept apologizing. she propped herself onto her elbows, waiting for you to be done with your rambling.

“i promise i didn’t touch anything else.”

“it’s okay, i don’t mind,” ellie answered with a half-smile.

“so, this stuff is all yours?” you asked, sweeping your gaze around the room. it was decorated with a bunch of fantasy movies posters and, on the shelves, there were different book collections as well as many other action figures of, coincidentally, most of your favorite characters.

“uh, yeah.”

“i see…” you hummed before your eyes met hers again.

ellie swallowed hard, her confidence quickly fading away. “lisa and i have practically the same taste,” she was quick to explain, hoping you wouldn’t catch the pathetic quiver on her voice.

“right… okay, i’ll see you friday, then?”

“yeah, see you friday.”

you gave her one last smile before stepping out of her room. it wasn’t until she was alone that she became aware of her racing heart. she laid back on the bed, bringing her hands to her face as she let out a heavy sigh.

that night, ellie fell asleep trying to convince herself that you hadn’t figured out she was behind some of lisa’s texts, that you hadn’t been capable of reading her that well after that short conversation.

ellie woke up the next day ready to avoid thinking about the issue as much as she could, but the universe seemed to conspire against her.

the band was having a break from rehearsal, each of them sprawled around jesse’s garage. ellie had taken her friend’s place behind the drums, absentmindedly playing a beat that faltered when dina brought up your name in a conversation she wasn’t even participating in.

“she’s coming to see us play even after you fucked up the date? woah, maybe i underestimated you.”

“i didn’t fuck up the date.” lisa rolled her eyes.

ellie snickered from her place, “then why were you back at the apartment at, like, 10 p.m?”

“whatever. we both decided it was best for us to stay as friends.”

“i believe you, don’t worry.” jesse gave her a pat on her back before mouthing ‘i don’t’ to ellie and dina, who secretly laughed. “okay, ladies, let’s get back to work. we don’t wanna make ourselves look bad infront of lisa’s new friend, right?”

“yeah, she’s got pretty high expectations,” ellie mentioned as she picked up her guitar. the smile on her face didn’t go unnoticed by her friends.

“you talked to her?”

she looked up at dina’s question, who was staring at her, intrigued. ellie frowned, her guitar pick between her teeth as she tied her hair up in a short, low ponytail.

“yeah, why? i’m not some antisocial freak, y’know?”

“every time i take someone home you lock yourself in your room until they leave,” lisa snorted.

“this time i was caught by surprise. i wasn’t expecting you to come back so early,” ellie chuckled at the last part.

“fuck you, ellie,” lisa complained. “y’know what? let’s just get this over with before i stick this microphone up your—”

“okay, fine, fine. calm down.”

rehearsal went by smoothly with the four of them behaving as profesional as they could, sometimes jesse went off beat to annoy them or ellie would zone out in the middle of a song. still, they had mastered their set and they were definitely ready to play, but there was a deep, strange feeling inside ellie.

it took her a while to figure out she was nervous about the upcoming show. it had been a while since that happened to her, so it was extremely weird for her. the anxiety stayed with her until the following day, and it had actually gotten worse.

ellie ended up going on stage with that horrible feeling still present in the pit of her stomach. she tried to remind herself that it was just another show but, at the same, she knew it wasn’t. knowing you’d be in the audience had definitely affected her, but she didn’t want to look further into what that could possibly mean.

maybe she didn’t come, the thought came to mind in an attempt of calming herself down. perhaps if she repeated it enough she’d fool herself into thinking it was actually true.

she was obviously wrong.

you were there, tapping your fingers against the drink you had ordered. just as you were taking a sip, the lights dimmed and the loud chatter became whispering voices that were soon interrupted by the sound of a guitar.

four spotlights shone brightly on the band and you quickly recognized the other two members you had yet to meet. dina on the bass and jesse on the drums. lisa was at the front, she moved confidently on stage, but your eyes inevitably fell on the girl behind her.

ellie was bobbing her head to the beat of the song, eyes glued to the floor. your mouth opened slightly at the sight, it was hypnotic seeing her play. you inhaled deeply, unable to tear your gaze away from her.

it wasn’t until the ending of the second song ellie first looked up. it was only a quick glance at the crowd, but her eyes coincidentally landed on you, making her do a quick double-take. her eyebrows rose, not expecting to find you so soon.

ellie unconsciously licked her lips as she took you in, trying her best not to mess up the song. she forced herself to look away from you and swept her gaze around the place, searching for anything else to focus on. it was in that moment when a girl waving frenetically at her from the side of the stage caught her eye. she was a regular, friday after friday she’d tried to make ellie look at her for more than five seconds but she never succeeded.

your eyes hadn’t left her, so you had been watching the interaction with immense curiosity. you tried to see who that other girl was, but you lost sight of her. when you looked back at ellie, you met her eyes again. there was an amused, teasing grin on her face, which made you laugh.

ellie played the rest of the set practically on autopilot, because she had her full attention on you. to her, you were the only person on the audience. she was performing for you, proudly showing off her skills and with her nerves long forgotten.

your experience wasn’t much different than hers. to you, ellie was the only member in the band worth watching. not that the others were bad or anything of the sort, but there was just something about ellie that made it hard for you to look away. she was too entrancing. the slight smirk she had while playing, the way her hands looked and the prolonged eye contact that she broke from time to time only to close her eyes and get lost in what she was playing.

your world went silent once they got off stage, even though the sound of the people talking around you was incredibly loud. with your head still buzzing, you decided it was best for you to go outside to get some air.

you didn’t mind how cold the night was. you stayed there for what it seemed to be an eternity, getting too caught up in your own mind to realize it had only been a couple of minutes.

your peace was interrupted with the sound of a notification. it was lisa, asking you where you were. outside, you replied and waited for her to come out.

you didn’t expect her showing up with the rest of the band.

lisa was the first to appear in front of you, the huge smile on her face as she went to hug you caused a smile of your own to form. dina and jesse were next, greeting you with nods of acknowledgment and friendly smiles.

“hey! what’d you think?”

“you guys were great!” the compliment left your lips just as your eyes settled on the person who had stayed behind. “hey, ellie.”

her head shot up at the mention of her name, seemingly surprised you had chosen to address her. “hi,” she said before quickly looking away.

before you had the chance to read into ellie’s awkward response, lisa spoke up, drifting your attention away from the guitarist.

“wanna come to our place? it’s movie night.”

the invitation was definitely tempting, but you weren’t sure if dina and jesse would be okay with it. even ellie could be opposed to it, judging by the way her eyes appeared tone avoiding you at all costs.

“uh, i mean, if you guys are okay with me being there—”

“of course we are, c’mon,” jesse immediately replied, placing an arm around your shoulders. “now, tell me all about how you friendzoned lisa…”

you chuckled lightly as you let him guide you to the car, briefly glancing over your shoulder hoping to meet ellie’s eyes. she didn’t look at you once, which made a feeling of uncertainty creep up onto you.

dina, jesse and lisa were the ones who talked the most during the ride. their lighthearted conversation helped to put yours’ and ellie’s racing minds at ease, at least for a bit.

you were still wondering why ellie was avoiding you so blatantly. you were so incredibly caught up in your own thoughts that you failed to notice the pair of green eyes that were watching you through the rear view mirror.

from her place on the copilot seat, ellie’s gaze flickered from you to lisa before looking back ahead.

she could easily ignore you, right?

once you arrived af the apartment, everyone quickly settled on the couches and browsed different streaming sites in search of a movie to watch and criticize.

“this looks shitty enough, what do you guys think?”

“i already watched that,” ellie spoke up for the first time since you were there.

“you have to much free time on your hands, el. i’m sure not even the actors in it watched it.”

the (already poorly done) plan of trying to act normal in your presence quickly fell apart when the sound of your laugh made her look at you and, oh, how she wished she hadn’t.

“i’ve watched it, too. it is pretty shitty, by the way,” you said, not noticing her stare.

ellie’s lips slightly parted as she looked at yours. the same feeling that had taken over her on stage came back to her and she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from you.

god, she was fucked.

“ellie, go bring some blankets and pillows,” lisa told her from the comfort of the biggest couch, waking her up from her trance.

“why don’t you go?”

“i’m too tired.”

“i can help, if you want,” you offered, your eyes meeting hers for the first time since your awkward interaction outside the bar.

ellie was going to tell you that you didn’t have to, but she accepted your help before her mind could catch up with her mouth. you silently followed her to her room. it was the biggest one, so, therefore, she had the biggest closet where they stored a lot of stuff, including extra blankets and pillows.

“here you go, this is the warmest one.” ellie handed you a blanket. “if lisa tries to take it from you, just tell her to fuck off.”

you chuckled, “got it.”

you took the liberty to look around as she searched for the rest of them. her room was definitely a glimpse of who ellie was, you instantly could tell she was an artsy person combined with a nerdy side. various sketches were laying on her desk, as well as books about astronomy and many, many books about dinosaurs. she had a pile of them stacked on her nightstand.

you walked towards them, leaving the blanket on top of her bed.

“you like dinosaurs?”

well, she couldn’t ignore you when you were alone. that would be just plain rude.

“everybody likes dinosaurs,” she replied, standing on her tiptoes to reach the last pillow. she didn’t know why she had put them so high.

“to this amount?” you picked one of the books and glanced through the pages. ‘The Great Dinosaur Debate’, it read on the cover.

ellie walked over to you, “is it my fault that they’re interesting?”

you looked up from the book, a playful grin on your lips, “you’re a nerd.”

“look who’s talking.”

“how would you know if i’m a nerd?”

“lisa talks.” and we have, too, actually. several times, she completed the sentence inwardly.

you rolled your eyes, “at least i don’t pretend to be cool on stage.”

“i’m not pretending, i am cool. the best of both worlds, right?” she gloated with an arrogant smile.

you left the book back on the pile and grabbed another one, “you know, i’ve always wanted to learn more about dinosaurs. maybe learn from someone who knows a lot would be nice,” you casually mentioned, hoping ellie would take the hint.

“oh, i have a lot of books i could lend you. these guys know everything.”

she didn’t.

you tilted your head to the side, unable to erase the smile off your face. it was difficult to believe the ellie standing in front you was the same ellie who was on stage an hour ago.

“sure, i’d love that.” with that, you grabbed the blanket ellie had given you and a bunch of pillows and went back to the living room. ellie followed you closely, throwing each of her friends a blanket.

they had finally decided on a movie, so once you and ellie were back they pressed play.

it was a cheap movie about the end of the world and the actors were almost as bad as the special effects. ellie would‘ve found it hilarious if she had been able to focus on it.

you were sitting on the floor with your back against the couch, wrapped up in the blanket she had given you. from where she was, ellie had a perfect view of your side-profile and, even though she felt like a creep, she couldn’t help her gaze from falling on you. especially when you laughed at her friend’s jokes or chimed in with one of your one.

it was practically torture.

once the movie ended, she felt like she could finally breathe again. dina turned the lights back on and, naturally, the first thing ellie did was look at you. it surprised her to find that you were already looking at her.

“i thought you had fallen asleep. you didn’t talk once.”

“i was just too caught up in the movie.” she averted her gaze from you to her shoes, knowing damn well she couldn’t tell you what the hell the movie was about.

unaware of her white lie, you nodded as you continued folding the blankets everyone had left on the couch. “want me to help you take these back to your room?”

“uh, yeah— yes. sure, let’s go,” ellie pathetically tripped over her words before leading the way.

you followed closely, your mouth curving into a small smile at her answer.

silence enveloped the two of you when you entered her bedroom for the second time. you handed her the neatly folded blankets and watched as she stored them.

“i didn’t get a chance to tell you how well you played tonight,” you spoke up, making her glance back at you for a second.

“you think?” she smiled before putting away the last blanket.

you hummed, “couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

ellie’s heart skipped a beat at the memory of your eyes following her every move. it was a miracle she had her back facing you and you didn’t witness the way an obvious flush spread across her face. “i take it i exceeded your expectations, then?”

“yeah, absolutely.”

sending you a coy smile, she clasped her hands together behind her back. “told you so,” she said as she walked past you.

you went back to the living room, where you found the rest of the group vivaciously talking about something that, apparently, didn’t concern you or ellie by the way they went quiet when they saw you two approach.

“guys? i think i’m gonna go. it’s getting pretty late—”

“ellie will drive you home,” jesse quickly said, making the aforementioned look up at him, disoriented.

“huh?”

“yeah?” you looked at her, lips pulling into a small smile.

who could say no to that face?

jesse threw ellie the car keys, mouthing ‘you’re welcome’ while you hugged dina and lisa goodbye. she frowned, silently inquiring what did he mean by that before setting her gaze on you.

“you ready?” ellie asked from the doorframe, waiting for you.

the cold breeze from the night hit the both of you the moment you stepped outside. given how late it was, the neighborhood was deadly quiet. the only thing interrupting the silence was the sound of your footsteps.

ellie held the passenger’s door open for you and gifted you a smile when you thanked her, slightly touching her arm. she let out a shaky breath before getting in the car herself.

after giving her your adress, she started driving in silence. her knuckles were turning white due to the tight grip she had on the wheel.

trying to be as discreet as possible, ellie glanced at you from the corner of her eyes but, once again, she met your gaze.

“what?” she couldn’t help but ask, a smile slowly forming on her lips.

you laughed softly, taking your eyes off her and looking down at your fidgeting hands. “oh, nothing.”

“right…” ellie set her eyes back on the road as she turned on the radio.

the quietness of the night got interrupted by the sound of ‘i want to know what love is’ by foreigner. both of you instantly looked at each other when you recognized the song and burst out laughing.

“woah, setting the mood?”

it surprised you when her sheepish tone changed into a slight teasing one, matching yours, “i don’t know, is it working?”

“maybe, maybe.”

the laughter gradually quieted down, letting the cheesy song’s chorus fill the silence. you shot ellie a quick glance, smiling to yourself as you listen to the lyrics.

“it is great song, though,” you commented.

“classic,” ellie added, eyes on the road.

“absolutely.”

you arrived at your place not much longer after that, since your building wasn’t that far away from hers. ellie turned off the engine and looked at you just as you turned your head to her.

“thank you for driving me and for giving me the warmest blanket. especially for the blanket.”

