#and had some feelings about that over christmas

[ifwdominicfike]

record store date with guitarist!matt and girly girl!reader !!

── .✦. ──

“oh my- matt look, look, they have bea here!!” you gasp and scurry over to pop album section, matt looks up and finds you picking up multiple records at a time. he laughs and makes his way over to you. “my love, let me see those, y’gonna drop em” he takes the stack from your hands and shuffles through them. “really? don’t you already have like her whole discography?” he squints his eyes at you while holding up a different variant of a taylor swift album “yeahh but come on, it’s pink!!” you say showing him the 1989 vinyl with a big smile.

“you’ll get anything pink huh?” he teases, nudging at your side, making you giggle. “shut up, its adorable it’ll go great with my room, don’t you think..?” your cheeks starting to hurt from the amount giggles and smiling.

“oooh they even have clairo!! look our favorite!!” you say picking up the cover labeled ‘charm’. ever since it had came out, you and matt have been listening to it nonstop. “sweetheart you’re killing me here — im already holding what? six- seven records here” he says chuckling. “ok ok fine i guess im okay for now — but i don’t promise anything when we go to that antique store, the second i see anything bunny related, its mine.” your finger pointing at him, which meaning your ‘serious’.

you had decided to slip the records inside your tote bag, saving matt the sore arms and red marks scattered across them. after that he drags you over to the section he’s been waiting to visit, the scattered albums going from ‘mac miller’ all the way down to ‘the smashing pumpkins’. this was basically matts heaven — his excited eyes scanning over everything like a kid on christmas.

he picks up a record labeled ‘siamese dream’ by none other than the smashing pumpkins, easily one of matts favorite bands. you had only know about that album because he had mentioned a song called luna on there reminded him of you. before you could ask him something else he’s already picking up another record, this time being ‘kiss me kiss me kiss me’ by ‘the cure’ which was another favorite, matt had even dedicated the song ‘heaven’ from that album to you.

twenty more minutes had gone by and matt was close to buying damn near that entire shelf, but ended up leaving with four vinyls and a big bright smile on his face. “matt i can’t believe you spent almost 150 dollars for all of this! i could’ve paid for myself you kn-“ he cuts off with a gentle hand over your mouth. “nuh uh — none of that hun, m’treating my beautiful girlfriend because she deserves it, yeah?”

your face turns bright pink at his praise as you sarcastically roll your eyes at him. “fuck i love you so much” you pull him into a kiss, leaving crimson red smeared across his lips. you giggle as you motion to his mouth. “y-you got a little something..” he wasn’t really paying attention so he hadn’t heard you. “i have what?” he asks obliviously. “you know what.. its nothing! now onto that antique store right??”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

i feel like its been so long since i posted a fic.. im so sorry i’ve literally just been lazy and avoiding my drafts 😭😭, but here’s some adorable guitarist!matt and girly!reader for you!!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @http-bellaa @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @sturnsmia @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @chaossturns @emely9274 @sturn777 @sturns-mermaid @st7rnioioss @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13

[miryum]

Simon Riley has a lot of weird little quirks that I couldn’t fit in any other fic idea

Simon Riley knows how to braid hair and braid it well. French, Dutch, fishtail, anything you wanted. Little tiny braids didn’t deter him either. He would sit on the couch, you standing or sitting between his thick thighs and glare silently in concentration as he braided your hair. He’s also able to pick up any hairstyle real easily. Show him some inspiration on Pinterest and he’ll be able to replicate it almost perfectly. Simon isn’t as good at buns because he can’t quite get how to twist his wrist just right, but give him a strand of hair and he loves to weave it between his fingers. It makes him feel close to you and he is so proud when you wear the braid all throughout the day

Simon Riley folds laundry with military precision and gets a little miffed if you fold the laundry wrong. He literally grumbles and mutters to himself and then re-folds the entire load. He tries to show you how to fold it, but you don’t care as much as him, so he just does it himself. Laundry and the majority of the cleaning goes to Simon because as much as he has qualms about the way you do laundry, don’t even get him started on the way you attempt to clean the house. It’s better for everyone if he just does it

Simon Riley likes to rub his face over your pillow. Especially before or after deployment, he’s like a cat. He circles your pillow in his beefy arms and just presses his cheek to it again and again. It’s like he’s scenting it so that when he goes away, you won’t forget him. You think it’s absolutely adorable and you like to scratch at his hair as he does it

Simon Riley has very strong opinions about Christmas lights. He likes to put them up every year because he grew up Catholic (though he’s now an atheist) and it reminds him of his childhood. He doesn’t really care whether the lights are all white or different colours, but he cannot stand it if they blink. It’s much too annoying and busy and he thinks it’s a cry for attention. It also doesn’t help that sometimes he sees them out of the corner of his eye and the red ones look like the lights on a bomb or the green ones like the call signal on a radio

Simon Riley likes to buy you jewellery. He likes to buy anything and everything that he thinks will look pretty on you. When he finds something with little birds on it, he can’t help but splurge because you’re his Birdie and he loves you

Simon Riley is really good at most any sport, you name it. Rugby, basketball, baseball, American football, the list goes on and on. But put a gun to his head and tell him to score a goal for football and he would take the bullet. There’s really no explanation for it. One could blame it on his utter behemoth size, but he’s able to dribble the basketball or swing at the baseball hurtling towards him, but his feet just trip over themselves as he tries to get the bloody football down the field. He hates that little black and white ball with a burning passion

Simon Riley who is actually pretty involved in the VA. He doesn’t go out and advocate for more funding or anything, but if he sees a homeless veteran, he definitely guides them in the right direction. He goes there once a week just to catch up with everyone. You think it’s very healthy that he’s establishing a community for himself and he really enjoys it – you can see it in his eyes after he comes home Simon Riley who needs to sleep on the couch sometimes after deployment. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold you close, but the mattress is sometimes a bit too soft for him after sleeping on the ground or in a hard cot for weeks on end. You usually end up joining him, just splaying out on his chest. After a night or two, he returns to his place in the bed, holding you close

Simon Riley has the 141 insignia tattooed on his bicep and then the numbers on his chest. He was going to put the numbers over his heart, but, a week before his appointment, he had met you and some little part of him told him to move the tattoo up three inches. He was very glad he decided to move it because a year later he had gotten your initials with a little bird tattooed right over his heart

[elliewrites77]

Yapper!Gojo Modern AU

Yapper!Gojo who's best friend is the least talkative person he knows, even more so than Geto. Even after weeks of sharing a class, it was a full month of being classmates before he heard her voice.

Yapper!Gojo who doesn't pressure you to talk. He does plenty talking for the both of you, and somehow knows that you don't mind. A big part of your friendship is the fact that their is an unspoken connection, and you both tend to understand each other naturally. He talks, you listen, and you both enjoy the dynamic.

Yapper!Gojo who knows when you're uncomfortable or overwhelmed without you even needing to say anything. Maybe it's because you're always on his mind or his attention is always on you, but somehow, he just knows.

Yapper!Gojo who doesn't hide his affection for you. Sure, he doesn't come right out and say "i'm in love with you", because he does have a secret fear of being rejected by you, but he loves calling you pet names, loves physical touch like holding your hand, and stuff that some would say are obvious signs of feelings. and you always reciprocate, maybe not to the same extent, but still.

Yapper!Gojo who only shuts up when he insists on joining you in the campus library to study (you're studying, he..isn't). He knows how important finals are to you, but won't stand to not see you all week, so he invites himself to your study session. You barely acknowledge his presence in the small room, but you both know you are happy he is there with you.

Yapper!Gojo who finally plans to tell you his feelings after finals are over. You both have one semester left before graduating, and since he doesn't know where life will take you guys after college (though he intends to keep you in his life) he figures it's better to do it sooner rather than later. So he devises this elaborate plan, even forcing Suguru, Shoko, and Nanami to help him (all of which said he should just tell you without anything 'big').

Yapper!Gojo who almost has a panic attack when the day finally comes. Finals were over, and Christmas break was the best time to do it. So while you thought you two were just going out for a "friend-date" to a nice resturant Satoru wanted to try, he was panicking thinking about everything that could go wrong afterwards.

Yapper!Gojo who is suspiciously quiet throughout dinner. Not entirely silent, he could never be, but still. It was strange. So strange that you were more talkative, though most of what you said consisted of asking him if he was okay multiple times.

