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so-much-for-the-seashells · 8 months ago

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Taming the Supe

✨ Soldier Boy x Fem!Therapist!Reader ✨

Minors do ¡NOT! interact with this post. Thanks.

A/N: Let me be upfront and say that I actually haven’t seen the boys 😭 not my cup of tea as far as shows go. So this perception of SB might be very far off. But like, he’s hot and he keeps showing up on my feed so this is happening >:) and in my defense I did try to do a little bit of research on America’s Ass(hole), so hopefully that shows lol. From what I understand he’s a TERRIBLE person who just so happens to be extremely attractive, so slay. Oh, also, to any therapist reading this: I am so, SO sorry.

Icons by me! Any and all interaction is very much appreciated!

Also- I’m looking for a beta reader/ editor! If you think you’d be interested, dm me!

Content Warnings: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🌶️honestly that about sums it up. There’s SOME- A LITTLE- plot but it’s more plop if you catch my drift. This is toe-curling, eyes-rolling, name-screaming, tsunami-coming level shit, ya hear?? At least, that’s what I went for. ;)

Just note that SB is… very SB for the better half of it. And he has an INSANE breeding kink.

The ending’s real rushed cause honestly this was mainly written for the spice, but hopefully it’s enjoyable!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible. In all regards.

He was a jackass- apple didn’t fall far from the tree as far as he and his dad were concerned. It wasn’t necessarily Ben’s fault; you cant help your blood. But because of said aforementioned father, Ben was brought up on misogynist ideals and the ideal that he was simultaneously both a disappointment and the bearer of a massive god-complex. The former applied to when he was around his father, the latter to when he was around literally anyone else.

Not only that, but he was separated from society for forty years, being tortured- sorry, “experimented on”- by a skeevy Russian organization that his own teammates had pawned him off too. Sure, he had committed massive, unforgivable atrocities, but quite frankly, the other supes on Payback weren’t much better. Maybe not as bad, but certainly not much better.

He re-walked upon the United States at the very young age of one hundred and three, coupled with PTSD, a god complex and more “back in my day” rants than your weird old uncle could ever hope to spew.

And now the thing is: it’s easy to make him look like he blends in. Trim the disheveled forty-year-old beard, give him some boyish bangs, throw him in a tight white shirt and a Giants jersey with grey sweats and all of a sudden you have a normal looking, abnormally attractive dude. Looks maybe thirty seven. Has a smile that has probably actually, literally charmed the pants off of someone.

But to make him act right? That’s the hard part.

That also where you came in.

You were a therapist with a damn good reputation. Shouldn’t have been involved with Supes in the slightest, but you owed Hughie Campbell a favor. Good kid who just so happened to have powers. So be it.

The kid had stumbled into your office a few years before Soldier Boy returned, and you had had multiple sessions before he dropped of the grid. You paid it no mind- you have a lot of clients, and therapy isn’t a good world to get attached to any of them.

But then one day, after one of Homelander’s many destructive “saves” of the city, you found yourself stuck in a burning building. By some miracle Hughie was in the same building, and he teleported you out and onto safer ground. Sure it was awkward being held up bridal style by a young dude who was ass-naked, but stranger things have happened.

Because of the save, you felt that you owed him, and told him as much. He was gracious, not wanting to take advantage of you, and you went back to not hearing anything from him.

That is, until just after the news article about Soldier Boy’s return broke out. It was definitely a headline that had caused you to raise a brow, but from what you knew America’s first supe was not what Vought made him out to be in the eyes of the public. He was an asshole who killed activists, and was most likely very racist. If anything, seeing the headline made you slightly wary for the good of the world. But you let it slide, figuring that if you already existed in a world where psychos like Homelander did you would probably be fine if there was one more.

Well, you were very much wrong.

A few days after the article broke out, Hughie called you. Asked if you would be okay to take you up on that favor. Of course, you said yes- you were only alive because of him. He had showed up to your house, and teleported you to a dinghy motel with no explanation, rendering you both in the same awkward situation as before. Him holding you bridal style, ass naked. If you had a nickel for every time he’s done that… you’d have ten cents, but it’s still oddly specific of it to happen twice.

“Listen,” he had said, setting you down. You had no choice but to do so, given that he was ass naked and it would be really awkward to see that. So you kept your eyes locked on his as he talked. “You know how Soldier Boy is back?”

“Mhm…” you nodded warily, knowing damn well that that was an ominous hook to your situation.

“Uh, he’s insane.”

“Sorry, he’s, like, he is? Presently?”

“Yeah… he’s in there and I think he would really benefit from a little therapy. His mind’s wired like a grandpa who has stories from every war.”

“Fuck, Hugh,” you cursed. He winced, his sweet eyes opened wide. “Sorry. It’s just.. are you kidding me?” Soldier Boy? It would probably take a team of specialists to figure out what’s going on in that head.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you at least try?”

“Only for you.” It was really hard to have resolve with those puppy dog eyes staring at you.

“Thanks, y/n. Really.”

So you had walked in behind him; waiting as he threw on some sweats that were in a plastic bag outside of the motel room door.

You walked in together, only to see the most beautiful man you’d ever seen sitting on the bed, shoes still on.

Look. Everyone has fantasized about Soldier Boy at least once in their lives. The pinnacle of physical perfection, charisma oozing from his pores- it was hard not to. You were no exception- in your younger years there had certainly been more than a few nights where you were fucking yourself to pictures or videos of him, pathetically rutting on your clit and wishing it was his huge, gloved hands instead.

Of course, that was well before the article on the truth about him broke out. After that he had majorly lost his sex appeal.

However, seeing him in person immediately flashed you back to being younger and sexually frustrated, wondering how a man like that even existed. He was even better looking in person, piercing green eyes boring holes into you.

Thankfully it only took one douchey comment to snap you back to reality.

“So prostitutes are still a thing?” he asked, the question directed at Hughie. You immediately balled your hands into fists at your side, ready to tell this old-ass off, before remembering that you were there on professional business.

“No, no, she’s a therapist,” Hughie told him. “Y/n L/n, the best in the business.”

“You brought me a shrink?” he laughed incredulously. “Fuck you, I don’t have shell shock!”

He definitely had shell shock.

You didn’t bother waiting for Hughie to answer. “Listen, Mr. Boy, I’m only here ‘cause I owe this kid a favor. Would it really pain you so much to talk about yourself for an hour?” Your hands were planted on your hips.

“Man, when did women get so feisty?” he asked, that 1950s accent oozing through his words.

“Once they came to their senses,” I say with sass.

“So what? All I have to do is talk to a pretty thing about me?”

“Pretty much,” you conceded, ignoring the “compliment” he payed you.

“Fine.” Great. He agreed. How wonderful.

“I’m going to get some food, I’ll be back in an hour. If you need anything at all, just text me,” Hughie told me. “Thanks again.”

“Sure,” you replied, leaning in by his ear. “I think you’re going to owe me after this.

“Yeah, you’re probably not wrong,” he agrees, patting you on the back before teleporting away to the store. Man, this power thing… never gets any less weird.

“Take a seat,” Soldier Boy patted his lap.

“Hilarious,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on the other bed. Look, if he hadn’t been the jackass you knew him to be you most definitely would’ve sat on his lap. But you knew better. At least in the moment. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“M’name’s Ben, and I’m a soldier. My daddy hated me, so became a superhero. Surprise, surprise, he still hated me. But I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Might go take a piss on his grave while I’m here.”

“Interesting,” you murmur, putting together a mental file. Name: Ben. No last name? Weird. Daddy issues- makes the god complex make sense. Hmm. “Did you ever have a mother in the picture?”

“No. Died when I was a boy.” Added to file.

“Okay, so then why take the serum?” You know why, but you want to see something.

“You deaf? I said it was cause my daddy hated me.”

“You took a untested, potentially dangerous serum just because of your daddy issues?” you ask, matching his rude tone.

“You- you know what? This is boring. How about you and I fuck instead of this, hm?” he asks. Him saying the word fuck turned you on more than it should, but his misogyny was a quick turnoff.

“I think I’m just going to text Hughie,” you said, moving to stand, wholly unimpressed.

“Wait, no- I did it cause I hated feeling weak. Feeling stupid. Thought it would turn me into someone, just turned me into a jackass machine,” he said honestly, his eyes big and sad.

“Okay,” you said simply, sitting back down. That’s much more like it. “So then what led you to murder innocent people?”

If this were a normal session you would have never asked such a thing. Ever. But this was anything but normal.

“What did you just say to me?” And there it was. A glimpse of that Soldier Boy quick temper. You probably shouldn’t have been making him mad, but you didn’t know how else to go about this given that you weren’t in your professional environment.

“You heard me,” you told him with your arms crossed, trying to bite back the fear caused by

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, fists balled at his sides. “A question like that’s gonna cost ya.”

You roll your eyes, standing my ground. “Why. Did. You. Murder. Them?”

“Because they deserved it,” he yelled, standing up. You do your best not to flinch, but he was an imposing six-and-some feet tall.

“How? Did the Milk family deserve it? Did their son?” you yell, fighting off the fear in your voice.

He stops then, jaw clenching. “I was the good guy. The hero.” His voice breaks, ever so slightly. His green eyes burn holes into yours. You stare right back, just as intensely.

“So, imposter syndrome.”

“No!” he roared, the sound threatening to bring down the roof of the motel room.

“They were good people. Activists. Made a difference in their community.”

“That got what was coming to them.”

“What? A car being thrown at their house?”

“You…” he steps closer. You sit up in the bed, back against the headboard. “You don’t know me.”

I stand up then. Not nearly as tall as him, but in anger. “Yeah, but I know your actions.”

“Then you should think I’m a hero.”

“I don’t.” I say grimly, arms crossed.

“I’m Soldier Boy, for Christ’s sake,” he spat.

“Yeah, and I’m Y/N L/N. Who fucking cares.” Well this went from therapy to argument real fast.

He leans down then, by my ear. It’s all you can do not to back away as his hot breath fans the column of your neck. “Maybe you should.” His voice is gravelly, rough from anger but also from something else…

“Well I won’t.” You said, maintaining your ground.

“Wrong move, sweetheart,” he said, before crashing his lips to yours. You squeaked into the kiss, surprised, but he just took initiate to shove his tongue in your mouth, exploring with great fervor.

And you knew damn well how wrong this was. How unprofessional you had been; how bad it was that his tongue, this tongue of a murderer, was half down your throat. But in the moment you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because he was just that good of a kisser. Made you forget about the misogyny and his volatility. At least, for the time being.

He pulled away, smirking down at you.

“If we do this, you’re going to talk to me after. Act like you’re an adult,” you told him sternly, as if your underwear wasn’t soaked with arousal from the kiss.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled.

“I fucking mean it,” you reiterated, hands on his pecs.

“And I fucking said fine,” he retorted. “Ben,” he introduced as an after thought.

“Okay, cool. Ben.”

“That’s the name I better hear coming off those pretty lips in a couple minutes here,” his gaze darkened with lust, emerald green eyes darkened to the color of a forest cloaked in the dead of night..

“O-okay.” And there it is, the first time you gave into the stutter derived from your desire. This was dangerous, but once he kissed you again you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

When he pulled away he thumbed at your lower lip, and you immediately react led to his touch, mouth falling open around the digit. “Good girl,” he praised, and you hated the way you felt proud at his words. He pulled off his jersey and under shirt, urging you to do the same until you both stood before each other, topless. He crowded you against the bed until you fell back, calves draped over the edge. He made room for himself between your legs, kissing you furiously, and you let out little breathy sighs as he did so.

“Attagirl,” he breathed when you gasped his name as he bit along your collarbone. He continued his fiery trail, from the juncture of your earlobe and neck to your collar bone and then down your chest, and you knew damn well that you weren’t going to be able to cover up half of the marks he gave you. But you also couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“You-you can come in me,” you mumbled as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I’ll fill you up real good” he said, eliciting a gasp from you when he bites your nipple.

He continued his path of kisses down your body, and in the bottom of your eye you could already see dark marks on the tops of your breasts, making your head fuzzy.

He stopped at your pants, biting the juncture of your hip and and thigh.

“‘m gonna get you ready for me,” he explained, before ripping off your pants and underwear in one go. This is not a metaphor, he literally tore them of you. You whined in protest, but he dismissed you, saying “I’ll get you new ones.”

And even though you knew he most definitely wouldn’t, his breath on your clit stopped you from caring.

He gave you no warning before diving into your soaked pussy, and you all but screamed his name when he fid, your fingers grasping his hair for dear life. He groaned into your cunt but kept going, spurred on by your actions.

The thing was, you hadn’t expected him to be good at eating pussy. He was from, like, the forties, after all. You thought that most people then probably didn’t bother as no one really cared about women and probably their pleasure back then.

Well, Soldier Boy- Ben- was very different.

He worked at you methodically, licking long stripes before thrusting his tongue in an out of you, testing the waters. He kept eye contact, and you could feel the smugness in his gaze as he watched you come apart.

Eventually he switched so that he was sucking on your clit, which would’ve been enough to bring you over already but then he added one of his long, thick fingers to your pussy. You yelped his name, not ready for the stretch and on the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you urged, whining. “Please don’t stop, Ben.”

And he didn’t, adding a second finger and scissoring within you. If his fingers were already like this, his cock…

But you couldn’t think about that then, nor could you really think about anything at all because he started tracing tight patterns on your bud and added a third finger, stretching you so far that you had no choice but to come. He helped you ride out your high for longer than you thought possible, lapping up all of your release before standing up to full height.

“That good, Sweets?” he smirked, looking down at your fucked out self. You nodded dumbly, and he chuckled. “Thought so.”

Your release covered his facial hair, but he didn’t seem to care much, just wiped a little off with his forearm. He then kicked off his shoes and took off his pants and underwear, and that’s when you saw it.

You were already baffled by him- beyond hot, perfect physique, pussy-eating champion, etc.

But his cock? It was huge. And it was perfect, a word that shouldn’t be able to be used to describe the male genitalia.

“Ben- that’s not going to fit-,” you gasp, sounding like a cheap porno.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and from his tone you could tell he was going to bottom out no matter what.

Oh, god.

He climbed over you, his large forearms on either side of your head as he rested over you in a plank. He put a pillow under your hips, and you knew you were in for it.

He rubbed his glorious dick over your hole, your clit, and through your folds, covering it in your slick, and you moaned his name.

“Good girl,” he praised, before finally lining up with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing, but then he started pushing in.

If his fingers were big, his dick… even the tip had you a moaning mess.

“Oh, honey, you’re tighter than a virgin who’s never touched herself,” he groaned as he pushed in, you writhing beneath him. “‘n I just stretched you out, too.” The pillow under your hips let him get impossibly deep, and after an eternity he finally bottomed out, so large that you shouldn’t have been able to take him. But you did, and he hadn’t even done anything yet but you were a whimpering, whiny mess under him.

“I’m gonna move now,” he told you, before pulling almost all the way out and back in, slowly. You were writhing under him, but he was undeterred, and just kept going until you gave him easy access.

“Ben?” you asked, your voice sweet. And you didn’t know what possessed you to add the next part of your question, but you did. “Can you fuck me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he groaned, before rearing back again and slamming back into you. It was hard and it was rough, and it was exactly what you wanted even if you knew you weren’t gonna be able to sit right for a week.

You literally had a supe cock in you. You’d seen dildos of these, maybe even owned one, but nothing could do the real thing justice as you whined beneath it.

And if you thought it was already enough just taking him like this, once he started talking you were through.

“Yeah, take it,” he smirked, pounding into you at literal superhuman speed. “I’m going to destroy this cunt until we’re both leaking out of it, and then I’m going to keep going,” he promised against your collarbone, biting anywhere he pleased. You whimper against him, pussy clenching around his enormous length as it crashed in and out of your fluttering walls.

“You like that? Wanna be my little slut?” he grinned, rutting on your clit so you couldn’t answer. “You’d be a real good slut. Would just keep you at home all day, naked and always ready for me. Always full of me too,” he mused, his pace somehow getting rougher. Your mouth was dropped in a permanent ‘o’ as you reveled in the way his huge hands are squeezing your hips and pulling you against him, filing you to the base.

“No other boy can do it like me, sweetheart,” he said cockily. “Fill you up so good, make you mewl.” And as it turns out he was most definitively right about that. But then it was too hard to think about what’s right and wrong when-

“Ben- I- ‘m gonna-.”

“Aww baby, what’s the matter? ‘M I fucking you too good? You can’t talk?”

You moaned pathetically, pulling on his fluffy hair.

“I know, I know,” he said with a soft grunt. “Come for me, pretty thing. Come.” And you did. Hard, all consumingly. It hurt so good that you almost blacked out, but he kept going, doing his damnedest to overstimulate you.

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart. Ain’t even close,” he told you, pulling you off of him and sitting, legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground. He grabbed you, letting you straddle his lap before slamming you down on his length. At this angle he could get impossibly deeper, his dick easily reaching your cervix on every thrust. You screamed, holding onto him for dear life with your face buried in his neck.

“Gonna fill you until you’re full, and then some,” he promised, lifting you up and down, flexing that super strength. “Rub on that pretty clit for me, doll,” he asked. You tried, you really did, but you were just so sensitive.

“That’s okay, I’ll do everything for you, you just take it like a good slut,” he cooed, bringing a hand between the two of you and rutting on your clit without abandon. You came again with a wail of his name before he pistoned into you sloppily, finally spilling his own release into you. And it was messy, and you were far too full to keep going, but he doesn’t care, somehow still hard even though he had just painted your walls with his thick, sticky cum.

You were babbling at this point, raking your nails against him as he kept going to town on your cunt.

“It’s just been too long, baby,” he explained, kissing the side of your head. “Got a little too much energy.” Yeah no shit, with the way that you knew that you were not going to be able to walk.

But he just couldn’t seem to shut up. “Y’know, if I had you back in my day we would’ve had ten kids. You would’ve give birth to one and then I’d put another one in you the next month,” he said as he continued his brutal pace. And damn, this man really had a breeding kink. It was not really your thing-kids tend to get in the way of careers, and also, you were infertile- but anything’s hot when it comes out of those plush lips with the 50s accent, so, naturally, you moan in response.

“Would’ve kept you sated all the time too, sweetheart. Any time you were hot and bothered, had an attitude… I’d fuck it out of you,” he murmured, enveloping you in his arms to hold you closer. You didn’t know if it’s the proximity to him, his voice, or the way that he hasn’t really let you come down from any of your highs, but suddenly you were coming again… just in a different way.

“Aww baby, did you just squirt?” he chuckled. You did all you can to further hide your face in his neck as he just kept going, only concious enough to register your embarrassment and fatigue. He pulls you by your hair to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, that was so hot.” You smiled, cheeks pink, your somehow still horny self proud of his compliment.

“It’s okay, just give me one more and you’ll be done, alright?”

“O-okay,” you say shakily. You hadn’t even noticed hot much your legs were quivering until then, and he laughed, squeezing them close.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he praised, rubbing your clit. Your blush became even more furious before you came again at him tracing patterns into your poor, overstimulated, sensitive bud. He came in you shortly after with a very sexy grunt, and it was just leaking out of you, going all over the tops of his thighs. He held you at the base of his cock though, not ready to pull out.

“You alright, Dollface?” he asked, gingerly moving- somehow while keeping his cock in you- you onto your back. You nodded, sleepiness overtaking you.

“Good girl,” he nuzzled your nose, gifting you the view of all of the pretty freckles on his cheeks looking like gold specs. You whined as he pulls out, and he tutted, plugging you up with his fingers.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. If you were a supe we’d be going another ten rounds, but I know you’re tired,” he warned, cock still semi-hard.

“Ben,” you gestured towards it, unsure what you were going to say because as much as you wish you had his stamina, you didn’t.

“It’ll be fine, sweets,” he shrugged it off. “Perks of the unbelievable stamina.” He kissed your forehead, before lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of you in attempt to keep the cum in. Pitiful tears leaked out of the corner of your eyes from the overstimulation.

“There, there,” he cooed, kissing them away. “Just don’t want to waste any,” he smirked, before leaving his long, thick fingers where they were inside you, all the way up to the knuckle. Your legs can’t stop shaking, and you try to talk but you can’t.

“Let me get you some water, put your fingers here for me,” he said, waiting until you do so, feeling your sticky release on your hand. You knew damn well that you werenot going to be able to stand.

“Here, sweets,” he returned, still ass naked, holding a glass, taking your fingers out of your cunt and licking them clean. “We taste real good, sugar.” You whimpered, ready to go at it again, abused pussy be damned. Speaking of, the poor cleaning staff… your mixed releases were dripping out of your poor hole, coating the bed and the bottom of your thighs in the stickiness.

“You really are an insatiable little minx,” he chuckled, holding you up so you can take a sip of the water. You obliged, eagerly chugging it down.