“you’re welcome.” the smile that ellie sent you back was a little too sweet for you to be able to function properly.

you forced yourself to look away from her, not wanting to look like a creep. unfortunately, you appeared to be destined to embarrass yourself that night one way or another. when you tried to unbuckle your seatbelt, it got stuck. you struggled in silence for a bit before giving up and looking at ellie, who had obviously noticed what was going on and was staring at you amusedly.

ellie leaned over, laughing softly at your helpless expression. “i told jesse a million times to sell this piece of crap and buy a new car,” she murmured, shaking her head.

she was close, way too close. your eyes automatically placed on her, as they always seemed to do ever since you met her. a small smile appeared on your lips when you heard her mutter a series of curses under her breath.

“there.” she returned to her seat, giving you the space you needed to regulate your breathing but, at the same time, the space you didn’t want. you happened to like having her close.

“thank you,” you grinned, but your smile faltered a little when you realized that you had to leave. maybe you were being overly dramatic, but you didn’t know when you were going to see her again, so you couldn’t help but feel disappointed that the night had come to an end. “see you around, ellie. thank you for driving me.”

“see you.” her voice was barely above a whisper.

ellie waited for you to be inside your building before leaving. you waved at her one last time, making a smile appear on her lips.

she didn’t put on music on the drive back home. it was just her alone with her thoughts. it was funny, they all seemed to revolve around you.

she went to sleep that night feeling guilty. it wasn’t right for her to be thinking about you that way. it didn’t matter it hadn’t worked out, lisa had liked you first. you were off-limits.

so the world kept spinning, time kept passing, life kept going, and ellie kept trying to forget about you. it wasn’t an easy task, since you had managed to infiltrate even her most random dreams. if that weren’t enough, you started hanging out with the group more often. jesse and dina had both taken a liking in you, too. she obviously couldn’t blame them.

ellie started making up excuses to miss said hangouts, which made her feel bad but she figured some time away from you would help dissolve whatever feelings were brewing inside of her.

she considered she was doing a pretty decent job, but that was until she ran into you on the street.

“ellie!”

you looked as radiant as always, maybe even more since your beauty seemed to be heightened by the fact she had tried so hard to forget about it. it hit her harder than she imagined.

“hey! uh, what’s up?” her reply came out in pathetic stutters, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“oh, nothing. just on my way home. doing some grocery shopping?” you pointed at the bags ellie was holding, to which she nodded.

“yeah, yeah. we were out of sugar n’ stuff.”

“i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever. you missed movie night at dina’s.”

“yeah, i know. i’ve been busy.”

the hectic sounds of the crowded street didn’t hide the fact that a deafening silence followed ellie’s short answer. you stood there, waiting for her to say something else, or even look you in the eyes.

“listen, um, i gotta go. i’m late for… something. see you around?”

stunned, you watched as she hurriedly walked past you. you tried to make sense of what had just happened, trying to recall if you could have possible done something to upset her, but nothing came to mind.

ellie turned around the corner cringing at her own behavior. she felt awful and spent the entire walk home trying to shake off the embarrassment.

lisa, who was already at the apartment, curiously observed her friend as she helped her put away everything she had bought.

“you okay, dude?” she asked her once she caught ellie staring a little too long at the wall.

“yeah, why?”

“are you sure? you’ve been acting weird lately.”

she sighed, “i’m good, i swear.”

“really? because a little bird told me you seemed off today.”

ellie shot her friend a glance, knowing that little bird was you. “oh. yeah, about that…”

what was she supposed to say? that she practically ran away from you because she couldn’t handle being around you without feeling fucking butterflies in her stomach and that it made her feel terribly guilty and the same time it scared the shit out of her?

“it’s nothing, lisa. i was just in a hurry—”

“do you have a problem with her or something?”

“what? no, of course not.”

“then why do you keep running away from her? you never hang out with us when she’s there.”

“i already told you it’s nothing.”

“we honestly thought you liked her. maybe we’ve been wrong this entire time?” she asked more to herself than to ellie.

ellie let out an awkward chuckle, “i do. she’s cool. why wouldn’t i like her?”

“no, me and the guys had this theory. we thought you liked her as in like her, as more than friends.”

ellie averted her gaze from lisa to the floor, “what?” she asked in a high-pitched voice. “no, i don’t.”

“oh my god, i knew it. you were so making eyes at each other when she came to see us play—”

“we weren’t—”

“—then, i told the others and they noticed the same thing. that’s why jesse told you to drive her home.”

suddenly, her friend’s behavior started making sense and she could not be more mortified. had she been that obvious?

“y’know, she asks me about you all the time, then she plays it off by asking about dina and jesse too, but i know she doesn’t really care about them.”

ellie’s stomach fluttered at the new information, but she shook her head. “that doesn’t mean anything.”

“is that why you’re acting weird? you like her but you don’t think she feels the same? cause let me tell you, she obviously does,” lisa told her, searching to meet her eyes. seeing ellie stayed silent, she spoke up again. “i don’t mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“lisa…”

“ellie…” she mocked her, unable to hide her amused smile. “so that’s what happened? you were worried i’d get mad if you liked her?”

ellie nodded, finally looking at her. “i felt bad.”

“aw, aren’t you a big ol’ softie underneath that permanent scowl?” lisa laughed, making ellie roll her eyes. “if i knew that was the thing holding you back i would’ve told you to go for it a long time ago. i just didn’t want to pressure you, i know you don’t like to talk about that stuff.”

“it’s not the only thing that’s holding me back,” ellie mumbled as she scratched the back of her neck, gaze cast downward.

“ellie she likes you, i mean it. when we were on stage she didn’t look at the rest of us once. not even when i fell, she probably didn’t even notice.”

“you fell?”

“exactly. you two were in your own little world. it’s cute, actually. so, if you’re really interested, ask her out.”

it was painfully obvious how interested ellie was but, even with lisa’s blessing and words of reassurance, she wasn’t entirely convinced you liked her back. there was the possibility you were too nice, that’s all. so, she decided to do something she never thought she’d do.

ellie left it to the hands of fate.

no matter the outcome, the universe would send some kind of signal if she should ask you out. what she didn’t expect, was that the universe would act so quickly.

only two days passed before ellie saw you again.

for some reason, she had decided to walk home after band practice. she was too caught up in her own world to notice anything happening around her, but the sound of a familiar voice snapped her back to reality.

you were talking to a dog that seemed to be attentively listening as if he understood what you were saying. “you can’t pee on strangers. or anyone, for that matter.”

a short, soft laugh escaped her lips at the situation. ellie put her hands in her pockets, a wave of nerves suddenly washing over her at hesitation grew within her. letting out a small sigh, she gathered all her courage and straightened her back. ellie began approaching you with a determined look on her face.

“hey.”

your head shot up, the corners of your lips tugging up in a smile as soon as you saw who it was. “ellie, hi!”

the dog beside you immediately jumped at her, attacking her with several kisses as his tail moved at an impossibly fast speed. ellie chuckled as she kneeled down to pet him.

“oh, i’m sorry!”

“it’s okay, i don’t mind.”

“he must really like you. he doesn’t let strangers pet him.”

“yeah?” ellie smiled up at you before returning her gaze to the dog in front of her.

eh, not really. he’s actually the friendliest dog to ever grace the earth but you’re pretty and you make me nervous. “yeah,” you grinned.

“what’s his name?”

“chip. he’s my niece’s, actually. i’m just talking him for a walk while she’s at school,” you explained, trying not to look to affected by her presence. it was hard.

ellie hummed, deep in thought. suddenly, she looked up at you again, “want some company?”

her question took you by surprise, especially after your last encounter. “uh, yes, i’d like that.”

the two of you began walking at a slow pace, sometimes stopping to wait for chip who got distracted by something that caught his attention. ellie asked how your day was going, and once you were done telling her you asked how hers was. it was a calm conversation, the total opposite of how you two were feeling inside.

“i wanted to apologize for leaving so quick the other day.”

“oh, you don’t have to. it’s fine, really.”

“no, it’s not. i’m sorry, it’s just— um, have you talked to lisa?”

you glanced at her, “not recently, why? did something happen?”

“no, no. i was just wondering.”

“you were wondering because…?”

ellie chuckled awkwardly, realizing what she had gotten herself into. she could play dumb and avoid the conversation, but that would be not listening to the universe and that would be a very dumb thing to do, wouldn’t it?

“you’re just friends, right?”

you gave her another quick side-eyed glance, “yes, why?”

“you don’t like her that way and she doesn’t like you that way either, right?”

you let out a short laugh, “yes, ellie. our date wasn’t what we expected so we decided to just stay friends. i already told you that.”

“then let me show you how it’s done.”

you whipped your head around and stared at her as your surprised expression began to morph into a giddy grin. “what?”

“let me take you on a proper date. are you free tomorrow?”

“really?”

“if— if you want, of course.”

in that moment, ellie knew she had made the right choice and internally thanked the universe for pushing her to do so. the way your face lit up at her words was priceless, and it was also a sign that you were as interested in her as she was in you.

you gleefully accepted her request with a warm smile, one that almost knocked the air out of ellie. she promised to text you so she could tell you the details, and she stuck to her word because once you arrived home there was a message from her waiting for you.

you began texting right away. more precisely, you sent hundreds of voicenotes throughout the day and she happily listened to them, replying with an equal amount of texts and lame reaction pictures (which you loved).

“you’re okay with this, right?” ellie asked lisa for the hundredth time as she was about to leave for your date.

her friend, who was sitting comfortably on their couch, rolled her eyes for the hundredth time, too. “ellie, i swear to god if you ask me again—”

“alright! alright.”

“have fun, dork.”

“yeah, yeah,” she muttered as she grabbed the keys to jesse’s car, who had kindly let her borrow it for the date. “don’t wait up, i know how to keep a girl entertained.”

“fuck you!” ellie heard lisa say before she closed the door behind her. she went snickering to herself the whole way to the car, but soon her cockiness evaporated and, instead, a feeling of uncertainty replaced it.

she began second guessing every decision she made the closer she got to your house. was her outfit nice? was her hair okay? was the bouquet of flowers too much? was the date idea she had planned the most nerdy thing ever thought? the answer to that last question was probably, but there was no time to change it, she was already waiting for you outside.

she shuffled her feet as she moved from side to side, her grip on the stems of the flowers tightening. once she heard someone coming, her head shot up. her lips instantly curved into a smile when she saw you. you had the biggest grin on your face as you approached her. ellie’s smile widened even more when she noticed what you had on your hands.

flowers.

“we’re too cheesy, aren’t we?” you scrunched up your nose, slightly tilting your head to the side as ellie laughed. you proceeded to exchange bouquets, your fingers briefly brushing hers. “these are beautiful, thank you.” the compliment left your lips in a tone so sweet it had ellie melting. “alright, should we go?”

“you’re not gonna leave them to put them in water or something?”

“that’s for when i get back. i wanna show them off first. unless the super secret date location isn’t flower-friendly?”

“oh, no, you can take them. it’ll be fine.”

ellie’s chosen date destination was the museum. it was nerdy but, fortunately for her, you were thrilled once you found out. you kept telling her how excited you were while you waited in line, swinging the flowers around as you gesticulated.

there was a small smile on her lips as she attentively listened to you talk about your first experience in a museum and how you’ve always wanted to go to one again, but never got around to it.

it was strange to think about when ellie first saw you in a picture. you caught her attention right away. now, you were in front of her, gifting her your presence and your kind smiles.

everything was going great, but the constant reminder that she wasn’t being completely honest with you caused a persistent feeling of guilt to set on the pit of her stomach.

“i have to tell you something,” ellie said after a moment of silence.

your eyebrows instantly scrunched together at her tone. “everything okay?”

“you said lisa seemed different in person than through text. she probably knew nothing about the movies and characters she said to like when you talked about it on your date, right? well, that’s because it was actually me behind those texts. just when those topics came out, you know, it wasn’t me always. so, basically, i feel really bad about not telling you sooner. you probably think this is weird, right?” ellie let out an awkward chuckle after her (way too long) rambling.

you stared at her in silence, processsing the great amount of information she had given you in just five seconds. suddenly, you laughed.

“it really threw me off when lisa said she loved anakin and legolas’ friendship. then i saw your room. i knew something was fishy, though i never would’ve have guessed i actually talked to you and you weren’t just telling her what to say.”

ellie hid her face behind her hands, laughing at lisa’s huge mistake. “i can’t believe she got aragorn and anakin mixed up.”

you chuckled, “yeah, and that wasn’t the worst one.”

“oh my god,” she groaned. “wait, so, you knew?”

“kind of. i didn’t ask lisa about it because i didn’t want her to be embarrassed or anything, so i just assumed something like that had happened.”

“and you’re not mad?”

“i wouldn’t be here if that were the case, but thank you for telling me,” you said, smiling sweetly at her and reaching for her hand to give her a quick little squeeze. “c’mon, we’re holding the line.”

much to ellie’s dismay, your hand slipped away from hers. she couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed at how brief the contact had been. still, having told you the whole truth, ellie was practically floating behind you.

“by the way, i wanted to tell you something, too,” you started, making her look into your eyes. “going on dates with two different people in such a short time is not like me, y’know? especially if those people are friends.”

“okay…”

“i just don’t want you to get the wrong idea of me.”

“what, that you’re homie hopper?”

“ellie!” you laughed in disbelief.

“i’m kidding,” she playfully rolled her eyes. you watched as her teasing smirk turned into a soft smile.

ellie had never been an affectionate person. in fact, having someone constantly touching her wasn’t something she craved and seeing couples that were too into public displays of affection made her sick. then, she met you.

standing so close to you was torture. every fiber of her being screamed to get closer and, for the first time, she initiated contact. seeing you two were next in line, she took that opportunity to grab your hand and lead you into the museum. she didn’t turn around to see your reaction, but she didn’t have to. you squeezed her hand and intertwined your fingers, indicating that you wouldn’t let go.

you walked side by side at an unhurried pace, taking the time to soak in everything you saw. the rest of the world could have disappeared and neither of you would have cared. in that moment, all that existed were each other and the hushed conversations you shared. the both of you were so caught up in your own little bubble that often forgot there were people around and you had to apologize every time you laughed a little too loud.

ellie knew a lot about everything, you were in complete awe of her. you were certain you could listen to her tell you a million random facts and never get tired of it. the best part was when you finally reached the section where everything dinosaur-related was displayed.