Yapper!Gojo who can't help but admire how beautiful you look on the way from the restaurant. He had asked if you'd mind one more stop, a surprise. So as you sat next to him, he stole multiple glances. Eventually, something about being so close to you made his anxiety calm.

Yapper!Gojo who covers your eyes when you arrive to the spot, helping you out of the car carefully. He guides you to the spot, taking a deep breath before he uncovers your eyes and allow you to adjust.

Yapper!Gojo who watches impatiently as you blink, your eyes flitting around the area. For the first time ever, he is anxious at your silence. He can't read it, and it worries him.

Quiet!reader who looks around at the University quad. There was a specific area that had a small gazebo and a few trees, a nice little patch that Gojo and you called "your spot". it had been the place where you first spoke to him. It was the place you guys always went to relax, to talk, to destress when everywhere else got too much. and now, it was lit up with fairy lights throughout the gazebo, a hammock connecting two trees, and a small blanket laid out on the ground with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and two pillows laid on top.

Yapper!Gojo who stays silent as he waits for you to process it. Once you look at him, though, he gulps and moves closer, swiping the flowers up as he moves. He holds them out to you.

"I know this is unexpected, but I just finally wanted to tell you that I'm in love with you. And I know you don't like big, extravagant stuff, but I really need this to be perfect and still show just how much I feel for you." He slightly rambles, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in nerves.

Yapper!Gojo who is silenced by the feeling of your lips on his. His eyes flutter closed as he kisses back, the fireworks between you exploding in his chest. And even though you don't say it, he knows instantly you've felt the same,

Yapper!Gojo who reluctantly lets you pull back after a long, loving kiss. but he doesn't regret it when you whisper the four words he had been longing to hear.

"I love you too."

Quiet!reader who may not talk much, and may be able to leave things unsaid with Satoru, but will never hesitate to tell him exactly how she feels about him.

------

not proofread

[drgnflyteabox]

Simon x gn!reader. Simon gives you a neck massage<3 some body horror imagery (like just description of pain), migraine, shame about chronic pain / having to take a break, soft, abrupt ending (sry)

Your neck pops, shoulders stiffening, little crackles dancing up your spine and to the base of your skull. Straightening doesn't help, no matter how much you try. You roll your shoulders back, lifting them, breathing deeply to try and relieve the pressure.

Nothing.

You stay unbearably stiff, hearing the inner machinations of your overwrought musculature with each breath, feeling it pulling at your scalp.

God, your skin pulls back while your eyes are pulled forward, pulsing, barely hanging on in your head.

You sit up again, eyes blurring, squinting to see the words on your laptop screen. They jumble together, frying your sensitive eyes, taunting you as your neck pops once again.

They should call you rice krispie, or at least make you one of the mascots. You could be snap or pop. That almost makes you laugh, but the heavier breaths send pulses of pain to your head and you stop yourself.

But your writing.

You know there's gonna be a phone call tomorrow at 11, that it's going to expect words on pape, words you just don't have.

You know you could just... send an email and explain. Offer to attach a doctors note, even though they've given you accommodations. You could delay, and probably nobody would say a thing. They haven't yet at least.

Yet you feel that coil of dread in your stomach at the thought. That poisonous little snake sinking it's longfanged teeth in you.

How many times have you had to delay? It feels like too many - too many to be normal, functional, surely.

That venom tells you you'll be fired, ostracized, that a big red stamp will be stuck onto some permanent database and you'll never be hired again.

You don't know how long you sit there, in pain, despairing your job when Simon walks quietly into your home office and lays heavy hands on your shoulders.

"It's late," he murmurs. His thumbs find your traps, digging in, and you moan softly.

"I gotta finish this," you mumble.

"It's late," he says again, "and you're tense. How's your head?"

He can probably feel how rock hard your muscles are, how the long line of your back is as rigid as a board.

"I just need to take another advil," you murmur, rolling your shoulders against his hands.

"You could," he slips on palm to your front, gliding over your collar, then gently holding your neck right below your jaw, "or you could let me give you a rub and go to sleep."

"I really need to finish this," you try, though you know it's weak. That you'll give in. You aren't accepting it- you're resigned to it.

Simon can tell.

"I'm not asking, honey," his hands move again, gliding, slipping under your armpits to nudge you up and out of your chair.

You stand, dizzy for just a moment before you let yourself lean back into him. He's a good sport about it, always is, half-dragging you to the bathroom.

"Brush your teeth," he puts the toothbrush in your hand, already tooth paste-ed, and leaves you in the bathroom for a moment.

He comes back with your pyjama's. The flannel ones you'd gotten last Christmas, worn in now and comforting. Your eyes tear up at his consideration, and you sniffle while he undresses you.

"Thank you," you mumble around the toothbrush, "my head really hurts."

"I know, honey," he says back. His voice is soft, still gravelly, but purposefully soft. That's enough to make you cry, though you can only let tears fall out of your eyes. Anything else would make your head worse.

"Do you need any advil?" he finishes buttoning your pyjama top as you spit your rinse into the sink.

"Yeah, I think so," he gives you four, which you swallow with water, "can you still rub my neck?"

He hums yes, guiding you by the elbow to the bedroom. You lay flat on your back, trying to relax, feeling his weight shift the mattress as he climbs in behind you.

His hands are perfect for this. Strong, thick, turning the muscles of your neck and shoulders into mash potatoes. You groan, grateful tears soaking into the pillow.

His thumbs find the base of your head, pushing, pushing, until the tension wrapping your skull gradually lessens. You begin to sink into the mattress, breathing deeply, hands twitching.

"Thank you," you sniffle.

"I should'a stopped your earlier," he digs into a tense spot, making you gasp for just a moment before you relax again, "know how you are."

"Mm'workaholic," you mumble.

"Ridiculous is what you are," he says. It's gruff, but it's fond. If you hadn't known him so long you'd have maybe been hurt.

That's how you fall asleep. Thinking of calling your supervisor tomorrow, apologizing, feeling better now that you aren't totally overwhelmed with pain.

Simon stays behind you as you drift, never relenting, moving his hands across your back and unknotting your stubborn muscles one by one.

"Love you," you mumble, half coherent.

"Love you too, honey," Simon murmurs. His lips find the nape of your neck, enveloping you with his body and his warmth, as your energy peters out.

[veritas-scribblings]

skirt - @into-the-jeggyverse - words: 889

James appears out of nowhere like some sort of apparition. It’s winter, past curfew, and it’s been dark since 5pm. Regulus is flushed and half-frozen from the cold, his extremities damned near freezing off. But just as James has appeared out of absolutely nowhere, his proposition also comes out of equally as nowhere. 

So Regulus hits him square in the chest with a, “you’re bloody insane.” 

“Come on!” The plea comes out of James as a whine. Eagerly, like a boy on Christmas morning, he bounces on his heels and stares at Regulus with the biggest damned puppy dog eyes that Regulus has ever seen. 

“I’m a prefect.” Regulus bustles past, heading back down the long, winding corridor. He’s a prefect, and he’s cold, and his fingers have frostbite and his nose has frostbite and for wizards—wizards with magic, mind you—they just don’t heat the castle very well. And he’s certain that Barty has warmed up the dormitory with his famous heating charm because everyone knows, Regulus included, that Regulus can be a bitch and a half when he’s cold and tired and cranky.

“You’re a stick in the mud, is what you are,” James says coyly. 

And it almost works. It hits Regulus in his sensitive spot: his pride. Regulus is not a stick in the mud, thank you. He’s all for breaking the rules, thank you. He just does it cleverly, almost underhanded. He’s not loud and abrasive about it, because he’s not a Gryffindor. He’s a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. 

“It’ll be fun,” James sidles up to Regulus, who has picked up the pace, “It’ll be romantic.”

“Freezing my arse off on a broomstick in the middle of winter when it’s snowing is your idea of romance?” 

James sighs dramatically and steps directly into Regulus’s path, backing him up against a wall. “I’m not going to see you over Christmas,” he crowds closer, pressed almost directly up against Regulus who can feel the heat from James’s body, because James always runs so hot, “that’s two weeks. I’ll go into withdrawal…”

Regulus arches an eyebrow. He’s almost convinced, he’s almost convinced. With James so close that Regulus can feel his breath on his skin, how can he not be? “Are you suggesting I’m drugging you…?”

