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

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

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

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

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

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.7k.

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

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

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

#&. cassie writes.#&. nnn masterlist.#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander x reader #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander x you #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold imagine #taa x reader #football imagine #liverpool fc #footballer imagine #taa imagine #taa66

You'll walk alone

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!reader

Warnings: none, emotional tw for Trent to Madrid, actually tw for Madrid as well

authors note: ouchies! Who knew all it took for me to write for Trent was for him to leave

——

liked by trentarnold66 virgilvandijk and 3,876,098 others

yn aug 2016. academy boy, hometown boy, my boy. grateful to have grown here with you <3

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virgilvandijk #throwback

liked by author

user1 the good old days

user2 this made me emotional and I don’t even know them lol

trentarnold66 my girl since day 1

liked by author

yn ❤️

liverpoolfc liverpools just in your blood 🤷‍♀️

liked by author

yn and it forever will be 🫰

user3 so proud of how far they’ve come 😭

user4 they really took “you’ll never walk alone” to a new level

andrewrobertson my favorite couple

liked by author

user5 she’s really been there since the beginning

user6 may this kind of love find me

#trent alexander imagines #trent alexander x reader #trent alexander x you #trent alexander fluff #trent Alexander Arnold x reader #taa x Reader #Liverpool x Reader #football x Reader #football x you #football x y/n #football imagine #footballer x reader #Trent Alexander Arnold fanfic #taa fanfic #Liverpool fanfic

‘Movie Night’

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

Index:

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

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

Chapter 1 - Trent. | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 12.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#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 #Movie Night Fic

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔

Pairing: Trent Alexander Arnold x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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yourusername | 📍Venice, Italy

tagged venice.explore and calvinklein

liked by yourbsf, calvinklein, and 17,786 others

yourusername can I call you later?

view all 2671 comments

user1 pretty ladyyyyyyy

calvinklein summer collection has never looked better 😍

— yourusername have never loved a black dress more

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

— yourusername ofc 😇

user2 omg i need to go to venice asap

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

— yourusername next week!! super excited omg 🩷

…

trentarnold66

liked by liverpoolfc, andyrobertson94, and 946,716 others

trentarnold66 Recharging 🔋

view all 76,936 comments

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

— trentarnold66 I was just bending them? 🙃

liverpoolfc Back at camp soon ❤️

— trentarnold66 💪

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

user7 can you choke me with those arms thanks bae

— user8 so real 🤣

judebellingham No invite lad? I see how it is 🫤

— liked by trentarnold66

…

yourusername

tagged hudabeauty, hudabeautyshop, and kayali

liked by hudabeauty, trentarnold66, and 30,651 others

yourusername Coming to you… July 👀

view all 9862 comments

yourbsf A DREAM IM SO PROUD OF YOU BABE

— yourusername i love you 🥹

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

— liked by trentarnold66

hudabeauty A literal real-life doll 😘

— yourusername says the literal makeup magician ❤️

user5 TRENT LIKED????

— user9 who’s that?

— user5 ONLY THE BEST RB IN THE WORLD WHAT

…

trentarnold66

liked by liverpoolfc, yourusername, and 976,816 others

trentarnold66 Singapore 🇸🇬 Feels real good to be back.

view all 126,625 comments

liverpoolfc What’s up, Vice Captain? 💪

— trentarnold66 🫡

user10 liverpool’s very own ❤️

yourusername damn.

— liked by trentarnold66

virgilvandijk Let’s get it!

user5 OMGGG THEYRE DEFO DATINGGG WAIT

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

…

yourusername | 📍 Liverpool

tagged liverpoolfc

liked by trentarnold66, harvelliott, and 29,872 others

yourusername bleeding red today, bleeding red everyday

view all 11,463 comments

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

— liked by yourusername

— user12 OMG SHE LIKED MY COMMENTTTT

harvelliott love it 🌹

— user5 DUDE WHO IS THIS GIRL DATING OMFHDJSJSE

trentarnold66 Hmm

— harvelliott 😂

yourbsf fit went hard.

— yourusername not everyone’s agreeing w u 😒

— yourbsf you mean….