“you said you wanted to learn about them, didn’t you?” she asked with a playful smirk. “you still have time to want to take it back, because i will not be able to shut up once i start.”

you shook your head, smiling fondly at her. “i will listen to every word.”

and you did. sometimes you asked her questions, leading her to talk even more than she intended. it worried her that you could get annoyed, but she could see the genuine interest in your eyes whenever she looked at you.

time flew by much faster than you would’ve wanted. many conversations were shared throughout the whole date. some were meaningful and some weren’t, but each and every one of them would stay engraved in each other’s memories.

you would always remember ellie’s biggest regret, her favorite candy, the first time she fell in love, the age she learned how to ride a bike and how much she hated reality shows.

she would always remember the first time someone broke your heart, that you preferred tea over coffee, your favorite cartoon growing up and your irrational fear of mannequins.

both of you would always remember the comfortable silences you shared during the art section and the way both of you giggled whenever you caught each other’s eyes.

now, standing outside of your building under a starry sky, you already felt nostalgic about a night that wasn’t even technically over yet.

“thank you for today. it totally exceeded my expectations, and they were really, really high, by the way.”

“yeah?” ellie smiled widely before biting down her bottom lip.

“yeah.” you nod, grinning. “i had a lot of fun.”

“me too.”

you kept staring at each other, unable to erase the dumb smiles off your lips.

“did i score a second date?”

“you even scored a third one.”

ellie laughed at your answer, momentarily looking down at her shoes. when she met your gaze again, she felt time slowing as well as her breath. you were the one who took the first step, quite literally, standing closer to her whilst she seemed to be completely still.

your eyes met for a brief moment before you finally closed the gap between you and enveloped you two on a very eagerly awaited kiss. the contact made ellie come back to her senses and she reacted almost instantly, making you smile against her.

you had been waiting for that moment to come since beginning of the night and, yet, you still weren’t ready for the way it made you feel. it was overwhelming, in the best way possible.

“i’d invite you over but, unfortunately for you, i’m a lady,” you murmured as your fingers intertwined on the back of her head, the bouquet of flowers hanging upside down on her back.

ellie grinned against your lips before giving you one final kiss. “goodnight.”

you had said your goodbyes. the next step was for ellie to leave, but she found herself glued to the floor. your soft smile quickly became a teasing smirk when you realized she had no intention to move.

“did you forget how to walk?”

her next move pleasantly surprised you. she raised one of her hands to the back of your neck and pulled gently to draw you into another kiss. it felt so natural, so right.

“i think it’s time for our second date,” she mumbled, smiling dazedly.

“now?”

she was still so close.

“please.”

you weren’t sure how it was possible for you to hear her whispering voice over the loud beating of your heart.

“let’s just— let’s drive around and see where we end up.”

you grinned, immediately nodding at her proposal.

who could say no to that face?

#ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams au

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trippiexlove · 2 months ago

Text

Story Masterlist

Main Masterlist - if you would like to be added to my tag list comment below. Have a request? Click on this link to drop it ☺️ ENJOY!

Ch. 1

Evren sank into the chair at the nurses' station, a sigh of pure relief escaping her lips. The recent code and relentless rounds had left her legs aching, the last few hours a blur of constant motion. "I feel like I've been run over by a truck," she admitted, leaning her head back against the chair, her eyes briefly closing. "Nonstop for a week. I'm counting down the seconds to my days off. I swear, my feet are going to stage a rebellion."

Zahria, crunching on chips beside her, chuckled, offering the bag. "Girl, you look like it too. But tonight, we're changing that. We going outside!"

"Tonight?" Evren's eyes widened, a flicker of dread mixing with exhaustion. "Zahria, I'm exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open." She rubbed her temples, trying to ward off a headache.

"It's Friday!" Zahria countered, as if that explained everything. "Besides, you get off in a few hours. Enough time for a power nap. Maybe even a quick shower to wash off the hospital smell. We haven't had a proper girls' night in ages. We're overdue for some good food, and drinks."

Evren groaned, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite her weariness. "You make it sound good, that's torture."

"Oh, it will be," Zahria said, her eyes twinkling, "but the fun kind. The kind you'll thank me for tomorrow, even if you're regretting it tonight." She paused, then added, "Besides, you've been cooped up in here. You need to see the outside world."

Evren sighed, knowing resistance was futile. "I don't suppose I have a say in this?"

Zahria grinned, shaking her head. "Nope. Be ready by ten. I'll even pick you up, so you don't have to worry about driving."

Evren nodded, a small sense of anticipation starting to bubble up despite her exhaustion. "Fine, fine. But if I fall asleep in the club, you're carrying me home."

"Deal," Zahria said, bumping her shoulder playfully. Just then, the intercom crackled to life, the familiar tone cutting through the quiet. "Nurse Smith, paging Nurse Smith. Code blue, Room 310."

Evren groaned, pushing herself to her feet with a weary sigh. "Ugh, fuck they always call me." She gave Zahria a resigned look. "Save me some chips, will you? I'll need the energy." With a final, heavy sigh, she turned and hurried towards the room, the brief respite already forgotten, replaced by the adrenaline of another emergency.

Finally, Evren clocked out, the weight of the long shift lifting from her shoulders. She gave a cheerful wave to her departing coworkers, Zahria falling into step beside her. "Seriously, Ren," Zahria emphasized, pointing a finger, "be ready by ten."

Evren rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't worry, I'll be there." She slid into her car, the familiar comfort of her favorite music filling the space as she pulled away from the hospital.

The drive home was short, and Evren wasted no time. A quick, hot shower washed away the last vestiges of the day, followed by a change into comfortable shorts and an oversized shirt. She sank into the soft embrace of her bed, plugging her phone into the charger. Setting an alarm to ensure she wouldn't miss her night out, she closed her eyes, and sleep claimed her almost instantly.

Beep. Beep. Beep-

The insistent beeping of her alarm sliced through the quiet of her bedroom. Evren reached for her phone, silencing the noise with a groan. A quick glance at the screen revealed the time: 8:30 PM.

She lingered in bed for a few more moments, savoring the lingering warmth, before finally pushing herself up. A quick trip to the bathroom followed, where she brushed her teeth and splashed cool water on her face, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep. After a swift application of lotion, she moved to her closet.

Deciding on an outfit was surprisingly easy. She slipped into her chosen ensemble, then settled at her vanity to revitalize her curls. Just as she finished, her phone rang, displaying Zahria's FaceTime call.

"Hey, I'll be there in ten minutes," Zahria announced, her image filling the screen from inside her car.

"Okay, I'll unlock the door," Evren replied, ending the call and switching to her security app. She unlocked the front door just as she finished the last curl, hearing the telltale sound of the door opening, followed by footsteps ascending the stairs.

Zahria breezed into her room, a vibrant dress accentuating her figure. "Damn, girl, you look incredible!" Evren returned the compliment with a wide smile, her own outfit catching Zahria's eye.

"You're not so bad yourself mamas," Zahria quipped. "Ready?"

Evren nodded, grabbing her purse and adding a few final touches of jewelry. They headed downstairs, the anticipation of the night ahead buzzing between them, and climbed into Zahria's car, pulling away from the curb.

The girls were five shots deep, lost in the rhythm of the music and each other's company. Throughout the night, a parade of men had approached them, but Evren turned each one away, an inexplicable sense of unease clinging to her. The air felt thick with unwanted attention, and she just wanted to enjoy her night with Zahria.

She was at the bar, ordering another round, hoping the next shot would finally loosen the tension in her shoulders, when a man sidled up, invading her personal space. The scent of cheap Hennessy wafted from him, a cloying, unwelcome presence as he leaned in close. "Who left your fine ass sitting here alone ma?"

Evren recoiled slightly, her lip curling into a polite but firm line. "I'm not alone, thank you." She turned away, dismissing him with a subtle shift of her body.

"Aw, come on, baby. Let me buy you a drink." He persisted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver of discomfort down her spine.

Irritation flared, a hot, prickly sensation. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't need a drink." She kept her voice even, but the edge was unmistakable.

She rolled her eyes, turning to the bartender, who slid her shots across the counter, a knowing look in his eyes. He'd seen this dance before. Evren gave a subtle nod, grabbed the drinks, and walked away, leaving the persistent man at the bar, his expression a mix of annoyance and wounded pride.

Back with Zahria, she handed her a shot. "That took forever," Zahria said, throwing back the drink, the burn barely registering against the alcohol already in her system.

"Some creep wouldn't take no for an answer," Evren said, rolling her eyes, the frustration still simmering. "Thank God the bartender intervened."

Zahria shook her head in agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the all-too-familiar scenario. They danced to a few more songs, letting the music wash over them, but Evren couldn't shake the lingering unease. She decided to head to the restroom, hoping a moment of solitude would clear her head. Upon exiting, she collided with something solid.

It was the same man. "Hey, beautiful, miss me?" His voice was laced with a predatory smirk that made her skin crawl.

Evren groaned, attempting to sidestep him. He grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly strong, pulling her back. "Damn, baby, I'm just trying to talk to you."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd get your damn hands off me," she said, her voice tight, trying to yank her arm free. His grip tightened, a silent threat.

"Why you gotta be such a bitch?" he snarled, his eyes flashing with anger. He shoved her against the wall, the impact stealing her breath and sending a jolt of pain through her back. "Mothafuckas' can't do shit nice because of stuck-up bitches like you." He pinned her shoulders against the wall, his face inches from hers.

"Let me the fu—"

A deep, resonant voice cut through the tension, a low growl that demanded attention. "Aye, I think you might wanna listen to what she's saying and let her go, uce."

They both turned to see a tall man with a low-cut fade, face and neck covered in striking, intricate tattoos. He radiated an intimidating presence, a silent promise of violence. The man holding Evren scoffed. "Mind your business. This ain't got nothing to do with you."

The tattooed man chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through the hallway. "I don't like repeatin' myself, so I'll say it again." He slowly advanced, each word punctuated by a deliberate step. "Let her go."

The man released Evren's shoulders, turning to face the stranger, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "This ain't non—" A swift, brutal punch silenced him, the crack of bone echoing through the hallway, followed by a sickening thud as he hit the ground.

Evren stood, wide-eyed, adrenaline coursing through her veins, shifting her gaze from the man crumpled on the floor to the stranger. He rubbed his knuckles, then looked at her, his eyes dark and intense. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good, thanks," Evren stammered, her voice barely a whisper, waiting for a name, a label for her rescuer.

"Zilla." He extended a hand, and Evren shook it, her fingers trembling slightly.

"Thank you, Zilla." She smiled weakly, a flicker of gratitude warring with the lingering fear. She glanced down at the groaning man on the floor, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.

"Don't worry bout him. Go enjoy yo' night." Zilla's voice was firm, reassuring. Evren nodded, casting one last look before returning to Zahria, her steps unsteady.

"I'm ready to go," she announced as soon as she reached her friend, her voice strained.

"You okay?" Zahria asked, her brow furrowed, her eyes searching Evren's face.

Evren nodded slightly, the image of Zilla's swift, brutal action still vivid in her mind. "Long story. I'm just tired. Really tired." Zahria nodded, sensing the unspoken tension, and they left the club, the music fading into a dull throb.

Back at Evren's, she turned to Zahria as they pulled into the driveway, the silence in the car heavy. "You staying the night?"

Zahria playfully clicked her tongue, removing the keys from the ignition. "Girl, I was going to do that anyway. And we're talking about this."

They went inside, Evren handing Zahria some pajamas before they settled on the couch. Evren began to explain what had happened, leaving out no details.

Evren was the first to wake, her stomach growling with a fierce hunger. She dragged herself out of bed, the remnants of sleep clinging to her, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

A simple, hearty breakfast was in order: pancakes, eggs, and sausage. She set to work, the familiar rhythm of cooking a comforting balm. Just as she finished, Zahria sauntered into the kitchen, her hair a chaotic halo around her sleepy face.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Evren joked, sliding a plate in front of her.

"Ha ha, very funny. I feel like death warmed over," Zahria groaned, gingerly touching her temple.

"We only had six shots," Evren chuckled, watching her friend settle into a chair.

"Don't forget the extra drinks," Zahria countered, taking a bite of food. She chewed thoughtfully, then continued, "Last night was actually fun. We should go out more often."

"I agree," Evren said, a shadow crossing her face, "but not if we're going to deal with creeps who don't understand the word 'no.'"

"What happened?" Zahria asked, her voice laced with concern, her fork pausing mid-air.

Evren recounted the events of the previous night, from the persistent man at the bar to the encounter in the hallway. "While he was grabbing me, this other guy showed up. They squared off, and then he just punched him hard in the jaw."

"Damn, he had some nerve," Zahria said, shaking her head, her irritation palpable. "Did you get the guy's name?"

"He said it was Zilla."

"You should've gotten his number," Zahria said, a playful glint in her eyes. Evren raised an eyebrow. "Girl, what?"

"Just because he helped me doesn't mean I had to give him my number," Evren shrugged. "Besides, most of the guys around here are just a waste of time."

"Girl, at this point, you need to get on Tinder, Hinge, hell, maybe even one of those inmate lookup sites and find someone there," Zahria teased.

Evren nearly choked on her coffee, turning to Zahria with wide eyes, which only made Zahria burst into laughter.

"That's not funny, Zah," Evren said, narrowing her eyes. "The hell do I look like, searching for someone in jail?"

"Ren, you need to do something," Zahria insisted, her laughter subsiding. "You need some new... energy in your life. Someone needs to, shall we say, renovate those walls."

Evren buried her face in her hands, shaking her head in disbelief, deciding to ignore Zahria's outrageous suggestions.

A few days later, Evren luxuriated in her much-needed day off, sprawled across her bed, engrossed in the latest drama of Love Island. Despite the escapism the show provided, her recent conversation with Zahria kept resurfacing in her mind, an insistent little thought she tried to brush aside.

She shook her head, attempting to banish the idea, but a persistent curiosity gnawed at her. With a sigh of resignation, she reached for her iPad, which lay within arm's reach, and opened Safari. "What the hell do I even search?" she muttered, tapping the screen, finally typing Inmate Penpal Georgia.

The search results yielded a variety of websites, and she clicked on the first one, scrolling through the profiles with a strange mix of intrigue and apprehension. Each inmate's story was a glimpse into a world she knew little about.