“No, I’m implying that you are a drug. I’ll miss you.”

“I’m here right now,” Regulus says, his voice slightly shaky. From the cold. From the close proximity that has his hands shaking and his heart thudding and the blood in his veins warming. “Inside. Where it’s not snowing…”

“We could be outside. Where it is snowing. I love the snow.” James, damned him to through all seven levels of hell, slips his hands into Regulus’s robe. Even through all the layers of shirt and undershirt and jumper Regulus is wearing, Regulus swears he can feel James’s skin.

He’s spent too many nights dreaming about the feel of James’s skin.

“Reguluses aren’t made to be in the snow,” he says, though it doesn’t sound convincing to himself anymore, "Reguluses aren’t meant to be outside at all…”

James chuckles. His breath puffs against Regulus’s cheeks. Up close, Regulus can see the flecks of brown and amber in his eyes, the V of the cupids bow of his full lips. Feels his hands, which have moved up to cup the back of Regulus’s neck, fingers curled into his hair. Feels the thud of James’s heart beat…or is that his own?

And then James steps back and hums thoughtfully.

And fuck it all to hell.

Regulus thinks he must have sworn. He didn’t hear or feel it himself, but James’s laugh and his, “Language, Reg,” implies he must have. 

They’ve barely kissed. They have, but they haven’t, because James had declared he has plans to “court you, it’ll be a thorough courting, you will feel so romanced and courted after this, I’m a gentleman, I don’t dare to presume,” which Regulus thinks might actually be James trying to figure everything out, particularly how to tell Sirius and not get murdered by Walburga and Orion, before debauching the heir to the House of Black.

But Regulus has hit, “fuck the rules and fuck gentlemanly courtesy,” about 100 kilometres back. He doesn’t want chaste kisses stolen in hidden corridors. He wants proper kisses. He wants lips and tongues and limbs and lightning and all the exciting things that make his blood sing.

“Okay,” James says, nodding. “I understand. I bid thee goodnight, fair prince.” He steps back and offers an elaborate bow, because James Potter is truly a bit of an idiot.

“What?” Regulus looks around hastily. It’s past 10pm now, long past curfew and the end of his prefect rounds, but anyone could be watching. “We can be indoors doing…indoor things.”

“No, no,” James gives a crooked smile; the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing, “I don’t dare to presume. I am not the presumptuous kind. You should be where it’s warm…”

“…indoors, doing indoor things…”

“…absolutely.”

“…together. We can go to the astronomy tower and…talk…”

“The astronomy tower where it’s…open air…and…not warm?” 

James cocks his head to the side and blinks, giving Regulus the most ridiculously demure expression that anyone could possibly ever wear. 

Actually, maybe Regulus is the one who is the idiot.

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Decked Under the Mistletoe - Christmas Special

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: A holiday party, a little too much eggnog, and a rivalry that’s anything but friendly. Tara Carpenter swears she won’t be the first to crack, but with the whole friend group watching—and meddling—fate has other plans.

Word Count: 1.5k

The holiday season had crept into New York like a quiet snowfall, slow and inevitable. Fairy lights were strung across the streets, wreaths hung on doors, and the faint sound of Christmas music spilled from every other storefront. The chill in the air was just enough to nip at exposed skin, a crisp reminder that December was in full swing. Inside the Carpenter apartment, however, the warmth of bodies, laughter, and the lingering scent of cinnamon and hot chocolate made it feel like an entirely different world.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Mindy announced, clapping her hands as she stood in the center of the living room, grinning like she was about to announce the greatest event of the century. “We’re making bets.”

I arched a brow from where I was sitting on the arm of the couch, nursing a cup of hot cocoa. “Bets?”

Mindy nodded. “Holiday bets. You know, harmless stuff—who’s gonna drink too much eggnog first, how long until Anika falls asleep on the couch, and of course—” she turned toward Tara with a smirk, “—which one of you is gonna break first.”

Tara, who had been in the middle of sipping her cocoa, froze mid-drink. “What?”

“Oh, don’t ‘what’ me, Carpenter.” Mindy waved a hand between us. “You and Y/N have been dancing around each other for months. It’s exhausting. Someone’s gotta fold.”

Tara scoffed, setting her mug down with a thud. “Please. If anything, Y/N would break first.”

I smirked, leaning forward. “Oh? That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is,” she shot back without hesitation.

The rest of the group laughed, fully entertained by our ongoing back-and-forth. It was no secret that Tara and I had an… interesting relationship. We got under each other’s skin, pushed buttons, and exchanged sharp remarks like they were gifts. It wasn’t toxic, not really—it was just our thing.

“So what’s the bet?” Chad asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

Mindy’s grin stretched wider. “Who caves first and admits they actually like the other.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s stupid.”

“Agreed,” I added. “Mostly because there’s nothing to admit.”

“Sure, sure,” Mindy said, clearly not buying it. “But just in case, I’m putting my money on Tara caving first.”

“Excuse me?” Tara snapped, looking personally offended.

Mindy shrugged. “You’ve got that little glare, but it’s totally just covering the fact that you’re dying inside.”

Tara muttered something under her breath and crossed her arms, looking away. Sam, from her spot in the kitchen, simply sighed and continued stirring her tea, clearly tuning out our antics.

The night continued as expected—banter, games, and far too much sugar. At some point, Chad got wrapped in tinsel (“I am the Christmas King,” he declared), Anika did, in fact, pass out on the couch, and I caught Tara glancing at me more times than I could count.

Then came the mistletoe.

It wasn’t planned—not on my part, anyway. One second, Tara and I were arguing over which Christmas movie deserved the top spot (“Die Hard is a Christmas movie!” “It absolutely is not!”), and the next, Mindy was shoving us right under the doorway where, sure enough, a tiny sprig of mistletoe hung mockingly above our heads.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Mindy feigned innocence. “House rules say you gotta kiss.”

Tara’s jaw clenched. “Mindy.”

Mindy beamed. “Tara.”

A heavy silence stretched between us, the warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling a little too hot.

Tara folded her arms and scoffed. “Yeah, not happening.”

“Aww,” I teased, tilting my head. “What’s wrong, Carpenter? Afraid you might like it?”

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might sprain something. “Please, in your dreams.”

“So you have thought about it?”

“You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here,” I pointed out.

Tara glared, jaw tightening as she flicked her gaze toward the mistletoe, then back to me. I could see her debating it, weighing her options. Then, with an almost resigned exhale, she grabbed my hoodie and yanked me down, pressing her lips to mine in a way that was far more forceful than necessary—but I wasn’t complaining.

The room collectively lost its mind.

Someone (probably Mindy) whooped, someone else clapped, and I could vaguely hear Chad shouting, “Called it!” over the noise. But none of that mattered, not when Tara was kissing me like she had something to prove, her lips warm and a little too soft, her grip firm like she wasn’t planning to let go just yet.

Then, just as suddenly, she pulled back, her eyes burning into mine, her lips slightly parted.

“There,” she muttered. “Happy?”

Mindy was practically vibrating. “Oh, ecstatic.”

Tara huffed and turned to storm off, but before she could fully escape, a solid punch landed against my arm.

I grunted. “Ow, what the hell?”

Sam, standing beside me now, shook out her hand like she was barely fazed. “That’s for every time Tara’s come home ranting about how annoying you are.”

I blinked. “She rants about me?”

Sam ignored me. “And if you mess with her? I’ll make sure you never walk again.”

I swallowed. “Noted.”

With that, she turned and walked off, leaving me standing there, rubbing my arm while Mindy cackled in the background.

“Well,” she mused, “that was worth every penny.”

Chad clapped me on the back. “Merry Christmas, dude.”

Tara, across the room, was pretending to be completely unfazed. But when our eyes met, she held my gaze for a second too long before looking away, her cheeks still tinted the faintest shade of pink.

Maybe Mindy had been onto something after all.

The party had finally started winding down, guests slipping on their coats and saying their goodbyes, laughter still lingering in the air like the scent of cinnamon and pine. One by one, the group trickled out into the chilly New York night, some still buzzing from the evening’s events—especially the mistletoe situation.

I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside, shoving my hands into my pockets to brace against the cold. Tara was right behind me, moving quietly as the others scattered toward their cars or the sidewalk, chatting amongst themselves. When I reached my car, I expected her to just say goodnight and head off, but she lingered, shifting slightly on her feet.