— yourusername shh

…

trentarnold66

liked by judebellingham, liverpoolfc, and 817,625 others

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

view all 262,527 comments

user5 IS HE TALKING ABOUT YOURUSERNAME

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

judebellingham serious player

— liked by trentarnold66

yourusername should I say congrats?

— trentarnold66 Only if you’ve changed shirts

— yourusername so take off yours then

— liked by trentarnold66

…

yourusername

liked by yourbsf, trentarnold66, and 96,726 others

yourusername my mom approves

view all 70,637 comments

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

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

— yourusername 😂😂

trentarnold66 Shirt’s all yours

— yourusername took you long enough

— trentarnold66 I got there in the end 🙂

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

— yourusername i bet you've already taken it anyway

— yoursister if I speak I’m in big trouble

…

trentarnold66

tagged yourusername

liked by yourusername, andyrobertson94, and 1.2 million others

trentarnold66 Dear Darling ❤️

andyrobertson94 Congrats Brother 🫂

— liked by trentarnold66

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

— trentarnold66 I don’t recall that 🤨

— yourusername little liar

— trentarnold66 Little? Who’s the liar now?

— user12 YALL ARE SOOOOOOOO

user5 I WANT MY FINDERS FEE 👩‍⚖️

harvelliott Beautiful 🤩

…

Masterlist

Hi gorgeous!! would you ever write something for Trent? I’ve kinda been missing him lately lol. So, I had this idea where their mutual friends keep saying they have crazy chemistry, but the reader keeps denying it, she’s like, “He’s a player, and that whole cocky attitude? Not for me.” but then… she ends up hooking up with him at a friend’s party, and the next morning she’s totally freaking out, not just because it happened, but because she liked it. Like, a lot.

Hope that didn’t sound too confusing, and I also really hope it sounds fun to write! Please think about it, and thank you already!! I adore you and your writing so much!! Lots of love 💓💓💓

✮ Les - Trent Alexander Arnold

taa x fem!reader

sy: you swear you hate him. you hate him more than anything else beyond reason, but with a numb injection of alcohol, lines between ‘i hate him’ and ‘i tolerate him’ blur.

a/n: THANK YOU GORGEOUS !! i feel like i loose pace so bad, so, brutally tell me if this doesn’t make sense in parts. (and i do so regret making you wait so long for this; i told myself i weren’t to sleep until this was done so tada) 💓💓

warnings: alcohol consumption & two poorly uses of y/n; i honestly try and avoid using it now tbh. also very wordy + not proofread.

you convinced not only yourself, your friends, but also your parents, that you wouldn’t get drunk tonight.

hell, you’d even profusely claimed that your hands wouldn’t mould around a singular alcoholic drink. well, the tables have turned. hugely and much to your utter apprehension.

sometimes for the better, or the worse.

after a few drinks in, the alcohol is beginning to settle into your bloodstream and cloud your thoughts. in a booth just centimetres away from the bar, you’re projecting your hatred for this one—may you quickly add: pride, arrogant and egotistical manchild of a guy—who couldn’t seem to take a days rest in pestering you.

throwing tomatoes against your kitchen window, yes, a €25 fee to get the stains removed, spiking your coffee with laxatives with any chance that arose, and playing knock door run at your front door.

exactly. a manchild.

but one thing in particular that pissed you off more than his habits themselves, is his freakishly, immature nature of not allowing you to engage in a conversation with another guy. everytime you’d talk to a new guy, he’d chase them away by creeping up besides you and offering himself up as your boyfriend. just by your luck, no matter how much you protest, it scares them away. either you’re obvlivious or they’re all painfully weak-stomached, because nothing about him is intimidating.

“you know we never believe you,” you look around in dismay. they all nod their heads. “not a single time.”

“have you not seen the way he looks at you?”