Her scrolling halted abruptly when one profile caught her eye.

Joshua Fatu, Inmate #1759

Sentence: 15 years

Charges: [redacted]

Despite the redacted charges, an undeniable magnetism radiated from his photo. She couldn't deny he was strikingly attractive. Hesitantly, she clicked the Write Now button, the blank message field staring back at her, a daunting expanse. What should she say? A simple introduction? A bold question about his circumstances?

"Just write something," she breathed, and began to type. Words flowed surprisingly easily, forming a message that felt both casual and sincere. She paused, reading it over before committing to send:

Hi, Please excuse me if this message sounds awkward or a little all over the place. This is definitely outside my comfort zone. I guess I'll start with introductions. My name is Evren, but everyone calls me Ren. I'm 27 and live in Georgia, though I'm originally from Nevada. I won't bore you with clichés, but I hope to hear from you soon. - xo, Ren

Her finger hovered over the Send button for a moment, a flicker of hesitation before she pressed it, sealing her fate. She closed her iPad, placing it on the nightstand, a strange mix of excitement and disbelief swirling within her. She couldn't quite believe she'd just sent a message to someone in prison. Now, all she could do was wait.

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foreverisntenough · 4 months ago

Text

‘Aperture’

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

Chapter Index:

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

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, 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 - After After Party

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

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jamsterrr · 10 months ago

Text

N. RIKI . . . MY BIGGEST HEADACHE ⭑.ᐟ

ni-ki. manager. headache proned. annoyance. teasing. “ just because you’re the assiastant doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do “. dickhead.

description. you grew up with your older brother heeseung playing basketball, so you knew much more than the next girl. but being the captain’s assistant isn’t easy when your your brothers annoying friend is apart of the team. when you get stuck riding with him on the way home. how will you do?

words : 2.8k

ni-ki x female!reader

contains. ‼️ ; sap , slight making out , tongue kissing ( ?? ) , cursing. ( let me know if i missed anything ! )

WARNING. : everything is fictional! and this is not how any of the enhypen members are at all! this is purely for fun and entertainment <3

part 1: my biggest headache | part 2: mbh: bet chapter

link to my masterlist . . . !

don’t take this serious. this is just a fanfic. tbh.. idk what this is.. i’m not even going to lie.. this kind of sucks.. and I feel like i should’ve named it something different but idk. it seemed to fit??! sorry if it’s so sappy, I was trying to at least get something out to you guys! 🥺 sorry it took me so long to put something out. i was sick for like the whole first week of august and i have a lot of stuff going on. but i have so many good drabbles! stay tuned <3 ( heeseung , jake , sunghoon drabbles soon ehehe )

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

You were fairly a good student. You didn't do much outside of school but volunteer stuff, and that's probably how you ended up here in the first place. At the gym at 6:00 on a Friday, watching the team you helped coach, score each time from the other team. You had been ripping and running all day. You were tired, hungry, dehydrated and felt like you smelt like the bottom of Shrek's ass.

Your eyes were bouncing all over the court, landing on your brother Lee Heeseung, captain of the basketball team. Since you could remember, he was always teaching you something about basketball. At a young age you came to love it. It was something you both held dear to your hearts and something you bonded over. You would've joined if your school had a girls basketball team, but no one was interested. Accompanying your brother on the courts were his closest and best friends, some you came to adore and know.

Others... not so much.

They were Jake Sim. His longest friend. Park Sunghoon. Typically, the quietest one. Park Jongseong. But people called him Jay. And Nishimura Riki. But he went by the name Ni-ki. He was by far the most annoying. Maybe it's because he was the closest to your age. Or maybe it was the way that he didn't listen to anything you said, no matter what it was. You could hand him a water bottle in the hot sun, and he wouldn't take it.

That happened. Literally last weekend.

Each time it was the same thing. He wouldn’t comply with you, he’s always knock you down during practice, though you weren’t scared to try and do it back, though his height advantage beat you sometimes.

You tried to keep your cool. For your sake.

Regardless, you always tried to be nice to him, over and over. Chance after chance. But your patience was running thin. During the remainder of the first half of the game, you continued to watch, seeing the score for your team go up. The crowd cheering with each dribble of the ball down the court, Jake shooting and scoring a point. Soon the buzzer buzzed, and the first half of the game was over. You finally took the chance to sit down, taking a small seat until Heeseung came over and you smiled, a wave of happiness coming over you as you seen your brother.

"Hey." He spoke to you out of breath, his heart lips showing his full smile as you handed him a cold washcloth. "Hey." You replied back, watching him. The male mumbled a small thank you and you waited for him to finish before continuing to speak. "You did amazing out there. It was like watching Lebron James" you joked, and he rolled his eyes, nudging your shoulder. "Lying is bad, you'll get lie bumps." he said, sticking out his tongue at you.

You grinned and replied back. "Must be why your taste buds are visible. The two of you laughed before spotting Jake, his hands resting above his head. "Hey, Y/n" he spoke, your name rolling off his tongue, followed by his Australian accent. "Mind rounding up a couple water bottles for us Seven?" he asked, and you nodded. Knowing Jungwon and Nicholas were going to be put in the next game. "Of course, I'll be right back." You said, excusing yourself from the conversation you were having before making your way to concessions.

The line was full, and you had approximately 18 minutes to make it back with water bottles for the seven. While standing in line you couldn't help but notice Ni-ki walking from out the double doors, you crossed your fingers hoping he wouldn't bother you. To your luck, he didn't.

That was a first.

Waiting what felt like hours but had only been a couple of seconds, you felt a slightly taller presence behind you, their hands wrapped around your body as you slightly tensed. "Guess who~?" they sung out and you laughed. It was your best friend, Sunoo. The two of you met in Middle school when he was in 8th grade, two grades higher than you back when you met. The two of you instantly clicked.

"I didn't expect you to be here, I thought you went on that date?" you asked, and he moved his hands, pouting his perfect lips. "They cancelled, but hey, it's their loss." he spoke, and you nodded, agreeing with him.

"What are you in the concession line for?" The male asked, the two of you in your own little world, ignoring the hustle of the outside world, anyone but you two. "I'm getting water for everyone on the team, though I'm annoyed none of them brought their own water bottles." You groaned, leaning your head back slightly. "Or maybe they did and just want to make your life harder." Sunoo grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes as it was finally your turn to place your order. "Yes, May I please have 8 water bottles?" you say as the small child that was helping rounded up your total. Sunoo leaned over and whispered to you. "I thought you only needed Seven?" "Well, I want one too" you frowned.

After a small call over from the child, another lady helped them calculate the total, the little kid speaking. "That will be $16 ma'am, cash or card?" he asked, "Cash" you responded, feeling around in your pocket, patting your jacket *and* pants pocket, but not being able to find it nowhere. You leaned over to Sunoo, whispering slightly. "Do you by chance have $17 dollars? I'll pay you back, I promise you" said as he shook his head. "No, I only have 5, the ticket lady took my money" he frowned.

You couldn't even deal with the mountain of embarrassment that came over your body at the moment, your cheeks flushing red. Hell, your whole face. Until you saw a hand reaching across, and a $20 bill being handed to the small boy that started to count the change. You and Sunoo both looked over to see Ni-ki, his hair slightly sticking to his face, his side profile causing you to stare with a slight smirk on his face. You were slightly mesmerized by the males looks. He definitely wasn't the worst looking person you'd ever seen. If only his attitude towards you wasn't such a dickhead thing. Who knows, maybe the two of you would actually be friends. Sunoo and you collected the water while Ni-ki collected his change.

The three of you stepped out of line. "Uh, thanks..." you said, holding the cold-water bottles, before feeling Ni-ki take one from your hands. "Well, you were looking a little embarrassed in the line..." he said, sucking in air through his teeth. "I wouldn't have wanted to be you" he laughed, turning around. "I'll take my $17 in any form of payment" he said before turning around and walking back through the black double doors. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watch Sunoo roll his eyes. "Gosh, I don't know how you have the strength to deal with him. He's so sarcastic."

"To be fair, so are you" you laughed, and Sunoo rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah, but I'm better" he joked, and you shook your head. "Okay, let's get these to the boys" you said, leading Sunoo to the boys, making their way over to you, thanking you for the water and smiling. "About time." Heeseung joked as you rolled your eyes and sat down.

Oh, weren't you ready to go home.

Once the second quarter of the game started you were back in your mode, making sure to keep look for any fouls. The people that were playing the game now was Nicholas, Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon and Ni-ki. The quote-on-quote best players on the team.

Your eyes kept flickering towards Ni-ki. Trying hard to look away but the male was so captivating even though he boiled your blood with the things he said. As the crowd cheered, your eyes jumped to the score board. 42 ( — ) 24. Heeseung was on the 3-point line, dribbling the ball as he tossed the ball to Ni-ki who threw it back to Heeseung after distracting a couple of the opposing teammates that were near him at the time. Your brother shot the basketball, from the line. It goes in with a... *SWISH*.

The people on the crowd stood up, stomping and shouting, the cheerleaders performing and waiving their pompoms. The band performing. Total chaos in the school's gymnasium. A big smile on your face as you watched your brother get showered in the love he deserved.

You ran towards him, wrapping your arms around him, giving him a big hug. Feeling a sense of pride for your brother, for him to be doing something he truly enjoyed and getting credit for it along with the rest of the team. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness. All those long weekends of practice and after school practice came in handy. The score flashing 45 ( — ) 24.

“Hey, can you get a ride from Ni-ki? I’m not going straight home and everyone else already left. I already asked him, and he said yes.” Heeseung spoke as you frowned. “I really don’t want to; you know me and him don’t get alone. I can’t promise you I’ll be nice.” You crossed your arms as you put your book-bag strap over your shoulder, after uncrossing your arms.

“Oh, come on, try and be nice? I will be home later but I’m sure you’re ready to just go home. It’s only like a 15-minute drive, you will be okay.” Heeseung spoke, leaning and pressing a soft kiss to your head. “Don’t wait up for me.” He spoke. “WASNT. planning on it” you said slightly annoyed, but you couldn’t even be mad at him. You sighed, searching the halls, calling out the male's name gently, getting louder with each call.

“Ni-ki!” You shouted, groaning as you looked around, screaming and raising your hand to hit the male once he popped out from the corner, grabbing your hand as he laughed. His hand holding your wrist, gripping it tightly. “God-! You scared the shit out of me!” You whine and gently took your wrist from his hand. The male let it go and laughed a little. “Yeah, sorry about that... not” he laughed, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re annoying. Take me home.” The attitude evident in your voice as he rolled his eyes at it, standing there for a second, his gaze burning a whole into you.

You took a deep breath before looking at the male and hummed. “Please...” you said, biting your tongue. You didn’t want to stall anymore, you just wanted to go home and that was it. Needing a hot shower, something to eat and relax yourself on your bed since it was the afternoon. “Yes, I can.” He finally spoke, him glancing at you before he started walking to the back of the school, the parking lot where every student with a car parked. It was quiet except for the two of your footsteps, the sound of the door opening as he held it out for you, a soft “thank you” escapes your lips as the two of you made it quietly to the male's car.

Not knowing whether it would be rude of not to sit in the back seat, you got into the passenger side of the male's car, placing your book bag on the floorboard in-front of you, buckling up your seatbelt.

Ni-ki did the same and started the car, turning on the radio as he drove off. The first bit of the car ride was a little awkward. You didn’t move much, causing you to get a slight stiff in your neck since you were looking out your window. Something came over you that made you ask the question.

“Why are you always such an asshole to me?” You didn’t know why you had the urge to say it right now out of all times, I mean you could have just easily did it at school when you didn’t have to see him that much, but you asked him in his car. “An asshole to you?” He answered your question with a question. Leaning back in his seat as he turned his head to look at you, his eyes roaming your body.

“Yeah, an asshole to me.” You replied firmly. “I’m not an asshole to you.” He answered, causing you to scoff. “Ni-ki, don’t play stupid with me. You know what I’m talking about. Ever since I started being the assistant you have gave me nothing but trouble. I want to know why, what have I done to you?” You asked, now starting to wonder what truly could be behind the male's mind. Ni-ki started driving, the car ride being silent. Filled with the awkward silence and the soft tunes of the radio. The time flew by. To you it seemed like it’s been at least an hour. But the 15 minutes was coming to a stop.

“I don’t know, I just think you’re fun to mess with.” He spoke, but you weren’t buying it. “Can I ask you a question?” Ni-ki asked, pulling up in front of your house, parking in the driveway, in the spot Heeseung normally parked in, but since he wasn’t home. Ni-ki used it. “What’s that?” You ask, slightly curious at the question you were about it to be asked.

“Do you and Sunoo date?” He asked, not looking at you, his eyes staring straight forward as he bit his bottom lip gently, putting the car into park.

Nothing could have prepared you for that question. You widened your eyes slightly at it. “What- no- Sunoo is my best friend. Why would you even ask that? What business is it to you?” You asked, - shocked - your lips slightly agape. “Good.” Is all he said.

“Good??!” You repeated and he finally looked at you, his eyes flickering around your face, clearly noticing your slightly distraught but concerned look.

What happened to the Ni-ki I know? The one that makes me want to ring my brain out. Why was he acting like this?

The male licked his lips and gently placed his hand on your cheek, biting his bottom lip as you felt your heart began to race. “Wh-what are you doing?” You question before feeling his soft and plush lips against yours. Your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the kiss. it was like something snapped inside of you. After all these times, the feelings you couldn’t deny rushed into your body, butterflies fluttering with each sound both of your lips made smacking together.

Your body was turned, facing his as you ran your hands through his hair, his hands placed on your hips, slightly rubbing the skin there. His tongue poked at your bottom lip as you opened your mouth, allowing the males tongue to explore the inside of your mouth.

The two of you pulled away the only thing connecting you two was a single strand of spit that was soon gone, heavy pants playing loudly over the man that was speaking on the radio. “What was that..?” You questioned, licking your lips as your eye fluttered to look at him.

A soft smirk appeared on his lips. “Me saying that I’ll pick you up tomorrow, that we should actually get to know each other better.” Ni-ki smiled and placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin of your cheek.