It wasn’t like her. Tara Carpenter wasn’t one to hesitate. But here she was, looking uncharacteristically unsure.

I leaned against the car door, smirking slightly. “Something on your mind, Carpenter?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I mused. “But you’re still standing here.”

Tara sucked in a breath. “Do you… like me?”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. Then, grinning, “What gave it away? The months of flirting? The fact that I let you win that stupid gingerbread argument? Or was it the part where I didn’t drop dead after you kissed me?”

Tara groaned, shoving me. “You’re the worst.”

I caught her wrist before she could move away. “But to answer your question—yeah, I do.”

She hesitated for a beat before closing the space between us, pressing her lips to mine.

Then—

“OH MY GOD, IT’S OFFICIAL!”

We turned to see the entire group on the stoop, Mindy fist-pumping, Chad doubled over laughing.

Tara groaned and buried her face in my neck. “Kill me.”

I laughed, pulling her closer. “Way to embarrass my girlfriend, guys.”

Tara twitched and jabbed me in the ribs, making me wince. “Ow—”

“Don’t push your luck, genius,” she muttered. Then, before I could recover, she kissed my jaw with a smirk. “Besides… looks like I won after all.”

The group cheered again as I groaned, Tara’s laughter warm against the cold night air.

[madhatterbri]

Headbands | J.U.

Summary: Jey shows reader his headbands have other uses. 18+.

Happy Monday Night RAW, babes. ❤️ I have been working on this since Christmas Eve. x.x

Jey Uso Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @miss-kuki-nz @surdelcielo @missbmc94 @eringobragh420 @magicalbuttertarts @hodgepodge-musings

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to/deleted from the taglist.

While on the phone, Y/N told her friend that she'd loved to be tied down by him and blindfolded with Jey's headbands. Pink was his color, and the headband made him even more attractive. She didn't think he was actually listening to her or that he was hatching a plan in his head to use them on her. She was in for a rude awakening one night.

Jey insisted on letting the kids spend the night at their friend's house. She didn't think anything of it. They hadn't had an adult night in a while. Some alone time would be a nice change from the typical pace they grew accustomed to. When Y/N came home from dropping them off, she went to the bedroom.

Her boyfriend was on the bed in nothing but boxers. He played with three headbands in his hands. All pink. "I want to see you with nothing on and on this bed,"

She gulped and nodded. The tone in his voice nearly made her crumble at his feet. He was so demanding, yet she could hear the strain in his voice. Jey had been thinking about this for a while.

Her clothes vanished quickly. They were left a mess on the floor. His dark brown eyes watched as she crawled into bed. She laid on her back in the middle of the bed.

The Main Event wrestler studied her position for a moment. Dissatisfied with her placement, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her down slightly. She gasped yet didn't say anything. This Jey was doing so many things to her.

"Take your head off the bed," he ordered.

Her head lifted slightly off the bed. A headband was draped over her eyes. He tied the fabric around her head. She laid her head back down, unable to see a single thing. The dark room wasn't helping her.

"Arms towards the headboard,"

"Jey?"

"You want to tell your little friends your fantasies but me? Arms. Now,"

Her hands shot up towards the headboard. He tied her wrists together with the second headband. With the loss of vision, her other senses started to kick in. His cologne danced with her nose. The sheets felt different under her. The taste of his kisses as he planted them on her lips almost sent her to a frenzy. Her ears perked up at any sound of the bed creaking under her.

Despite her loss of sight, she tried to figure out where he was on the bed. This did little to help her, especially when his attention was focused on her breasts. His palms planted at her sides to steady himself over her.

Kisses, licks, and soft bites were placed on her bare chest. His bottom lip rubbed against her skin before latching on to her breast. A soft gasp slipped past her lips. Her back arched as she squirmed underneath him. No breast was left alone for long before he put his full attention to it.

"Jey," she whispered. Her body felt hot. A trail of kisses ran down from the valley of her breasts to her below her belly button. One of the hands at her sides moved down. The next thing she knew, his hand cupped her pussy.

"Damn, baby, already?" He asked with a condescending tone. His fingers pushed between her folds and were coated with her juices. Jey's finger rubbed against her clit. She nodded eagerly. "You been thinking about this little fantasy a lot, huh?"

"Yes," she breathed. He stopped to look at her. Her mouth parted as she tried to relax to his touch. The blindfold made things feel elevated. Jey moved his fingers down to her entrance. She bucked her hips to have him enter her.

"Nuh, uh, little mama, be patient," he told her. His finger circled her entrance slowly. "Now, have you been thinking about this little fantasy a lot?"

Her answer came out in a sharp cry the moment he thrust his finger inside of her. She had been thinking about this. There was nothing that consumed her mind more. The love of her life just taking advantage of her while his headbands allowed him complete control over her. And he did.

He added a finger and another inside of her. Her body clamped around his fingers to not let him leave her. Hungry kisses planted on her pussy before he dived his tongue between her folds. His tongue swirled around hitting spots that made her extra noisy. She hissed and whined as she fought against the binds that held her from burying his head deeper inside of her. Jey reveled in her reaction.

"I need you," she pleaded. "Jey please."

"Please? Damn, baby, where are these manners normally? Oh, it's because you can't do anything now huh?" He asked. His tanned hands played with her binds. "Gotta be a good girl and take what Big Jey gives you."

Y/N resisted against the binds some more. Her muscles ached from her resistance. Despite his threat, he had mercy on her. She bit her lip when she felt him at her entrance.

"This is what you do to me. All tied up looking like a sexy present," he confided in her. With little fanfare, he thrust inside of her. She brought her head back and moaned. Her walls accommodated him as he filled her to the brim. Jey stayed still inside of her watching his beautiful girl take him so well.

Dirty talk fell from his lips as he continued to take her. Her hips moved in time with his thrusts. She bit her lip as her mind wandered to imagine what he was doing to her. His brown eyes stared at her body intently. A rough hand gripped her hip. His other fingers rubbed down her stomach. It wasn't long before they would unravel into the other.

Jey removed the headband from her eyes. He kissed her softly. "You gonna tell your little friends about this fantasy? How you were begging me?"

"Let me go, Jey," she ordered. His ego already starting to get on her nerves.

The Royal Rumble winner laughed. He placed his headband over her eyes once again. "Who said we were done?"

[reptileofdoom]

Hey friend @pan-de-queer , I don’t know if that question is rhetorical and I don’t care here’s the answer:

A) the wiki B) lots of time to waste

Wiki Link

Seriously, there is a wonderful section of Endings that shows skill requirements for endings without spoiling them. The wiki authors deserve so much love and appreciation, they’re heroes.

The second part comes down to time and hyperfixation. It’s been a whiiiile since I played (looking up the wiki link is how i found out there has been a christmas update), but from what I remember: Use the tutor. He’s super useful for finishing off courses and getting skill requirements. The theatre minigame isn’t very hard and it only takes a playthrough or two of focusing Actress or w/e to learn all the correct answers by heart. It is a fantastic source of both income and currency for the tutor. In early game, the requirements for plays aren’t hard rules but suggestions - feel free to ignore them! you can still get decent rankings just by doing the minigame correct!

I will say though - a lot of stuff comes just from going through the game repeatedly. I remember going for endings that looked interesting before going for the hardest ones, and I decided to do the hardest ones based on how fast I learned to raise my stats - at a certain point I thought “wow I’m getting good at this, I can go for Queen/Goddess on my next run.”

There is, genuinely, a ton of content to go through and the most important piece of advice that I wish someone had given me is: Take your time. You don’t need to chase achievements. By the end of it, when I only had a few left, I was so tired of the game and just wanted to get it over with. And then, in hindsight, I wish I’d left myself something to do so I could go back and replay some more!

I’m always down to chat Volcano Princess and seriously happy to hear about other people’s experiences. I definitely think every ending deserves to be enjoyed. ❤️

Welcome to Volcano Princess!

We have... (a list in no particular order) (all images are in-game CGs)

Lesbians!

Polyamory!

Evil endings!

The cutest MC!

Being the best dad you can be!

The ability to become, among other things, a sex worker!

A completely normal amount of achievements! Including 50+ career endings and 18 different love interests!

And finally, best of all......