“I’m not going to be able to walk,” you muttered, resting your head on his freckled shoulders.

“Looks like you’re going to need to stick around, so I can take care of you,” he squeezed you.

“I’ll tell Hughie to take another hour, tell him that the therapy’s going real well,” you suggested.

“Oh yeah, real well. Definitely a happy ending, if you catch my drift.”

“Multiple happy endings.”

“Atta girl,” he kisses the top of your head.

You sat there in silence for a bit, basking in the afterglow as he rocked you back and fourth gently.

You’d seen so many sides to this man: Misogynistic, quick tempered, sex-god… but sweetness? This was the one that surprised you. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

“Ben?” you broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I could help you, y’know. If you want, anyway. And it wouldn’t even be proper therapy- you know, cause we just- yeah.” your words were shaky but you meant them. There was something about the supe that made you think that maybe, just maybe you could help him.

“I dunno, sweets. I think I’m a little too far gone.”

Vulnerability. That’s progress.

“Could you at least try?”

“I can’t say no to you,” he said. And you’d take him up on that.

••••••••••••A Couple Years Later••••••••••••

Ben Johnson, as he was now known, ended up becoming a normal member of society. After a LOT of work, he’s grown into himself. He cares about people, his ego’s lessened, his temper too. You had helped him through the whole way- gotten him a proper therapist and everything. And now you two were a couple who could just go out and get donuts, and do normal couple things.

“They’re cream-filled!” he beams boyishly, his bangs in his face and his eyes sparkling. He sets the box down in front of you, somehow having already gotten powdered sugar in his beard. He leans in and whispers excitedly, “you know, like you!”

“You’re bad,” you giggle, as if you don’t have him leaking out of you where you sit. You had stopped for a quickie before you made it to the donut shop, it wasn’t your fault that you were so irresistible to each other.

“Not anymore, sweetheart,” he winks with a click of the tongue. Which is true- there’s a certain softness to him these days. His jaw isn’t so set, the crow’s feet by his eyes have deepened. He isn’t so volatile, his tempers dissolved a bit. He’s become more human.

Not to mention that he’s made great progress in apologizing to his victims and making amends to the best of his ability. It may never be enough, but now that he has someone to teach him how to be right and a better understanding of the complexities of the modern world, there’s a chance. And that’s a chance worth taking, to help someone who could’ve been good become good.

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible, but you had nailed it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed this fic! If you have any ideas for headcanons or fics, my ask box is always open! I don’t bite- not unless you want me too 😏 (so. So. Sorry 😭)

Xx!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy #soldier boy smut

787 notes · View notes

konpeitonom · 2 months ago

Note

jimmy headcanons with curly’s niece who is only working with pony express because of her relation with curly… naive and dumb and he doesn’t think she deserves to be working there (sfwandnsfw😬)

jimmy taking advantage of curlys niece.

sfw/nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader - content warnings for legal age gap (18-25 implied reader, jimmy 30s-40s) jimmys character overall. manipulation? don’t like don’t read, block button is right there. minors do not read the nsfw section

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; requester is my friend yayayahahh i hope u like this.. short bc i did not have many ideas. u mentioned in dms he’d have a soft spot for u but idk if i showed that well oopsies. ~ never proofread as always

SFW

— you didn’t deserve your place at all, only got in because your uncle is some high and mighty captain. pony express is cheap, so he’d wonder why they’d add someone completely useless- young adult/older teenager who knows jack shit.

— was bitter about it (as if he didn’t use curly to get his job as well) but stopped when he noticed how cute you were. an idiot who has no idea what she wants to do in life, he needed that.

— i think he started pursuing you at first to kind of piss off curly. maybe not intentionally but like subconsciously, he wanted to hurt curly. and you boarding the tulpar was the perfect moment for that!!

— he’s met you before. him and curly are long-time friends, so probably at some sort of family gathering.. you didn’t catch his eye though, you were a teenager.

— i think he’d grow to have a bit of a soft spot for you, however. i think the others would think it’s simply because he and curly are close, so he has a bias towards curlys niece.

— you’d look up to him. he’s your cool uncles friend! how couldn’t you? and he’s a pilot? that’s cool. so cool. on paper, at least.

— no one would really be mean to you, but if they were, jimmy would get upset at them! it might come off as “he’s just so nice..” to you, but in reality he feels as if he owns you in a sense. you just look up to him so much.

— jimmy thinks it’s cute you’re so dumb and naive. he can mold you to whatever he wants. he has to play smart about it though. he can’t have you running off crying to your uncle, like he’d do anything- but still.

— hes the co-pilot, and while it’s a vital role it’s not like he’s the captain. still though, he’d use that as an excuse to sort of boss you around. like, “that’s not how you’re supposed to do it, are you blind?”

— then right after would say something sweet to keep you coming back. and he likes you, like “yeah, there you go, good job. do it right next time, yeah?” .. he doesn’t speak that way just to anyone, you’re special.

— would touch you subtly.. like light touches on your hips, waist. enough for you to notice but also enough for you to be like, “he’s just friendly” !!

— curly doesn’t notice it, ngl. even if he did he’d just brush it off like, “jimmys always like that with girls, pay no mind too it. but tell me if it gets too much, kid” .. and would still do nothing

— maybe he’d have a ‘talk’ with him? but that’s really it

NSFW

minors do not read

— for your first time, he would be nice about it. seriously. especially if you were a virgin. i mean, in his head he isn’t saying nice things but he’s gotta make you wanna stick around him, no? he’s charming with his words, so allll the shit things he does either flys by your head or are excused with how ‘nice he is sometimes!’

— we see this in the way he interacts with daisuke. he knows exactly what to say. ^_^

— after awhile he’d shame you to hell about it, sorry. doesn’t matter if he initiated it first. you’re still fucking weird for wanting to be with an older guy like him, let alone your uncles friend.

— he’d say shit like, “what if he walked in right now, huh? that’s your uncle.” and would laugh in your face as you clenched around him.

— he fantasizes about doing it in the cockpit, but he knows he can’t because curly can walk in at any time. too big of a risk for him. though maybe that’s the fun of it all.

— he’d do it if you suggested it though haha.. would make you call him captain because he’s weird like that. his jealousy for curly is evident in your relationship!

— “is this what pony express hired you to do?”

— he is a panty stealer. when you fuck there’s a 50% chance you’ll have to run back to your room to get a new pair of underwear because he isn’t giving it back.

— the other 50% is him cumming in your panties and making you wear it. yeah he’s gross, sorry. on your next trip you’ll know to bring double what you usually do.

— sex is all about him, honestly. i mean he knows he has to make it worthwhile so you’ll stay, but besides that his first priority is to please himself.

— contrayer to popular opinion, he likes it when you’re riding him. he feels in control; because at any time he can just grab your hips and fuck you himself.

— likes seeing your face contort and flush, pushing his face away in embarrassment as you make a mess of yourself on his cock.. he lives off that shit

— ok i’m done i hate this man

#mouthwashing x reader #jimmy x reader #jimmy mouthwashing x reader #co pilot jimmy #mouthwashing fic #mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #nomnompyon

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lara4eclipze · 4 months ago

Text

“Expensive”

sypnosis; being an OF wasn't that hard , one pic here and there , yet sometimes it intrigued who was these people—especially your top payer

cw; smut (!) , sw!reader , pervy Lara , swearing, , usage of degrading names , kinky shit , G!P Lara,not proofread, men do not interact!!

"what the fuck" you exhale as you take a look at your dms , one thing about being an OF model I guess — men will request the most outrageous shit ever

"fuck it" you say picking out one of the request— this one wasn't too bad oh! and it's made by your top payer

"wear my favorite lingerie?— not bad" you say , she payed like what thousands every month practically paying for your monthly dues

going to your closet and picking out one, which one pink? maybe red?— god it said your favorite why are you stressing it out

deciding on an simple pink one with ribbons , sighing out of relief — now all you have to do is shower and get the set up ready

after setting up the cameras and most importantly the lingerie, you get into position and take pictures

"wait should I text this to her? or is it a him?" you never really knew the gender since Lara went on your page under an anonymous name

after the"photoshoot" you ofcourse had to edit them think of a caption and so many things

afterwards you sent it to her , thanking her for her donations

"hello!— i noticed you were my top payer, here's a little thanks 😉" and sent , now we wait?

ding!

"oh my gosh— thank youu , honestly love your content!!" she immediately replied which surprised you

i mean the way she types , is she a girl??

"welcomee , if it doesn't bother you are you a female??" you ask , confused

"female , why?—I'm Lara by the way" she replied right away so she had a lot of time in her hands

oh and Lara? is that why her user was just L?

"nothing! — I was just wondering" you replied

a few days passed by , and Lara did not miss a single hour of donating

"hey—i was wondering how much I can uhm pay you to meet me in person?" Lara suddenly chats you

at first you were taken a back but after a little thought you decided to agree

"can you please show me pictures of yourself first?" you replied, yes you knew she was a girl but you can never be too sure

L sent three files

your phone rings , opening the photos you were stunned she looked beautiful, her eyes were like a siren calling out to you

"wow you're gorgeous" you replied

soon you were both planning out the day and time you would meet , you both settled for her apartment

the day comes and your standing outside her apartment, you were strangely sweating and your heart raced

"hey—how are you" Lara says as she opens the door , she looked mesmerizing her arms were toned, her face was sculpted by god himself

"uhmm" she trails off , god did you just snoozed off

"oh uhm sorry! " you replied, she lets you in and you both settled at the living room , her apartment looked expensive, I mean considering she spent thousands on you she can probably spend millions alone

"drink?" Lara asks , handing you a glass with some nice wine in it , she took a sip out of hers god she looked hot

"thanks.." taking a sip aswell , it tasted spectacular, like expensive, fine wine

a little bit of chatting and talking about your interest , it truly felt like a date but it's weird since you know she pays to see you

maybe it was crazy that you got drunk because of wine , but your tolerance was as low as 0

you were checking her out shamelessly at this point, her fingers , her face gosh , your eyes trailed down to her thighs , wait is that a bulge?—she noticed you especially where you were looking

"why princess? , want to try?" she ask her voice was husky and laced with seductiveness

you couldn't think straight , you aren't straight that's one thing

you hadn't noticed how close you both were till you felt her hands on your waist hoisting you to sit on her lap

your arms wrapped around her nape , core perfectly aligned with her bulge — you were gonna lose it

"my pretty girl — tell me what you want" she purrs

"please" you pathetically whine against her , her lips found yours , her hands deftly removing your clothing till you were left with your undergarments

"shit" she whispers , she loved it truly

"don't stare" did you just get embarrassed?, you did this for a living selling pictures of your body

to make you comfy she removes hers aswell leaving herself in some boxers and sports bra

"gosh you look better in real life" she says , was that a compliment?

"i just didn't expect you to be whore outside OF aswell" now you're soaked , how can someone make you feel this way when they degrade you

slowly she removes your lacy undergarments , her fingers finding your swollen clit begging for attention

"so wet , how nasty of you" she snickers

you whine , god your head felt fuzzy from her words and her fingers , have mercy on me Lara

"your cunt is so tight" she tsks , as her fingers probe your insides

by this point moans fill her house , you gently rock back and forth on her fingers seeking pleasure

until you felt her pull out her fingers at first you whined earning you a deep chuckle from the indian

you felt a much more bigger thing replace it — god was that her shit .it felt amazing the stretch that her tip kissed your cervix

"faster please" you moan , as she started bouncing you on her , you started blushing and sweating out of pure pleasure

her hands snaking around your breast taking one in her mouth , swirling her tounge around it

"gonna fill you up" she pants , hemr moans mix with yours as she keeps a brutal pace , the knot in your stomach quickly getting tighter

"please fill me up!!" you moan pathetically

"such a fuckin' whore for me" she breathes out before finally painting your insides

you silently scream—she prolonged your orgasm until you felt exhausted

pulling out of you , Lara took a look at your cunt dripping with her cum

"beautiful" she says before carrying you to her bed resting you there

"are you okay?" her kind demeanor now back

"yes thank you" you replied

"okay that's good— take a nap , I'll wake you up when dinners ready" she says smiling at you

you hum far too tired to form words

#lara katseye #lara raj #katseye x reader #lara raj x reader #wlw

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ange11icyuri · 6 months ago

Text

❝ PICK A PILE ❞

• Bridgerton (girls)

Choose an image that you most identify

With that will be your pile!

➽──────────────❥

How does your your s/o or crush feel about you?

PILE ONE ❀

your song: bad at love — Halsey.

This person might be afraid to open themselves up to you, maybe because they hate drama or gossip. This person may be sensitive when it comes to people talking behind their back/ and is easily hurt by certain actions of relationships maybe because in the past they’ve dealt with similar situations and would just like to start over without drama or gossip taking over. Despite them feeling terrified about this situation they do feel like love is the answer that they would still want to make things possible with a connection with you. They feel sorry because it may take them time to open up, or they might have a hard time with relationships in general because they may be scared to get hurt again (but their willing to try with you if it’s your crush) if your in a relationship listen to your heart and be with the person that gives you everything you need & don’t settle for someone who may not feel ready because what if things don’t work out? You should always be on your guard!

PILE TWO ❀

your song: waiting for a girl — Foreigners.

This person is open to compromise. They must really like you because they are willing to wait for you. I’m getting that they want you all the time. They definitely are attracted to you and desire you so much. (This may be someone who you know) but you are not in a connection with them for some reason. (Either you would like to take things slow or I’m seeing someone who doesn’t feel exactly the same for this person but they definitely like you a lot and maybe are waiting on you..maybe hoping they could change your mind) and for most of you there’s just someone who secretly admires you and thinks about you all the time and are willing to wait and compromise for you because they definitely want to work things out with you.

PILE THREE ❀

your song: stay — Kid Travis.

This person often worries about their connection with you. They worry that you might lose feelings or that you don’t feel the way that they do. They care deeply about you but they have no idea if you care about them still. They wished things were different even find themselves wanting to hold you and take care of you. They feel like you don’t give a shit about them because maybe you’ve been acting weird or different lately or maybe they can’t read your mind and they probably want to know how you feel and what you think. They really want you to stay. They are also hoping that the connection between the both of you works out. They probably think about having a future with you and being with you forever. They wonder in their mind all the time about asking you to stay..wondering if you would if they did ask you. If they left you before it was probably because they were under the impression that you were done with them & you wanted nothing to do with the relationship anymore but that’s not how they feel. They want this relationship and a life with you and want to work out things again. (This is for those who are in a relationship) as for those who aren’t in a relationship your crush may be worried that your family or the people around you might not accept her/him because they may be different and not what the people around you are use to..they might want to reject you in fear that your families / friends wouldn’t be compatible but if the two of you are meant to be together family and friends wouldn’t be able to stop that keep in mind)

If you enjoyed don’t forget to like share & follow dm me if you would like to book a Private reading with me! Okay enjoy your day bye! ✌️

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yuyu1024 · 4 months ago

Text

Dating app

Pairings: San x Y/N

Genre/tags: stranger to something more

Warning: 🔞 mdni, angst? smut, dirty talk, cursing, pet names (baby and noona), unprotected sex (be safe everyone), small age gap, phone sex?

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 4.9k ish

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

A/N: another San one shot. This one is from my draft from few weeks ago. Just finished it.

Masterlist

----------------------------------------------------

It has been two years since you last dated. Your ex broke your heart and trust in men. Which also affected your self-esteem BIG time.

But here you are now, years later trying. With a little help of technology.

"If you find a match... just swipe right." Your friend tells you while you speak with her through loudspeaker. "But of course, check his profile first and use your instinct."

"But what if... I don't get a match?" You nervously say as you button your pajama top.

"Then no match... you can try again tomorrow... the next day... and then the next day... until you find a matches and pick whoever you want to talk to."

"Talk?" You grab your phone that is laying on top of your bed. "We... need to talk?" You sound nervous

"Girl... of course! How should you know a guy if you don't talk to him?"

"I thought... we just... text...like... like in the beginning..."

"Oh well... if you message someone... and find him okay... you need to tell him your situation.. that you are shy and it takes time for you to receive calls..."

You flop you face down your mattress while sitting on the carpet. "I think guys will find me weird and boring." You mumble.

"For some guys.. maybe... but there are guy who find these things cute or interesting.. so... it's okay."

"You're so nice to me, Unnie."

"I'm helping you... because you are my friend... and you are like a younger sister for me..."

"Thank you!"

"Don't mention it... just stay calm and don't rush... and if you need something to make you brave, take a few shots of soju... knowing you... you might not even open the app tonight." She teases

"You know me so well." You laugh

"Okay... goodluck!"

***

An hour later after scrolling through the app. Swiping left more than you imagine and almost giving up, the notification sound of a DM made you almost drop your phone on your face.

"Shit!" You hiss as you see the red dot on the corner of your phone. Contemplating if you'll read it or not.

But then you saw his profile picture. "Fuck it! I'll read it!" You say. Or should we say its the soju that's talking.

🖤: hi

And after you read his message, a new message comes in.

🖤: how's your day?

"He's asking about my day?" You wonder. "Hmm... atleast his not asking for nudes or anything." You chuckle at your remark

💖: my day was hectic but survived it.

💖: you?

He reads it immediately

🖤: not that great.

🖤: but I did go to the gym to workout

🖤: i feel a little better

You pause after you read his message and click on his profile.

"Ohhh... he's... younger than me." You mumble

🖤: did that make you check my profile?

"Shit."

You try to type an excuse so he would not think that you are one thirsty ass woman

🖤: don't worry. I won't judge you.

You sigh as you read his message. "Let's just be honest..."

💖: I checked your profile because I was curious about your age.

🖤: does age matter to you?

💖: i don't think so...

💖: it's just that, I haven't dated a guy who is younger than me.

🖤: hmm, I see.

💖: how about you? does age matter to you?

🖤: no.

Then there is a few second gap between his next message

🖤: I messaged you first remember?

You two messaged each other for a while. You guys talked about simple things only at first. The common questions; favorite food, movie, drinks, places to go, snacks, music and hobbies. It even went on you talking about one guy you tried dating before using the app.

It even sounded that you were ranting to him because of how awful that blind date. That you don't have a choice to go since it was referred by a family friend.

You texted so fucking long that it reached to the point that you don't even noticed the time. Weird enough, you don't even feel sleepy even after taking four shots of soju earlier.

Not gonna lie, you even look excited talking to this stranger all of a sudden.

🖤: are you not tired yet?

"Crap!" You cover you eyes with your pillow. "I talked too much... he must want for me to stop replying..."

💖: oh, sorry. I must be keeping you awake. Sorry for being talkative.

🖤: it's okay. I'm not sleepy anyways.

🖤: i'm just worried you wanted to sleep but you try to keep me company.

💖: no... i'm good. :)

🖤: you don't have work tomorrow?

💖: I don't. I'm off tomorrow.

💖: going to a friend's wedding

🖤: i see.

Then you see the dot moving at the bottom of the screen. He is typing but it's taking quite a time.

"What is he typing...?" You murmur, curious

*pings*

🖤: can I please get your number and call you?

You jolt up your bed and gaps "what?!"

This is what your friend is worried about. Your introvert ass and you issues with talking to strangers at phone.

But then come to think of it, you have talked to him for hours now. Like since seven to now almost midnight. And you seem comfortable with him. However he is still a stranger.

Shit. Now you are all over the place! You don't know what to reply

🖤: please?

🖤: i want to hear your voice.

"Crap. Crap. Crap... crap!" You get up from your bed in panic and went to your bathroom to wash your face and then run outside your room, to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. "You are such a weirdo, y/n!" You say to yourself

🖤: you must be panicking coz a stranger is asking for your number

🖤: if you are not comfortable giving it... I understand.

You read his messages as you tap your foot nervously while holding the glass of water on your other hand

"I need to be honest." You tell yourself. "Yeah... I need to.."

💖: I'm so sorry. I not yet comfortable to give it and talk through voice call. We just met.. or should I say, started to connect.

💖: I hope you understand.

💖: and sorry for being weird.

🖤: I understand. :)

🖤: and no... you're not weird.

You put the glass of water on the counter and then melt on the floor as relief rush through your whole body

*ping*

🖤: i'm going to bed now. I have to get up early later. Thank you for accepting my DM and chatting with me. I hope we get to know each other more.

🖤: and also...

🖤: here is my number XX-XXXX-XXX

🖤: call me when you're ready.

****

The next day, you left in the morning to get to your friend's wedding. You had woke up early, dressed up nicely, fixed your hair and put make up on which more than you usually do. However, you missed your alarm! You woke up 15mins after which is a pretty big deal since you are very much slow when it comes to getting ready. Plus the traffic on the way is a cherry on top.

You are just glad you didn't missed seeing her walking down the isle. Or else she will kill you if you missed it.

"Y/n, thank you for coming." Your friend says as you two hug.