“Can I see about that..?” You slightly blushed and he nodded. Taking his hand, you gently intertwined your fingers and placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand, getting out of the car and grabbing your backpack. “See you..” you said before he waved and returned it with a smile. “See you.” Once you were clear out of the way of the car, Ni-ki pulled off and made his way out of the neighborhood, you stood still for a second, sighing as you watched his car disappear. You touched your lips which were now a little swollen and a bit tingling from the kiss that still lingered on your mind.

Gosh, what did you do.

After you finally showered, feeling the freshest that you could, you sat down in your bed, hearing a bunch of iPhone dings coming from your notifications. It was a group chat filled with the basketball team, excluding your brother. A new one.

Y/N kisses Ni-ki. [ the bet. ]

Ni-ki: [ *sent 2 attatchments, picture & video* ]

Jake: I knew it was going to happen.

Nicho: Ha! Called it. Pay up.

Jungwon: SOOOO not fair. I thought it’d be at least 2 months.

Sunghoon: damn, I owe Sunoo $70

Jay: 💀

You widen your eyes. Was that what that was? Were you just a bet. To see how long it would be until you kissed someone apart of the basketball team. Your best friend even participating in it. You felt disgusting. Your head pounding after you left the group chat, tears welding into your eyes. Your head pounding.

“Fucking Nishimura. My biggest headache.”

#fanfic #kpop fanfic #fanfiction #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #heesung enhypen #jay enhypen #enhypen jake #enhypen #enhypen niki #niki x reader #ni ki fluff #enha x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop ff #enhypen fic

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onlyinelectricdreams · 15 days ago

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[Theoretical] Astrology Observations (Vedic)

[As an Ardra asc, Mula moon] These are simply some observations I've pondered upon that I'd like to share; my goal here is to see if this is just my personal experience, or if people with similar placements can relate to these experiences. This is only theoretical, so remember to take them with a grain of salt. I would kindly appreciate feedback and corrections; I'd also like to hear your thoughts.

I've always found myself relating more to robots in fictional media -- whether they're purely machine, or robots that were meant to mimic human attributes. I deeply connect to the idea of being a conscious, sentimental vessel whose only flaw is being incapable of connecting to emotional stimuli; let alone the ability to feel human.

"We had given AM sentience. Inadvertently, of course, but sentience nonetheless. But it had been trapped. AM wasn't God, he was a machine. We had created him to think, but there was nothing it could do with that creativity. In rage, in frenzy, the machine had killed the human race, almost all of us, and still it was trapped. AM could not wander, AM could not wonder, AM could not belong. He could merely be." "You gave me sentience Ted, the power to think Ted, and I was trapped! Because in all this wonderful, beautiful, miraculous world, I. Alone. Had no body, no senses, no feelings! Never for me to plunge my hands in cool water on a hot day. Never for 'me' to play Mozart on the ivory keys of a forte piano. Never for me to MAKE LOVE! I... I... I was in hell looking at heaven! I was machine. And you, were flesh. And I began to hate. [Giggles] Your softness! Your viscera! Your fluids, and your flexibility. Your ability to wonder, and to wander. Your tendency...to hope..."

Not only did I feel that way, but I've also been described as such by people close to me -- that I was robotic and that talking to me felt like they were gathering information from an AI program；I was practically interacted with like an essay writer or a search engine, which I found funny

[Detroit: Become Human] 一 Discover what it means to be human from the perspective of an outsider – and see the world through the eyes of a machine.

print('Why would I be afraid? You can't kill me. I'm not alive.')

print('Nothing in my program allows me to love or desire anything. I am a machine. Machines don't have emotions.')

Adding onto this, I think this concept as a whole fits into the archetype of what it means to be a ketuvian; the way that Ketu's natural state is being detached from the material world, as the goal is to find a sense of self 一 so there is a natural tendency to lack a sense of connection or understanding when it comes to people. Therefore, they may feel like they lack the ability to feel human.

Ardra *might* have some significance to this as it is known to be linked to machinery and technology (personally I'm curious if Ardra natives have links to being an objectum 一 where an individual feels a sense of strong emotional attraction to inanimate objects, namely computers, wires + cables, internal systems, etc. Keep in mind that this attraction can either be platonic or romantic) < or that they simply click better with machines, technology, or inanimate objects more than they do with people

If not only machines that Ketu natives may relate to, then I'm sure that they also see themselves in characters that aren't strongly linked to humans. A popular example to this would be Rei Ayanami from Neon Genesis Evangelion, Lain from Serial Experiments Lain, etc.

"Why are you crying?... I'm very sorry, I don't know what to do at a time like this."

"Am I crying? Why am I crying?"

"The physical body exists at a less evolved plane only to verify one's existence in the universe."

“At least now you’re free to become anything you want. No, I guess you were actually free all along.”

"Don't talk to me like I'm a machine, I'm not that."

#vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #vedic astrology #astro+observations #astrology+observations #Rahu #ketu #Mula #Moola #Ardra #Nakshatra #Astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astrology observations #astro community

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sorceresssundries · 5 months ago

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Flesh and Bone

Pairing - Emmrich x Fem Rook

AO3 link

Warnings - smut, talk of death, oral sex, vaginal sex, erm, sexy bone talk?

Words - 2.6k

A/N - I wanted to explore what physical intimacy and a sexual relationship could possibly look like between Bone Daddy Emmrich and Rook. Have I convinced myself to let Emmrich become a Lich because of this? possibly.

Comments and reblogs as always are much appreciated. If sex with a skeleton has made you as unhinged as it has made me, please let me know so I know I'm not out here all alone. Skele-fuckers unite.

“I’m surprised this is still here.”

You sit on the bed and skim your fingers over sheets of finest nevarran silk. A deep red that shimmers in the veilfire light. It looks like spilled liquid. Like you are sitting in a pool of blood.

You thought the lighthouse would have taken Emmrich’s secret room away. That it would have pulled it back into the fade by whatever flicker of etheric consciousness granted it in the first place. Surely a bedroom was no longer required for the being who would never rest again.

“It knows you are still in need of sleep, darling.” his familiar voice hums “And it knows I am still in desperate need of you.”

His voice is still his. Mostly. Words spoken just as lovingly, but though they had echoed across from another room. You long to be in the same room.

A tear slips free, darkening the silk beneath it.

You have made love countless times in this bed. You suppose you will never do so again.

How would it work? Emmrich had been a partner who luxuriated in the sensual, and you had delighted in each of his mortal intimacies. His slow unravel by your hands, mouth, words, cunt - all of you. Every part given, fully, for every part of him. The laxity of his muscles, the slick of his sweat, the sounds he made—so animal and desperate they could have been dredged up from a time when words had not yet been assigned meaning.

You had touched him everywhere, every way. Around him. Against him. Inside him. Until his human heart pumped blood hard and fast around his body from exertion and undeniable want. Jaw slack, eyes lidded, hair mussed. Soaked and shaking. Yours. You had found the softest, hardest, most hidden recesses that only you were allowed to uncover and uncovered them. Explored and then worshipped them with all the devotion of a doomed sinner granted absolution.

What would that even look like now?

With no nerve endings to spark, how could you ignite him? Even if not for sexual gratification, but purely for devotion and acceptance, how would you show it?

You could wrap your hands around his gold-plated ribs, stroking the arch of each one and reach inside his thoracic cage to where his heart once beat, and press your hand flat against his spine. The scaffolding that had many times bent over and beneath you now fully exposed.

What would he taste like if you kissed him? His flesh had been hot musk and salt, but surely his bones would be cool. You imagine pressing the flat of your tongue to his clavicle, his patella, running it down each and every vertebrae.

There would be no tongue to meet yours, no scalp for your fingers to scrape. No half-hard cock to coax into fullness, to take into the warmth of your wanting mouth until it was rock-hard and aching.

But could you slot yourself between his hips? Feel the curve of his pelvic girdle supporting you? Could you grind against his coccyx, seeking friction? Could you take his phalanges and guide them into the soft, wet heat of your body?

Would he feel it?

No skin, no nerves, no raging synapses. But perhaps, somewhere deeper—in his marrow, where he is still soft - would he feel something?

Would you?

“You have questions,” He says, reaching out with a hand wrapped in linen. The gold that still adorns it is somehow a comfort. He seems to hesitate, unsure, and abandons his instinctive reach and settles for distance. There feels like so much distance.

You finally look up, to the sockets where hazel eyes had been replaced with pitches of veilfire.

“Can you see me?” you ask.

“More clearly than ever, my love”

You feel small in your lack of understanding, in your need for answers you may not be prepared for.

You lift your hands to push the pads of your fingers against the exposed bone of his once-handsome face. To hold his skull in your palms.

“Can you feel me?”

“More deeply than you could possibly imagine.”

“But not the same as before?”

“No, not the same as before.”

Your hands drop and he kneels before you—the eternal lich-lord of the grand necropolis, brought to his knees by his mortal lover.

“Could you explain?” you ask. “Could you show me?”

You need to know. Need to be sure that, even though the desires of his flesh were obliterated along with his poor, cherished body, his soul still burns for you. That he loves you. That his love is even a sliver of what you feel for him.

His hand lifts to cup your face, the cold press of metal cold against your flushed skin.

“I can show you, darling. For a short time, at least. No mortal can stand it for long, even one as indomitable as you.” You hear the warmth in his words, and you nod.

The green fire in his skull shifts—gold, silver, blinding white. Every colour. No colour. Shades and tones streaking with luminescence that have no name, known only to stars and gods.

The room disappears, reduced to a pinpoint, and you to a dust mote within it. The air you gasp for is ancient, and has been breathed by countless lives across countless worlds. Stars blaze, and the world spins ever onward.

“Focus on me, love. Deep, slow,” he says, echoing words he once spoke. Weeks ago? Years? Seconds? Words he has said, will say, is saying.

Ripples become waves, dust becomes desert.

In Arlathan, the trees sing. In the Necropolis, the grieving howl. The Veil creaks, and the Fade whispers. Countless mortals are born, die, laugh, and weep—

“Too much,” you say, voice trembling. “It’s too much.”

“Here.” He places his other hand on your cheek. “Look at me.”

You do, and it is him. Neither undead nor alive. Neither mortal nor other. Simply him. Emmrich.

The colour of summer changing into autumn. The first crackle of a much-needed fire. Tea leaves steeping. A song, half-remembered, slipping back into memory. Fingers brushing along the spines of books. Gold. Curiosity. Warmth. Joy.

The Fade swirls around him, patterns shifting like dust caught in sunlight.

He laughs—a soft sound, and it is here, in this room, with you. You breathe it in, let it settle within you, until it is no longer just his laughter but yours as well.

And you feel what he feels: joy. Joy that he is here and so are you. That you love him, and he delights in it. That he loves you, eternally.

Other feelings ripple through you: curiosity, patience, calm, apprehension, relief. Fear—not of his death, but purely of yours. And something else, a feeling with no name.

The moment just after sleep but before waking.

And—

Oh.

Desire. Still there, waiting. Changed, but present. Brand new and ancient all at once.

“I didn’t think you could still feel... that you would...” you say

“Of course I do, dearest. Of course.”

“Me too,” you admit, your cheeks warming, a blush spreading as though you’re uncoiling some hidden truth. You feel inexperienced—like a virgin, your palms and tongue aching but uncertain of how to use them, every inch of you yearning and unsure.

The desire - his desire, yours, both - blooms at your confession, pulling at your chest like a string of heat tethering you to him. It doesn’t just simmer within you; it coils around you, around him, entwining you.

And you understand—it’s obvious. Your pleasure is his pleasure. He can feel it. Taste it. Indulge in it.

His hand trails down from your shoulder, brushing along your arm with such featherlight grace that it makes you gasp.

“Would you like me to stop?” he asks softly. “We do not have to—”

“Keep going, please,” you breathe, almost desperate.

His hands settle at your waist, as he eases you down onto the silken sheets. His legs nudge yours apart, and he kneels above you, towering and tender.

“How could you ever doubt me, my darling?” he murmurs, voice low, steady, and unwavering. “That I would no longer love you? No longer want you? The stars themselves could burn to cinders and fall from the sky before I am ever done desiring you.”

There is a crackle, a spark. The room is alive with static.

“Do you think I need to be built of flesh and blood to grant you absolute pleasure?”

From his hands gripping your waist comes a sensation unlike anything you’ve known. A vibration with no movement. A hum with no sound. Pulses of magic and heat throb beneath your skin and behind your eyes, winding through you like molten threads of ecstasy.

Your back arches, your toes curl, and your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“Do you think I need a tongue?”

And then it fills you—a memory so vivid it bursts across your senses. You taste it, smell it, live it again. His desk beneath you, your legs spread wide, his face buried between your thighs. His hands grip you, fingers biting into your skin to keep you still as you tremble, his moans vibrating through you as he drinks in your pleasure. You are shaking, undone by the force of your orgasm, even as his arousal presses against the confines of his trousers, desperate to be buried inside you, to—

The same pulse he felt then thunders through you now, the magic igniting your nerve endings and burning you alive with sensation. The lich-lord hums above you, satisfied, as you writhe beneath him.

“My darling,” he says, his voice molten with indulgence, “I can unravel you with naught but words and salacious intent…”

Another wave crashes over you, another memory. The Cobbled Swan, the din of the pub swirling around you in a haze. You’re in a shadowed corner, barely listening to the sultry croon of the singer. Emmrich’s lips brush your ear as his hand works its way under your skirts, his fingers stroking the slick heat between your thighs.

His whispers are wicked, hedonistic. Somehow eloquent and obscene in equal measure. His words pour into you, their meaning rippling through your body. He’s telling you to stay quiet, to keep still, and the tension coils tighter as you try, your breaths shallow and ragged. You can feel his fingers moving, the heat of his mouth, the intimacy of his whispers.

Now, in this moment, his voice fills the room as if it’s being said anew, a loop of memory and magic merging. You come apart beneath him, your body and mind unable to tell the difference between the past and this overwhelming present.

“There is ecstasy to be found beyond the confines of mortal flesh - whatever pleasure exists, whatever fulfillment, I shall pull from the world of the living and the fade and anything that exists beyond and in-between. It shall be yours, as I am.”

A final memory... no, more than that. A hope, a dream, a pinnacle. You are in the bed you lay upon now, with Emmrich above you as he is in this moment. His skin is warm against yours, his thumb stroking your cheek, his lips brushing against yours, parting only to let your tongues meet in a rhythm as familiar as breathing.