Toxic yuri!!

[the crowd goes wild]

[the-most-humble-blog]

Damien Leone Said Terrifier Is Just Entertainment, and the Woke Brigade Shit Themselves

Shut Up, Snowflakes, It’s Just a Killer Clown With a Hacksaw

Damien Leone, the evil genius behind Terrifier and the creator of Art the Clown—aka your sleep paralysis demon with a hacksaw—just set off a firestorm of outrage. Why? Because he had the audacity to say his franchise is, get this: “pure entertainment.”

That’s right, he didn’t kick a puppy, drop an f-bomb on live TV, or piss in someone’s oat milk latte. He simply said his batshit horror movies about a clown murdering people in horrifying ways aren’t political.

Cue the woke mob collectively losing their shit.

What Did Leone Actually Say?

Here’s the “controversial” bombshell:

“Terrifier is NOT in any way shape or form a political franchise. I fell in love with horror as a form of pure entertainment, and those are the films I like to make.”

That’s it. That’s the whole scandal. But because the internet is the internet, snowflakes read this and went, “Wait, what? No politics? HOW DARE YOU!”

Seriously, you’d think he told them Art the Clown was running for Congress.

The Woke Outrage Olympics

Let’s dive into the bullshit:

🔹 “Saying it’s not political IS political!” 👉 No, Karen, saying “my horror movie is just for fun” isn’t political. It’s called entertainment, and not everything needs to be a goddamn manifesto.

🔹 “Horror has always been political!” 👉 Sure, some horror is. Night of the Living Dead tackled racism. Get Out dunked on white liberals. But you know what else horror is? Watching people get hacked to pieces for no reason other than it’s fun as fuck.

🔹 “Art the Clown’s violence against women is misogyny!” 👉 Oh, piss off. Art the Clown kills everyone with the same level of brutal creativity. If anything, he’s the most progressive clown out there—an equal-opportunity murderer.

The Hypocrisy is Hilarious

Let’s get real for a second. These same woke assholes who are crying about Leone’s “lack of political depth” are the ones gleefully cheering when Art saws someone in half from the crotch up.

You don’t get to celebrate excessive gore and mutilation and then act like a Terrifier movie owes you a TED Talk on systemic oppression.

You can’t root for a clown eating someone’s face and then clutch your pearls because the director doesn’t want to wade into your political dumpster fire.

Pick a lane, you whiny hypocrites.

Why Woke Twitter Really Hates This

Here’s the actual reason the woke mob is so pissed: Leone didn’t pick a side. He refused to plant his flag in their never-ending culture war.

In 2025, saying “I don’t want my movie to be political” is basically code for, “I just committed a hate crime in the eyes of the woke police.”

One particularly brain-dead Twitter user screeched:

“If you’re not explicitly supporting marginalized voices, you’re complicit!”

What the fuck does that even mean? He makes slasher movies, not campaign ads. Get over yourselves.

Let’s Talk About the Feminists (and Their Fragile Feelings)

Oh boy, you knew the feminists would crawl out of their Twitter caves for this one. They’re out here crying that Art the Clown’s brutality toward women is some kind of secret anti-feminist agenda.

Here’s a reality check:

Art the Clown doesn’t discriminate. He’ll kill men, women, dogs, probably your goldfish.

He’s not pushing an agenda. He’s pushing a hacksaw through someone’s chest.

And to the feminists whining about “violence against women” in a slasher movie: What the fuck did you expect? Did you think Terrifier 2 was a Hallmark Christmas special? You signed up for blood, guts, and horrifying deaths, not a gender studies seminar.

Final Thoughts: Get Over Yourselves, You Sensitive Morons

Damien Leone is out here delivering some of the most batshit insane horror we’ve seen in decades. If you’re mad that he doesn’t want to turn Terrifier into a soapbox for your personal grievances, maybe you should stick to the Disney+ safe zone.

Not every horror movie needs to hold up a mirror to society’s sins. Sometimes, it’s just about a psychotic clown wrecking people’s lives in creative ways. And that’s perfectly fine.

So, to all the woke liberals, feminists, and crybabies clutching their pearls over this: Shut the fuck up, grab some popcorn, and let Art the Clown do his thing.

Tired of sensitive morons ruining your fun? Follow The Most Humble Blog for unapologetic takes and ruthless truths about everything from horror movies to the woke bullshit plaguing society. You’re welcome.

[iamquiantrelle]

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 4) ────── 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

Lille was going to be tough on Thursday, but Trent's mind wasn't on tactics. His thumb hovered over his Raya profile - all those matches, all those posh girls with their perfect smiles and calculated moves.

Delete.

Some girl from Chelsea had been messaging him about drinks. Block.

That Instagram model who kept sending eye emojis. Block.

His phone buzzed.

April: Getting checked today.

April: Better not keep me waiting too long.

His stomach did that flip thing again.

April: And I hope you followed my command last night.

April: Would hate to start our arrangement with a punishment.

Christ. She was already getting in his head and they hadn't even started yet.

Trent: Got my appointment at 2

Trent: And yes, I behaved

April: Good boy.

Those two words shouldn't affect him like that. But here he was, grinning at his phone like some simp.

"Someone's in a good mood."

Mo dropped his lunch tray next to him, Virgil sliding in across the table. The canteen was busy, everyone loading up before afternoon training.

"Just having a good day innit?"

"Nah." Virgil pointed his fork at Trent. "This is different. You've been weird lately - all quiet. Now you're sitting here grinning at your phone like it's Christmas."

"Maybe I'm just happy?"

"The old Trent's back then?" Mo's smile was proper infectious. "No more moping about?"

Was he back though? Felt different this time. With April... it was like she wanted him to be more himself. Even if that self liked things a bit... different.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Been thinking about what I'm going to do to you.

April: Once you're cleared of course.

Fucking hell. In the middle of lunch?

"Earth to Trent!" Mo was waving his hand. "You're gone mate."

"Just..." he shrugged, trying to hide his grin. "Feel better, you know? Like I can be myself again."

"Good." Virgil nodded. "Was getting tired of that posh act anyway. Didn't suit you."

Mo clapped him on the back, nearly sending him face-first into his pasta. "Whatever it is, I'm happy for you bruv. Just don't go getting distracted before Lille yeah?"

Another buzz.

April: First lesson when you're cleared - teaching you how to kneel properly.

April: Been thinking about those footballer legs of yours...

Distracted? Him?

Too late for that, wasn't it?

"You sure you're alright?" Virgil was giving him that look. "Looking flushed."

"Never better," Trent grinned. And for once, he actually meant it.

Lunch with Mo and Virgil felt normal again - like before all this image reinvention nonsense started. Before Sophie and her posh friends and trying to be someone he wasn't.

Back on the training pitch, they were running shooting drills, but Trent's mind kept drifting to last night - to leather outfits and spiced vanilla and promises that made his head spin. Tyler's text didn't help his concentration either.

Tyler: Just seen the raw shots from April

Tyler: These are INSANE bruv

Tyler: Proper art these

Tyler: Even Virgil's gonna be jealous

"Trent!" Slot's voice cut through his thoughts. "That cross was nowhere near Darwin. Focus!"

The afternoon session dragged on, his mind a mess of tactical instructions and April's text messages. By the time they hit the showers, he was ready to bolt.

"Oi Trent!" Dom called over the noise of the changing room. Robbo was telling some mad story about his kid's hamster while everyone rinsed Darwin's new haircut. "Few of us heading to that new spot in town. You in?"

"Can't, got plans."

"Plans?" Dom's eyebrows shot up. "You feeling alright mate?"

"Just busy innit."

In his car, he pulled up Google, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Female dominatrix. BDSM basics.

He should probably know what he was getting into, right? But just seeing those words made his face heat up.

He closed the browser.

The private clinic was one of those discrete places footballers used when they needed things handled quietly. He pulled his hood up, slipped his sunglasses on despite the grey sky threatening snow.

The waiting room was dead quiet - just him and some girl staring at her phone like it held the secrets of the universe. The paperwork they handed him felt like an interrogation:

Last sexual encounter? 5 weeks ago. Sophie. Just head though - does that even count? Better write it down just in case.

Number of partners in last 6 months? Sophie mostly. Plus that one night with some random during their "break"...so 2?