“—speaking of,” sabrina points, close near the bar. it’s him, of course it’s him.

just a measly distance afar, he’s glowing under the neon of erratic rainbow-coloured strobe lights; there’s a woman getting awfully handsy with him, probably more x-rated than anybody wanted to see.

trent sees to enjoy her company too. his palm rests snugly atop her knee, gradually with practiced precision, sliding to caress her inner thigh.

flirtzilla is back in his natural habitat then.

you don’t exactly register how much attention you are paying, because to you, it’s like watching a fire you want to put out, but also kind of want to watch burn. “does it matter? he makes me sick. he’ll be with a new girl in the morning.”

maybe a few rounds of drinks will erase that image from your mind. hopefully.

exaggerating a face of disgust, lily shakes your shoulder and focus back onto the table of women infront. “you’re paying an awful lot of attention to a guy you claim to hate.”

“don’t even go there lils,” gulping a shot of bitter liquid down. “he’s a player. a narcissist. a womaniser.”

wildly, you gesture for the waiter to bring over another tray full of drinks with 4 fingers in the air, without a pause of breath you add, “and that whole cocky attitude? not for m-me.”

the drinks are already acting upon you.

“hey,” a girl whom you only registered is sitting at your table now, speaks. “take it easy on the drinks, babe.”

“i’m not a lightweight,” you muffle into the glass, already swooshing another down. “that’s what we came here to do right? drink?”

they exchange skeptical glimpses with eachother as you encourage them forward. nobody takes one, just stay stationary in their seat and avert their eyes anywhere but you who’s gaping at their refusal.

“fine,” the glass makes a loud impact as you slam it onto the table. “i’ll go and find more interesting people then.”

okay, maybe you are a lightweight.

you grunt and lurch as you remove yourself from the booth, heels clicking awkwardly through the dancefloor as you make a beeline for the bar.

the crowd melts around you, bodies rippling like silhouettes, music pulsing like a second heartbeat—as you stagger between them, bumping shoulders and mumbling sorrys to people who don’t care.

upon arrival, you spot a man with perfectly disheveled hair, a spontaneous mix of rolling out of bed with it and mastering the art of idiosyncrasy. his silver watch conflicts with the modest, black linen shirt he has rolled halfway up his forearms.

the pearly effect of his teeth glint like diamonds under the lights, laughing at something the bartender says.

god, he’s so perfect.

as you approach the counter, the first thing that just bubbles from your throat is, “you don’t look like the type of man to be here. get bored of yachting?”

the man jolts, bewildered, scratching the back of his neck as if not sure whether to be flattered or worried.

how awful did that sound. you swallow thickly, changing the train of topic. “let’s restart, i’m y/n.”

“matteo.” he greets warmly.

even his name screams perfect. you take your seat beside him. “are you from around here?”

matteo taps his fingers on the countertop, easing into a smile. “sort of. i’ve only just moved in locally from a work placement.”

you nod thoughtfully. “oh, what do you do for work then?”

“im a primary-school maths tutor,” he says, now properly smiling. your heart melts at that, resting your hand over your chest in a coo. “but don’t be alarmed, i’m not gonna start nerding out on you.”

you both fall into shared laughter, occasionally brushing past the fabric of his shirt. his chartreuse, jaded eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, leaving your stomach doing somersaults.

“what about yourself?” his shoulders seem to ease at how natural the conversation is going.

clearing your throat, “well, i’m training to be an auditor, and it’s quite ironic because—”

“can you quit playing hide ‘n seek with me?”

you’d identify those steps from anywhere. that voice from anywhere. the one that makes your ears throb whilst you’re rudely disrupted.

a dull screech of heel drags against the tiles like a death execution.

trent tusks, you grimace. “i give up(!), you win.”

your nemesis, you like to think of him as, pats your back with a force that has the edge of the table cutting into your ribs. the blonde guy beside you quirks a brow—confused, but you’re experienced enough to know what he’s doing.

gritting through your teeth, you warn, “quit that.”

the stranger asks, “you guys know eachother?”

“yeah, i’m the boyfriend,” he starts, pressing his index finger to your lips when you attempt to object. “shes an awful drunk too. i can’t take her anywhere.”

trent laughs boyishly, the sound raking deep from his chest. tour worst nightmare hits when matteo eases from his seat, laughing uneasily.