"Oh gosh! You're one beautiful bride!" You say as you hug her tightly. "Congrats to the both of you..." you say, smiling to the newly weds

"Unnie said you were late..."

"I was... I didn't expect the traffic on the way here."

"I heard there was an accident... my cousin too almost came late because of it." The groom says

"Oh... that's unfortunate. I hope no one got hurt in that accident."

"Yeah..." you agree

And then as you continue to chat with your friend, her husband and a few other old classmate from college, your phone vibrates from your bag. Someone must've texted you. But you chose not to check it as you are still busy chatting and you think it's not that important anyways. However, a few minutes have passed and it started to vibrate nonstop.

"It might be important. Just answer it... it's fine." One of your friend says

"Ahm... yeah... I am meeting a friend so..." you cautiously explain

"Oh. You're not going to the reception?" The bride ask

"Sorry... there was a conflict in my sched today... I said yes forgetting the time of your wedding..."

"It must be important... it's fine.. atleast you were present in my ceremony..." she smiles and hug you. "Go... we can do another celebration... with our group next time. After I come home from my honeymoon..."

"Sure! I promise I will be there. Congrats again."

After the hugs and goodbyes with everyone, you hurry your way out of the place. The sound of your heels are echoing off the walls because of the marble floor.

You pick up the call while catching your breathe as you go down. "Hello?"

"Finally... you answered." A low, rapsy voice says across the line.

"I'm sorry... I was talking to my friends and the newlyweds."

"Where are you?"

"I'm just about to get out of the hotel."

"Okay." You hear him breathe a smile. "I can't wait to continue what we left off last night."

Fuck. You can feel your cheeks go hot and red as you hear the man across the line. Who would've thought that the guy you were messaging through the dating app last night, the same guy you said you can't give your number yet is actually talking so sexy to you right now. In the middle of the fucking day.

How? What happened last night?

*****(last night)

You read his text. His number.

💖: ok. Thank you for understanding.

💖: goodnight, San.

🖤: goodnight, y/n

That was supposed to be it. Goodnight and goodbye for now.

But then the stupidity in you kicked in or the clumpsy fingers or whatever.

You were trying to save his number in your phone. You were supposed to long press it, copy and paste into your phonebook and save. However you didn't pressed long enough that it actually just tapped it and dialling it. Weird right? That's not how it should be coz it should have a pop up asking you if you want to call.

BUT the dating app... yeah... it just went through

You did end the call one ring in when you realized what just had happened. Nonetheless you stopped it.

💖: sorry.. I didn't mean to dial.

💖: again, goodnight.

Exhaling all the nerves out of your system when you didn't get a reply. Meaning he is asleep and didn't noticed it. Phew!

You then drag yourself back to your bed to actually try to go to sleep since you need to be fresh for tomorrow.

Pillows in place, blanket over you and lampshade off. You close your eyes already and begin to catch your sleep. When all of a sudden your phone rings.

Without opening your eyes, you grab your phone and answer. "Hello?"

"Did I woke you up?"

Your eyes widens as you hear a deep and unfamiliar voice. You check the number and you curse under your breathe when you saw that it's him.

"Do you want me to believe that you just accidentally called me?" He say, sounding like he is glad you did call him. Coz one, he finally got your number and he didn't have to actually wait

"I swear... I didn't... I... I was just... trying to save it. I didn't know how.. Its my first time using this app... s-so..." you stutter as you explain

He breathes a laugh, "it's okay... No need to explain."

You didn't speak after. You are trying to process the situation now.

"Are you uncomfortable hearing me? Or talking to me?"

You shake your head. "No..."

"Then... why are you suddenly quiet..."

"Well... because..."

"Well?"

"You sound hot..." you blurt out.

He releases a very hearty deep laugh. He's caught off guard by your compliment.

"Do I now?" He says, "you're not bad as well... you sound the way I imagined you sound..."

Imagine. He... imagined you?

"Annoying?" You ask

"No... you sound beautiful."

Your cheeks heats up. Fuck. He sounds hot through the texting but damn he sound more hot talking and with his voice.

"I thought you were going to sleep already... w-why did you call?"

"Hmm... I can't help it. I went to the bathroom to shower and then when I get back to my bed... I saw the notification." He pauses for a second and then adds, "my heart fluttered when I knew it was you."

"You're so good at doing this huh..."

"Doing what?"

"This... making my heart skip a beat with your words... and now... your voice and the way you speak."

He chuckles again, "you are way more honest and open talking than texting...I like that." He says, "But baby, I think you're labelling me as someone who goes to this dating app and flirt with everyone, anyone who replies or DMs me..." he clicks his tongue, "I'm not like that... like you... I'm just new to this. A month ago new."

"Really?"

"I promise."

"How come?"

"I don't know... it's not my thing."

"Then what made you do it?"

"Hmm..." you hear shuffling across the call. He probaby went to bed or moved around his bed. "A friend told me to try... he got tired of being my wingman."

Now its you who is chuckling. "My friend too... that's why I opened an account earlier."

"Interesting..." he breathes, "what are you doing now?"

"Laying in bed..."

"And...?"

"Talking to you..."

"That's it?"

"Yeah...why? what else am I supposed to do..?"

"You're adorable." He smiles

"Hmm... you?" You innocently ask

He was silent for a few seconds. "What answer you want to hear?"

"W-what? I don't... understand..."

Then while you wait for his answer, you hear his breathing change. He took a deep breathe and it sound shaky.

"I can be honest with you... but baby... I don't want to scare you away..."

Your head begins to spin by a weird thought that popped in your brain.

"What is it?"

"Do you really want to know?" His voice went an octave lower.

"Yes..."

His lips curves into a smile, pleased that you said yes. "I'm actually... touching myself... more specifically... I'm pumping my dick."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

"W-why?" You can't hide the shakiness in your breathe. It's not that you are flabbergasted by what he is doing and him telling you for real. But, you are being affected.

It's been two years since you dated. Meaning its also been that long since you had a dick in you. And this... him, San, talking to you like this and describing you what he's doing is making something purr under those white panties that you are wearing.

"What you mean why?" He asks, realing you back from your thoughts. "I am talking to you... and your voice is turning me on."

"Don't be silly..."

"I'm not... I can let you hear it if you want... or maybe... show you if you don't believe me..." the way he said those words sounds very teasing and tempting. "You're suddenly quiet... c'mon tell me what you want... I don't mind."

Pressing your thighs together whilst bitting your lower lip, you try to think before you speak. You need to be rational with this. You just fucking met this guy through a dating app hours ago and he's already offering you to see him touch himself or atleast make you hear it.

It's wrong. Very wrong. But...

"Ughhh...." he groans. You can hear him take quick breathes and fight a moan through his lips.

"Are you close?" You ask. Your voice is almost a whisper

"No... not yet..."

"Does it feel good though?"

"Yeah... but I probably will come sooner if..."

"If what?"

"If we both do it..."

Squirming under your blanket, you are very tempted. You can already feel a pool building up in your core by just the way he speaks to you now. You are that dry in that department.

"Y/n... are you touching yourself?" He asks

"Hmmm..." you hum as you're so shy to answer.

"What are you touching..? Don't be shy... tell me..."

Your mouth opens to speak but a needy groan escapes your lips. "I'm...nnnghhh... my tits..."

"Are your nipples hard?"

"Ngghhh... yeah..."

"Fuck..." he hisses. "You sound so sexy... so needy..."

"Ahhh..." you turn to your side, squeazing your tits with one hand while your hand is still holding on the the phone

"Put it on loud speaker baby... please yourself...and listen to how my dick sounds like... wet with pre cum and imagine it... pounding you..."

What the fuck is going on... this started sweet and casual talk only but then just as when the clock strikes midnight, you are now phone sexing with a stranger.

"Are you wet already?"

"V-very..." you breathe as your fingers are now in your panties and circling slow and sensually over your clit. "I'm not good at this... I don't know if I can make myself cum..."

"Do you want my help?"

"How...?"

"Let's meet... not now but... maybe tomorrow? If you are okay with it."

And fuck, you agreed.

****(Present)

"Found you."

You yelp as you hear his whisper from behind you. Almost dropping your phone in the process.

"You scared me!" You say, hands on your chest

Looking up to see, to finally see the guy you just had phone sex or whatever it is called last night, is actually standing in front of you now.

He is wearing a all black fit shirt underneath his cool looking brown leather jacket. And damn, he looks fine as hell. He already looked handsome in his profile picture and a few headshots in the dating app but in real life? His shoulder is wide, he is taller than you, his plump pinkish lips, his beautiful freckles and his voice. He's not human. He is more of a goddess.

"Sorry... I didn't mean to scare you." He puts down his phone and slid it in his pocket which you mimic. "How's the wedding?"

"It was amazing..." you answer, "almost didn't make it but... I ran as fast as I could."

He frowns and then looks at your shoes, "In those heels?"

You glance at your feet and then raise your gaze to his face. He looks not pleased but then with a hint of worry. "Yeah..."

"Is your feet fine?" He then goes down on his knees and suddenly touches one of your feet. You panic and get embarassed.

"Hey... what are you doing?" You hiss, holding onto his shoulder, tapping. You are asking him to get up. "Please... get up..."

"Why are you being acting funny?" He smiles

"Funny? Me? No!" You turn your back on him and start walking ahead.

"Baby," he calls and then holding on to your forearm, stopping you from walking. "Where are you going? That's not the way to where we agreed to go..."

"Oh..."

He is smirking. He is enjoying how flustered you are. "You're so adorable..." he mumbles. And then his hand slides down your forearm until it reaches your hands. He locked his fingers with yours as if, that is where it should have been in the first place. "Just follow me... okay?"

"You know... this is very out of character for me..." you quietly say as you two walk. "I usually say no... or run away... from creeps."

"So you think... I'm a creep?" He arches a brow, glancing at you

"A little...." you shyly answer

"Hmm... I understand..." he chuckles. "I acted a little out of character too... you know... masturbating and coming so intensely just from your voice and moans through the phone..."

"San!" You squeal and try to cover his mouth your hands. "Seriously? Why are you saying that so loud?"

He moves away, teasing you as you can't reach his mouth to cover it. "Why are you embarassed of what made you feel good?"

Blushing you look away. A little embarassed. Not because you didn't like what you guys did last night. You enjoyed it so much, thats not queationable. But it's just that, you have never been this open about sensual or sexual things. Even with your exes. Yeah you fuck with them but thats it. No talks like this before or after. Like sex is just a routine. (Also not that you had a handful of exes as well.)

But then look at this stranger, he... he is already doing a complete opposite of all your exes from the beginning to the last. He's very vocal and you are not used to it. Nonetheless, you like. You are just.... shy.

***

"Fuck!" You gasp as he pushes you against the wall and started making out with you like its his last day of living in this world. San is a beast. A hungry beast!

"I'm sorry.... if... we are skipping... a few step... in getting to know each other." He says in between kisses. "I can't help myself... the moment I saw you from afar... I am already drooling..."

"Ughh!" You throw your head back, eyes shut and mouth open as his lips trail down from your jaw, neck and to your collarbone. Whilst his hand is busy squeezing your ass under.

"You can tell me to stop... whenever you feel uncomfortable... okay?" He asks before sucking your skin, leaving a red mark. "Answer me, baby."

Opening your eyes, you see him staring at you with such desire and yearning. "Okay..." your voice is weak already. Nothing even happened yet. You two are just kissing and grinding at each other.

"Good girl..." the satisfide smile on his face, ugh, so hot.

He lifts you up, gripping on your thights, proceeds on carrying you inside his apartment. You arms wrapped around his neck and forehead, leaning onto his.

"We are definitely moving pass the dating stage huh..." you say

"Don't worry, baby. We have time to date... just right now... I cannot wait to please you."

Smiling while bitting your lip, "stop calling me baby. I'm not a child." You playfully tell him

"What do you want me to call you then?" He gently puts you down his bed and goes on to kneel in front of you. "Darling? Honey? Babe?"

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. "No..."

"Then what?"

"Hmmm.... noona?"

He raises both eyebrows, looking a bit surprised by your choice. "Is this about our four year gap?" He asks as he removes his jacket off and then throws it somewhere

You shrug your shoulders, "maybe..."

"Okay.... I can call you noona... but in one condition...or a few."

"And what are they?"

"I know we just met... but I don't fuck around baby..." he begins as he slowly lifts your skirt up to your thighs. "Delete the dating app... delete your account... or any fucker who you tried dating you in your phone. Coz...from now on... you are mine... okay?"

He dives his head under your skirt, spreads your legs and went straight to your clothed core and begins to kiss you. Right there, in the middle.

"Oh!" You inhale a sharp hiss as you feel his soft lips touching you.

Chills run up from your spine and your heart starts to beat faster than a horse. This is new and this is thrilling.

"You haven't answered me yet..." he gets up, moves closer to you and take you by your chin. His two fingers lightly touching and making you look up. "You're mine now... got it?"

You open your mouth to speak. "Y-yes..."

A smile spread across his lips and cheeks. "Good..." he leans lower and forward, hovering you. "And I'm yours... noona." He whispers.

Showered by gentle kisses right below your ears and neck is making you go insane. But him calling you noona, with that deep ass voice, you are leaking down there already.

"Kiss me..." you whisper, eyes shut. "Kiss me more..."

Your back is now the bed and he is on top of you. He obeys your wishes while he satisfy his hands with massaging your tits. He is pinching your nipples hard even under that cream blouse you are wearing. He even likes to rub his thumb over it from time to time.

"San..." you say, pulling away your brusied lips from his. "I need you to fuck me now... please?"

"Okay..." he gets up on his knees and then you start to undress as he begins to take his shirt off.

He is ripped. Dang, you hit a jackpot!

"Liking what you are seeing?" He sounds cocky but you don't give a damn.

He can be cocky all he wants coz he is one of God's greatest creation. Especially that thick, throbbing dick. It's perfect. You just know it.

"I don't have condoms with me nor in my bathroom... is it okay?"

"I don't care. Just get in me!" You jump forward at him and crash your lips to his again.

This time, both of you are skimming your hands from all over each other's body. Making sure you both touch every curve and every turn ons to make this session more intense.

"You're so fucking wet." He smirks. He is cupping you down there. "This laced panties need to go..." he then goes to rip it off you. Intense but so fucking sexy. "It's as wet as I imagined it to be..."

"Aahh!" Your mouth drops the second he inserts one digit in.

"This is how fingering works, noona..." he whispers, kissing you by the jaw. Each sound of each kiss echoes into your ears. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes!" Hips starts to move along with his rythm. "Aah!" You squeal as he adds one digit. "San!" You hug him, holding onto him tight. "Please... I need you in me... I want to feel you now..."

Slowly he pulls out his fingers, spreading all your juices over your pussy and then wipe the rest onto his veiny cock.

"Lay down..."

You do as he says and as soon as your head rested on the pillows by the headboard, you spread yourself wide open for him to see you. Everything.

"My little pussy." He says, aligning his length in your entrance. "Fuck... just feeling you by the tip is driving me insane..."

He eases himself in. It burns. But its not a painful burn. It's something you can't describe besides fire, heat, burn or whatever.

"Ngghhhhaaa... holy crap!"

He is pounding you so hard, so strong that the bed, his bed, is actually moving and creaking. His hands are on the headboard, eyes locked in watching you unravel as you reach your turning point.

"San!" You gasp, putting your hands on his chest. "I can't... I can't keep it any longer... aah!" You shut your eyes as you feel something in your stomach, ready to burst. "Aaah! Fuck! It's so good!" You pant.

"Look at me...." he breathe. He is sweating and his ears are so red. "Look at me when you come... I want to see you loose it. Noona... look at me."

Your mouth is open in an O. Taking short and quick breathes as you prepare yourself to let out the loudest moan you've been trying to hold onto all this time.

And then, just a few more dig into you. "S-san..." his name is the only thing you could let out. Your legs and hands are shaking. It felt like you've ran a 15k marathon in a span of 20mins. You are weak as fuck. However, he is not done yet.

Your eyes are barely open but you still manage to watch him go on, reaching for his peak.

"Noona..." he calls, lowering down so he could give you a smooch. "Your moans are music to my ears..." he say. "And you're still tight after all that...?"

You smile weakly and tease him by clenching more causing him to hiss, biting his lip and whimper softly. He sounds cute whimpering, whining for your tightness.

"I'm now close..." he lightly puts his weight on you, hugging you and burying his face on your neck. "Shit...ahh... ahh... ugh!"

Warm liquid coats your walls and fills it to the brim. Like literally. You can feel him pump in you like there's no tomorrow.

"Holy shit." He chuckles as he get ups to look at the mess he did. "I guess... no sleeping in my bed tonight..."

"What?" You get up and saw the pool of cum coming out of you and him. "Oh no... I'm sorry!"

"Sssh...." he pushes the hairs off your face and kisses your lips for reassurance. "No need to worry... a bed is nothing compared to what you gave me..."

"This is so wrong..." you mumble all of a sudden. "I just had sex with you..."

"And?"

You press your thighs together, hiding you exposed pussy from him. "I just can't believe it."

"Do you regret it?"

You look away, shy. "Of course not..."

"Then why do you act like you do?" He kisses you on the cheek, making you look back at him.

"Are we going to be official? Like...go on dates? Like... you know..."

"A couple?"

You nod.

"Like I said... you're mine now. That means... no one can take you but me..." leaning again for a kiss but this time its softer and have a hint of reassurance to it. "You're my noona... my girl."

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phoenixyfriend · 28 days ago

Text

Jango Fett the Mushroom Man

The other day, @threebea came to the DMs with the following:

Vampire Satine Very much at odds with other vampires of her lineage for how humans are treated etc etc, but mostly it was just aesthetics, and Obi-Wan in the wet heroine at the castle door, Satine trying very hard not to give into her nature while both of them are intensely pulled toward each other etc etc. Also vampire that could easily wreck the shit of hunters but is a pacifist so her fleshy boyfriend throws himself in the way of them Death watch hunter or w/e: You're letting your thrall fight for you. Satine, trying to grab Obi-Wan by the ear: We can just run stop it. Jedi probably mage/"hunters" who only hunt to keep balance but there's bad blood between their order and vampires (or whatever) For once I didn't get much into world building, [the clones] might not be and it's just the 'ruling' Mandalorians that are vampires. So the usual suspects like Tor, Jango, Jaster etc. Clones could be magic simulacrums (or that's what they're called) sim troopers. Vampire lords ruling the people, and it's for protection, but can get very abusive and predatory quick depending who is in rule.

Which is great! But my first thought in regards to the question of 'what's up with the clones' was uh. Well this was my message.

Help my first thought was "what if Jango buds like a fungus and got hit with some disease that makes him overproduce so he made thousands instead of like two".

And it's off to the races.

The weirdest magical malady. Jango the mushroom man. Adopted by vampires. They can't eat him because blood different and also fungus is weird. Jaster: This is my mushroom son [hugging Jango to him] Jango:

I didn't even mean for Jango budding to be a vampire AU thing unless vampires bud, but this is so much funnier.

Satine and Obi-Wan having dark gothic vampire romance, and meanwhile:

Montross: You cannot make a mushroom your heir >< you are a vampire lord! Jaster: It doesn't say in the rulebook that a mushroom can't be a vampire lord

Jaster pointing out that Jango looks and acts human other than the mushroom thing

Jaster: Show them. Jango: sigh [grows fangs, they're not hard or anything they just look like fangs]

The fangs pop off and turn into more sons.

Jango: …. Jango: [Puts them in a box with a bunch of other mushroom children] Jaster: Jango! Mushroom children:

The human form is basically a shape they take. They could be other shapes maybe a cuckoo kind of defense thing where they get raised by other races a lot.

For the sake of Jango's sanity, maybe they only need a few days to be walking and talking toddlers. And have rudimentary knowledge passed down genetically somehow instead of being taught (basically flash training but like the goa'uld).

Vamps try to bite them for blood but it's just. Mushroom.

Vamp: pah wtf? Lol yes they grow super fast

Chop off an arm and it not only grows back but it becomes another child. I'm imagining they wear the armor because it's easy to break off a piece like portobello mushroom.

Most are limbs slowly morphing into babies.

Lol yep it's a very hardy fighting force. More soldiers at the end of a battle than the beginning. Sort of scary actually. Although maybe part of the Kamino sorcerer thing was that they made it so that the babies grow even more rapidly.

Jango, confused: Why do they have bones

#jango fett #jaster mereel #satine kryze #star wars clones #obi wan kenobi #obitine #modern au #vampire au #supernatural au #phoenix posts #star wars #the clone wars #jango fett the mushroom man #sw legends

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meli-writes · 3 months ago

Text

Long Time, No Shear - Ch. 01

A sheepish Fae-girl is desperate for someone to shear her for the summer, and to not be weird about it.