Previous STI tests? Team physical, but... yeah, him and Sophie weren't exactly careful those last few times. When she'd show up at his place at 2am talking about "missing him"...

Speaking of Sophie - better block her now. She always came sniffing around when she was bored, wanting to "talk things through." Couldn't have her messing up whatever this thing with April might be.

His thumb hovered over Sophie's profile. All those couple photos, playing perfect power couple for the cameras. Delete. Block.

What even was this thing with April? She still had his photo contract to finish - at least one more shoot. Then this... arrangement. But would they be properly dating? Did dominatrixes even do relationships?

The thought of her with other guys made his jaw clench. Having them kneel for her, call her Madam, letting her mark them up like she'd done to him...

"Mr. Alexander-Arnold?"

The nurse's voice yanked him back. She handed him a plastic cup once they arrived at his examination room. "Just need a sample. Then change into the gown - opens at the back."

Fucking hell. These paper gowns were proper violation. Might as well be naked.

His phone lit up as he struggled with the paper gown ties.

April: Can't wait to ruin you properly.

His hands weren't exactly steady as he typed back.

Trent: Just you though yeah?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

April: Jealous already?

April: Don't worry pretty boy.

April: You'll be more than enough to handle.

Something in his chest loosened. Before he could reply, there was a knock.

"Ready Mr. Alexander-Arnold?"

His phone buzzed one last time.

April: Besides...

April: When I’m done with you, you won't want anyone else.

Thank god for paper gowns hiding what that message did to him.

The doctor was middle-aged with kind eyes that probably seen everything. She went through her questions quick while Trent tried not to die of embarrassment.

"Sexually active?"

"Yeah."

"Multiple partners?"

"Not recently."

"Any symptoms?"

"No."

"Using protection?"

"Usually." His face burned thinking about April's no-condom rule.

Blood drawn, swabs taken, more questions that had him squirming in that paper gown. The doctor didn't even blink when he mentioned getting tested for a new partner.

"Results in 48 hours," she said, already typing in her computer. "We'll send them directly to your phone. Any questions?"

About a million, but none he wanted to ask a doctor old enough to be his mother.

His phone buzzed as he changed back into his clothes.

April: All done with my tests.

April: Been a while since I've had someone new to train.

He nearly dropped his phone.

Trent: Train?

Trent: Like a dog?

April: More like a pet project 😈

April: But if you're into puppy play...

What the actual fuck was puppy play?

No, don't Google that. Some things you can't unsee.

April: Just teasing.

April: Though you would look good in a collar.

His brain short-circuited completely.

The drive home was a blur of overthinking. What had he gotten himself into? This was fucking crazy - him, Trent Alexander-Arnold, about to let some photographer he barely knew take complete control of him. Do things to him he'd only seen in dodgy porn videos late at night when he couldn't sleep.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? He did know her, in a way that felt deeper than knowing someone's favorite color or what they did on weekends. She saw right through him from that first night at the bar. Saw past the footballer façade, past the scouse wonderkid image, right to the part of him that wanted... this.

His phone lit up at a red light.

April: Having second thoughts?

April: We can always keep things professional.

April: Though that would be such a waste...

Trent: No second thoughts.

Trent: Just nervous I guess.

April: Good.

April: A little fear makes things interesting.

April: But remember...

April: I'll never do anything you don't want.

April: You just might not know you want it yet.

Christ.

By the time he got home, his head was spinning with possibilities. Things he'd never even considered before. Never allowed himself to think about.

April: Sweet dreams pretty boy.

April: 48 hours.

April: Then the real fun begins.

He fell into bed still fully dressed, mind racing with what exactly April had planned for him.

His phone buzzed one last time.

April: And remember...

April: No touching.

April: I'll know if you do.

It was going to be a very long 48 hours.

The results hit his phone during morning training. All clear. He couldn't send them to April fast enough.

Her results came through minutes later - a screenshot showing her own clean bill of health. His eyes caught on her details at the top of the form:

GOODPLENTY, APRIL TANISHA-MARLEY

DOB: 14/11/1997

Scorpio. Of course she was a fucking Scorpio. That explained... well, everything really. Most freaky sign in the zodiac, according to that astrology stuff his sister-in-law was always on about.

April: Dinner tonight? Need to chat.

April: I'm in Manchester seeing a friend but I'll be around after.

His stomach twisted. What friend in Manchester?

Trent: Yeah sounds good.

Was this it then? Would tonight be when they... His mind wandered to leather outfits and commands and that room on the third floor.

Training couldn't end fast enough. He was walking out with Ibou and Virgil, both of them cracking up at a video of Virgil's youngest "terrorizing" their German Shepherd, when a whistle cut through the air.

All three men stopped dead.

There she was, leaning against a red Ferrari like some Sons of Anarchy fantasy come to life. Leather motorcycle jacket, skin-tight pants that should've been illegal, and Doc Martens. Her curls were going mental in the January wind.

"Is that you, T?" Ibou's voice was shaking with barely contained laughter as he pointed at April.

"Yeah." He couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

Virgil smiled - actually smiled. "I like her."

Coming from his captain, that was massive. Virgil hadn't rated any girl Trent had been seeing lately.

"Come on you scouse! We're gonna be late!" April called out, smacking her gum like she owned the place.

"Oh I like her a lot," Virgil nodded. "This why you've been smiling lately?"

Well yeah, that... and other things.

"Uh..."

"Look at him, he cannot talk!" Ibou laughed, nudging Virgil's shoulder. "Let's say hi to her."

Before Trent could stop them, they were practically sprinting over to April. He watched, frozen, as she shook their hands with that easy confidence of hers, somehow making his teammates look like excited puppies.

By the time he made his way over, they were chatting like old mates. He cleared his throat, but Virgil and Ibou's dopey grins told him the whole team would know about this by tonight. Their group chat was probably already blowing up.

April shot him a look that made his stomach drop.

Oh fuck.

Was he in trouble?

"Bout time," she said, voice carrying that edge he was starting to recognize. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah."

"Good. What about Almost Famous?"

"Sounds good." His eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. The fuck was wrong with him?

"I could use a milkshake too actually," April said, turning back to Virgil and Ibou. "Nice meeting you guys. Thank you for making me feel so welcomed."

"Of course, April," Virgil said, smile genuine. "You should stop by for a match."

"Oh well–"

"You should come watch us kick Lille's ass!" Ibou practically bounced.

Trent shot him a 'what the hell' look, but April just flashed that devil's grin of hers.

"I would love to, but I have to check my schedule."

Ibou actually cheered - proper full-volume celebration - before they headed off to their cars, leaving Trent and April alone.

"I like your teammates, they're sweet."

"Listen, you don't have to–"

"You want to drive it?" She interrupted, dangling the Ferrari keys. His hand reached out automatically because fuck yeah, who wouldn't want to drive that?

She pulled them back. "You haven't been touching yourself, have you?"

"No."

Her eyebrows raised. "No...?"

"Ma'am... madam," he spluttered.

"Ma'am works too, you know." She chuckled. "Good boy. You get your reward."

The keys dropped into his palm, and Trent had never felt happier.

Though something told him this was just the start of April's rewards... and her punishments.

His Range Rover could stay in the Anfield parking lot - he'd grab it later. Right now, all he could think about was the Ferrari's engine purring to life under his hands.

"She likes to be handled firmly," April said as he pulled out onto the main road. Her hand found his thigh as he hit the accelerator, testing what this thing could do.

The engine growled as he shifted gears, probably breaking about six traffic laws. But with April's hand on his thigh and that much power under him? Worth it.

"You like it?" she asked, watching his face as he revved the engine.

"Yeah–" His answer dissolved into something embarrassingly close to a squeak as her hand squeezed his inner thigh, coming dangerously close to touching his hardening dick.

"It's the power, huh? Does things to you. Endorphins. Adrenaline." Her voice had gone low and dangerous. "Makes you feel alive."

He focused on the road, desperately trying to ignore how the rest of him was feeling. The Ferrari responded to every touch like it was made for him, but April's hand on his thigh was making it hard to keep it together.

"Have you ever gotten head while driving?"

Jesus motherfucking Christ.

"No ma'am." His voice came out steadier than he felt.

"Interesting." She removed her hand and he could finally breathe again. "Something to think about."

The rest of the drive was torture - April alternating between casual chat about football and comments that made his brain short-circuit. By the time they pulled into Almost Famous, he wasn't sure if he was hungry for food or... something else.