“i, erm, i think i’ll—” he begins walking backwards, thumb over his shoulder. “my mates calling me so.”

“no—d-don’t leave!”

yup, no use. he’s a goner. you shoot daggers up at trent who still has his palm on your shoulder. “when will you ever decide to fuck off? bother another woman somewhere else.”

forcefully, you shove him off; he smiles like he knows he lives rent-free in your head and won’t be vacating anytime soon.

“i’ve had my time to do so,” trent shrugs, glancing around like he owns the damn place. “how you enjoying the party?”

“great, until you came along,” his presence just makes you wanna drink more to ease of the mental whiplash, so you finish your glass in a singular gulp.

trent scoffs, swirling his own glass around in his hand. “another?”

your eyebrows pull together, puzzled, before noticing the bartender already pouring you a glass full of mahogany rum?

gingerly, you accept.

“whats with all the drinks tonight anyway,” he asks. “you never drink.”

“i saw you. needed to rescue my sober self from a brain haemorrhage,” you muse, smirking but apart of you is terrifyingly serious. “but let’s talk about all the girls you’ve been with tonight. i’ve counted four already.”

“so, you’ve been watching,” and he tilts his chin up, a shameless smirk palpable that you wish you could slap from his flawlessly symmetrical face.

you rise from the stool, shuffling into the crowd; of course, he follows.

“i’ve been keeping an eye. in case there’s some more stunts you wanna pull.”

trent laughs, a skip in his step to match. “so four huh? that’s how many you’ve counted?”

you nod, halting abruptly amidst the crowd to spin on your heel and face him.

upon your stop, he similarly stops dead in his tracks, like a dog responding to its name, holding suspiciously stiff eye contact. he wets his lips, darting between your own and the furrow of your brows. “care to help me make it to five?”

you scowl. “are you crazy!—”

the footballers lips slot against yours in a breath anyway, caving into the urge to grab you flush against his chest by your waist. your dispute is promptly torn, leaving you breathless as he pulls back.

you blink, stunned. “w—what did you just do.”

“this.”

trent cradles your face this time, tilting your head forward so he can angle his lips better. both of your lips collide hungrily, and your brain forgets to think.

all the time around you seems to slow, the noise flattens out from your ears and the only sound audible is the harsh breaths leaving his nose as trent continues to kiss you with such bite. his teeth sink down onto your bottom lip, emitting a pleasured sound from you.

you don’t know when you snap.

maybe it’s when he gasps your name between breaths, and that rids you of your trance that you fell in once he reeled you in. but when you do, your hands jerk up and shove him back with more force than needed.

“what the hell is wrong with you!?” you snap, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand.

shame washes over you as you shake your head to yourself, trembling as you latch your hand against your forehead. no, no, no.

what was that?

that kiss felt like something you wanted. that you didn’t pull back from when you should of.

that scares the hell out of you.

warring your way through bodies of people, zigzagging and off-kilter, you sail towards the table you were once sat at with your friends. hopefully they could pull you out of whatever state you’re in.

except one things clear: they’re all gone.

a low chuckle reverberates behind you.

like it would of poof them back into presence, you pat down the seats. “h-hey—wait, where are my friends?”

this is nothing short of amusement to trent, smugly standing there with his arms in his pockets. “they don’t care enough about you, clearly.”

you’re in shock, panic. as if your bodies nervous system couldn’t put you through much more, it has.

how are you gonna get home? your purse isn’t with you, you have nobody to call. better yet, how are you gonna get home without your parents finding out you’ve drunk?

“ah. bummer. well cya.”

as desperate as can get, he’s your answer.

“trent!” you exclaim, quickly fuelling into a plan, whilst he begins to walk out, turning a few heads. “you can’t just leave me here!”

this should do the trick.

now, to the audience of people who move out of sync to the earsplitting music, the look of a clearly intoxicated, distressed woman, screaming and a man who looks like he’s about to perform a ditch and run is appalling.

all faces turn to stare at him horrifiedly.

trent clenches his jaw, picking up a swift pace when scurrying over to push you out towards the exit. “shhh. shhh. i’m wasn’t leaving you.”