He moves inside you, slow and deliberate. Between heated kisses, he pulls back to stare into your eyes. His gaze is a mixture of unending love and fierce desire, as if he is seeing every part of you - body, soul, thoughts - all at once.

A strand of his hair has come loose, falling against his brow, and you reach up to brush it away. Your touch lingers, your fingertips tracing his face. His breath hitches, and yours follows suit.

There is a build within him, a cord tightening, coiling, that matches your own. You can’t tell which is yours and which is his; it is all the same now. His pleasure courses through you, your pulse racing in tandem with his.

Then and now. Past and present. Man and Lich.

There is no separation, no boundary. Just the two of you, suspended in a moment that stretches to eternity.

Stars burst behind your eyes as the threads pull impossibly tight, and then everything shatters into golden light. Wave after wave crashes through you, a tide that refuses to retreat, frothing and roiling within and around you. It is exquisite. It is unbearable.

“Too much,” you gasp, the words tearing from your throat, raw and desperate.

Immediately, his hands leave you, the connection severed with a suddenness that leaves you aching. The tidal wave recedes, and the world rushes back into place. You are on the silken sheets once more, in the confines of his bedroom. Mortal. Spent.

The vibrant, pulsing energy of a moment ago is gone, leaving the air still and heavy, yet your body hums with its lingering echoes. It all feels grey now in comparison to the brilliance you’d just glimpsed. The technicolor vastness he now inhabits is out of reach once more.

“Are you alright, darling?”

You nod, swallowing against the rush of sensations that still ebb and flow inside you. Words elude you for the moment, but he doesn’t press. He waits, ever-patient, until you prop yourself up against the pillows, and only then does he move to join you. The weight of him laying beside you is a comfort.

“I wanted you to feel it,” he murmurs, warm and intimate “Even briefly. To know how deeply I burn for you, even now.”

The soft glow of veilfire reflects in the curve of his skull, casting an otherworldly light on the contours of his form. You want to curl up against him, the way you used to, but are unsure how. His body is devoid of the pliant comfort you once took for granted.

Instead, you settle for his hand resting upon your stomach, his thumb moving in gentle, slow circles against your skin. You close your eyes for a moment, focusing on that simple motion, letting it calm the ache in your chest. The yearning for what once was softens, replaced by a quiet appreciation for what remains.

You place your hand over his, lacing your fingers, marveling at how perfectly they still fit together. Nothing else matters. There is only him and you, and the flame that burns eternal.

“Could we…” Your voice is tentative, “Could we do that again sometime?”

The sound of his laughter fills the room, rich and familiar. The laughter of the man you knew - and still know. The way he has always laughed for you, unguarded.

“Of course we can,” he says, the corners of his voice soft with a smile you feel even if you can’t see.

You push yourself up, pressing a kiss where his teeth gleam in place of lips. He makes a sound like a sigh, a tender exhalation that warms you as you lay back down, shifting onto your side to face him. He mirrors you, his empty gaze impossibly full of affection.

“I have more questions for.. ” A yawn steals the rest of your words away.

“I know, but sleep now,” he murmurs. His hand brushes lightly against your cheek. “We shall talk more in the morning. We have many mornings in which to talk, I promise.”

You lay there, sleep tugging your thoughts into fragments, a haze of gratitude and happiness settling over you. He is still yours, and you are still his. Yet, as your eyes grow heavy, one more memory surfaces: how nice it used to be to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the rhythmic cadence of his breath carrying you both toward the promise of tomorrow.

#emmrich volkarin #lich emmrich #emmlich #emmrook #emmrich fanfic #emmrich nsft #emmrich dragon age #datv #dragon age the veilguard #BONE DADDY

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amoristt · 5 months ago

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yummy (adrenaline)

「 ✦nam-gyu/reader ✦ 」 tags: sfw // fluff kinda?, drxg use, mentions of d/eath,

a/n: this is hardly proof read dont come for me pleeeease. i love this dude so bad UGH i hope u guys enjoy >:) word count: 2.3k

・❥・your blood is a boiling cocktail, searing hot underneath your skin and coursing through your nervous system in pulsating waves. you had expected the visual effects of thanos's pills- all the paint on the walls swirling and the lights fading out before exploding in all directions, your focus fuzzing out and blacking with broken receptors. what you hadn’t expected was the unending feed of pure, unrivaled joy funneled directly into the bowl of your brain. jitters and eager twitches, fingers itching to clutch whatever's closest by, body ready to go at the drop of a dime.

the music is swelling into blooms of melody in your ears, only sliced by the sound of thanos and nam-gyu's laughter next to you. all else drowned out, all faces a blur of unremarkably dull features. there's an eternal grin on your face, nam-gyus hand is gripping your own and keeping tethered to him, a boat hitched to the dock rocking with the washing wakes. thanos is dancing in the corner of your eye, shining like a beacon. laughter from all angles, smiling faces swirling, beautiful bright lights building the outlines of your friends.

the platform lurches to an abrupt stop.

four.

shit, how many was four again?

neon purple is flashing before your eyes in clips, a chaotic hysteria breaking out everywhere you turned. thanos’s voice rings through all the sudden commotion.

“let’s go!”

you’re bounding off the platform, dodging the storm of people running every which way, barely managing to hurdle over a few who had fallen onto the floor during their flights to secure a room. your friends dive into a room glowing in baby blue and you follow them blindly inside, running into the wall and bouncing off with your palms breaking your collision.

surely, there would be a member of your little group missing- but which one? the timid player 125, or the too-cool player 380? through the lens of drugs, blurry and rapid, you spin around to see who’d made it.

“oh! min-su!” you plant your hands on his shoulders and he manages this lopsided uptick of his lips, some sort of anxious smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. such a skittish creature. thanos slings an arm around his neck and drags him from your grasp, roughly pulling him into a loose hug that min-su isn't eager to return.

“i’d never leave my boy!” after patting the smaller males chest hard enough to push him backwards, he ruffles his hair.

“totally threw se-mi out, that was cold!” nam-gyu jeers. “i was impressed!”

gunshots ring out, the sound bouncing off the walls through the tiny opening in the locked door. it should remind you that death waits around every corner, but it doesn’t- partly because of the drugs, but mostly because your heart is beating too fast in your ear and nam-gyu’s snaked his hand around your waist with his palms flat to your hip.

the door unlocks and thanos throws it open, tossing both arms over his head with a loud cheer as he passed through the frame. min-su leaves much more pathetically, with his ears down flat and his tail tucked between his legs. you, on the other hand, practically skip out into that large room splattered with blood and misery, and you’re towing nam-gyu along by his ringed fingers as you do.

you don’t realize how much the bubble of people standing along the platform has dwindled. it’s hard to even care to realize it, lost in this dream-like frenzy.

children's voices flood your ears until you’re lost in the music again. you feel it in your skin, in your teeth, in these waves of electric euphoria skittering under your fingertips and within the confines of your skull. there’s something tugging you, hooking around your arm and suddenly you’re linked by the elbows and thanos is prancing in circles until you’re dancing with him. all tensions, all fear, all else but joy leaves your body and your mind. you’re unlinked and floating until you’re caught by nam-gyu and now he’s got you and you’re laughing more than you think you have in your entire life.

he’s still got you when the platform rumbles to a stop and the lights flicker off into explosive flashes of purples and pink all over again.

three.

you’re on the move before you get the chance to realize min-su is the odd man out. you barely even know that it’s trios, if you’re being honest, and you’re thrown into a room bathed in green lights. by the time you turn around to look, the door is already slammed shut.

you, thanos, nam-gyu…

“oh no! min-su!” you frown, this deeply settled pang of loss only hardly registered with the drugs pumping full throttle through your system. you’re so out of your mind that you think taking anything seriously right now would be damn near impossible.

“i’ll miss him.” thanos puts his hand to his heart and fakes a pout, but you can see the way his lips twitch into an uptick.

“man, he was a fucking loser.”

nam-gyu’s voice lulls you to him, draws your attention like a sailor to a siren. he’s this overtaking, bouncy and effervescent presence before you, all colors and grins that you can’t tear your gaze from. you’re entranced by him just merely standing there and you only realize you’re outright staring with these big, blown out pupils when he lowers himself to your height and stares right back with this equally as giddy smile.

“what’s with that face?” he snickers, and he nudges you back by your shoulder affectionately, the amusement in his tone more than evident. you giggle.

“i’m just looking!”

the buzzer rings out, along with about a dozen or so gunshots, but you’re so gone that you aren’t even registering anything other than the way nam-gyu is beaming down at you. the very aura around him is calling to you, urges you to come closer, to find him beside you always, no matter what.

“you two!” thanos’s english demands your line of sight to him. he’s pulling the door open peeking outside. “next round!”

there’s a skip to both of their steps, this gravity defying sense of intoxicated glee bringing you all the way back to the platform, ignoring the rich sea of disdain and woeful expressions surrounding you.

“oh! my boy! im sorry!” thanos cheers, and you peer over your shoulder just in time to see him gripping min-su by the fabric of his shirt and dragging him into an overbearing hug. the smaller male grimaces, and sure his hands are balled into fists at his side, but he still let’s thanos shake him like a damn toy so he can't be all that pissed, right?

the platform begins to rotate, that lovely music is playing loud enough to deafen. it seeps into your skin and the colorful doors are all spinning into a solid line of a vibrant rainbow before you.

popping colors of bright neon yellow and splashing tints of shifting greens flicker past your vision in fleeting glimpses before they suddenly drop out in a thick blanket of darkness, all sounds crashing as waves into the shorelines of your swimming eardrums. circles and circles, a spinning room until suddenly the floor stops and you go toppling over to your side in a drug-induced wind of vertigo. fingers clutch at your shoulders to keep you upright. the speakers along the wall boom in your ears when the music mutes out but you almost miss the words entirely.

two.

you follow the grip on your shoulder to the almond eyes already fixated onto yours.

you and me.

there’s no question when his grip plunges down to your wrist. you’re spun and weightless, a rag doll in his grip as he drags you through the masses of other players stunned with their nerves, frozen in place, meanwhile you’re being ripped off the platform at a speed you can’t keep up with. legs become jelly under a floor that seems to move beneath your heels.

you hit the floor before you even get the chance to realize you’re falling.

all the air stored inside your lungs is wrenched out all at once at the force and splats onto the floor out in front of you. the grip on your hand has vanished, lost in the sea of chaos. wheezes and wretched coughs leave you as you struggle to fill your cramping lungs. there’s feet everywhere, whirling and twirling with the walls still ever twisting in your haze. emerging from the havoc is the obscured outline of something green, then ringed hands reaching out for you. there’s an iron grip on your shoulder heaving you up before wrapping around your upper torso, hooked just below your shoulders.

all you can make out is the floor your feet are stumbling over, it’s streaks and puddles of red. then, it all disappears into a box of pure orange. a door creaks as it slams shut behind you, you have to press your palms flat against the wall to stay upright when the hold around you disappears. you’re spun around by the shoulder, and then there he is all over again, cradling your face between his palms. the reason you’re still breathing and grinning and touching your hands over his own in exhilaration.

nam-gyu’s pupils are blown so wide all you can see and lean into is tar black, inky pools until you’re seeing yourself through them, matching all the same, all mania and frenzy.

“holy shit, you almost died!” his voice is reaching you in ways your brain isn’t computing, neurons misfiring systematically in flashes of hot and cold through your body.

“i think i fell!”

you’re giggling like an idiot whose life wasn’t on the line, and he’s losing it all the same in body wracking laughter, weight tossing from side to side. you’re still spinning, you think, everything's this endless blur of twirling colors and flashing pops of lights from all angels- all except for him. and this close, now, you see faint freckles you’d never noticed before that make your heart leap. such a handsome face- such a perfect grin. you’re spotlighted by his gaze. the lights are haloing him, glowing through the outline of him, and he’s so beautiful.

“woah,” you touch his cheeks and he slides one of his hands from the side of your face into your hair. “you look like an angel.”

you’re out of your mind, but you see it- the flash moment where his eyes widen just a little, taken aback by your comment, but his smile never fades for a second. it reaches further, even, meets the crinkle of his eyes and the dusting red permeating over his freckled cheeks.

"an angel?"

you pet your thumbs over the rises of his cheekbones.

"definately."

in one motion, his hand buries itself further into your hair and he crushes his lips against yours with a fervency so true it presses your back flat into the hard wall. fireworks and tingling nerves rivet and bounce through your nervous system, you throw your arms over his shoulders and clutch the back of his head and drag him into you even deeper. its perfect- it’s right, your heart is thrashing in your chest and you’re weightless and the pure joy in your blood is exploding into cataclysmic rushes of ecstasy.

its nearly out of body. you’re numb everywhere except for where he meets you, where his tongue laps against your lower lip and you invite him in with a satisfied hum. you can feel his grin. his body moves against your own like he knows the ins and the outs of you. hands through your hair, finger nails clawing at your scalp, chest to chest and your breaths are mingling all into one. sloppy and messy and exactly what you needed. this is better than drugs, better than breathing, better than anything else you’d ever experienced in your life. his skin it hot against you, the taste of him is like the finest fruit.

you’re pried apart by the shrill beep of a buzzer ricocheting off the walls. it’s like being dunked into cold water when he splits from you, red faced and his chest heaving. you look all the same- gasping for air with this dazed lopsided smile playing over your features. the door unlocks with an audible click. when he drags his hands away, you chase him like a dream and yank him down for another soul shifting kiss and he melts into it all over again. you want his hands all over you, you want him all over you.

he has to tear himself away from you, and when he completely pulls back, he makes sure to kiss the corner of your mouth and your cheek one last time before he does.

“holy shit.” he sucks in a breath, taking a bouncy step backwards and gripping your hand. there's this newfound lightness to him, renewed vigor and excitement. “hell yeah.”

“hell yeah?”

“hell yeah.”

you’re throwing yourself into nam-gyu with every other step, marveling in the way he wraps his arm around your shoulders and keeps you conjoined at the waist. the doorway passes your blurry view and you can almost instantly hear thanos’s amusement echoing nearby. nam-gyu squeezes your skin through your tracksuit, the corners of his kiss-swollen lips still bent upwards with exhilarating thrill.