There’s a human on Dolly’s doorstep — and she’s naked.

Okay. No, not literally. Per human customs this is all completely appropriate, if a little avant-butch, for the current weather. Black boots and denim short-shorts; enough chains to lose count; loose, side-slit tank that makes her toned, tanned arms part of the outfit; no attempt to hide the lace bra underneath — citrine yellow, to match the sun beating down on her.

And Dolly, snout pressed on the window, feels like she can see all of her.

But— she’s here because Dolly invited her and Dolly can sympathise, because it has been three weeks since she was supposed to have been sheared and she is melting.

(It is though 100% the humans’ fault this is the 8th ‘hottest summer’ — on record, in a row.)

And so there she is, pressing forward through the curtains, trying not to be noticed while she works up the courage, when all of a sudden the human looks at her.

And waves.

---

sheep-goat Fae needs EMERGENCY help w/ summer shear. Can be reg if not weird

Last posted 18 hours ago on Fluffr, the dating-slash-bulletin app for Fae and panel-vetted humans. Yes, humans named it.

It still takes a weird person to apply to the panel, unless they got Fae-referred but that’s got pitfalls too; it also went public after the grants dried up, and has gotten worse because of that particular human-neoliberal urge to overdevelop everything into ruins; and it’s where she met her Wolf-Fae ex — the one who dumped her four weeks ago. But:

It’s still better than the human apps.

Because Dolly doesn’t need this to become a weird sex thing because it’s already super intimate and freaky — and it’s what every human she meets on their apps tries anyway.

Y’know, before she shuts them down and they false-report her till she’s banned.

None of this is the Dolly-in-distress’ preference. Not by the length of a thousand leylines.

---

“Hey. Sorry about that,” Dolly says, sheepishly.

“You’re all good,” the human replies, a smile perched beneath her silver-rimmed aviators. “I’m looking for someone in need of a bit of help, roommate maybe?”

“Dolly! Yeah. That’s me,” Dolly cuts in.

She points to the thin, white line traced on the interior doorframe, “You see the chalk? It’s a shadowskin enchantment, here and on the windows. Makes me look human from the outside, your side, so no one stares.”

“Ace! Makes total sense. Fiona, by the way,” Fiona says, as she steps past the threshold.

Behind the aviators her eyes glimmer, and Dolly has to remind herself it’s just the dispelled illusion and not— “You are a beaut, but I see yer problem.”

She’s glad Fiona can see the smooth, mottled-white velvet on her face now, because even from across the street anyone looking in would be seeing her cheeks swell up with a redcap-crimson blush.

“Girlfriend broke up on ya, didn’t she?” Fiona asks, a little idly.

“Mutual! It… was… mutual,” Dolly bleats, biting down on a full-blown shriek. “Okay. No. But she did it at the worst time and—” She breathes in the infodump, stops herself, curls in an outstretched finger and restarts, “Remember what I said on Fluffr about privacy?”

Fiona winces, hard, and Dolly has to smother her mirror of it, cursing at herself in her own head for not sucking it up. It’s nothing I didn’t tell her, justifying the post and shit. She was just—

“Yeah nah, totally,” Fiona says to her relief. “Just out to help a fellow gal in need.”

(Fellow. Yeah. Dolly also had to tell her in those DMs that Dolly was trans — up the freak-show sentiment even further — because there was no way around Fiona seeing it.

Humans could never tell otherwise, even though her horns were still buck-sized.

She was half-goat anyway, which explains away most irritating questions she gets from them — even if they still didn’t stop staring at the black thigh-high wool pattern on her legs.)

Dolly tries to move on, before Fiona stepping back over boundaries also means out the door, “Thanks. You’ve got uhh— experience. Right?”

Fiona’s nerves are swallowed in a moment. “Reckon!” she says, bouncing on her feet. “I was a kid when there was still livestock on the big, industrial farms. Went to the sheep-stations each year to help out; docking lambs in the spring and the like.”

(When Fiona had mentioned her ‘experience’ in DMs Dolly convinced herself it was practical. Human ethics have been catching up since Fae unveiled themselves a few decades back, after the Vampires, but it was still… weird.)

Did she have to specify docking? Dolly thinks as her tail twitches, and thinks Fiona can see her trying to hide it, and that Dolly can see that Fiona can see that, and that—

“That’s… okay? You’re okay?”

“Ahh! Yep. It’s helpful, not weird,” Dolly answers desperately. “Well, it’s a little weird, but it always is. Just remember that I’m very much sapient and talkative.”

She steps into the next room without looking, hoping Fiona is still with her.

---

“Alright girl, are ya ready?” Fiona asks, observing Dolly scurrying over the plastic mat that covers the floor, making sure it’s tightly held at each corner by a chair or spare textbooks.

“Uhh, one minute. Could you— look away?” asks Dolly, bringing a long-clawed paw to the neck of her shirt. “I know you’re gonna look back but—”

Fiona turns. She’s not giving you a striptease, she thinks to herself, pottering over to the sideboard to distract herself, “This is the stuff here?”

Dolly watches as Fiona inspects her life-long assembled kit — explains, “Yeah. I had to figure out what was best for me. Was not cheap.” Fiona whistles in agreement, as she slides a slim pair of double-bow metal shears out of the sunlight.

“I know this girl who can roo, so lucky,” Dolly adds, jerking about as her pencil-skirt stretches over her fluff-plumpened ass and— “Okay, ready.”

She sees Fiona tee-up herself, nabbing the electric handpiece. “No wide combs, I like it. Grandpa used to say we lost the union to those things,” she says, before turning back around and instinctively sizing Dolly up.

“Huh… like a whether,” she mutters under her breath.

Dolly has tried desperately to never learn the terminology; doesn’t think when she idly asks Fiona, “Excuse me?”

“Comb on the handpiece: anything bigger than 2.5 inches is a ‘wide’ comb,” Fiona answers obliviously. “So you can go faster, and get paid less. I suppose it makes sense to go smaller, and you’re not looking to sell the fleece are ya?”

(She had — once. When she still had rent to pay, and was needily short, so went and sold it on a Fae-fetish site for a shameful and incredible amount. And still thinks about it sometimes.)

Right now, her hooves grind anxiously into the floor. “No, Fiona. The other thing?”

The human’s round eyes tumble back into the abyss of their sockets, as Fiona’s brow rises in concert with realising what she’s said; something Dolly hasn’t the expertise to know, only the foolishness to ask. She doesn’t answer. Dolly feels the plastic fibres beginning to snag under her circling hoof.

“Say it, or go and don’t help me,” she demands at last.

“It’s a… castrated male,” Fiona says, biting her cheeks. “Sorry. Maybe I should go anyway? It was a bit of a heinous thing to say—”

“Nope. No, you’re doing it now,” Dolly tells her, making it obvious she’s guilting her. “Or, maybe I pull out Fluffr and report you?”

Tormenting her too — all while utterly in the fluff, Fae-adapted phone stylus in hand.

Fiona twists at her shirt, briefly exposing a rippling mid-riff, “You wouldn’t… really?”

Dolly makes a show of walking up, tucking the stylus into a stationary-drowned mug, and looks at her. “Fiona, I’m fucking with you. You apologised, and I’m desperate here.”

“It really is that bad?” Fiona mutters, as much about the overcoat as realising her pitiful remorse is far better than Dolly must usually get.

“You know what crutching is?” Dolly asks.

Fiona nods.

“Eugh. And, it’s a fifth of my body weight. Roughly. And fuck it’s so hot these days.”

“Yeah nah, lost my hometown to a wildfire,” Fiona says, a little dissonantly chipper about it. “Why I moved here to be honest with ya.”

“Shit. Sorry I’m—”

“Our fault,” Fiona reassures. Meaning humans. “Not yours. Just tryna help.”

“You really are, y’know.”

She sinks to her knees, leaning forward and pressing her thighs together to hide herself a little, and coaxes Fiona to join her. “My girlfriend— my ex— she promised to help me after the breakup ‘cos I was due but well… ghosted me, then blocked me after I called.”

(Six voicemails. The first few reminders; the last few begging.)

“The other options are like pay three hundred pounds to get nude at a hairdressers, and/or livestream the thing on a fetish site to break-even,” Dolly continues, knowing exactly what that site is called. “Yeah… nah.”

Fiona listens, but doesn’t look, focused on setting a few implements down before taking an offered arm to follow her down. “Wow, you’re soft.”

“Uhh, yeah? Unlike the sheep you’re used to, I don’t like live in a field,” Dolly says sardonically. “I get a bath in this place.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got an entrance hall, lounge, staircase. It’s heaps better than ninety-percent of the places in this city. Certainly better than the box I’m allowed to rent,” Fiona retorts, flipping the handpiece on.

Dolly lets out a small, nervous titter. The way humans tangled up their housing with markets seemed remarkably silly. “Adjustment funds, the Greater London—”

Fiona swipes, a whole ream of Dolly-fluff falling off of her.

“Hey-hey-hey! Wait!” Dolly squeals, Fiona blinking as she rushes to pause and Dolly collects herself. “You uh— need to go slower than that.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Was just thinking you’d want me to be… efficient.”

She smiles plaintively, “I mean, I do. It’s just I wanna make sure it’s not scruffy, or messy, or obvious. ‘Cos that would take weeks to grow out. It’s best to sort of—” She holds her breath, and looks at Fiona who’ll never be more ready for this.

“Go slow and hold me down.”

Fiona swallows, wishing it was light beer and not the sheep-girl’s dignity going down.

“And that’s… where people get really weird, right?” she asks.

“Yep.”

If they somehow got this far.

“Like, seriously — how do I explain on an ad: hiya, I need a girl to pin my nude body down and spend four-to-five hours groping me and not somehow make it a weird sex thing.

And, y’know, not make it too much of a regular weird thing either.”

She sighs; rearranges herself to lean back into Fiona, bumping horn into chest.

“Throat’s best to start,” she says, after a moment.

Fiona’s hand reaches slowly, constantly darting her eyes back-and-forth for consent and, not seeing any complaint, takes Dolly at the horn and pulls her low till she’s able to line the handpiece up against the notch at the base of her neck. She closes her eyes, a little unemboldened. The lambs never talked back to her or looked this cute.

“Come on,” Dolly interrupts. “I’d like to wear clothes again today.”

Fiona fumbles, and blinks open, and the lamb in her arms just laughs. It’s difficult not to, there isn’t a way this isn’t absurd and Fiona thinks she gets that now.

Her gaze focuses, a little less nervous this time. A smile creeps to the corner of her mouth, “No worries. I’ll get ‘er right, sweetheart.”

---

Three hours in, and Fiona’s just now reached Dolly’s hips. The arms were simple, if a bit too close to being nipped once or twice; the back came off clean, and Dolly doesn’t admit she thinks about that site again; the tits weren’t bad — mostly covered in the same velvet that’s on her face, all the way down to her— y’know.

(Dolly also absolutely does not mention the three times she came this morning. Not for any sort of pleasure, spirits no. But to make sure there’s as little chance as possible that she gets hard from the super-hot, basically-nude butch handling her like— well, like a sheep.)

The ass was mild torture; Fiona tearing her facial muscles to shreds in the sternest wince of her life, as she held up Dolly’s fat, soft cheeks to clean up the folds where her ass met her thighs. Dolly, at least, holding herself in a grim but merciful silence of solidarity, till at last both rushed to kick back into listing off more of their shared, fascinating, and agonising spars with each of the respective departments of the Home Office that exists to make their lives a bureaucratic nightmare.

It made it all too easy for Fiona to forget Dolly was even supposed to wear clothes, until she was looking at her bend down to a cupboard to fetch mugs for a strongly needed tea-break, even in the present heat.

But, it’s smooth now, and so she runs a hand serenely down the small of Dolly’s back, not thinking of anything more than just making sure the girl’s cut is clean and consistent — till her hand reaches that newly-shorn ass and—

Bleat!

It’s the tiniest sound Fiona has ever heard, and it sounds hot.

What comes after is worse than the ass-silence. Fiona tries not to panic, hopes that Dolly didn’t feel the still in Fiona’s slide, but before she can click on the handpiece to continue—

“Oh— God. I am so sorry,” Dolly squeals.

“No, no. It’s okay,” Fiona protests but Dolly is wrestling out of her lap and she doesn’t dare stop her, as the self-excoriated sheep covers her mouth in shock.

Fiona tries to raise her hands in surrender, “I-I wasn’t thinking. Or rather thinking of you like a— I just wanted to check it was all the right length.”

“Fiona, you heard that right. I sounded like I was—” Dolly buries her face into the unshaven fluff of her thighs, butting the tip of her snout through to sniffle at the air. “You know what I said earlier…. weird sex thing. Like I’d never mean to, it’s just you’re hot and I can feel all of you. And I know how dumb that sounds coming out of me and with what the weather’s like but I’m used to people wearing like— more than that when they’re shearing me.”

She parts herself like Moses, and looks at Fiona clenching herself in awkward horror.

It really doesn’t help how it makes all her muscles flex.

“I-I’ve made it weird, not you,” Dolly whines; crucifies herself on the plastic sheet, “You can stop there, and I can wear shorts or a skirt so you don’t need to shave my legs.”

No one’ll notice the bulge. Shadowskin can take care of it. Right?

“Are you sure?” Fiona asks, tentatively placing her on Dolly’s knee and sinking it down a bit into her coat. Forcefully enough to both reach her wayward lamb, and to demonstrate the problem still there. “It’s really okay, that was totally me. I just sort of—

forgot the artwork for the canvas it was on.”

Dolly looks up, jerks a horrifically undecided croak out of her throat, and asks, “Did you prepare that one? You don’t… you don’t think this is a date, do you?”

There’s no velvet to hide the crimson shame that courses across Fiona’s cheeks, nor the same cushioned thighs to tuck them behind. “No, no, definitely not. Sorry,” she cries. “I know what you said too, and I don’t wanna be another weird human that you’re suffering for… basic care! It was just that you seemed… cute? And I don’t know, it feels nice to rescue a gal in need. I-I didn’t expect anything, I just… didn’t want to say no if you liked me too.”

The sheep stares at her, tilted head and pursed lips. Dolly can’t tell what reaction she’s having, which bloody well means Fiona won’t be able to.

Instead she slides back across the plastic and lies on her back, pulling her legs up till each forms a triangle. It does the trick.

“Should do the legs, shouldn’t I,” Fiona says — and Dolly is glad she didn’t have to ask.

---

The door is open, and Fiona hovers at not-quite the threshold unsure if she should be on the inside or the outside of it. Of the chalk line, Dolly’s rather literal boundary.

Dolly at least is— Fiona can’t admit it, not now, but she’s beautiful. To see the whole of her not in shittily-taken photo-form — her stylus is there for a reason it seems — but all in motion, as she stretched and shook and wiggled her tail and shorn-at-last self.

It’s hard not to feel proud too, of a job done well, of a girl saved.

The magic — the metaphorical, right now — worn off though leaves Dolly hovering too. She looks about as stressed as when Fiona showed up, but she hopes it’s only in a way that’s her fault — and that it’ll be quickly settled when she’s been booted out the door never to see her again.

“Uhh. Hey,” Dolly says, sheepishly, like Fiona was just coming in again. “You really helped me out a lot today.”

“No drama, sweetheart,” Fiona replies, the points of boots tip-tapping as she looks down at herself. “But, I should’ve dressed up better, didn’t think at all it’d be such a bother for you. Or— not a bother but— not your fault.”

“No I— It’s cool. You look good.”

“Oh… Thanks.”

She takes a step back, pulls out her aviators and tries to flip them on but Dolly just reaches out and takes her at the wrist. They stare at each other for a moment, but Dolly doesn’t let go, and Fiona doesn’t shake her off.

“Would you wanna help me next time?” Dolly asks, in more of a squeak than a sensible, unheated whisper. “It’s in a few months time… a lighter cut, for autumn.”

She drops Fiona, watches nervously as Fiona’s own nerves creep across her face, “Oh, I mean, sure! Would you wanna meet up before then, maybe? I don’t know, just to help things be more… normal.”

Dolly laughs, sweet on the afternoon breeze that’s sweeping in. “Now it’s a date?”

Fiona’s tongue wants instinctively to slither down her throat, but she thinks she can spot one of the girl’s teases by now — and she probably does have all the right to be a little mean.

“If you’d like it to be,” Fiona teases back. “But — for real — I’m still happy to help.”

Dolly huffs, and smiles in eminent satisfaction, “Then yeah, we can call it a date.”

It’s when Dolly’s peering through the curtains a few minutes later that she sees Fiona, thinking she can’t be seen, stop at short distance down the street and dance with glee for just a precious, delightful moment, before she looks back with a dumb, fond smile on her face and it just cracks when she realises Dolly can still see her.

And Dolly waves.

And Fiona can see her blush.

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

#melinoë writes #f/f #butch4femme #lesbian writers #sheep furry #please don't hate me furries i love you #for all the freaks who correctly bully me for being a sheep girl #i think i'm legally obligated to get my sheep fursona now #this sat in my drafts for 10 months dear god

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mxstellatayte · 8 months ago

Text

fuck me up, florida.

warnings: angst for the majority of it, sex at the end though, legal use of alcohol (reader and logan are both 23,) mentions of gunshot wounds, minor character death, based on a taylor swift song, childhood (middle/high school) friends to lovers, idiots in love, "you came" "you called," reader is half mexican (mom's side), slightly inaccurate bc i know carola wasn't at the miami gp but just go with it for the plot, reader's last name is rodriguez,

author's note: y'all i apologize if any of the spanish grammar is a little weird. my spanish is rusty, pls don't hate me for it

logan sargeant x female reader

i need to forget so

tuesday, april 30th.

you scan your ticket, the screen displaying your name and seat number. 12A. at least it'll be easy to sleep, you think.

after shoving your suitcase above your seat, you shuffle your way to the window and buckle yourself in.

are you really doing this? flying a couple thousand miles to visit your childhood best friend who, up until recently, had you convinced that his newfound fame that he'd gathered by announcing his enrollment in the williams driver's academy made him too good for you.

the only thing that made you think otherwise was the instagram dm he'd sent you five weeks prior, asking if you'd be able to make it to the miami grand prix. instead of a simple yes or no, you responded with the heaviest three words you've ever seen in order.

can we call?

logan picked up on the second ring.

"hey."

"how's texas?"

you smile. "hot. sunny. flat. beachless."

"so... it's good?" you hate that you can still picture his facial expressions even after not seeing him for years except for on tv.

"'s okay, but it's not home, y'know?"

"definitely. it doesn't matter how much i decorate my place in england, it's never florida."

"nothing besides florida is ever florida," you sigh, looking out the window of your apartment. "how's the season been?" you don't exactly know why you're asking. you know exactly how his season's gone. you keep every single detail of every single race weekend meticulously catalogued in a journal that you take everywhere with you. no matter what, you've stayed up late or woken up early to watch every race, as if your hopeful energy would make its way across the world to him in time.

"honestly? it's been pretty shit. the car handles really badly and wasn't really even ready for the first few hours of testing in bahrain. i can't get it to perform and maybe that's just because i haven't linked with the car yet, but it still really sucks."

you sigh, hoping logan can't tell how disappointed you are with his team and engineers. "you need a better team, lo."

"i know." there's silence between you for a few moments, and every second that passes makes it grow heavier on your chest. "will you come to miami?"

there it is. the reason you called him.

"i don't know, lo. don't get me wrong, i'd love to, but it's really short notice and i don't know if i could afford the trip. i might be able to make it to austin, but i'll need the time to save the money for the trip."

"i'll fly you out," logan immediately says, his tone almost desperate. longing. "i'll pay for your flight, your hotel, everything. please?"

that last word hit you like a punch in the gut. you only had one more reason to not go and you weren't about to tell him that reason. it was a shitty excuse anyways.

you're not about to tell him that the reason you moved to texas was to give him the space he needed to be able to succeed in his career and for you to succeed in yours.

take me to florida

you're jolted awake by the force of the plane landing, if you can call the awkward limbo you were stuck in sleep. immediately, your stomach twists with anxiety. logan had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you refused.