“what then? isolate me?” you babble, unaware of how loud your voice actually is.

as he guides you, not very gentleman-like, towards the exit, the swarming crowd gapes at him in shock horror.

“thats enough chatter,” trent snarls, fisting into the fabric of your satin dress to hurriedly push you out.

as soon as you make it out of the club, trent gives you a meager push that nearly causes you to stumble to your knees. he sighs agitatedly, caging his face between his hands.

you take a moment to regather yourself, the fresh breeze from the spanish coast, though you can really feel the drinks churning at the pit your stomach now, also impacting the ability to think straight. the footballer whips his phone out.

“got your moms number?”

“why would you need that,” you deadpan negligently, finding an immediate fascination in the hair-glitter you forgot you used. “wanna annoy my mom too?”

trent’s frown hardens, running his tongue over his teeth. “no. to tell her to pick you up?”

the realisation hits you again, evident by the way your eyes widen. “i can’t go home!” you usher. “they’ll know i’ve been drinking!”

“and? they’ll know by smelling you first.”

“and i told them i wasn’t going to!”

trent offers a face like he’s mocking you for having a conscience, voice laden with sarcasm. “oh no, you can’t lie!”

“exactly! i c—! ” trent’s appalled expression flattens, stating, “im just joking with you.”

the man sighs. his eyes dart at the emptiness of the street: no taxi’s or buses in sight. not really any bypassing people either.

well, tell a lie—there’s a guy still standing near the bus stop that’s been trying to freakishly converse with girls even from before you entered the club.

so, a creep, most likely a predator.

trent’s shoulders lighten, a smile twitching at his lips when he turns to face you, but you’re already there crossing your arms with a pout that screams, don’t even think about it.

unexpectedly, there’s only one solution.

“alright,” the brit mumbles incoherently, swinging your arm around his shoulder as he heaves your posture straight. “come with me.”

you trip twice before you even leave the curb, but he steadies you each time. and each time, you yank your arm away from his grip, trying to claim independence.

though, it isn’t going so well when he’s always subtly eyeing the distance between you and the road.

“sooo, uh.. where’re we goin’ again?”

ditzy is a word that fits best for you. ditzy.

“i’m sorry?” trent inquires, the crisp edge to his scouse accent making your eyes linger on him a little longer than you would sober.

“liiike.. where are you takin’ me?” you’ve successfully succumbed to the aftermath of rum.

trent clenches his jaw, debating whether to prioritise his amusement, or equally your disdain.

difficult decisions.

he plays it safe though, only because he doesn’t want you wailing in public and having him look at fault.

“you ask a hell of alotta questions for someone who can’t pronounce like, normally y’know.”

“..what’s… what’s your point? i don’t take feedback from people whose emotional maturity peaked in 6th grade.” you shoot back.

he side-eyes you, rubbing his temples like this is going to age him prematurely. “you know how annoying you are. don’t you?”

“and you know how i hate you. don’t you?”

a yawn deviates your posture when your head knocks against his upper arm, the woody smell of pinecone radiating from his clothes.

trent freezes.

his muscles stiffen, the adam’s apple in his throat bobs as he swallows. you’re drunk, he reminds himself. you don’t even know you’re doing this.

yet, still—still—the reliance you have on him now is disarming in a way he isn’t used to. women don’t often do this, more interested in what his mouth can do.

“but seriously,” your passing voice tears him from his reverie. “you takin’ me to a maze?”

he shudders, blinking from his spiral. “oh—yeah, er, to mine.”

“yours?” you holler, tearing apart the moment; almost tumble back into the road, until he strings you back by your elbow like muscle memory. trent exhales, you were kinder to him ten seconds ago.

“its either that or i leave you on the side of the road. it’s easier for me if i ditch you.”

rolling your eyes, in a stifled whisper, “whatever.”

THE APARTMENT IS ACTUALLY, well, issuing that it’s considerably cosy would take it too far so you opt for being taken aback by surprise.

you blink harshly, struggling to even form a squint. the alcohol has really worn you down now, as from your perspective, the universe is now on a horizontal tilt.