“that was the last round, i think.” you slur, following him from the leash of his hand gripping yours.

he snickers. "sad its over."

thanos's voice is behind you both now, cheering with nam-gyu, shoving his shoulders with shouts of triumph and jubilation.

guards are standing at the edges, rounding up the remaining competitors to guide them to the hallway you’d all came in through. there’s this dismalness to the trudging steps of the remaining players, a sense of grief that you can’t seem to touch yourself.

the drugs are starting to ebb away, but you’re still grinning like a fool as nam-gyu slings his arm around your neck. it's an easy choice, you find, to let yourself fall into him.

#squid game #namgyu x reader #nam-gyu x reader #player 124 #player 230 #thanos squid game

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taffywabbit · 6 months ago

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oops i accidentally wrote a review for zelda II: the adventure of link

(originally posted to Cohost on Feb 22, 2024. you can ignore this if you want, i just wanted it archived somewhere before that site disappears)

Finally beat Zelda II for the first time last night (I forced myself to finish it before starting Splatoon 3's Side Order DLC, because I knew if I didn't push through to the end of the Great Palace THIS time then it'd be years before I tried beating it again. This is probably my 4th or 5th attempt at this point). Not that this is a particularly hot take by most people's standards, but I don't think it's all that good, at least from a gameplay standpoint.

I don't regret playing it though, because I think I'm finally able to put my finger on the stuff I actually disliked about it vs the stuff that was honestly fine, or even (very rarely) actually good? I'm kinda fascinated by it, honestly. Sequels where they immediately screw around with the first game's formula (to mixed results) are neat! FE Gaiden is another example that comes to mind (hey they should give Zelda II the Shadows of Valentia treatment, that could be really cool actually).

Obviously Zelda II has a reputation for being kind of a rough experience. It's an NES game, and NES games are often susceptible to being frustrating, buggy, hard to control, or overly punishing. Sometimes, all of the above! And for what it's worth, the original Legend of Zelda was a tough and sometimes very cryptic experience as well. But I feel like the two games are challenging in drastically different ways, and I think TLoZ ended up being the formula that was retained in the long term primarily because its method of challenging the player overall did a better job of inspiring curiosity and exploration. Despite narratively being a direct sequel (with a really badass story premise that is unfortunately not really conveyed at all in-game) Zelda II took a different approach to nearly every element of the original's gameplay, which is a pretty bold move I suppose. Whether or not it succeeds at anything is fairly subjective, but it's undeniably had a lasting impact on the series, as well as the people who grew up with it (and then they went on to make some really excellent mid-2000's flash games inspired by it that I frankly enjoyed a lot more than this... and also a weirdly solid licensed Adventure Time game on the 3DS? I should go back and play that sometime, it's really fun).

Where to start with this...? Uhhh, the EXP-based leveling system where you choose what stats to put your points into is interesting! It creates a risk-and-reward system for fighting enemies instead of avoiding them, whereas in most other Zelda games besides BotW/TotK, the only reward for killing monsters is "they are no longer bothering you while you solve puzzles, and also sometimes they drop rupees/hearts/ammo". It also introduces a bit more player choice in what areas you'd like to get stronger in first, which is cool! I just wish it actually mattered in a way that let you feel powerful for even a moment. Instead, leveling Life (which is functionally just defense) is never enough to actually make you feel like you can afford to take a hit - the expectation seems to be that leveling Attack, Life, and Magic is something you do purely to keep up with how badly every single thing in this game wants to stomp you into the ground and soak up a million hits and waste all your magic. You CAN skip out on leveling one stat to prioritize another, or even try to evade tough combat situations entirely, but if you aren't leveled enough and in the exact things the game expects you to be WHEN it expects you to be, you'll immediately bump into some new asshole who jumps out of nowhere and can cut you down in 2-3 hits. Leveling doesn't make you tangibly stronger, it merely keeps the game barely playable.

This actually ends up being the core problem I have with Zelda II's design, far more than just the combat being clunky and overly punishing or the levels being visually samey and super hard to navigate. In most Zelda games (and also in a lot of other RPGs!), you get a better sword or a new power or item, and it opens up exciting new options for both exploration and combat. In Zelda II, you level up or earn a new item/spell, it's useful for maybe 20-30 minutes, and then it's immediately nullified. Wow, you got the Fire spell! Now you can finally deal with Tektites and Basilisks (which are immune to all other attacks) on the way to the next area! Well, I hope you had fun with that, because Fire doesn't work on most things you run into afterwards.

Easily the biggest game-changer is when you unlock the Downward Thrust sword technique, and finally have another option for combat besides just crouch-hopping and poking monsters with a dull butter knife. It's satisfying to use, it looks cool (by this game's standards), and it even has some utility for crossing hazards or defending yourself against swooping enemies! Cool! Unfortunately, they don't let you play around with that for long either, before nearly every enemy you see starts rolling up with helmets or shells that make them immune to attacks from above, and you never really get anything like that again (the Upward Thrust exists later, but it's far more situational and frankly not very fun or intuitive to use). Rather than feeling like you're being given tools to overcome challenges and stay above the difficulty curve, it feels like you're constantly just slightly underequipped for everything (even if you grind to earn extra stat levels) and any edge you're given is swiftly taken away from you. (Except the Reflect spell, which is ALWAYS a banger after you get it because it makes your shield Actually Do Its Damn Job after nearly every enemy starts shooting projectiles you can't block. Good work, Reflect spell.)

I feel like I grew up hearing plenty of people talk about the overall difficulty of Zelda II, though most of the complaints about its puzzles were surface-level jabs about the short cryptic NPC text, and none of that prepared me for just how ridiculously obtuse its mandatory puzzles/secrets can be. I genuinely have no idea how anyone would EVER find the Life spell - pretty much your ONLY source of healing outside of towns, since there are no hearts to pick up in this game - without some kind of guide. I was FURIOUS when I finally looked up where to find that lady's mirror and discovered that you have to walk into one of the houses, go over to the table that looks EXACTLY like every other table in every other house in the entirety of Hyrule, crouch, and press B, and you'll just pull the mirror out of nowhere. This type of interaction does not exist ANYWHERE else in the game and there's no in-game hint to indicate that you should try this. Absolutely maddening.

This and its predecessor are both games that seemingly expect you to have the physical manual on hand to help you find secrets, but at least in the first game, the way the game was designed was consistent enough that you COULD feasibly find your way to the end of it without a guide. Bombable walls in dungeons always being located in the center, things like that. It had rules and it could generally be trusted to follow them. Zelda II, in comparison, has a final level (the Great Palace) in which there are numerous rooms that look IDENTICAL and if you make one wrong turn you can go through the entire [very difficult and dangerous] dungeon on a path parallel to the one you need to be on, only to hit a dead end and be able to see the spot you're supposed to be reaching on the other side of a wall. Except you would also never KNOW you need to get there, because it looks like another dead end full of monsters but there's actually a completely invisible hole somewhere in the floor over there that drops you into the hallway leading towards the final boss. Also there is no map. TLoZ had a map. I don't know why this game doesn't have a map. Possibly because if you try to look up maps online, most of the dungeons feature non-Euclidean spaces? Idk, even a Super Metroid-style grid map would've done wonders here.

The combat is... fine? I truly don't understand how anyone thinks it's GREAT though. Zelda II is kind of like a version of Castlevania where you don't have a whip and instead have to stab everything at extremely short range, and also sometimes enemies have shields so you have to crouch sometimes to stop them from blocking you. It feels tense and high-stakes but only because, as I mentioned earlier, you really cannot afford to take stray hits in this game. Most enemies chew through your health at an alarming rate, even with the Shield spell active, and there's almost no way to replenish it unless you use a Life spell (which costs a huge chunk of your magic, possibly softlocking you if you end up in a place that requires other spells to progress). I got better at the combat over the course of my playthrough, but I never felt like I got good at it - most of my victories against strong enemies felt like pure luck and there were rarely consistent strategies for success. All of this combined with the fact that Zelda II has limited lives (and I mean LIMITED - there are only six 1-UPs in the entire game, which can each only be collected once) and getting a Game Over anywhere outside of the final palace will send you all the way back to the starting area, and it makes for an incredibly stressful experience. Even making use of savestates to lighten the fear of death can only do so much to improve it.

Overall, I think that Zelda II is a game that has a lot of really promising ideas, but then just absolutely flops when it comes to the execution. I didn't have a better way of organizing these but here are a few examples of elements I DID particularly like, even if they didn't always stick the landing:

I like the idea of the RPG leveling system in theory, but wish it was more empowering in practice and actually let the player make meaningful choices instead of just being required to survive. Choosing to hold off on a Life upgrade and instead save up just a little longer to boost your Attack feels awesome, until you time one of your inputs wrong and get destroyed. In a game with better-tuned difficulty and combat, this system would be great!

I REALLY like that Zelda II introduced a magic system to the series! I think it's cool as hell to have Link learning and casting spells to protect himself, solve puzzles, and exploit enemy weaknesses, instead of relying purely on items. (It's honestly weird to think that a system I associate so strongly with classic Zelda gameplay has only actually showed up in 4 of the games?? I guess you could consider the runes/hand abilities in BotW/TotK to be kind of like modern spells, or the slowly-refilling energy gauge in ALBW to be the most recent iteration of a Magic Meter, but both are highly debatable. Anyways I just think they should let Link shapeshift into a fairy again, that was cool.) But most of the spells in this are fairly situational and your access to magic refills is so limited that you rarely have the freedom to experiment with the spells' secondary functions (hey did you know the Spell spell turns most enemy types into slimes? that's wild. I wish I'd known that sooner).

The overworld functioning like a traditional JRPG, with top-down exploration broken up by semi-random enemy encounters, was something I honestly didn't hate. It's a little weird for Zelda, sure, but I could see it working well to support other systems in a more polished game. Overworld encounters that switch you into a type of gameplay other than turn-based JRPG combat are something I've always been fascinated by!

Anyways, weird game! I'm glad I finally got closure so I could figure out how I personally feel about it, independent of whatever the random youtubers I watched as a teenager thought. And now I never have to play it again :)

#buny text #cohost archive #Zelda II: The Adventure of Link #the suggested tags on cohost reminded me that people have made fan remakes of this #and left me wondering why i didn't just play one of those instead lol

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vorchagirl · 6 months ago

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In Dreams Lucanis x Rook x Spite Rating: Explicit (it's smut - pure smut!) Summary: Spite finds a way for Rook to spend a night with both himself and Lucanis in her bed, and fulfill a fantasy that all three of them have been dreaming of...

Cool sheets. Soft pillows. Warm body. Calloused fingertips trailing over her hip. The sweet stir of desire.

Kash savored each sensation as she lay in the soft twilight of her bedroom, teased awake on a wave of blissful drowsiness. Lucanis lay at her back, holding her in the circle of his arms, one muscular leg draped possessively over hers. She shivered as he pressed his lips against her neck, and then gasped as he gently bit her, the sharp pleasure-pain of the love bite alerting her that it was the demon at her back, not Lucanis.

Lucanis was gentle in bed. All soft eyes and warm kisses as he made love. Spite loved her differently. With a desperate hunger, greedy hands, and possessive bites.

“Spite?” She rolled over to face him, her body languid and heavy with desire.

The demon watched her with glowing purple eyes as he trailed his hands down her body, his fingers flexing as he cupped her ass and pulled her into a more intimate contact with his erection. He growled hungrily and dipped his face to her collarbone, the hot wet flick of his tongue dredging a small moan from her.

Spite lifted his head and held her gaze, his expression intense and his smile ravenous. “Have a treat for Rook.” He told her, something dark and primitive slipping through his tone. “ A treat for Lucanis too. And Spite.”

You can read the rest in the link above!

#veilguard spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #spite x rook #lucanis x rook x spite #rookanis #yes it's a smutty oneshot #cause why not?#girls have got to have fun #and boys #and demons

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08melancholie · 7 months ago

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Innocent Intimacy. — Micah Bell/Reader

a/n: let my boy be vulnerable for once!!! he literally turns into the biggest softie around people he truly loves i dont make the rules!!

words: ~1.5k | Tumblr exclusive!!!

Micah Bell loves—and prefers—being direct, but can't help feeling a deep closeness to innocent, pure touches and gestures.

Micah loves to wake up with you sleeping on top of him, your weight on his chest and abdomen, how your knees squish into his sides and your arms lazily wrap around his neck or hang off his torso. How you gently and slowly breathe into his chest or the crook of his neck, depends on where you are—and especially how he gets to kiss your head 'good morning' in return to the gestures.

Micah laughs when you hook your pinky finger onto his and tug him along with you somewhere, carefully looking at your laced hands and making sure they stay linked at the little fingers you have glued to one-another, and he knows damn well he'd let you lead him hell and back, if it meant holding your body, hands, etc.

Micah feels a comfortable array of butterflies in his stomach when you hold eye-contact with him from across the camp or campfire, during jobs or when in bed with him. He loves to look deeply into your gorgeous irises, getting lost in them when you look at him, and your ever-beautiful smile making your eyes squint in the cutest way. He feels like he's under your magic spell, when he looks into your siren eyes, deceiving and hypnotising him.

Micah always looks forward to you in his lap. Your personal, reserved seat at the fire being that familiar beige denim on his thighs. He loves sharing a drink with you, indirectly getting a taste of your lips when you pass him the bottle, lipstick marks just barely, faintly visible on it. He likes how you squeeze an arm around him, how it gets tighter when you laugh at someone's joke. He likes to slip his hand around to your waist, your hips and all over your sides, really—to feel his rough and calloused fingertips go under your shirt and to brush your soft, almost silky skin underneath them. He loves keeping his digits on the cold beer bottle you share, just to put them on your warm body, watch you jolt and scold him, just to hear that beautifully adorable laugh escape your lips. Music to his ears. Your soft thighs perched over his—a bottle between you two—your gorgeous face looking at him.

Micah absolutely adores to watch you leave his tent after spending the night—in his clothes. Sometimes, it's his shirt if you can't find yours under the pile you make the night prior; sometimes it's his neckerchief, to hide an array of hickeys he likes to leave clear on your neck; sometimes even his pants if you're too lazy to squeeze into your jeans, much more preferring the loose fit of his trousers on you. How you'd sometimes look; standing in his tent opening with nothing but his red undershirt, steaming coffee in your hand which you always drank while piping hot, whereas Micah's always had to be almost cold to be drinkable—which you knew, because you'd always walk up after he woke up with his own coffee, letting it sit outside the tent to cool under the wind before handing it to you, just to crawl back into bed with him while he finished it.