The hostess led them to a corner booth, April sliding in, her leather jacket came off, revealing a crop top that had his mouth going dry.

"So," she said once they were settled. "Ground rules."

He nearly choked on his water. "Here?"

"Where better?" That devil's smile again. "Nobody's paying attention to us. We can talk freely."

She wasn't wrong. The place was busy, music playing, everyone focused on their own conversations.

"First rule - honesty. Always. If something's too much, you tell me. If you want something, you ask for it."

He nodded, trying to look like they were having a normal dinner conversation.

"Second - you follow my commands without question. In and out of the bedroom."

His face felt hot. "Like the no touching thing?"

"Exactly. Good boy for following that, by the way." The praise shouldn't have affected him like it did. "Third - you're mine. Exclusively. No other girls, no hookups, nothing without my permission."

Something in his chest tightened. "What about you?"

"Jealous again?" She smirked. "Don't worry pretty boy. I won’t have other toys to play with."

Christ.

"Questions?"

About a million, but their waitress chose that moment to appear. April ordered for both of them - some fancy burger for him that wasn't even on the menu, two cookies and cream milkshakes, and sweet potato fries that she said they'd share.

Once the waitress left, April leaned forward. "You're thinking too hard. I can see it on your face."

"Just... what are we? Like, outside of all this?"

"We're whatever we want to be. The dom/sub thing? That's just one part."

"You'll be coming to my matches?"

"If you want me there." She tilted her head. "Though I might make you earn it."

His imagination went wild with possibilities.

"Focus," she smirked. "Food first. Then maybe... if you're good... we can find out what that Ferrari can really do."

The look she gave him promised all sorts of trouble.

And fuck him if he wasn't ready for all of it.

Their food arrived - his burger looking like something that should be in a museum, milkshakes piled high with whipped cream, and her sweet potato fries arranged in a basket. She pushed the fries between them, a clear invitation to share.

"So like," he started, trying to sound casual, "what more should we do? Outside of... you know."

April's eyes lit up with amusement. "You really want the girlfriend experience, don't you?”

He took a long sip of his milkshake instead of answering.

"You have to answer me." Her voice carried that edge again.

"Just feels weird, doesn't it? Doing all this freaky stuff behind closed doors but nothing outside of it. Doesn't feel right."

April rolled her eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck. "I usually don't date my toys. More of the have fun then go our separate ways type of girl."

"What if I'm a real good boy?" He reached for her hand, giving her his best pleading look - the one that usually got him out of extra training. "I'll do anything you want, ma'am."

"Oh... look at you acting like a sub."

"Is it working?"

She pulled her hand away, but he caught the hint of a smile. "You made my heart soften a little, I'll give you that. But I still need convincing."

"I can be proper convincing." He ate one of the fries.

"Eat your burger before it gets cold."

The burger was actually delicious - whatever she'd ordered for him was perfect. They fell into easy conversation between bites, talking about everything and nothing.

"So what friend were you seeing in Manchester?" He tried to sound casual.

"Jealous again?" She took a fry from the basket. "Old uni mate. She's a photographer too."

"Just a friend?"

"Getting possessive already?" But her eyes softened slightly. "Yes, just a friend. Though..." that devilish smile returned, "she did teach me a few interesting techniques back in the day."

His brain short-circuited again.

"You're too easy to wind up," she laughed. "But seriously - this thing between us? It only works with trust. Complete trust."

"I trust you."

"Do you?"

"I know a lot to trust you on." He met her eyes. "Know you see me. The real me, not just..." he gestured vaguely at himself.

"TAA, Liverpool's golden boy?" She reached over, wiped some sauce from the corner of his mouth. The gesture felt strangely intimate. "Yeah, I see you. That's what makes this interesting."

"So..."

"So maybe," she sighed dramatically, "we can do normal stuff too. But don't think that means I'll go soft on you."

His whole body felt warm. "Wouldn't want that."

"No?" She leaned forward, voice dropping low. "What do you want then?"

Everything. Anything. Whatever she was willing to give him.

"Want to be yours." The words came out before he could stop them. "Properly yours."

Something flashed in her eyes - something that made his heart race. "Careful what you wish for, pretty boy. Once I properly claim something... I don't let go easily."

"Good."

They finished their food in charged silence, both aware of the shift that had just happened. This wasn't just about sex anymore. This was... something else entirely.

"Should get you back to your car," she said finally, but her eyes promised more. "Early training tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah but..." He hesitated. "When will I see you again?"

"Miss me already?" She stood up, sliding her leather jacket back on. "Thursday night, after the match. My place. Pack a bag - you're staying over."

His stomach did about sixteen flips.

"And Trent?"

"Yeah?"

"Wear something... accessible."

Christ.

As they walked back to the Ferrari, her hand found the small of his back. A casual touch that somehow felt more possessive than anything they'd done before.

He was so fucked.

And he couldn't wait.

The bench at Anfield was freezing, but Trent barely felt it. Ibou kept nudging him every time he checked his phone, teasing him about his "hot date" later. The rest of the lads had been giving him knowing looks all day - seems like the Ferrari incident had made its way through the group chat faster than Mo on a counter-attack.

When Mandi got sent off for that mental tackle on Darwin in the 23rd minute, the whole stadium erupted. Mo's goal in the 34th minute was pure poetry, the kind of finish that reminded everyone why he was still the king. The way he sent their keeper the wrong way before kicking it in the bottom corner? Magic.

Harvey's goal in the 67th was just showing off really, leaving three Lille players for dead before curling it in. Kid was having the season of his life, and Trent couldn't help but grin watching him celebrate with the Kop. Reminded him of himself at that age - all raw talent and pure joy.

Slot finally called him over in the 80th minute, just as the "We are Liverpool" chants started rolling through the stadium. "Quick touches, control the game," was all he said before sending Trent on.

Fifteen minutes of football had never gone by so fast. Every touch, every pass felt automatic - his mind already somewhere else, in a flat in East London with a girl who'd scrambled his brain.

He was out of the stadium like his ass was on fire, barely stopping to high five the kids by the tunnel. A few of the lads tried calling him back for post-match analysis, but he was gone before they could finish saying his name.

His bag was already packed - had been since morning if he was honest - but he triple-checked everything anyway. Clothes for tomorrow, training kit, toiletries. Felt weird packing an overnight bag for… whatever this was going to be.

Train was quicker than driving, even if it meant going full 'mandem' with the Moncler puffer, boots, and balaclava. The platform at Lime Street was packed with match-day crowds heading home, but not one person recognized him. Amazing what a bit of roadman fashion could do.

April kept sending him pictures that had his face burning behind the balaclava. Each one more suggestive than the last - close-ups of leather straps, silk ties, things that made his imagination run wild.

April: Hope you're ready for tonight. April: Been shopping. April: Got some new toys to try out.

Christ.

He tried to focus on anything else - the landscape flying past the window, the couple arguing about pizza toppings across the aisle, the kid playing some game with the volume too high. But his mind kept wandering to what was waiting for him in London.

April: Almost here? April: Getting impatient… April: Don't make me start without you.

The tube to her place felt endless. Had to change twice, studying the map like some tourist. East London looked different at night - all neon lights and people heading to bars, different vibe than Liverpool. More edge to it, like everyone was playing a part in some urban drama.

Her building looked the same though, all exposed brick and industrial lighting. The converted warehouse vibe felt fitting somehow - like April herself, a mix of rough edges and expensive taste.

The doorman - different one from last time, younger with a knowing smile - held the door open without asking for ID. Guess he was expected. Trent yanked off his balaclava in the lift, trying to sort his hair out in the reflection. The concrete floors echoed his footsteps as he walked down that familiar hallway.

His knuckles had barely touched her door when it swung open.

There she was, holding that cat like some Bond villain. Pussy Galore gave him what felt like a judgmental meow, like she remembered him from last time and wasn't impressed.

"Look who finally made it," April smirked, looking him up and down like she was deciding where to start. Her curls were wilder than usual, like she'd been running her hands through them. "Ready to earn your reward?"

Something in her tone made his stomach flip. Whatever was about to happen in this flat - whatever she had planned for him - there was no going back after tonight.