"i'll just take an uber," you'd said. "i'm gonna want to relax a bit after the flight, y'know?"

his only trade-off? you met him for dinner. simple enough, right?

in theory.

now, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel room, you debate between a floral sundress and a pair of denim shorts, a tank top, and a white button-up t-shirt with a colorful inkblot pattern.

you decide on the sundress.

fifteen minutes later, you're pushing earrings through your piercings, silver abstract shapes you'd bought on a trip to europe with your mother. you have to leave, but the situation you're in sucks. your hair won't sit right on your head, either being too frizzy from the humidity or losing any and all volume, and your makeup just doesn't seem like it'll last in the miami heat.

fuck it.

who are you dressing for, anyways?

logan's seen you at your absolute worst. he was the only one you let yourself cry in front of after your father died. he was the one that held you for what seemed like hours while you sobbed into his chest and he told you that none of it was your fault- that you never could have known that, when you hugged him before he left for the police station, told him you loved him, and slipped a note into his lunch box, the next time you would see him, he would be laying in a casket. he was the only one that could make you smile in the weeks following his funeral, dropping his entire schedule if you simply sent him a text that said "can you come over?"

the restaurant logan found isn't too far from your hotel, so you ultimately decide to walk. your walk is over before you're able to process that it even started and you're taking out your earbuds and putting them in your bag, taking out your phone instead to text logan.

i'm here.

i've got some regrets

were you always this breathtakingly beautiful?

logan's phone buzzes in his front pocket, but he knows it's you texting him. he doesn't even bother taking it out of his pocket before standing up from his seat at the bar and walking over to you, and when you see him, your smile almost makes his heart melt.

"hey," he says, and he hopes his voice doesn't waver from how nervous he is.

"hey. i missed you," you respond, dodging the hand he holds out and going in for a hug. "i've known you since middle school, logan, i'm not shaking your hand."

your arms around him and your body pressed against his almost makes logan short circuit. thankfully, he's able to regain control of his brain and hug you back, hopefully before you realize he isn't hugging you back.

when you pull back, the hug seeming way too brief for logan's preference, you're looking up and smiling with a sparkle in your eyes that makes him regret not making enough time for you. "thanks for bringing me out here."

"thanks for coming. do you want a drink?"

"sure. do you have a table yet?"

"i was waiting for you."

"in that case, lead the way." you gesture towards the restaurant, and logan shows you to a booth in the corner. soon enough, a waiter comes over to you and sets down two glasses of water and two menus.

"welcome in, y'all. do we need a bit of time to look at the menu or do we know what we want to get started?" his southern drawl is thick, and it reminds you of texas. but you're in florida now.

"i think we'll look at the menu for a minute, thanks," logan says, and the waiter nods and walks away. as you open the menu and begin looking, logan points out something you might like and you do the same for him. conversation begins to flow freely between you, and it reminds you of the times in high school when you would go out with friends.

eventually, you decide on a plate of nachos and logan gets a plate of wings. as you wait for your food, you catch up on everything: your move to texas, logan's racing career, your work volunteering with the austin philharmonic, his homesickness from living in england, and everything in between. you crack stupid jokes, share bites of food, and steal sips of each other's drinks.

it's like old times.

i'll bury them in florida

on wednesday, you and logan drive up to visit your father's headstone. it's difficult. it's only the third time you've visited him since he was buried three years ago. the first time you visited him was a year after he died. even a year later, you still carried so much anger and hatred towards the doctors and nurses that were operating on him, trying desperately to save his life after two bullets hit him- one in his leg, one in his torso.

he died on the table.

the second time was just a few months after, and you were still wearing your cap, gown, and stole from your graduation ceremony. by then, you had been able to forgive the doctors and had graduated in the top 10% of your class. four years of hell had finally rewarded you with a degree in instrumental performance and an internship at the south florida symphony orchestra.

now, the third time, you have a picnic blanket and lunch packed into the backseat of logan's car, the windows are rolled down, and your favorite playlist is shuffled on the aux. it's a beautiful day, too; it isn't too hot (even with the humidity,) there's a gentle breeze in the air, and clouds occasionally cover the sun. when logan pulls into the parking lot of the cemetery and you sling your tote bag full of food over your shoulder, your hands start shaking.

of course, logan notices.

his hand slides into your own, and you look up at him. his eyes meet yours and you smile. "thank you for coming with me," you say.

"of course. i didn't want you to have to do this alone."

you look back at the gate into the cemetery, the black bars menacingly sleek and very, very terrifying. you chew your lower lip in anxiety. "i don't know if i can do it, logan."

"i'm here with you. i know you. you're strong. you aren't the kind of person to let a gate scare you." you laugh lightly, looking down at the ground. the gravel of the parking lot, your scuffed, beat-up high top purple converse, and logan's nike dunks make up what you have to describe as a perfect picture. your phone is in your free hand before you know it, and you're lining up the shot. "still into photography, huh?"

"yep. i have some cameras in my suitcase at the hotel." when you pocket your phone and look back up at him, logan's heart melts. the shine in your eyes and the passion in your smile is enough to soften anyone's heart, but for him, as someone who's known you for years and has been there for you through thick and thin, it touches him in such a special way. "i'm hoping to get some good photos of the races. but enough delaying. let's go visit my dad."

the creak of the gates opening makes your ears bleed, and you laugh at how logan is making the exact same face as you in reaction to such a shrill sound. despite only having visited his headstone twice before, you remember exactly where in the cemetery it is and are able to find it within five minutes.

"hi, dad," you begin, your voice already wavering just the slightest and tears beginning to well in your eyes. logan's hand squeezes yours, though, and you're reminded that he's right there. he always will be. you take a deep breath and continue. "i miss you. we all do. i know i haven't visited you in a while, and i'm sorry about that. i really do have to come stop by every now and then. i moved to austin and have a volunteering gig with the austin philharmonic at almost every show and i have a job at a company that helps students with learning disabilities learn instruments. it's really fun." you pause to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, your nose beginning to drip. "sam is in his junior year of college, and he's majoring in engineering. he flew the coop, but he still comes home for the summers. he, uh, he actually got in to c.u. boulder, like he always talked about. that kid was always thinking about college, even in middle school.

"i'm actually here with logan, too, if you hadn't noticed. do you, uh, do you want to fill him in on what's going on with you, or should i keep going?"

"whatever you prefer."

"okay, i'm going to keep talking, because i think if i don't, i'm going to completely break down. logan finally signed with williams to drive on their formula 1 team last year, like i always said he would. i'm really proud of him and really regret not telling him that more, and now that i'm saying it out loud i'm promising both you and him that i'll tell him that more often. the race this weekend is actually here, in florida. miami, specifically. it's always a celebrity shit show that no one really wants to see, but it's the main opportunity for the celebrity sponsors to actually go to a race.

"what else has been going on? oh, mom is still a therapist. i can't tell you much about that because of hipaa, but she always comes home saying that she's glad that she could help someone. i'm gonna have dinner with her tomorrow night, and then i'm going back into miami to watch logan's practice sessions."

you pause your rambling, thinking about what there is to say next, but your thought is interrupted by your stomach grumbling. loud. you and logan laugh just as loudly, the sound echoing through the grass field and stone gravesites. "oh, yeah, that's another thing. we brought lunch. i also got you pink tulips, because i know they're your favorite." you delicately rest the bouquet on your father's headstone as you sit down, then pull out the different plastic containers filled with food you'd stolen from the williams hospitality. "you'd be proud of me, dad. i smuggled this entire picnic out of the wiliams motorhome without a hiccup. robin hood style."

logan laughs, and you turn to him. he's mirrored your position, sitting cross-legged on the grass. "apple?"

"nah, i'm gonna start with my sandwich. i did grab you some of the salt and vinegar chips i know you like."

the look logan gives you can only be described as pure adoration. "you," he says, pointing a finger at you in an incredibly sassy manner, "are an absolute goddess."

"i know," you respond cheekily, tossing some hair over your shoulder.

the banter between the two of you continues through your picnic, laughter and smiles erasing the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks and on logan's. you're almost able to forget where you are.

tell me i'm despicable

almost two hours later, the two of you are laying in a nearby park underneath a tree, peacefully observing the clouds that pass overhead and talking even more about any topic that comes to your mind. the question that's been gnawing at you since your plane landed in miami eventually bubbles to the surface, and it tumbles past your lips before you can stop it.

"did you ever wonder why i moved to texas?" you look to your left where logan rests, but he keeps looking up at the sky. you mirror him.

"i always assumed it was just because you needed a change of scenery. after everything that happened and your music career taking off, it would make sense that you would relocate to somewhere better suited for you."

"that's the thing, though. if i'm being entirely honest with you, lo, i hate texas. i hate the whole state. i hate how hot it is all the time without even being humid, i hate not being able to go to the beach. i hate how dry it is. i hate how flat it is. i hate the monotony of it. i hate not being here."

logan hesitates for a moment before speaking, and it's the longest moment you've ever experienced. "why did you move to austin, then?"

when he looks over at you, you're chewing your lower lip. it's a nervous tic, logan's noticed. he's not even sure if you know you do it. "honestly? i thought you moved on from our friendship. i thought everything with f1 suddenly got so big and important and famous that maybe i wasn't... enough? i thought that being a police officer's daughter from the same town as you that was studying to teach people how to understand and play music maybe just wasn't cool enough to be friends with a world-renowned formula 1 driver."

logan's heart almost shatters when he hears the weakness in your voice. you sound so broken and so alone. he knew that, when you lost your father, you isolated yourself from a lot of people, even your best friend from high school and through your first year of college. he was the only person outside of your immediate family that you spent a decent amount of time with, but when he was admitted to the driver's academy he had to move to england. he abandoned you.

"i didn't. i never forgot about you. sometimes i still look through the photos we have together because i miss you that much."

you sit up, tears pricking your eyes for the second time that day. "really?"

"yeah. maybe once a week?"

when you look down at logan, you're suddenly starstruck. you can't help but notice all of his little features that you wouldn't see if you didn't know to look for them. his freckles that are so light you'd have to squint to see them if you didn't know them like the back of your hand. the mole on his chin that he'd always been self-conscious about but you've always seen it as beautiful. the lines from where his eyes crinkle when he smiles. the annoyingly perfect flop of his hair that he's styled almost the exact same way since you started high school together. an urge you haven't felt in years suddenly bubbles, white-hot in the pit of your stomach, and it's boiling over before you can stop it. your eyes are closed and your lips are on his. finally. after years of wanting, of stares that lasted just a bit too long to be just friendly, of flushed faces and nervous excuses, you're finally kissing him.

but he's not kissing you back.

you pull back immediately, panicked that you read something wrong. you turn away, hiding your face in your hands out of shame. "shit, logan, i'm so sorry. i thought-"

"kiss me again." logan sits up, and when you turn around, the look he's giving you can only be described as completely and entirely fucked. you don't question his statement, just lean forward, placing your lips on his, and letting yourself melt. he moans softly into the kiss, his right arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. when you pull away and open your eyes, your breath catches in your throat. he looks beautiful. his eyes remain closed, but when they flutter open, you see colors in them that you've never seen before. sure, you've always seen the darker rim of blue that outlines his irises, but now that you're so close to him, you can see the flecks of green and grey in them. it's the most stunning thing you've ever seen.

eventually, you break the silence between the two of you. "i've wanted to kiss you for so long," you whisper, so quiet you're not sure logan heard it.

but he did.

"me, too," he says, and after a beat of silence between you two, you both burst out laughing. the laugh he hears from you is the pure, bright laugh that logan's missed so dearly, the laugh that you only really let him hear. the laugh that has tears in your eyes and makes you snort because you're laughing so hard you can't even breathe properly.

eventually, when you're able to calm down, your head resting on logan's shoulder, your hand holding his, you're able to process what just happened. you just hope logan is processing it, too.

"we just kissed."

"yes. we did."

"how long have you held out on me?"

"since christmas of sophomore year. when you made me the chevron bracelet with my favorite colors."

you laugh, then lift your head to look at him. "i fell for you in october of that year. when you convinced your mom to drive two and a half hours for the marching band state finals. just so you could be there with me."

"god, we're idiots," logan laughs. you can't help but lean forward and press another kiss to his lips, lingering there and just breathing him in.

existing.

say it's unforgivable

the next two days fly by. thursday, you spend the day with your mother. she asks all sorts of questions as if she doesn't know the answers, and you answer each one with a smile on your face. when she asks about logan, you smile sheepishly. she figures out what the smile means.

"took you two long enough."

normally you'd still be in bed at 9:30 am on a friday, but today, you walk into the miami paddock clutching logan's hand for dear life. your neon green pass hangs from your neck, a white williams cap atop your head. you can't help but feel out of place, but someone calls logan's name and you both turn. your stomach drops when you see who's called his name. his hair is styled similarly to logan's, and he sports a papaya polo.

you'd know him anywhere. it's oscar piastri.

you're standing there a bit awkwardly as logan greets his friend, but your heart stops when oscar turns to you. "oscar, this is my girlfriend." he introduces you by your name to the mclaren driver and you wipe your hands on your denim shorts before shaking his hand firmly, exchanging "nice to meet you"s. the three of you chat for a few minutes before oscar is summoned by his pr manager.

"girlfriend, huh?" you look up at logan with a smile on your face, lacing his fingers with yours.

"i didn't mean to overstep, but i kind of assumed that's what this is now. is it?" he looks a bit nervous asking that, and if you thought your love for him couldn't grow any more, you thought wrong.

"that's absolutely what we are, lo. you're my boyfriend. i'm your girlfriend." you can tell just how hard logan's trying to not let the smile on his face show just how happy he is to hear you say that, and you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips briefly. "you have a prep meeting to get to, don't you?"

"i do. come with me, though. i need to introduce you to alex and lily. she can show you around."

"sounds like a plan. i need to learn how to do all of..." you gesture around you, the white tents and media carts all seeming suddenly too intimidating. "...this."

logan laughs, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the williams hospitality. when you're next to him, though, despite the cameras around you and your proximity to some of the world's biggest stars, you feel safe and protected.

after meeting logan's teammate and the thai driver's girlfriend, who you quickly realize is one of the sweetest people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting, you're shown around the williams hospitality and, eventually, the paddock. lily introduces you to the other drivers' wives and girlfriends that have made it to the weekend, and when you hear a certain last name, your ears perk up.

"martinez? is she latina?"

"yeah," kika, pierre's girlfriend, says. "she's checo's wife. i'm pretty sure she's in the red bull hospitality right now, though."

"ah, speak of the devil," lily says. you see carola walking up to the five of you, alexandra ("please, honey, call me alex," she'd said, bringing you in for a kiss on your cheek,) having walked away to get a drink and escape into the sweet air conditioning. "carola, there's a new couple on the paddock."

"you're kidding," the latina answers, her accent apparent. "who?"

"logan found himself a girlfriend. allow me to introduce her." lily turns to you and introduces you by your full name, last name and all. it seems that carola has a similar reaction to your last name as you did to hers, and her head tilts to the side.

"ya no eres la única mexicana aquí," you say, and her eyebrows raise. (you aren't the only mexican here anymore.)

"hablas español, también?" (you speak spanish, too?) when you nod, her smile brightens. "hay, chica, creo que nosotras dos nos vamos a llevar muy bien." (oh, girl, i think we're going to get along very well.)

on saturday, you find yourself back in the williams motorhome, except this time, you wear a second badge, the neon green lanyard reading grid access in bold black lettering. like the day before, you clutch logan's hand for your own comfort until, much to your dismay, he's summoned for driver duties. you place a quick kiss on his cheek, and when you pull back, you aren't sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the affection or the miami heat. probably both.

"in case i don't see you before sprint. for luck."

"oh, you'll be in the garage. that's what this pass is for," logan says, holding your second badge in front of your face. "lily will show you where to go. i'll take a kiss anyways, though." you smile, stand on your toes, and kiss him, pulling back before he can wrap an arm around your waist. (that was a trick he very much enjoyed, as you'd learned the night before. there was something in him that needed you as close to him as possible, and it covered every nerve ending in your body in liquid fire.)

"off you go. you need to get race ready. i'll see you before you go out on the grid. don't worry." you gently shove him away with a smile, and you'd stare at him longer if your ankles weren't suddenly being attacked. you look down and squeal. "hi, leo! did your dad let you run free?" you squat down and scratch the mini daschund behind his disproportionally large ears, and he barks excitedly.

someone curses in french to your right, and you look up from the little golden ball of energy to see none other than charles leclerc frantically searching around. leo barks again, and the monégasque whips around, then locks eyes on you first, then his dog.

"merde, leo. you have too much energy for it being this early in the morning," he laughs as he walks over to you.

"i apologize, it appears i've unintentionally kidnapped your dog." you stand, and leo jumps at your calves again.

"ah, no harm, no foul," charles replies, picking up his dog and holding him close to his chest. "i will say, though, you look strangely familiar. have we met? my name is charles."

"we have not." you extend your hand and offer your name, and, when charles' eyebrows furrow and his head tilts in confusion, you realize that means nothing to him. "i'm logan's girlfriend."

"ah! yes, of course! he has a photo of the two of you at your high school graduation in his wallet. that's where i knew you from. well, it's nice to meet you!" that was news to you. logan has a picture of you in his wallet? either way, you just casually met one of the most famous people in the world like it was a standard tuesday.

if this is what i signed up for by being logan's girlfriend, then it is absolutely wild.

you're able to catch another good luck kiss with logan as he's almost fully suited up, and fuck, does he look good. his fireproof suit hangs low on his hips, the arms tied together in front of him. dark blue is a good color on him, and his facial hair is grown out in just the slightest. you can't lie, he looks hot as hell.

you cross your legs in an attempt to curb the heat that creeps down your tummy and between them. it doesn't work.

you amend it that night in logan's hotel room following his p10 in the sprint.

on sunday, you try to avoid thinking about the night before as you follow the same routine as the two days before- arriving early in the day, checking in at the williams motorhome, and then killing time until the driver's parade at 2:00 PM. you spend time with your new group of friends, spending the three remaining hours before the parade in the paddock club. rebecca, carlos' girlfriend, snickers at your shocked face when you see some of your idols and favorite celebrities casually walking around, gladly taking some photos for you as you're practically buzzing with excitement.

after the driver's parade, it's a whirlwind. you're swept back into the williams garage and find logan's driver's room relatively easily thanks to the help of some of the engineers and mechanics, but one of them stops you before you can venture too far into the depths of the hallways.

"could you tell him we have the pre-race strategy meeting in twenty minutes?"

"yeah, for sure." as you approach logan's door, you have to bite down on your lower lip to stifle the grin that wants to split your face. you knock on his door, and when he opens it, you know something's wrong. "lo, are you okay?" his eyes are red and his hand shakes on the doorknob. instead of a verbal response, he just opens the door a bit further to let you in, and, as soon as it shuts behind you, he sobs, and your heart shatters.

"i'm so scared. i'm so scared that something's going to happen and i'm going to let all of these people down and-" you gather him into your arms and he cries into the crook of your neck, your williams crewneck shirt now damp with his tears. you couldn't care less.

"you're going to do amazing, logie. i know you will." with your arms wrapped around him, it's almost like a weighted blanket of safety has encompassed him, and his sobs slow, his breaths growing deeper and more even. you continue murmuring words of confidence into his shoulder, and not a single word you say is empty.

"hey. look at me." you lean back and gently cup his cheek with your right palm, and when his eyes meet yours, you know that he needed to cry that one out. "do you feel a little bit better?" logan nods, tilting his head ever so slightly to kiss your palm, his own hand coming up to rest over yours. it's a cute, sappy, stupidly romantic moment that you from three weeks ago would've probably thought was the grossest thing known to mankind, but you can't help but bask in the moment. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better right now?" your voice is a soothing balm over logan's agitated nerves, and he slowly untangles himself from you and guides you over to the couch that's against the back wall, where he sits down and you curl up to his left side.

"can you just... talk? about anything?"

"are you seriously asking if me, the person with the most rampant adhd you've ever met, can talk about something? yes, logan, i absolutely can. what to talk about, though?"

as you talk, deciding to info dump about your favorite classical music piece, logan can't help but watch it unfold. he doesn't know jack shit about music theory, but listening to you ramble about something you're passionate about brings him so much peace. you're disturbed about fifteen minutes later by a knock at the door, promptly followed by a disembodied voice telling logan that it was time for the strategy meeting.

"aw, shit," he says, leaning his head back and rubbing at his eyes. "i have that to go to now."

"yeah, sorry. i was supposed to tell you about that but we had a bigger problem on our hands." your voice is sheepish now that your info dump has been cut short, but logan leans over to you and kisses you, soft and slow, just like the first time he kissed you properly in the park. when he pulls away, he looks so much calmer than he was twenty minutes before. "is there anything else i can do?"

"go have some fun in the paddock. and please drink some water." you roll your eyes and stand, bringing him in for another hug before you slip out of the door.

almost two hours later, you're back in the williams garage with a guest headset over your ears. your stomach twists with nerves as the national anthem concludes. lily's hand is clasped with yours.

"the first lap is the worst. after that, you lose a lot of the anxiety," she assures you, noticing how you chew your lower lip.

"thanks." you pause for a moment, contemplating another question. "does it ever get easier? seeing how they go out there and drive like absolute maniacs for fun?"