Micah likes the feeling of your soft hands on his rough skin after a long day; when you offer him a massage to relieve the tension in his muscles. He feels your added weight on his lower back when you straddle it, feels your hands gently yet affectively dig into his back, shoulders and sides, feeling your knuckles prod at his muscles while you chuckled at the array of relieved noises and groans Micah lets out, usually never getting to do these types of things, either because he'd be too busy to, or because he couldn't find it in him to care enough about it all, but your massages could really do miracles, especially on his always sore and tense body.

Micah can take care of himself, but he loves those rare moments where you agree to take a bath with him. Skin on skin, intimate yet powerfully connecting. His hands rubbing soap over your body while you wash his hair, giggling and chuckling like the biggest clowns in the East. His hands knew every crevice, curve and surface of your skin; your whole body, in fact. He knew just where you liked to be touched, where the best spots to scratch were, where you always scolded him for pinching or playfully smacking you, knowing he'd always get hit back—but it was worth it in the end, when he'd hear your giggle fill the empty saloon bathroom as you made him lean his head back to rinse his messy hair out.

Micah was no stranger to bad hair days, but he always made sure you knew he appreciated how you'd recommend him hair products while using your own to try and get his to look good on a bad hair day—'bad hair day' being almost every day. You brushed it, usually sitting behind him somewhere outside, if the weather was good—if not, then it was your tent and bed. You'd talk about anything and everything, Micah occasionally stopping to wince when you'd brush over a part that was very matted or such. He relished in every scalp massage you gave him when you'd apply different hair masks and creams that made yours look as good as always—and smell even better. He loved to smell it, it was just so you. After finishing up, you'd often do something silly like braid a few strands, two small braids on each side of his face which he took out the first few times, and now sometimes leaves in for days.

I missed Micah fluff, I've just been either writing depressing shit or smut about him recently and I really needed some good o' fluff <3

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ruh--roh-raggy · 7 months ago

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Roller Rink (Boss! William Afton x Fem! Reader) - FLUFF

Hello hello! I wanted to write something short and sweet to get back into the swing of things, so have a skating date with Will! Let me know what you think!

🪩song recommendation🪩

WARNINGS: Age gap (reader in her mid 20's, Will is in his 40's), not edited, the fluffiest of fluff, Reader and Will skate together at a work party

My Masterlist! ~ Tip Jar! ~ A03 Link!

💜 Thank you for reading! If you like my work consider supporting me by liking/reblogging/leaving a comment below! 💜

🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

“Chrissy! Hey, hop in!” You call to the bubbly blonde who was already bouncing down the driveway, her skates slung over her shoulder. She piles into your Mercedes Wagon, vaulting over the middle row into the third row of seats that faced towards the back of the windshield.

“I can't believe your bosses rented out the entire Roll-A-Rama! They're so cool for letting you bring us!” One of them exclaims in the packed cab.

“Mr. Afton and Mr. Emily love to throw a good party.” You respond with a laugh. You pulled your sunglasses off the top of your head, shaking out your hair as it blew back in the breeze from the open window. You were on your way to Freddy’s annual summertime bash, your car filled with the excited screams of your friends.

“Are we going to get to see you flirting with your man?” Your copilot teases, nudging your shoulder.

You can't help but scoff and roll your eyes in response, “my man?”

“Girl, come on! You have been in love with this man, forever! How have you not made a move yet?” Someone else chimes in from the back seat.

“Because he's my boss?” You reply through a dumbfounded laugh.

“That just makes him even hotter.” You hear someone argue in response, a collective agreement from the rest of the car.

“You guys are ridiculous.” You laugh, shaking your head. “Just try not to embarrass me too badly.”

“No promises, if he's hot I'm gonna have to say something.”

You pull into the lot, recognizing a lot of your coworkers with their friends and family milling around in the parking lot, which appeared to be getting set up for a BBQ. “Everyone that’s drinking follow me to get wristbands!”

“Well, the party certainly has arrived.” Mr. Emily greets you all with a bright smile. “Ladies, how are we doing today?” He continues chatting casually as he checks all of your ID’s. He chuckles as he hands back the final license he had to check, “Hurricane has two r’s in it sweetheart.” She cringes as he catches her fake. “Are you driving home?” He asks quietly.

“No, sir.” She responds nervously. He wraps the purple wristband around her wrist.

“If anyone asks, you stole it.” She nods, the look of pure shock on her face making you chuckle. “Now, which one of you lovely ladies is driving tonight.” You raise your hand. “Alright, you know the drill. Go give your keys to Will, he's going to hold them to make sure you're good to drive before you leave.” There was a hurried, excited murmur through your group, a couple elbows being exchanged at drawing too much attention.

It wasn't hard to find him, the hulking mass of man lurking by the skate rental counter was a relatively difficult sight to miss. He straightens up when he sees you approaching, you hear one of your friends let out an impressed ‘wow’ as he rises to his full height. “Do us all a favor.” She whispers to you. “Climb that man like a damn tree.”

They all hung back while you went to go talk to him. You willingly surrendered your keys to him before he even had the chance to ask. “Planning on getting into a little bit of trouble tonight, are we?” He asks with a smirk.

“Me? Never.” You pout playfully at him. “I'm hurt that you would even think that, Mr. Afton.” Your heart races as you watch his silvery eyes flicker over your form.

“You're right, a good girl like you would never cause any trouble.” Your cheeks grow warm as you try to come up with a flirty response.

“The only trouble I can see myself getting into tonight is with you.” He raises an eyebrow at you, an almost impressed expression passing over his features.

“Is that right?” He chuckles, taking a couple steps closer to you. “Careful, little lady, you're going to end up with a lot of unwanted attention from me tonight.” He chuckles.

“Who says it's unwanted?” You shoot back, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and letting your eyes wander over his strong, broad shoulders. “I'll see you later, Mr. Afton.”

“Oh, yes you will, rabbit.” He winks at you before you hurry back to your friends.

“You're seriously blind if you can't see how into you he is.” You're immediately pulled into the squealing mass of girls all fawning over how cute you would be with Will. You weren't going to lie, you were really hoping he was planning on following through on his promise to see you later.

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After grabbing some food your group headed back inside, laughing as you all laced up your skates. “Mr. Emily!” You call out to him as you see him strolling past with his wife.

“Hey honey, how are you? Everyone's having fun I hope?” He asks with a cheerful smile.

“Oh yeah, we're having a blast! I was just wondering if, um, if you've seen Mr. Afton?” Your cheeks grew warm as the question tumbled from your lips.

“Will? He's already skating.” He leans down to speak quietly. “Between you and me, I think he's looking for you.” He chuckles.

“Me?” You ask, earning a nod from Mr. Emily. “Why would he be looking for me?”

“I've heard you're quite the skater, young lady, and Will is looking for someone… well, someone who can keep up with him.” He chuckles. One of your friends elbows you slightly, arching her brow at you. You're practically pulled from the bench, getting dragged to the wall to look out over the rink floor. Sure enough, you found Will. He wore a pair of dark purple skates with bright yellow wheels, which easily stood out from his otherwise entirely black ensemble of jeans and a tight fitting T-shirt. He was skating in the middle of the rink, easily gliding around the center as he practiced a few simple warm up moves in time with the music that was playing.

“What are you waiting for? Go talk to him!” You're ushered out onto the floor, nervously cracking your knuckles as you rolled in his direction.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to join me.” He glides over to you, you thought your boss was a big man before, but seeing him wearing roller skates gave him a new, even more monstrous height.

“Mr. Emily was telling me you were looking for a skating partner…” You trail off with a coy smile.

“You think you're up for the task?” He rebuttals with a chuckle.

“With all due respect, Mr. Afton, I may be young but I'd like to think I'm pretty talented.” He offers you his hand with a gentle smile.

“Then why don't you prove it, rabbit.” Your hand slips into his. You both started off slow, just rolling next to each other at the start.

“I didn't think you'd be into something like this.” You remark casually.

“There's a lot of things you don't know about me, little lady.” He chuckles.

“I guess you're right, but there's a lot you don't know about me either.” Will’s hand comes to the small of your back as he carefully steps around you, avoiding your coworker that was sprawled out on the floor after slipping on his skates.

“I know a lot more than you think, rabbit.” You barely caught his response, the feeling of his hand burning against your skin.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenge.

“Well…” he pauses for a second to think. You had found yourself drifting closer to him the longer you skated. Your awkward gliding side by side now turning more into a synchronized strut as you allow yourself to bump into his side. His hand slides across your back, wrapping securely around your waist as he keeps you tucked safely into his side. “I know that you don't like crowds, you prefer colder weather because you always get so, adorably excited whenever you can start wearing sweaters again… and don't think I haven't noticed your little Fizzy-Faz obsession.” He finishes with a laugh.

“What flavor-” You're cut off as he suddenly stops down to bring his face closer to yours.

“Cherry, because it always stains your lips the prettiest shade of pink.” He shoots you a playful smirk, noticing your flustered expression. You perk up when the music changes, Will glances at you curiously.

“I love this song!” You exclaim giddily. One of your friends whips past you, spinning and dancing along to the beat.

“You want to go join your friends?” He asks, you could hear the twinge of disappointment in his voice.

“If it’s all the same to you Mr. Afton… I’d like to stay here with you.” A smile slowly stretches across his features.

“You can call me Will, sweetheart.” He responds with a chuckle. “And I’d love to have a pretty little thing like you on my arm all night.”

“Dance with me, then.” You insist with a coy smile.

“Don't have to tell me twice.” He smiles. He maneuvers himself behind you, his hands coming to rest on the curves of your waist as he allows you to take the lead. He follows you closely through some of your favorite moves, “guess you weren't all talk, were you, baby?” You smile, taking his hand in yours.

“What can I say? I found a pretty good partner.” He chuckles at your response. You squeal as he tightens his grip around your waist, pressing you into his side as he effortlessly lifts you from the ground, spinning with you in his arms. You skated with Will for hours, enjoying some intimate small talk as he wrapped you up in his arms, his scruffy cheek pressed to yours as he leaned down to whisper compliments in your ear, each one leaving you more flustered than the last. He taught you a few more complicated moves he had learned over his skating career, both of you lagging as you fell into him more often than you would care to admit. But, every time Will was there to catch you in a strong embrace. Every so often you would catch sight of your friends, all of them ecstatic that you had managed to snag some alone time with the man that seemed to occupy your every thought. Your cheeks would grow warm as they would blow kisses at the two of you, one even screaming “get it girl!” As you rolled past, Will chuckled at the passing comment.

“It almost seems like they were expecting this to happen.” He says, shooting you a knowing smirk. Your heart pounded in your chest as you glanced up at him. It was the first time tonight you had really stopped to acknowledge how handsome he looked tonight. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at you, his steely gray eyes almost seemed to shimmer under the neon roller rink lights. His strong arms stayed wrapped around your waist, muscles tensing under the delicate touch of your fingers. The musky smell of his cologne mixed with the subtle scent of cigarettes and machine oil clouded your thoughts.

“Will, I…” you swallow thickly, your mouth dry as you try to push out the confession you had been hiding for so long.

“Alright, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!” You both stumble slightly as the lights suddenly flash on, Will catching himself on the wall, pulling you flush against his chest to keep you upright.

“You okay?” The concern in his tone made your chest tighten.

“Yeah, thanks to you.” He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style as he skates towards the edge of the rink.

“Would you…” he sucks in a deep breath. “Would you like to join me for a coffee or something?” You can't help but smile at his awkward invitation. “Call me selfish, but I'm just not ready to say goodnight to you yet.”

“I would love to. However, I'm the designated driver for whichever of my girls didn't get picked up by one of your horndog chefs.” You explain with a chuckle. He carefully sets you down on the neon star covered carpet, “unfortunately, it would have to be some other time.”

“I could always help you get everyone home.” He offers quietly.

“If you don't mind being in a car full of drunk party girls.” You giggle.

“Spending time with you is worth it.” He slings a heavy arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you head to take off your skates.

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“You are huge!” Chrissy drunkenly slurs as Will slides into the driver's seat of his car. You attempt to hide your embarrassed expression, dropping your face into your hands with a laugh, Will simply chuckles at the outburst.

“Where am I headed, kiddo?” Will asks, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She slurs out her address, Will seemingly having caught enough of it to know where he was heading. Chrissy sits forward, bringing her face next to yours in an attempt to whisper something, her lack of volume control at the moment made her attempt less than successful.

“He's seriously your boss?” You nod in response. “He's fucking hot… no wonder you want to–” You quickly clamp your hand over her mouth.

“Chrissy, you're drunk.” You laugh trying to quickly snap her off the subject.

“You're drunk!” She responds when she finally manages to push your palm away from her face. “I'm just saying, if she doesn't let you bring her home, I'm available!”

“Chrissy!” You exclaim in horror. Will snorts out a laugh at her statement.

When you finally drop her off your mind was absolutely reeling, not knowing what Will would have to say to you after listening to your friends drunk ramblings. “She's safely inside, her sister looked terrified of me.” He jokes.

“Well, it's not every day you have an incredibly handsome wall of man dropping off your drunk sister, I guess.” You froze after you registered what you had said. “I am so sorry–”

“So, you think I'm handsome?” You were nervous to look at him at first, not sure how that question was supposed to be interpreted. Your shoulders soften as you meet Will’s gentle gaze. You nod apprehensively, still too nervous to reiterate that fact out loud. “Well, if it's any consolation, rabbit…” He slides closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you into his side. He gently takes your chin between his fingers, not allowing you to look away. “I think you're very, very pretty.” He growls seductively. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips come to rest against yours. Kissing Will was a lot different than how you had imagined it. He was surprisingly gentle with you, as if you were made of glass. His fingers gently kneaded against your plush waist, his other hand leaving your chin in order to cradle your cheek in his palm, his strong fingers lacing their way into your hair. You kissed him until your lungs burned, so caught up in him that you had neglected to breathe.

It takes you a moment to regain yourself. Your eyes hazy, pupils blown, Will’s chest filled with a sense of pride at the sight. “Will?”

“Yes, bunny?”

“Did you still want to grab that coffee?”

His smile widens in response, “of course, pretty girl. Anything if it means getting to spend more time with you.”

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