“you good?”

trent doesn’t know what he expects, but accepts the loll of your head as an answer.

through somewhere in struggling to flick your heels off, and leaning against his chest for a sense of direction, he leads you to his—only—bedroom without doubt.

trent assists in placing you fragilely onto his bed, gently tugging the duvet over you, though you hardly register his touch.

however, you do notice that the warmth retreats from your arm and heads for the door.

“heey,” your voice slurs, blinking idly. “where are y-you going?”

“i’m—i—to sleep on the couch.”

your body recoils, straightening up. “what d’you mean?”

“i can’t sleep here. with you,” he admits, flickering his sight towards the door. you try to muster a meek, “i could use the company,” but it’s weak and far too quiet for him to hear.

“goodnight, sleep well.”

it were bound to be an idea for disaster.

because who in their right mind decides the sofa is a comfortable place to sleep?

trent spends the next three hours of the night staring expressionlessly at the ceiling. the blanket isn’t doing enough justice to keep him warm, each pillow pokes him when he swivels and he’s just a smidge too tall for the sofa—having his legs dangle from the armrest.

everytime his eyelids shut, he’s picturing you—the way your soft skin melts into his, the way your lips so lusciously searched his with franticness. and the way your body welcomed him with singular contact.

trent exhales sturnly through his nose. it shouldn’t matter. you’ve always hated each other—or at least pretended to.

thats been your whole dynamic. push, pull. tease, snap.

undeniably though, it felt different to all of the girls he’s kissed before. with you, it’s felt less about the thrill, more about the feeling.

he’s never clocked how starved he were for something real, until he found it in the girl he claimed wasn’t even hookup-material. really, he did only wanna make his kiss count of the night 5, again to see you snap, so why does it consume his thoughts?

huffing, he gathers the blanket in his palm before tugging at it, frowning due to its un-cooperation, until with excessive force he punches himself square in the nose instead.

“fucking—ow, god—shit,” he mumbles curses under his breath as he clutches his face.

fuck it.

thats his final straw.

he’s already mentally prepared for the consequences he’ll get in the morning for doing this, but another second in that sofa and he might just break ankle trying to stretch.

THE FROSTY AIR HITS HIM LIKE A WAVE, issuing the hairs on his arms to stand tall. the room is intensely cold, and to a heap of surprise, the window is open.

yet, the first thing his attention latches onto, is you. your half-conscious body is exactly how he left you, plump in the middle of the mattress, legs curled up into your chest. although, one things’ different, you’ve got his shirt wrapping around your frame.

since when did you retrieve that? he thinks.

trent sucks in a deep but quiet breath. he debates and weighs his options silently.

no. he’s made too much progress from the lounge to here—even if it’s in the form of six steps, it’s the mental commitment.

silently, he allows his fingertips to skim the duvet before settling in, calculating how he’ll do so without stirring you.

even for having a much bigger, taller frame, he has so little of the space.

the defender’s face etches in amusement as he studies your face—the only lightened thing in the teneburous space. moonlight pools at the centre of your face from the slit in the curtains, casting pale streaks across your nose and cheeks, and how your features just naturally soften in such light.

trent never really appreciated, neither really acknowledged your beauty before. he mainly overlooked it because toying with you is much more entertaining. but now that he takes a closer look, he realises he’d only ever seen you through the lens of his own ego.

your beauty is one that doesn’t draw a crowd unless you look close. that’s what’s so unique about it. the kind of beauty that doesn’t beg to be seen. it waits for someone patient enough to notice it.

to some extent, it reflects your persona. trent always found you too difficult to handle. that you’re too stoic, too bothered about getting to know people first. well, obviously, the right thing to do is get to know someone before you date them. whereas, trent despises the long game: got a pretty face? easy peasy.

he concludes, belatedly, that he never really saw you before. not like this.

his gaze fixates on the goosebumps on your arms, indicating you’re just as chilly as he is. so, without much given thought, he scoots up until his body is inches distance from yours, merely placing his hand over your back. the only heat he’s getting is the air from your slightly parted lips.

mouth breather, huh?