"it does. it took me a couple of months, but after alex showed me all of the safety features in the car and in his fireproofs, it definitely helped."

it's the moment you've been dreading.

one red light.

two.

three.

four.

five.

and then none.

the engines roar and the race has begun. lily didn't lie to you- the first lap is excruciatingly long, but when everyone's completed their first loop around the circuit, you let yourself breathe. your eyes are trained on the screen above you, and the laps are flying by so quickly that you barely process that the race is nearly halfway over.

but then logan's car is in the wall. fuck.

as you watch the replay of his crash, you can feel white-hot rage burning in your body. after the race stewards only declare a ten-second penalty and two super license points, though, you're fuming. "two penalty points and a ten-second penalty? magnussen caused logan's race to end, and they just let him go? they just forgive him and move on? how can he get away with that? this is bullshit!"

what a crash, what a rush

the first person logan looks for when he walks back into the williams garage, his visor still low over his eyes in shame, is you. when you see him walking towards the room where you and lily watch the race, you tear the headset off of your ears and run to him. the feeling of his arms wrapping around your shoulders and hearing his heartbeat even through your musician's earplugs soothes your agitated nerves. he's okay. he's alive. he isn't hurt. "thank fuck you're okay," you say, even though he definitely can't hear you through his helmet and over the roar of passing engines. when you pull away, you press a kiss to his knuckles and hope he understands how much love you're trying to convey through such a small gesture.

fuck me up, florida!

one of logan's best friends on the grid is oscar. oscar's teammate got his maiden win after almost five years of waiting in miami.

like any sensible person, you celebrate with him.

you have no idea what the name of the club is, much less how many drinks you've had so far, but what you do know is that lando has commandeered the dj station and logan is pressed against your back, his hands resting on your hips. the air is hot and thick, your heartbeat pounds in your head. the opening notes of bad bunny's tití me preguntó begin playing through the massive speakers, and you shoot a glare up to lando that he doesn't see, his focus instead on the equipment in front of him. when the bass hits, though, you let all apprehensiveness go and your genetics take the reins. your hips sway and swing to the beat, your hands wander up and down your torso, and logan simply follows your lead. it takes you a moment to realize that, if you want to get a rise out of him, you're going to have to spin around and face him.

with your hips swaying against his and how unbearably beautiful you look in the dim light, your skin glowing with sweat and your hair up in a high ponytail, logan can't help but lean down and kiss you when you finally turn around. you reciprocate gladly, your right leg slotting between both of his, and...

oh.

he's hard.

you pull away slightly, barely an inch between your lips. "slow your roll there, tiger."

"i don't want to." fire zips down your spine at the sound of his voice, low and breathy and so, so desperate. "need to fuck you."

"should we get outta here, then?"

"i thought you'd never ask." you smile and kiss him quickly, then take his hand and weave your way through the crowded dance floor. as the miami night air hits your face, you immediately feel cooler. you sigh, taking a moment to breathe and regulate your heart rate and body temperature, but you can't breathe for that long before logan wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him and kissing your neck. you laugh, running your hands along his forearms.

"logan, not here. the hotel is two blocks away."

"i can't help it, baby, you just look so pretty," he hums, kissing the back of your neck once more before pulling away and stepping around to face you. "you look so pretty, and you're mine."

his possessiveness of you makes more heat zip down your spine, and you almost drool at how he's looking at you. his eyes, normally a beautiful mix between the blues of the sky and sea, ar"e almost completely dark, only a small sliver of his irises remaining, and the muscles in his jaw tick. "hotel. now."

by the time you reach the door to logan's hotel room, you're both out of breath from how hard he kissed you in the elevator and the arousal and need between your legs won't be stopped unless he replaces it. you stumble through the door and try to kiss logan again, matching the vigor he showed you in the elevator, but he stops you. "wanna take my time with you tonight."

"yeah?" you raise an eyebrow and inspect his face. the blinds are open but no lights are on, so all you can see is the side of his face that's illuminated by the lights from the streets of miami. it's an unusually beautiful sight.

"yeah. nothing about what i'm about to do to you is going to be fast. i'm gonna make you feel good tonight. how's that sound?"

"that sounds amazing, logan." you lean forward and kiss him gently, your lips slotting together as if you were made for each other. who knows, maybe you were. the next five minutes are a blur, but before you know it, you're laying back against the pillows on logan's bed and his face is buried between your thighs, his tongue working magic on your clit. the air in the hotel room is filled with your moans and the sounds of logan devouring you like a man starved, and it's the most beautiful mix of sounds you've ever heard. when he flicks his tongue oh-so-perfectly against your entrance, his nose brushing over your clit, you moan and pull his hair hard, which, in turn, makes him moan against you.

you aren't sure how much time passes or how many orgasms logan pulls from you with just his tongue and his fingers, but when you feel completely and entirely spent, your chest heaving and your hairline sparkling with tiny beads of sweat, you pull logan up to you by his shoulders, and he looks completely and entirely fucked. "need you inside of me," you mumble, wiping at the mix of spit and cum that coats the entire bottom half of his face with your thumbs. as if on instinct, you bring your hands to your mouth and lick them clean, and logan groans at the sight. "inside. now."

"as you wish, baby." logan's hands fumble at his boxers, the only item of clothing he was left wearing, and when he finally, finally pushes himself into you, you both moan. your hands scrabble at his shoulders and back, most definitely leaving red marks that will raise later, and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down and then gently kissing over the red spot.

"nngh, lo-" your brain is short circuiting, logan's cock filling you up so perfectly and absolutely ruining you for any other man ever.

"yeah? you okay, baby?" he pulls back from your neck and scans your face for any sign of discomfort of pain, his sky blue eyes searching your own. the feeling of safety you get from just that one action is almost enough to make you sob from how good you feel because of him, both physically and emotionally.

"feels so good, lo. j'st... move, please."

"you sure? i don't wanna hurt you."

"positive. now please." you reach a hand up and pull him down towards you by the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard. "fuck me properly." without wasting a second, logan reaches a hand down and hooks it under your left thigh, bringing your leg up to rest around his waist, then pulling back and thrusting back in fast. the moan that rips itself from your throat is sinful, and your breath is being punched from your lungs at the downright brutal pace logan's setting. your right leg finds itself locking around his waist, only bringing him infinitely closer, and now, each time he thrusts back into you, your clit bumps against his pelvis. within minutes, you're embarrassingly close to cumming again, and through your garbled mumbling and clawing at his shoulders, he understands, reaching his right hand down to gently press against your clit.

"cum for me, baby, please, need to feel you cum for me just one more time, just let go, i've got you." it's logan's voice that ultimately sends you pummelling over the edge into an orgasm that makes your back arch and your vision fuzz at the edges, and you cum with a cry of his name. his hips slow and his fingers maintain a steady rhythm on your clit, but you can tell it's taking its toll on him. "where- where do you want me to cum?"

"i'm on the pill, lo. inside, baby, please," you whine, and it takes two more thrusts before logan groans, his hips coming to a shuddering halt as he cums inside of you. it's a beautiful sight, too- his eyes scrunched closed and his eyebrows drawn together, his hair a complete mess from where your hands had pulled at it. your hands run through his hair and along his back, and you patiently wait as he comes back to earth.

"hi," he murmurs, opening his eyes and smiling down at you.

"hi," you respond.

no other words need to be said. you know you love him, and he knows he loves you.

and you're both okay with that.

this took me way longer to write than i thought it would, but i absolutely love it! reminder that my asks and requests are open, and i always get excited when i get feedback! take care of urselves lovies <3

187 notes · View notes

iamquiantrelle · 6 days ago

Text

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 5) ────── iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

⌗taglist: @trentswrld, @trentpov @judesvirtual @sailurmewn @football-and-fanfics @eriks-girl @preetykookie @4ngryssgf @endlessmuse @noturbabe22, @sucredreamer@bbgkoo @hollablkgrl @notzara @chrisoppar @letmeapologise @amrx1

The photoshoot had blown up. Tyler kept sending him screenshots of brand offers - Alexander Wang wanting him for their new campaign, Versace sliding into his DMs. Mental how a few artistic shots could change everything.

"Your socials are going crazy," Tyler had said during their morning call. "This is exactly what we needed - showing a different side of you. Even GQ's interested now."

If only he knew just how different Trent had become lately.

Training for PSV was intense, made more challenging by April's "homework" and his solution to it. The cock ring he'd ordered after some very awkward late-night Googling was helping with the edging practice, but fuck did it hurt. Never thought he'd be sitting there comparing silicon versus metal on some dodgy website at three in the morning, but here he was. The things arrived in discrete packaging at least - last thing he needed was some delivery driver recognizing him while handing over sex toys.

The research had been embarrassing too. His browser history looked like some kind of sexual education course now - "how to edge properly," "beginner's guide to submission," "cock ring safety tips." Christ.

Now he was sprawled on his sofa, trying to focus on FIFA while Marcel absolutely rinsed him 4-0. His brother had that look that meant questions were coming - the same one he'd had when Trent started dating Sophie.

"So," Marcel started, not taking his eyes off the screen as he scored a fifth goal, "there's these pictures going round Twitter..."

"What pictures?"

"You and some girl outside Anfield. Looking proper cozy."

Trent's thumb slipped on the controller, letting Marcel through on goal again. Course someone had snapped photos of him and April that day with the Ferrari.

"Just work stuff," he said, remembering the contract's media clause. Even if he could tell family, he wasn't ready for all that yet. Especially not after what happened with Sophie and all those pap shots.

"Work stuff that leaves hickeys?"

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying–"

The doorbell interrupted whatever Marcel was about to say. Thank fuck.

Tyler and Liv were at the door, little Aura half-asleep in her car seat. She looked angelic when she wasn't screaming the house down.

"She's just had her bottle," Liv said, handing over Aura's bag stuffed with enough supplies for a week, not just one night. "Should sleep through, but you know where we are if–"

"I've got her," Trent assured them. "Go enjoy your date."

Once they'd left, Marcel was right back at it like a dog with a bone. "So this mystery woman..."

"Leave it."

"The blogs are saying–"

"The blogs chat shit and you know it."

His phone buzzed.

April: How's the homework going?

April: That ring helping?

April: Remember - ten minutes minimum.

April: Don't think I won't know if you cheat.

His face must've given something away because Marcel was properly staring now, game forgotten.

"That her?"

"None of your business."

"It is! The team's group chat's going mental about more marks–"

"I will actually kill Ibou."

"So there are more marks!"

Little Aura chose that moment to wake up grumpy, saving Trent from more interrogation. As he picked her up, bouncing her gently the way Liv had shown him, his phone lit up again.

April: Missing those sounds you made the other night...

April: Maybe if you're good with your homework...

April: We can make them again soon.

April: But only if you prove you can control yourself.

Christ. Even her texts had him twisted up.

"Your face has gone all weird," Marcel observed, pausing the game. "You actually like this one, don't you?"

More than liked her. But that wasn't something he could explain - not the contract, not the commands, definitely not the cock ring currently making playing FIFA extremely uncomfortable. How do you tell your little brother that some photographer has you wrapped around her finger, literally and figuratively?

"Just... leave it yeah?" He adjusted Aura on his hip as she started fussing. "Some things are better kept private."

"Since when do you keep anything private?"

Since a photographer with a devil's smile had him signing contracts and buying sex toys off the internet. Since he'd discovered that giving up control felt better than having it. Since marks and commands and praise had become more addictive than scoring goals.

"People change."

Marcel snorted. "Yeah but you've gone proper soft mate. All these secret smiles at your phone, covering up marks–"

"You want to play or not?"

But his brother had that look again - the same one he'd had when Sophie started showing up in the tabloids. "Just... be careful yeah? These industry birds–"

"She's different." The words came out sharper than intended, making Aura jump slightly.

"That's what you said about Sophie."

"This isn't like that."

No, this was something else entirely. Something that made him feel more himself than he had in years.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Time yourself tonight.

April: Want a full report tomorrow.

April: Don't disappoint me.

April: Good boys get rewarded.

April: Bad boys get punished.

Yeah, definitely not like Sophie at all.

The cock ring was already a problem, and April’s texts weren’t helping. Trent could feel Marcel’s eyes burning into him as he set Aura down in her little travel cot, her fussing turning into soft coos.

"You’re proper twitchy," Marcel said, leaning back into the sofa like he had all the time in the world. "Is she high-maintenance or what?"

Trent ignored him, grabbing Aura’s blanket and tucking it around her. She grabbed his finger in her tiny hand, and for a moment, he let himself focus on her instead of the chaos in his head.

"She’s not high-maintenance," he muttered eventually, not looking at his brother. "She’s just… different."

Marcel snorted. "Different how? She got you on a leash or something?"

The irony nearly made him choke. "Shut up, man."

"Come on, spill! Is she like, boujee influencer vibes? Or is it one of those boss-lady types?"

Trent turned to glare at him. "You done?"

Marcel grinned. "Not even close. But seriously, I’m curious. What kind of girl has you all… like this?"

Before Trent could reply, his phone buzzed again. Marcel lunged for it, but Trent was faster, snatching it off the table and holding it out of reach.

"Oh, this is rich," Marcel laughed, pointing at him. "You’re hiding her! That’s how I know it’s serious."

"Just play FIFA," Trent said, dropping back onto the sofa and pretending to focus on the screen. His phone buzzed once more, and he cursed himself for forgetting to turn off notifications.

April: Got a new idea for us.

April: Think you can handle being tied up?

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching on the controller. Marcel side-eyed him, clearly picking up on his mood.

"Mate, you’re terrible at hiding shit. You might as well just tell me."

"Nope."

"Is she fit, though?"

Trent shot him a warning look. "Drop it."

"Alright, alright," Marcel said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. But he wasn’t done. "So, is she coming to the next family thing, or you keeping her secret forever?"

Trent tensed, the idea of April meeting his family sending a jolt through him. She wasn’t exactly the bring-home-to-mum type — not because she wasn’t amazing, but because explaining everything was impossible. He could already picture his mum’s face if she found out about the contract, the "homework," the whole bloody situation.

"She’s not meeting anyone," Trent said firmly.

Marcel frowned. "Why not?"

"Because… it’s complicated."

His brother narrowed his eyes, like he was piecing together a puzzle. "Complicated how? Is she married or something?"

"No!"

"Then what?"

Trent opened his mouth, then shut it again. He wasn’t about to admit that April was the one with the leash — metaphorically, at least — and that he was loving every second of it. He wasn’t going to explain how she made him feel more alive, more challenged, more seen than anyone ever had. And he definitely wasn’t going to mention the cock ring.

"She’s just… not ready for all that," he said instead, knowing it was only half true. "And neither am I." Not yet at least.

Marcel shrugged, turning his attention back to the game. "Fair enough. But you better figure it out soon, yeah? People are gonna start asking questions."

Trent didn’t reply.

He clenched his jaw, heat crawling up his neck as Marcel scored another goal. "6-0," Marcel said, smirking. "You’re off your game, mate."

"You’ve no idea," Trent muttered under his breath, already dreading the long night ahead.

********************************************

The rest of the evening was surprisingly peaceful. Marcel managed to rein in his questions, focusing instead on keeping Aura entertained while Trent reheated the leftovers Liv had packed for them. The little one was an angel tonight, giggling at everything Marcel did, whether it was pulling faces or mimicking silly voices.

"Don’t get too attached," Trent joked, leaning against the counter as he watched Marcel balance Aura on his knee like she was riding a horse. "Might have to start calling you Uncle Nanny."

Marcel smirked. "At least I’m good at it. You, though? Changing nappies and sleepless nights? Couldn’t see you handling it."

"I’ve managed fine before, haven’t I?"

"Yeah, ‘cause you only get her for one night. Do this every day and we’ll see how cocky you are."

Aura clapped her hands, oblivious to the banter flying over her head. Her laugh was loud and full of joy, and it was impossible not to smile at the sound. For all the chaos in his life lately, moments like this grounded him.

They ate dinner together at the dining table, taking turns keeping Aura occupied while scarfing down lasagna and garlic bread. She babbled happily in her high chair, tiny fists banging the tray like she had something important to say. When Trent handed her a piece of soft bread, she examined it carefully before shoving it in her mouth with both hands.

"She’s better company than you," Marcel said, watching her with a grin.

"Yeah, she doesn’t talk as much," Trent shot back, earning a laugh.

By the time Aura started rubbing her eyes, her little face sleepy and content, Marcel offered to take her to his room. "I’ll keep an eye on her," he said, gathering up her blanket and bottle. "You can have some peace and quiet."

Trent didn’t argue. "Appreciate it."

Once they were gone, the house felt unnaturally quiet. He cleaned up the dishes, wiped down the counters, and wandered around aimlessly for a bit, trying to shake the restlessness creeping in. His phone sat on the coffee table, and he resisted the urge to check it again. He already knew what April’s texts would say: reminders, commands, a challenge wrapped in that teasing tone of hers that drove him mad.

Eventually, he gave in and went to his room, locking the door behind him. The cock ring, snug and unrelenting, had been on him since morning — a challenge April had casually suggested, as if wearing it all day wouldn’t drive him mad.

"Ten minutes minimum," he muttered, recalling her words. Christ.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the cool air of the room brushing against his skin as he pulled off his clothes and settled against the pillows. His fingers hovered over his phone, hesitating before he set a timer. Ten minutes felt like an eternity when she wasn’t there to guide him, her voice in his ear, her hands on him, pushing him to the edge but never letting him fall.

His breathing slowed as he got started, wrapping a hand around his dick, his body reacting instantly to the sensation. He focused on the timer, his fingers gripping his length tightly as he continued to stroke himself, the seconds ticking by. It was harder than he thought it’d be — staying in control, holding back, fighting the urge to let go too soon.

April’s texts replayed in his head, her voice a phantom in the room. Good boys get rewarded. Bad boys get punished. He wanted the reward, craved it, but the thought of disappointing her was unbearable.

By the time the timer buzzed, his body was trembling, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he exhaled a shaky breath. He grabbed his phone, typing out a quick message:

Trent: Ten minutes. Nearly killed me.

Trent: You happy now?

April: Always.

April: But don’t think you’re done yet.

April: Double it next time.

Double it? Was she trying to kill him?

He groaned, letting the phone drop onto the bed beside him. She was relentless, and he hated how much he loved it. As he lay there, his heart still pounding, the thought of another day like this made him want to cry, but Trent couldn’t help the way his body responded to her praise. He’d do it again — hell, he’d do anything if it meant hearing her call him that again.

The PSV match was all anyone at Liverpool was talking about as the team stepped off the bus in Eindhoven. Trent adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, glancing around the grounds as staff ushered them toward the locker rooms. The air was crisp, and the Dutch crowd was already buzzing outside, chanting in bursts that carried faintly through the concrete tunnels.

He was supposed to be focused — mentally locked in for a crucial away game in the Champion’s League — but his head was a mess. The last two days had been intense, and not just because of the extra drills the gaffer had thrown in during practice. Between training sessions, recovery, and keeping up with April’s homework, his body was on edge in every possible way.

Twenty-five minutes. That’s where he was now.

The first time he hit ten minutes, it felt like climbing Everest. Fifteen had been worse. But twenty-five minutes of sustained edging? That had him feeling like he’d unlocked some new level of torture. He’d barely gotten through it without cramping up, his body desperate for relief. And her texts? They weren’t helping.

April: Twenty-five minutes? Impressive. I’m proud of you.

April: But let’s not get too comfortable — aim for thirty next time.

April: Just imagine what you’ll earn if you keep this up.

The way her praise made his chest tighten was infuriating. She knew exactly how to twist him up with a few carefully chosen words, and she didn’t hold back.

By the time he’d packed his bag for Eindhoven, he couldn’t take it anymore. They’d been apart for too long, and waiting until he got back to Liverpool felt impossible.

He’d messaged her while they were on the plane, testing the waters.

Trent: Come to the match? I’ll sort everything. Flights, hotel, all of it.

Her reply came fast, sharp, and, of course, wrapped in her usual teasing.

April: Are you sure you want to waste one of your 10 match privileges?

That had stopped him in his tracks. She was right; their agreement allowed him only ten match appearances as part of the "girlfriend experience." He hated how much that phrase made his stomach flip. And wasting one on a group-stage game when they weren’t even guaranteed to win? She knew how to make him question himself.

He’d tried a different angle.

Trent: Fair enough. What about a weekend in Eindhoven then? Just us.

Trent: I’ll pay for your hotel. Doesn’t have to be fancy.

Her response took longer this time, but when it came, it was classic April.

April: I’ll get back to you on that.

The uncertainty left him restless. Even as he warmed up on the pristine PSV pitch, his head wasn’t entirely in the game. Every now and then, he’d glance at the stands, wondering what it would be like to see her sitting there, watching him like he mattered to her beyond their arrangement.

It was wild how much space she’d taken up in his brain lately. A month ago, he’d have laughed at the thought of anyone having this kind of hold on him. Now? Every pass, every sprint, every tackle felt like he was chasing her approval more than the win.

"You good?" Virgil asked, clapping him on the shoulder as they lined up for drills.