trent decides not to cross the line further. but you, a small whimper leaves you—your nose scrunches into something that worries him as discomfort, until relief caves over when you unfurl and seek comfort over his shoulders.

he pauses like he’s been electrocuted, a molten flush of sweat coursing down his spine. your eyes are still closed, your body back to being content even as your arms are now swung over his shoulder and your head against his collarbone.

it takes him an impressive 33 seconds of not daring to breathe, just incase. after he’s assured you’re still asleep, he engulfs you between his arms.. somewhat voluntarily.

if you were to interrogate him at dawn, he’ll tell you—you indicated it first so he was just being a “considerate friend.” when he pictures the way you’ll frown and faux gag by indicating a finger inside your mouth as he says so, he chuckles to himself.

whether it be through yelling at him, or tripping over your own feet just to prove a point, perhaps credit was due that your irritation fed his entertainment more than he ever let on.

THE MORNING ARRIVES BY THE RAUCOUS CHATTER FROM THE CITY BELOW, the hustle and bustle running straight through your ears.

as soon as you gather your senses, you peremptorily wish to puke.

is it the aftereffect of the alcohol vortexing in your system, or the fact, that a half-naked trent—the guy you hated to your core, is peacefully splayed out on top of you.

his leg is hooked over yours, arm flung over your waist like he’s found homage there. his cheek is smushed into the pillow beside you, and your heart plummets when you feel the soft exhale of his breath against your shoulder.

the harsh possibility hits. your lips part in a ‘o’ shape, frantically, you dab all over your body to—okay, thank the lord.

atleast you were still fully clothed.

no sign of anything.. dodge.

your attention quizzes back to him, the bile climbing your throat irresistible to hold back as the realisation seeps in.

you dart off the bed, joints stiff, as panic starts to form a vice around your chest. you’re freaking out even when you reach the bathroom where you practically drown yourself in splashes of water with as much effort as morning fatigue would grant you.

wake up, wake up, you beg.

a million thoughts are flying first-class across your mind. why are you here? why did he allow this? and, out of all people, why trent?

could it not of been that cute blonde guy?

you stop to face the mirror, and blood pales from your cheeks. the baby blue shirt isn’t yours. clear as day, it’s not yours.

panic rises before memory does. your brain claws for answers. what the hell happened after the club?

you end up retreating on the fleeting moments your mind has spared you to remember. the kiss—how it had oddly tasted of frustration, yet left you wanting more. just as foggily, you remember him helping you out on the street, not necessarily picking up the details but evident enough to know he didn’t just abandon you on the side of the curb like how it would’ve usually played out.

but after that? everything’s blank.

so why are you here?

maybe you were wrong about him. this, stereotypical, aggressive, power-driven character you had given him, which you’d built inside your mind—was totally indifferent.

he wasn’t aggressive. nor did he seem like a.. total prick.

“what’s even happening to me—” you send another splash of cold water to your face. then another, and another.

though when you stare back at your reflection in the mirror, you’re still surrounded by the same four walls.

trembling, your hands fumble for your phone that’s still underneath trent’s shirt, and inside the pocket of your dress, nearly dropping it in the sink.

the first person your contacts alerts is lily, but it goes straight to voicemail. ugh.

pressing the phone to your ear, you ramble on nonetheless. “tell me why im stuck, stranded in flirtzilla’s bathroom,” you complain in a hushed tone, wary of him still a wall away. “how did it even get to this point!? how did you guys let me get to this point.”

“i-im,” you stammer. “i have his shirt on for fucks sake! i feel nauseous, my head is throbbing and please just.. pick me up. i can’t stay here for another second.”

theres a soft tap at the door. “hey, y/n? is everything alright?..can i come in?”

the door knob turns swiftly, although you’re swifter to slam against the door and hold the handle at bay. “everything’s fine!”

“it doesn’t sound like everything’s fine,” he tries the door knob again but you force your back up against it.

the nervous laugh you erupt is half-delirious, pressing your phone to your chest. “n-no! it is!”

there’s a sigh. a muffle. “if you say so.”

you hear him retreat from the door, more or less the bedroom too by the croaky whistle of the wooden hinges.

“lily, when you get this, please call me back.”

the sound of his voice shoot blots of nausea into your stomach, one deep breath and.. oh, god.

your stomach twists painfully and inevitably you spills your guts out. you barely make it in time to the toilet bowl, every poor decision from the night before now leaving your mouth in toe-curling hurls. the putrid, acidic scent only adds fuel to the fire. your senses become so burdened with nausea, so much so, you don’t recall hearing trent sprinting into the bathroom.

a small elipse of, “oh my god,” leaves his lips but doesn’t vacilliate when sweeping your hair back. the brunette ties it back with his own hand, crouching to meet your level, rubbing gentle circles into lower back.

“jesus. okay, it’s okay,” he assures. “just breathe. breathe through it.”

mortification settles in. you still aren’t entirely convinced by him—and a few blurred moments of his kindness won’t fix that. you’ll be the least surprised if you find out he’s posted you blacked out from last night.

between the bitter taste in your mouth, and the sting in your eyes, you can barely croak, “go away.”

“do you treat everyone who helps you out like this?” he replies, half-mockingly. “you clearly can’t handle this by yourself.”

all you wish to do is crawl inside your own skin. for the floor to open up and swallow you whole. but all you’re allowed to do is dry-heave and groan.

theres nothing like the pain of having a bruised ego. and quite frankly, you hate being proved wrong.

eventually, when your body tires out, you fall limp against the ceramic, rivaling the urge to sob. everything hurt.

your throat aches after being under sickly pressure, your temple still feels as though it’s pulsating, and not to even mention the scrapes on your bare knees from kneeling into the bathroom tiles.

“look at me.”

trent coaxes you into meeting his eyes, worry dancing inside them. his lips pinch together unsatisfactorily as he unwinds the toilet roll, dabbing your lips to wipe the reminisce of drool.

“the worst of it has surpassed,” he says, steadying your shoulder. “alright? just breathe.”

you don’t answer. but you do breathe.

your body is trembling from exhaustion, every inch of you suffering like you’ve just run miles in heels. everything’s a blur. trent’s just a blurry figure, your piled emotions and sores are just a blur, and when you cave into him—that’s just a blurred action too.

it’s not deliberate. you’re just so.. done.

so emotionally wrung out, you forget you’re supposed to hate him. you forget he’s trent—the absolute headache of a man.

his breath hitches in his throat, just for a moment. you feel the sharp intake of breath from his chest for where your head is rested. his body tenses beneath you, like he’s not sure if he should hold you or back away.

except, the footballer returns the favour, embracing you with his biceps that coil around your torso.

neither of you speak for awhile, not daring to venture into the possibilities of what to do next.

trent’s chin rests lightly against the top of your head; his fingertips trace the indent of your spine via a rhythm meant to soothe. you swear you almost doze off, till he startles you.

“i’ll go and get you some ibuprofen,” he nods eventually against the shell of your ear. “and some new clothes, by the looks.”

trent smooths your hair back with his thumb, cradling his hand at the back of your skull.

“ill be right back, ‘kay?”

as he retreats once more, you seize the opportunity to brace yourself along the wall. the cold tiles penetrate into your fiery skin like needles. you hear your phone buzz somewhere around you—and after moments of patting the floor and your pockets, it displays sabrina’s number.

“so, you’re the new girl he’s with this morning.”

|| 🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli @bwueden (lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)

CHAPTER FIVE

"baby, i'm talkin' crazy, i need you right in my space"

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

warnings — sexual tension, toxic relationships, mature themes (minors dni)

word count — 14k

summary — y/n, a rising r&b star, is stuck in toxic situationships, with tabloids constantly overshadowing her music. to fix her image, her team pushes her into a fake relationship with liverpool’s trent alexander-arnold. both reluctant, they soon realize keeping things strictly business isn't so simple. will pretending to be in love stay a game, or turn into something real?

an — dare i say... the climax

masterlist

imsg ౨ৎ trent alexander-arnold

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

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

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

masterlist | buy me kofi <3

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

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

Fifteen year old you guys would be proud.

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

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