"Yeah," Trent muttered, shaking his head like he could clear her out of it. "Just ready to get this done."

Virgil gave him a knowing look but didn’t press.

As the rest of the squad settled into their routine, Trent’s phone vibrated on the bench where he’d stashed his bag. His heart leapt, and he ignored the impulse to check it right away. He forced himself through another round of sprints, telling himself it was probably just Tyler sending updates on the socials.

When he finally grabbed his phone during a water break, her name on the screen had him swallowing hard.

April: Eindhoven, huh? I could be convinced.

April: But if I come, you better make it worth my while.

He exhaled a laugh, biting down on his lip to hide the grin spreading across his face. Of course she’d make it sound like a challenge. And, of course, it was one he’d rise to.

Trent: I’ll handle everything. Just tell me when you’re landing.

April: You’re confident.

Trent: I have to be. You don’t make it easy.

April: Good. I like you better this way.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of tactical drills, and he pocketed his phone, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with football. If she really came to Eindhoven, the weekend would be… different. Distracting. Dangerous, even.

But he couldn’t wait.

*********************************************

The lobby of the hotel was quiet, save for the hum of soft jazz playing through hidden speakers and the occasional murmur of voices from other guests. Trent adjusted the strap of his duffle bag, keeping his hood low as he approached the front desk. His heart was racing — not from nerves, but from the anticipation that had been building since the final whistle blew at the PSV match.

April had been relentless since the game ended.

The first text had come as he was stepping off the pitch, a simple "Congrats, T 🖤" that had his chest swelling with pride. Then the photos started.

The first was tame — her reflection in a mirror, wearing a skintight leather skirt and a cropped top that showed off her toned stomach. His throat went dry just looking at it.

The next one? Not tame at all.

April had sent a shot of herself in a leather harness, her lips parted slightly around a ball gag. The caption read, Missing your sounds, but may have to try this tonight.

He’d nearly dropped his phone when he saw it. She was trying to kill him, plain and simple.

Now, standing at the front desk, he cleared his throat and whispered his name to the concierge, his voice low enough to keep from drawing any attention. The man behind the counter, professional and unfazed, simply nodded and tapped away at his computer.

"Your passport, please," the concierge said.

Trent slid it across the counter, followed by his credit card. He kept his head down, glancing around to make sure no one recognized him. It was one thing for the concierge to know who he was, but the last thing he needed was someone snapping a photo and posting it online.

"Here you are, Mr. Alexander-Arnold," the concierge said, sliding a keycard across the counter with a polite smile. "Enjoy your stay."

"Thanks, mate," Trent mumbled, grabbing the card and his documents before heading toward the lift.

As he stepped inside and hit the button for their floor, he couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing. The adrenaline from the game, the rush of victory, and the simmering anticipation of what was waiting for him upstairs were all hitting him at once. He let out a slow breath, trying to center himself.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out, walking quickly down the carpeted hallway. The door to their room was at the end, and he could already feel his pulse quickening.

Keycard in hand, he slid it into the reader, the light turning green with a soft beep. He pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The room was dimly lit, a few candles scattered around the space casting a warm glow. The smell of vanilla hung in the air, and the sound of soft music played from a speaker in the corner.

And there she was.

April was lounging on the bed, propped up on one elbow with her legs crossed casually. She wasn’t in the leather harness from her earlier photos, but her outfit was no less deadly. A black satin robe hung loosely off her shoulders, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the lace bodysuit underneath.

"You took your time," she teased, her voice smooth as silk.

"Traffic," Trent replied, setting his bag down by the door and shrugging off his jacket.

"Liar," she said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I was watching the match. You came straight here."

He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Can you blame me?"

April stood, the robe slipping off her shoulders completely now. She crossed the room slowly, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.

"Not at all," she said, stopping in front of him. She reached out, tugging gently on the drawstring of his hoodie. "You’ve been a good boy these past few days."

Trent swallowed hard, her proximity and the way her eyes raked over him making his head spin. "Tried my best," he murmured.

Her lips curved into a sly smile. "Let’s see if it paid off."

And just like that, any thought of the match, the team, or anything outside of this room faded away. He was hers for the next two days, and he had no intention of holding anything back.

His heartbeat raced as her sharp eyes swept over him, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Take off your clothes," she said, her voice low but firm.

He nodded, hands moving to tug off his hoodie first, followed by his T-shirt, leaving his chest bare. He hesitated briefly before unbuttoning his track pants and letting them fall, kicking them aside. Now standing in just his briefs, he paused, his hands twitching at his sides as he awaited further instruction.

"And kneel," she added, tilting her head as she stepped back slightly, giving him room.

Trent sank to his knees, keeping his head bowed, a surge of anticipation coursing through him. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as she moved across the room, the distinct sound of a zipper, and when she returned, his gaze darted up briefly before lowering again. She was holding a small leather crop, tapping it lightly against her palm as she regarded him.

"I’ll start off easy," she said, her tone almost playful as she toyed with the handle.

"No easy," Trent murmured, his voice strained but steady.

Her brow arched, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Oh? Wild boy, huh?"

"Yes, ma’am."

The words came out with a level of reverence that sent a thrill through her. She leaned forward, her eyes boring into his as she asked, "Safe word?"

"Anfield," he answered without hesitation.

"Good." She straightened, tapping the crop against her palm one last time before walking around him. "Let’s see just how wild you are."

The first strike was light, barely more than a whisper against the skin of his back. Trent let out a slow exhale, adjusting his posture to brace for more. She landed another, harder this time, and then again, alternating between his back and buttocks. Each strike sent a mix of sting and heat rippling through him, the sensation sharp but not unbearable.

"You like that, don’t you?" she teased, her voice cutting through the air.

"Yes, ma’am," he breathed, his muscles flexing beneath each stroke.

"Such a good boy," she purred, the crop trailing along his spine now, a featherlight touch that made him shiver. Then came another sharp crack against his skin, pulling a groan from his throat.

April’s hand suddenly moved to his neck, her fingers wrapping around it as she bent him forward just a bit more. Her grip was firm but not overwhelming, her thumb pressing lightly against his pulse. "Stay like this," she commanded, her voice close to his ear now.

"Yes, ma’am," he managed, his voice slightly strained but steady.

She struck again with the crop, her movements calculated, each one delivering a measured jolt of pain and pleasure. When she tightened her grip on his neck briefly, cutting off just a bit of his airway, Trent let out a low, guttural sound.

"Fuck, you like this a lot, don’t you?" she murmured, her tone a mix of mockery and approval.

"Yes," he rasped, his eyes shut tight as he surrendered completely to her control.

"Speak properly," she demanded, loosening her grip enough for him to answer.

"Yes, ma’am," he corrected quickly, his voice trembling.

"That’s better." Her grip on his neck shifted, and she used it to guide him into an even more submissive posture, his shoulders dipping as he knelt there.

She delivered a few more strikes with the crop, alternating the intensity, each one punctuated by filthy, teasing remarks. "Look at you," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "So eager, so desperate to please. Tell me how much you want this."

"So much, ma’am," he groaned, his voice raw.

Her hand tightened on his neck again briefly, enough to send his head spinning in the best way. The loss of air was fleeting, just long enough to make him dizzy, and when she released him, he gasped, the rush of oxygen making every nerve in his body feel alive.

"Good boy," she whispered, leaning in to kiss the shell of his ear before stepping back, placing the crop on the bedside table. "We’re just getting started."

April ran her fingers over the freshly made marks on Trent’s back, her touch light yet deliberate, tracing the faint welts with pride. Each one stood out against his caramel skin, evidence to the way he submitted to her so willingly.

"How does it look, ma’am?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with both curiosity and reverence.

"Beautiful," she said, her tone full of satisfaction. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the space between his shoulder and neck, her lips lingering for a moment.

Then she pulled back and straightened. "Get on the bed," she commanded.

He hesitated briefly, his body still humming from her earlier ministrations, but she arched a brow and added, "You can walk."

That was all he needed. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as the ache from the crop made itself known with each movement. He made his way to the bed, his head still bowed slightly as he climbed onto it.

"Lay down on your back, but take off your boxers first," she instructed.

Trent obeyed, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and carefully sliding them down, mindful of the sensitivity in certain areas. Once they were off, he lay back on the bed, his hands at his sides as he waited for her next move.

April approached him, his eyes locked onto her as she untied the sash of her robe and let it fall to the floor. Beneath, she wore a lace bodysuit that hugged every curve of her body, the intricate design accentuating her figure. She reached behind her and unclasped it, letting it slip off her shoulders and down her body until she was completely bare before him.

His breath hitched as she climbed onto the bed next to him. Without a word, she bent over and took his dick into her mouth, her lips enveloping him in a way that sent a jolt of pleasure shooting through him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily as the wet heat of her mouth consumed him.

April worked with precision, her tongue swirling around his tip, her lips creating just the right amount of pressure. One of her hands moved to his testicles, squeezing gently at first before applying more pressure, the sensation making his toes curl.

Just as he thought he was going to lose himself entirely, she pulled back and a string of saliva stretched all the way down the her nipples. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb before meeting his gaze, her expression filled with both mischief and authority.

"I’m going to fuck you nice and hard, Trent," she said, her voice dripping with promise. "How does that sound?"

"Good, ma’am," he replied, his voice shaky but eager.

"Good," she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "But first, we need to do a little something."

She slid off the bed and walked over to her bag, retrieving a set of silk ties and a ball gag. Trent’s pulse quickened as he watched her, his anticipation growing with every step she took.

Returning to the bed, she slipped off her heels and climbed back up, her knees pressing into the mattress as she loomed over him. "Arms over your head," she instructed.

He complied immediately, raising his arms above him. She secured each wrist to the headboard with the silk ties, ensuring they were snug but not cutting off circulation. Once satisfied, she picked up the ball gag and held it in front of his lips.

"Open," she said simply.

Trent obeyed, opening his mouth wide enough for her to slip the ball into place. She fastened the strap behind his head, her fingers brushing the back of his neck as she did so.

"There," she said, sitting back on her heels to admire her work. Her gaze swept over him — his bound wrists, the gag in his mouth, and his body stretched out and waiting for her. "Now you’re ready for me."

April positioned herself over Trent, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips as she guided him into her. His body tensed beneath her, and she watched his reaction closely, the gag muffling his guttural groan as her warmth surrounded him. She didn’t ease into it. No, that wasn’t her style. Once he was fully inside, she began moving with purpose, setting a relentless pace that had his head falling back against the pillows.

She rode him like her life depended on it, each bounce of her hips sending waves of pleasure through his body. His dick throbbed inside her, and he was infinitely grateful he’d practiced with the cock ring. If he hadn’t, he would’ve lost control far too soon.

Her breasts moved with every motion, catching his gaze and holding it captive. He groaned at the sight, the sound muffled but still desperate, his hooded eyes locking on her with adoration and lust. She looked… happy. Or at least, as happy as a dominatrix could look. Her lips curled into a smug, knowing smile as she maintained her pace, clearly enjoying how much he was losing himself beneath her.

"You like that, don’t you?" she teased, her voice laced with the filthiest kind of sweetness.

Trent nodded fervently, unable to form words. Every nerve ending in his body was alive, focused on the perfect way she felt around him, how her movements seemed designed to drive him to the brink.

"Such a good boy," she purred, reaching behind herself.

He gasped, his body jolting as her hand found his testicles. She squeezed and twisted them, the mix of pleasure and pain making his eyes roll back in his head. He was overwhelmed, completely and utterly at her mercy, and he loved every second of it.

"Don’t cum yet," she warned, her tone sharp but teasing.

Trent exhaled sharply through his nose, nodding as he tried to focus on anything but the coiling tension building in his core. He clenched his fists against the silk ties, his muscles flexing as he tried to hold back.

April leaned forward slightly, her pace never faltering as her filthy words poured out. "You’re so fucking perfect like this, all mine, stretched out and taking whatever I give you."

He whimpered beneath her, his body trembling as she twisted his scrotum again, her forefinger caressing the sensitive part of skin, mere centimeters away from his anus. She was unrelenting, riding him with the determination of someone on a bull machine at a Hen Do, and all he could do was watch her in awe.

How was this his life? How did he end up here, with her — this beautiful, commanding woman who seemed to know exactly how to ruin him in the best way?

Her dirty talk became filthier, the words cascading over him as her hand continued its relentless assault. Trent squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on anything else — his breathing, the way the bed creaked, the cool air against his heated skin — anything to keep from succumbing.

Then she said it. The one word that shattered his resolve.

"Cum."

A guttural growl erupted from his chest as his body finally gave in, the release overwhelming him. His hips jerked beneath her as he spilled into her, the sheer intensity of it leaving him breathless and trembling.

April moaned softly at the sensation, and that sound— God, that sound — made his heart race even more. It was one of satisfaction, of contentment, and he realized he loved hearing it.

"Trent, you feel so good cumming inside me," she said, her voice dripping with praise.

His already hazy mind spun. Holy fuck, did she really have to say shit like that?

Before he could even process her words, he felt her inner muscles contract around him, like she was trying to hold his essence deep inside her. He gasped, his body tingling as the feeling overwhelmed him.

He never knew a woman could do that, but now that he did… he was ruined for anyone else.

Two days in Eindhoven had wrecked him, but in the best way possible. Trent's body felt like he'd played three matches back to back, muscles aching in places he didn't even know could ache. The amount of times April had made him cum should've been physically impossible - like some kind of scientific study waiting to happen.

His reflection in the car mirror showed fresh marks peeking above his collar. April had been... thorough about marking her territory this time. "So you don't forget who you belong to," she'd said, adding another bite to his collection.

The drive to training was a blur of memories - April's commands, her praise when he followed them perfectly, the way she'd push him just far enough before pulling back. Never thought he'd be into all that, but here he was, proper addicted to it.

The lads would give him shit again when they saw the new marks. Let them think he was some legendary lover, giving as good as he got. Truth was, he was just April's willing toy – and fuck him if that didn't get him going more than anything.

Actually made sense when he thought about it. He'd always been a people pleaser, hadn't he? Always trying to be what everyone needed – perfect footballer, local lad made good, but with April... it was different. She wanted him to please her, yeah, but she also built him up with it. Every "good boy" felt like winning a trophy, every command followed perfectly earned him praise that made his chest tight.

"Look who finally made it!" Robbo's voice carried across the parking lot. "Thought you might've got lost in Eindhoven!"

"Nah mate," Trent grinned, grabbing his bag. "Just had better things to do."

"We can see that!" Joe called out, pointing at Trent's neck. "She trying to write her name or something?"

The changing room was chaos as usual, everyone proper taking the piss. But Trent didn't mind - let them joke. They had no idea how good it felt being April's toy, her good boy, her willing servant.

His phone buzzed as he was changing.

April: Miss me yet?

His face must've done something because suddenly Virgil was looking at him with that knowing smile.

"She's good for you," his captain said quietly. "Never seen you this... settled."

Settled. Yeah, that was it. For the first time in his life, Trent knew exactly what he was meant to be.

Even if that meant being on his knees for a photographer who'd proper rewired his brain.

Another buzz.

April: Don't forget - edging practice tonight.

April: Thirty minutes this time.

April: Show me how good you can be for me.

Fucking hell.

But his "Yes ma'am" was typed and sent before he could even think about it.

Training was flowing smooth - every pass finding its target, every cross curling just right. When Slot called for lunch, the lads practically sprinted for their phones like teenagers, but Trent took his time. Saturday's match against Bournemouth was looking promising, and he was feeling dead confident about it.

But the weird looks on everyone's faces when he reached them had his stomach dropping.

"What?"

Danns wordlessly held out his phone. The Daily Mail. Brilliant.

There they were in Eindhoven - him bending down to April's height, grinning like some lovesick puppy. Then another shot of them kissing, a kiss he'd proper begged for because she'd had him so wound up for affection. His hood was up but anyone with eyes could tell it was him.

The article connected all the dots - identifying April as the photographer behind his recent shoot, the mystery woman in the Ferrari, even digging up that she was some decorated army officer's daughter from Liverpool. The comments were surprisingly positive:

"He's got his swagger back!"

"Local girl, army family, proper match"

"Old Trent's finally back"

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was bound to happen eventually, but still.

"You good?" Virgil asked quietly.

"Need to check on April..."

"Lads," Virgil called out, captain voice in full effect. "Give him space yeah? See you in the canteen."

Back at his bag, Trent's hands were shaking slightly as he checked his phone. But April's texts weren't about the article at all.

Instead, there was a screenshot of DMs with a simple message: "Get your bitches in line or I'll do it for you."

The DMs were from Sophie - old photos of her and Trent together, proper intimate ones from their relationship. Like some sad attempt at threatening April.

"Fuck," he whispered, but something hot curled in his stomach at April's possessiveness. Sophie had no idea who she was messing with.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Waiting for your response.

April: Tell me how you’re gonna handle this.

April: Or I will.

Christ. Why was her being all territorial turning him on so much?

Trent stared at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What do you even say when your blocked ex is trying to start beef with your... whatever April was?

Trent: She must've made a lurk account

Trent: I'll sort it

April: No need.

April: Already handled it.

April: Sent those photos to my lawyer.

April: She won't try that again.

His stomach flipped. Course April would handle it like a proper boss.

April: Though we still need to discuss punishment.

April: For not telling me about her tendency to... reappear.

Even when she was proper mad, she still had him wanting to please her.

April: The Mail article though...

April: You looked proper needy in those photos.

Trent: Was needy for you wasn't I?

April: Bold of you to flirt when you're in trouble.

April: See me after your match Saturday.

April: Bring overnight gear.

April: And that ring I bought you.

His whole body went hot. The new ring she'd gifted him in Eindhoven was intense - designed specifically for "training" she'd said.

"T!" Darwin's voice made him jump. "You coming to eat or what?"

"Yeah, give me a minute."

Trent: Yes ma'am.

Trent: About the article though... you okay?

April: Worried about me? Sweet. But I can handle some pap shots.

April: And clearly I need to remind you who you belong to now.

April: Since your past keeps trying to creep in.

But before he could respond, she sent one more message:

April: Now go eat. Need you strong for Saturday. And what comes after 😈

Fucking hell.

******************************************

The restaurant was buzzing, one of those nice-but-not-too-nice spots in Liverpool where everyone knew everyone. Trent tugged at his turtleneck - bit warm for it really, but better than explaining to his mum why he looked like he'd been mauled by a tiger.

"You're fidgeting," Dianne noted, bouncing Aura on her knee. "Everything alright love?"

"Just match nerves," he lied. Actually it was the marks from last weekend's "session" with April making his collar itch, but his mum didn't need to know that.

"Michael!" Some old fella from down their street appeared at their table. "Good to see the family together. And Trent lad - you're looking proper back to yourself these days."

"Thanks Mr. Thompson."

"Heard your new girl's from round here? Army family yeah?"

Word traveled fast in Liverpool. Before Trent could answer, another regular - Mrs. Kelly from the corner shop - stopped by.

"My Denise went to school with a Goodplenty girl," she said, like they'd asked. "Her dad was proper decorated, served in the Middle East and that. Good Toxteth family before they moved."

His dad perked up at that. "Toxteth? Must know some of the same people then."

"Dad…" Trent warned, but it was too late.

"What? Just saying it's nice you're seeing someone local. Someone who gets it."

Gets what, Trent wanted to ask. The marks? The commands? The way she had him properly wrapped around her finger?

"She coming to any matches?" his sister-in-law asked, rescuing him from that train of thought.

"Maybe." If he earned it. April had been clear about that - match attendance was a reward, not a given.

Another neighbor stopped by, then someone's cousin, then a lad he vaguely remembered from school. Everyone had something to say about April's dad - where he'd served, what medals he had, how proud Toxteth was of him.

His phone buzzed under the table. April finally replying to the selfie he sent before coming to dinner.

April: That turtleneck looks suspicious. April: But I like knowing what's underneath. April: My marks. My boy.

Christ. Even from wherever she was, she had him squirming.

"Who's that got you smiling?" his mum asked.

"No one," he said quickly, but his face must've given him away because Liv started laughing.

"Look at him blushing! Dead obvious mate."

"Leave him alone," Michael chuckled. "Boy's allowed his privacy."

Privacy. Right. Like that existed in Liverpool when you were TAA and dating a local girl whose dad was apparently some sort of legend.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Bet you're thinking about Eindhoven. April: How prettily you begged. April: How good you were for me.

He shifted in his seat, turtleneck suddenly feeling way too tight.

"You sure you're alright love?" His mum was giving him that look. "You've gone all red."

"Fine mum. Just warm in here."

Another buzz.

April: Taking those marks to dinner with your family… April: Such a naughty boy. April: We'll have to discuss that tomorrow.

This was going to be a long dinner.

Marcel kept shooting him these proper smug looks across the table, especially when Trent had to adjust his collar for the hundredth time.

"Bit warm for a turtleneck innit?" his younger brother said innocently. "Unless…"

Tyler kicked him under the table while Trent shot him a death glare.

Aura started fussing in Dianne's arms, making grabby hands at Trent. "Un-ca! Un-ca!"

"Come here then," he said, grateful for the distraction as he scooped her up. She immediately went for his collar because of course she did. Little menace had proper timing.

"Oh, look at you!" Some woman he vaguely recognized as his mum's friend appeared at their table. "Always knew you'd be good with kids. Speaking of…" she gave him a knowing look. "Saw those pictures of you and that lovely girl. Army officer's daughter, isn't she?"

"Here we go," Marcel muttered, earning another kick from Tyler.

"You two look proper sweet together," the woman continued, completely oblivious. "Really hope this one works out. Would love to see more little ones around soon!"

Trent nearly choked on his water while Marcel started properly cackling.

"You alright there?" his dad asked, while Tyler tried (and failed) to hide his grin.

"Fine," Trent managed, bouncing Aura who was still determined to expose his neck to the whole restaurant. "Just… went down wrong."

"Sure it did," Marcel said under his breath. "Nothing to do with certain… marks."

This time both Tyler and Trent kicked him.

"So," his mum started, using that tone that meant an interrogation was coming, "when are we going to meet her properly then?"

Trent focused on helping Aura with her sippy cup. "Bit early for all that isn't it?"

"Early? It's all over the papers that you're together."

"Doesn't mean we need to rush things," he muttered, while Marcel made whipping sounds under his breath.

"Those photos though," Liv cut in, probably trying to help but making it worse. "Tyler was right about working with her. She's got proper talent hasn't she? The way she captured you - all artistic but still real."

"She's got a good eye," Tyler agreed. "Brands are going mental for those shots."

"See?" His mum wasn't letting this go. "She's practically family already, working with Tyler–"

"Mum."

"I'm just saying! Would be nice to have her round for Sunday dinner sometime."

The thought of April at a family dinner - knowing what she did to him behind closed doors - had his face burning. She'd probably whisper something filthy in his ear just to watch him squirm in front of everyone.

"Let the boy breathe," his dad cut in. "They'll tell us when they're ready."

They. Like it was already settled. Like April hadn't made him sign a proper contract about family meetings.

"I just want to make sure she's good enough for our Trent," his mum said, and Marcel actually snorted his drink.

If she only knew. April was so far out of his league it was actually mental. Here they were worrying if she was good enough for him when really, he was the one trying to earn her approval every day.

"Trust me mum," Tyler said with a knowing look that made Trent want to sink into the floor. "She's exactly what he needs."

Proper violation how right he was about that.

"At least she's local," his dad said, like that made everything simple. "Not like that London lot you were hanging round with before."

"Sophie was alright," his mum defended, making everyone at the table groan.

"Sophie was about as scouse as caviar," Marcel muttered.

"And about as warm as Anfield in December," Tyler added.

Aura chose that moment to properly grab Trent's collar, nearly exposing everything. He caught her hand just in time, but not before Marcel's eyes went wide.

"Bruv," his younger brother mouthed, looking properly scandalized.

"Shut it," Trent mouthed back.

"Is she treating you right?" his mum continued, oblivious to the collar situation. "These artistic types can be… different."

Different. If she only knew.

"She's good to me mum," he said carefully, while Marcel fake-coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "very good."

"Must be," Tyler couldn't help adding. "Never seen him this happy."

"Or this covered up," Marcel whispered, earning simultaneous kicks from both brothers.

"Oi!" Liv cut in. "What's with all the kicking?"

"Nothing," all three brothers said at once, making their parents exchange that look they'd perfected over years of raising three kids.

"Right," their dad said slowly. "Anyone for dessert?"

Thank fuck for dessert menus and their ability to end awkward conversations. Though knowing his family, this wouldn't be the last time they brought up April.

He just hoped next time he wouldn't be wearing quite so many marks to hide.

The Vitality Stadium was proper packed, and Trent's head was everywhere but the pitch. His overnight bag in the coach's hold felt like it was burning a hole in his mind - that new ring from Eindhoven, April's promised punishment, everything that was coming after.

"Earth to Trent!" Robbo shouted during their stretches. "You with us mate?"

He wasn't. Not really. His first touch in warm-ups was shocking, the ball bouncing off his foot like he'd never played football before.

Focus. Football first. Pleasure later.

The match started, and Trent's mind was still in London. His first three passes went straight to Bournemouth players, earning him a yell from Slot on the touchline.

"What's got into you?" Virgil called after Trent misplaced another cross. Even the easy balls weren't coming off - like his body had forgotten everything it knew about football.

Mo somehow managed to score in the 23rd minute despite Trent's wayward passing, putting them 1-0 up against the run of play. Pure instinct that - nothing to do with Trent's contribution.

Slot had them playing deeper in the second half, probably trying to minimize the damage Trent's shocking performance could do. Every touch felt wrong, every decision a split second too late. The gaffer kept looking at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Bournemouth came at them hard after the break, targeting Trent's side like they knew he wasn't right. He took a tackle from their winger, didn't even see it coming.

"Head in the game," Virgil said as he helped him up, proper concern in his voice. "Where are you today?"

In London. In April's flat. Anywhere but where he needed to be.

The last ten minutes were torture - Bournemouth throwing everyone forward, Trent barely hanging on. When the final whistle blew - somehow at 2-0 - his legs were trembling from relief more than anything.

"You alright?" Virgil asked as Trent rushed through his post-match routine, desperate to get out of there.

"Yeah just... got plans."

"Plans that involve sorting your head out? Because that wasn't you today."

"Sorry." He couldn't even argue - it had been shocking.

"Just... be careful yeah? Whatever's going on..." Virgil gave him that captain's look. "Don't let it affect your game."

Too late for that. Everything was affecting his game lately - April, the contract, the punishment coming his way. Football used to be simple. Now nothing was.

But they'd won. Somehow. Despite him playing like he'd forgotten which sport this was.

Maybe April would punish him for that too.

The train from Bournemouth to London felt endless. He'd gone full incognito again - puffer jacket, balaclava, the works. His legs were heavy from the match, and his mind was heavier with thoughts of what April would say about his performance.

A group of lads further down the carriage were watching match highlights on their phones. He could hear their commentary - "TAA's not himself today" and "proper shocking that." They weren't wrong, were they?

His mind wandered to what April might have planned. Punishment for the Sophie thing, obviously. But now probably extra punishment for playing like he'd forgotten how football worked. That's how it worked now - every mistake had consequences, and today had been full of them.

The woman across the aisle was reading the Mail's article about them on her phone. There was that photo again - him bent down to April's height, looking proper lovesick. The headline called them "Liverpool's New Power Couple" which was laughable really. Only power dynamic between them involved him on his knees, and after today's performance, he'd probably be there a lot.

London got closer with every station. His overnight bag felt heavy in his lap - that new ring buried under his clothes, along with other things April had "suggested" he bring. Each item carefully chosen to push his limits.

The tube was packed with Saturday night crowds - couples heading to dinner, groups out clubbing. None of them knowing that Liverpool's right back was standing there, having played one of his worst matches in recent memory, about to face whatever punishment his photographer girlfriend had planned.

By the time he reached her building, his stomach was in knots. The doorman - same one from his first visit - gave him a knowing smile as he buzzed him up.

The lift felt like it was moving in slow motion.

Deep breath.

Time to face his punishment - for Sophie, for the match, for everything. And whatever else April had planned for Liverpool's golden boy who couldn't seem to remember how to play football anymore.

The door opened before he could knock, like she'd been waiting. Pussy Galore was wrapped around April's ankles, yellow eyes judging him as usual. April stepped aside to let him in, and he dropped his overnight bag near the entryway table.

But something was different. April wasn't giving off her usual dominant energy. Instead, she looked... worried?

"What was that today?" She gestured at the muted TV still showing match highlights - him misplacing passes, getting caught out of position. "That wasn't you out there."

"I know–"

"Our professional relationship comes before anything else, you know that right?" She ran a hand through her curls, proper agitated. "I can't have you playing like that again. If this is too much, if what we're doing is affecting your game, we can end–"

"No!" The word burst out before he could stop it, echoing off the exposed brick walls. "Please, no. I was just... too much in my head today."

"About what?"

He slumped against her doorframe, the cool metal of her coat hooks pressing into his shoulder. "Everyone's seen those pictures now. Family friends, neighbors, everyone's got something to say about how I seem 'better' now." His hands clenched. "Like before I was just... I dunno. All those PR relationships, trying to be posh enough for Sophie and her lot. Changing everything about myself to fit in with that London crowd."

"And then Sophie tried stirring shit," April added softly, understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Yeah." He exhaled, watching Pussy Galore wind between their legs like she was trying to tie them together. "Just reminded me of everything I was trying to forget. All that fake stuff."

April moved closer, and for once she wasn't prowling like a predator. Her hand reached up, cupping his chin in a gesture so gentle it made his breath catch. When she pulled him down for a kiss, it wasn't like their usual ones - all heat and demand and earning his pleasure.

This was soft. Tender even. Like she understood exactly what he needed.

When they separated, he could only manage a confused "Whaa?"

She just took his hand, leading him toward the bedroom. The bag with all his "homework" supplies sat forgotten by the door.

"Should I get the ring and everything?" he asked, still thrown by this gentler version of April.

"Maybe later." She squeezed his hand. "You don't need that right now."

Her bedroom was different tonight - no candles, no toys laid out, none of the usual setup for their games. Just the soft glow of her bedside lamp and those black silk sheets he'd become so familiar with.

"Sit," she said, but it wasn't a command this time. More like... an invitation.

He perched on the edge of her bed, watching as she moved around the room. She shed her oversized jumper to reveal a simple tank top underneath - nothing like her usual dominatrix gear or those lacy things designed to drive him mental.

"You know," she said, settling next to him, "when I first met you, I could see right through all that posh act."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm." Her hand found his, fingers intertwining naturally. "Could tell you were trying so hard to be what everyone wanted. The polished footballer, the perfect boyfriend... exhausting wasn't it?"

He nodded, throat tight.

"But that night at the club? When you let that mask slip a bit?" She smiled - not her usual predatory grin, but something softer. "That's when I knew I wanted you."

"For your collection of toys?" The words came out more bitter than he'd intended.

"No." She turned his face toward her. "Because I saw someone who needed what I could give them. Freedom to just... be."

Something in his chest cracked open. Because she was right, wasn't she? All those commands, all that submission - it wasn't about being controlled. It was about being free to want what he wanted.

"Come here," she whispered, pulling him down onto the sheets. No orders, no demands, just... comfort.

He went willingly, letting her arrange them until his head was in her lap, her fingers carding through his cropped curls. Pussy Galore jumped up to join them, settling at their feet like some furry guardian.

"We can play later," April said softly. "Right now, just breathe."

So he did.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, April's fingers in his hair, the steady rhythm of her breathing matching his. No one had ever seen him like this - not Sophie with her polished expectations, not the string of PR-arranged dates, no one.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice was muffled against her leg.

"Hmm?"

"Why'd you make me sign that contract? The girlfriend experience part?"

Her fingers stilled for a moment. "Because I knew you'd need boundaries. Structure." She resumed stroking his hair. "And because... maybe I needed them too."

He shifted to look up at her. "You don't usually do the relationship thing?"

"Not usually." That hint of vulnerability in her voice was new. "Most subs... they're just passing through. But you..." She smiled down at him. "You’re getting under my skin somehow."

"Was it my excellent football skills?" he joked, thinking about today's disaster of a match.

"Definitely not after today." But she was grinning. "Though knowing how you try so hard to focus during training while wearing my marks... that's pretty entertaining."

He felt his face heat up. "Proper violation that."

"You love it though."

"Yeah," he admitted. Because what was the point of pretending anymore? "Love all of it really."

Her hand moved to trace his jaw. "Even the punishment?"

"Even that." He paused. "Speaking of..."

"We're not doing that tonight." Her voice was firm but gentle. "Tonight's just... this."

"Just this," he echoed, settling back against her.

Pussy Galore stretched and repositioned herself closer to them, like she approved of this softer version of their dynamic.

"Though tomorrow..." April's voice carried that familiar edge that made his stomach flip. "Tomorrow we'll discuss your shocking performance on the pitch."

"Yes ma'am."

She tugged his hair lightly. "What did I say about tonight?"

"Sorry." He couldn't help grinning. "Just habit innit?"

"Cheeky." But she was smiling too. "Now shut up and let me hold you."

For once, that was an order he was happy to follow without any punishment needed.

********************************************

Morning light streamed through April's massive windows as she handed him coffee - black, two sugars, just like last time. Pussy Galore perched on the counter.

"Food's on the way," April said, checking her phone. "Ordered from that place around the corner."

"So you don't cook for men but you order food for them?" He couldn't help grinning.

She rolled her eyes but he caught that smile. "Yes, smartarse. Consider yourself special."

They settled at her breakfast bar, morning sun catching her curls. Something about last night had shifted things, made it easier to ask what he'd been wondering.

"Can I ask... how'd you get into all this? The dom thing?"

April took a slow sip of her coffee, considering. "Maybe I was looking for something I never had growing up? Only child, military family - we moved constantly. Prague when I was little, then Turkey, finally the States for a few years."

"Must've been hard, all that moving."

"Was proper mental. Never felt settled anywhere. Came back here for uni in Manchester and..." She smiled at some memory. "Guess I was always rebelling against structure, until I found a way to control it instead."

"How'd you figure that out?"

"Stumbled into it at uni really. Tried being a sub first - proper disaster that was." She laughed. "Turns out I'm much better at giving orders than taking them."

"No kidding," he muttered into his coffee.

"Oi!" But she was grinning. "Watch it or I'll make you eat breakfast on your knees."

His face must've done something because she actually giggled - a sound he'd never heard from her before.

"You're too easy to wind up," she said, just as their food arrived on her phone app. "Now go get our breakfast before I change my mind about being nice this morning."

He went out then returned with their food - proper full English for him, some posh avocado thing for her. Pussy Galore immediately tried to steal his bacon.

"So what was America like then?" he asked, defending his plate from the cat.

"Weird. Lived in the D.C. area because of dad's posting. Everyone thought I was proper posh because of my accent." She smirked. "Should've heard them try to understand my dad's scouse."

"Bet that went down well."

"About as well as when we moved back and everyone here thought I was American." She pushed her food around. "That's probably why I got into photography. Easier to observe than participate sometimes."

"Until you started making footballers strip for art."

"Oi!" She kicked him under the table. "That's a very small part of my portfolio, thank you very much. Though..." Her eyes got that dangerous glint. "You are one of my favorite subjects."

"Because I'm so photogenic?"

"Because you're so..." She tilted her head, studying him. "Genuine. Once you drop the act anyway. Most people in this industry, they're always performing. But you..."

"I just like being told what to do?"

"Exactly." She grinned. "Speaking of which, we still need to discuss yesterday's match."

His stomach flipped. "Thought you said no punishment?"

"That was last night. This morning..." She reached across the table, fingers trailing along his arm. "This morning we need to make sure you remember who you are."

"Yes ma'am."

"There's my good boy." Her voice had shifted into that commanding tone he knew so well. "Now finish your breakfast. You'll need your strength."

Fucking hell.

April collected their plates once they'd finished, moving with that fluid grace that meant she was shifting back into her dominant role. "Get the ring from your bag."

His heart started racing. "But–"

"This morning we're going to work on your focus." Her voice carried that edge again. "Can't have you thinking about me during matches, can we?"

He went to retrieve the ring from his abandoned overnight bag, remembering how different things had felt just hours ago - her gentle touches, the soft conversation. But this was what he needed now, wasn't it? Structure. Control.

"Strip to your boxers," she called from the bedroom. "Then kneel by the bed. Let's see if we can train that wandering mind of yours."

As he followed her commands, he caught his reflection in her full-length mirror. The marks from Eindhoven had faded, but something else was different. He looked... settled. Like he finally knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.

"Good boy," April said from the doorway, now wearing that black silk robe that meant business. "Ready to learn your lesson about focus?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Remember your safe word?"

"Anfield."

"Good." She moved closer, running her fingers through his hair before gripping it tight. "Now let's make sure you never play like that again."

His body responded automatically to her touch, to her commands. This was what he needed - not just the dominance, but the understanding behind it. She knew exactly how to push him, how to make him better.

"Color?"

"Green, ma'am."

"Perfect." That devil's smile was back. "Let's begin."

Christ.

"Today's lesson," April circled him slowly, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor, "is about control. Focus." She stopped in front of him. "Yesterday you let thoughts of me and everyone else distract you on the pitch. That stops now."

"Yes ma'am."

"Put the ring on."

His hands shook slightly as he complied. The metal was cool against his skin, causing his dick to twitch in anticipation.

"Now," she settled on the edge of the bed, looking down at him. "We're going to work on your concentration. I want you to recite Liverpool's upcoming fixture list. Every match, every date."

His brain short-circuited. "What?"

"You heard me." Her foot traced along his thigh. "Start with next weekend."

"Tottenham at home," he managed. "Then..." Her touch was making it hard to think.

"Continue."

"Arsenal away..." He swallowed hard as her foot moved higher, gliding against his balls. "Then... fuck..."

"Language." Her voice was sharp. "And that's not the next fixture."

"Sorry ma'am. Plymouth Argyle away. Everton away."

"Good boy. Keep going."

It was torture - trying to remember dates and opponents while April tested his control in increasingly creative ways. Every time he got distracted, she made him start over.

"This," she said after he'd finally managed the full list without stumbling, "is how we train your mind to focus. To compartmentalize."

"Yes ma'am."

"If you can focus through this..." Her hand gripped his hair. "You can focus through anything. Including matches."

His whole body was trembling with need of release, but his mind felt... clearer somehow. Like she was teaching him more than just submission.

"Color?"

"Green, ma'am. So green."

"Good. Next test," April's voice was pure control. "Tactical setup for Tottenham. Formation, positioning, everything."

His knees were aching on the hardwood floor, the ring a constant reminder of who was in charge and edging him perfectly. But this was different from their usual play - she was actually training his mind.

"4-3-3," he started, then gasped as her nails dug into his shoulders. "They'll - they'll press high..."

"Keep going." Her touch was maddening. "Every detail."

"Their right winger likes to cut inside..." The words came out strained as she added another mark to his collection. "We'll need to... fuck..."

"Start again." No mercy in her voice. "And remember - good boys maintain their focus."

It went on like that - April testing his concentration while he tried to analyze football through a haze of need. Every time his mind wandered, she made him begin again. Every successful recitation earned him praise that made his chest tight.

"Understanding now?" She gripped his chin, making him look at her. "How to keep your mind where it needs to be?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Because next time you let thoughts of me affect your game..." Her nails dug in slightly deeper. "The punishment won't be nearly this pleasant."

His whole body shuddered at the threat and promise in her voice.

"Now," she stepped back, admiring the fresh marks she'd left. "One more test. Champions League tactics...." That devil's smile once more.

Fucking hell. He was never going to survive this session.

But maybe that was the point.

*****************************************

Fresh from the shower, Trent examined his new collection of marks in April's bathroom mirror. Some from training his focus, others from his rewards when he finally got it right. His fingers traced a particularly vivid one near his collarbone - that was from reciting the entire Champions League tactical setup without stumbling once.

"These are going to be fun to explain in the changing room," he called out, pulling his t-shirt on carefully.

"Better not get distracted by them during training," April responded from somewhere in the bedroom. She'd shifted back to her usual self - all mystery and edge after their moment of softness last night.

He found her organizing her camera gear, probably for some shoot later. "Hey, was thinking..."

"Dangerous habit that."

"Proper funny you are." He leaned against her doorframe. "Would you maybe want to spend a weekend with me in Liverpool? At my place? Could show you around properly..."

She turned, that familiar smirk playing at her lips. "That's not in our contract, is it?"

"Could be an extra?" He tried for casual but probably missed by miles. "If I earn it?"

"If you earn it?" Now she was properly grinning. "Bold of you to assume you can."

"I can be very convincing."

"Prove it then." She moved closer, reaching up to adjust his collar over the marks. "Show me perfect focus in training and at your matches. No distractions. No mistakes." Her fingers lingered on his neck. "Maybe then we can discuss... amendments to our arrangement."

"Yes ma'am." The words came automatically now.

"Good boy." She stepped back. "Now go. Before I decide to test your concentration again."

At her front door, he turned back one last time. "I'll make you proud next week."

"You better." But her smile was soft for just a moment.

Walking to the train station, Trent couldn't stop grinning. His body ached, his mind was properly exhausted, and tomorrow's training was going to be intense.

For the first time in ages, he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.

Even if what he wanted involved earning the right to show his dominatrix around Liverpool.

Life was proper mental sometimes.

………..tbd

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