The flat looked the same as last time - art everywhere, books stacked on surfaces, that vintage record player spinning something low and jazzy. But now there were… additions on the dining table. Things that made his throat go dry - leather cuffs in different sizes, silk ties in black and red, something that looked expensive and slightly terrifying that he couldn't quite identify.

"Sit," she nodded toward the sofa.

He sat. She settled next to him, and he finally properly looked at her outfit. No leather dominatrix gear tonight - instead, she wore this soft-looking robe with lace details at the sleeves and hem. Proper feminine. Different. The silk looked expensive, catching the light when she moved.

"Cute, isn't it?" she caught his stare. "Not my usual thing, but I thought something to ease you in."

"I-I love it."

She chuckled at his stammering. Pussy Galore chose that moment to insert herself between them, tail wrapping around her body as she fixed Trent with those unsettling yellow eyes. Like she was judging his worthiness or something.

"I've emailed you something," April said casually, reaching out to scratch behind Pussy's ears.

"What?"

"Well, it's from my lawyer." She gestured to his phone like this was completely normal. "Have a look."

Sure enough, there it was in his inbox. A legal document titled "Arrangement Agreement and Terms" with real letterhead and everything. Mad how official it looked.

His eyes scanned the contents, face getting hotter with each section. Under "Dominant's Preferences" was a list that made his imagination run wild:

Bondage (rope, silk, leather)

Impact play

Marking/biting

Sensory deprivation

Temperature play

Edging/Orgasm control

Discipline/punishment

Creampies/Breeding

Under "Submissive's Interests" were things he'd mentioned, plus some he'd only hinted at:

Choking

Being marked

Light bondage

Following commands

Praise/reward

Being controlled

Light pain play

Breeding

Edging/Orgasm Control

Voyeurism

Light cock and ball torture (CBT)

Light degradation

There was a whole section about their mutual kinks and boundaries, with a note about only exploring new territory after explicit discussion and consent. Everything was laid out in legal language, like some mad corporate merger.

Then came their promises to each other. Hers as a dom - to always respect limits, provide aftercare, maintain open communication, ensure safe play, check in regularly about comfort levels. His as a sub - to be honest about his needs, follow her rules, use their agreed safe word if needed, communicate any discomfort or concerns immediately.

But it was the appendix titled "The Girlfriend Experience" that almost made him laugh out loud. Trust April to turn dating into a proper contract.

TERMS OF ENGAGEMENT:

Match attendance: Maximum 10 per season (choose wisely)

Holidays: 2 annual trips (Alexander-Arnold responsible for all expenses including accommodation, flights, meals, and excursions)

Social engagements: 6 meetings/hangouts with friends (recent Virgil/Ibou encounter not included)

PDA: Only with mutual consent and within established boundaries

Family/loved ones meetings: 2 maximum (if required/requested)

Public appearances: Subject to prior discussion and approval

Social media: No obligation to appear in or acknowledge posts

Media coverage: No comment on relationship status if asked

Duration: One year from signing, unless terminated early due to:

Loss of interest from either party

Infidelity

Breach of contract terms

Violation of established boundaries

Mutual agreement to end arrangement

Additional notes:

All activities to remain private and confidential

Both parties retain right to terminate at any time

Regular review of terms/boundaries every 3 months

Modification of terms requires mutual written agreement

Professional relationship takes precedence over personal

"Well?" April's voice cut through his reading. "Questions?"

The overachiever in him wanted to read every clause. The footballer in him wanted to know how she'd calculated exactly 10 matches for the entire season, did this include international breaks? But mostly, he just wanted to know…

"Did you really get a lawyer to draw this up?"

"Of course." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Everything I do is professional."

"Even this?" He gestured between them.

"Especially this." Her voice dropped lower. "I take very good care of my toys, Trent. But I also make sure everyone knows exactly what they're getting into."

After reading through every clause twice, Trent clicked the signature box and signed his name. His phone made that little whoosh sound of an email sending, like he'd just signed for a transfer instead of a sexual arrangement.

April's phone pinged. She clapped her hands together, face lighting up. Then something shifted in her expression - her whole demeanor changing in an instant.

"Great." Her voice dropped into that tone that made his stomach flip. "Now we can get started. Strip to your boxers."

His hands moved before his brain could catch up, tugging off his clothes until he stood there in just his Calvin Kleins, feeling more exposed than he did in just a towel in the locker room.

"Kneel." She demonstrated the position with fluid grace - back straight, hands resting palms down on thighs, head bowed slightly. "Like this. Shoulders back, chin down."

He copied her, surprised by how natural it felt. Like his body had been waiting for these instructions all along.

"Perfect," she murmured, and something in his chest warmed at the praise. "We need a safe word," she continued, circling him slowly. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor. "Something you'll remember even when you're… distracted."

"Anfield?"

She laughed - a real laugh, not her dom voice. "Of course that's what you'd pick. Proper footballer through and through." Her fingers brushed his shoulder, feather-light. "Anfield it is. Use it anytime you need to stop or slow down. No questions asked, no judgment."

His knees were starting to ache against the hardwood floor, but something about the position, about following her commands… it settled something in him he hadn't known needed settling. Like finally exhaling after holding his breath too long.

"Come to the bedroom."

He started to stand.

"Did I tell you to walk?"

His stomach flipped. "No ma'am."

"Good. Crawl."

He followed her down the hallway on hands and knees, feeling slightly mental but also… right? Weird how good it felt, taking orders from someone nearly a foot shorter than him. Like his body knew something his brain was still figuring out.

Maybe this was what he'd been looking for all along - someone to take the weight of control off his shoulders, even if just for a little while.

Her bedroom was a bit different too - candles everywhere, giving everything a soft glow. The sheets were changed - black silk instead of the white cotton from New Year's. Some of those toys from the dining room table had made their way here, arranged neatly on her dresser.

"Stop there," she commanded when he reached the foot of the bed. "Kneel up, hands behind your back."

His body responded automatically. Mental how quickly he was learning.

"Good boy." Her fingers traced his jaw, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. "You're a natural at this."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Already so polite." She circled him slowly, fingertips trailing across his shoulders. "Sure you've never done this before?"

"Never."

"Mmm." She stopped behind him, so close he could smell that spiced vanilla. "Tell me how it feels."

"Different," he managed. "But good. Really good."

"Using your words like a good boy." Her hand found the nape of his neck, gripping just tight enough to make him gasp. "But I think you can do better than that."

"Makes me feel… free?" The words tumbled out. "Like I don't have to be in control all the time."

"There it is." She released his neck, moving back into his line of sight. "That's what I saw in you that first night. All that pressure, all that control… sometimes you just need to let it go, don't you?"

He nodded, throat tight.

"Words, pretty boy."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good." She smiled - that dangerous smile that had his heart racing. "Now… let's see just how well you follow instructions."

April moved to the dresser, picking up one of the silk ties. "Close your eyes."

The silk was cool against his skin as she wrapped it around his eyes, tying it with practiced ease.

"Can't have you thinking too much," she murmured. "You footballers are always in your heads."

Without sight, everything felt heightened - the brush of her fingers, the sound of her movements, that spiced vanilla scent growing stronger as she leaned close.

"What's your safe word?"

"Anfield, ma'am."

"Good boy." Her voice came from behind him now. "Hands out in front."

Something soft - another silk tie - wrapped around his wrists. Not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind him who was in control.

"How does that feel?"

"Good." His voice sounded different to his own ears. Rougher.

"Tell me properly."

"Good, ma'am."

"Better." Her hand found his neck again, sending shivers down his spine.

The next hour was a blur of sensations - silk against skin, April's voice guiding him through positions, praising him when he followed perfectly, correcting him when he didn't. Nothing too intense, nothing that pushed too far, but enough to leave him breathless.

"You're a natural submissive," she said later, removing the blindfold. "Like you were made for this."

Maybe he was. Maybe all those years of being in control, of carrying everyone's expectations… maybe this was what he'd needed all along.

April placed the silk ties back on her dresser with that same precision she brought to everything. Each movement deliberate, calculated.

"Want to continue?" Her voice had that edge again, the one that made his skin tingle.

"Yes ma'am."

"On the bed then." Not a request - a command.

He moved his body to the center of her bed, those black silk sheets cool against his heated skin. His heart was hammering now, watching as she shed that lace robe to reveal her naked body. She was way more beautiful than what he'd imagined - soft toffee-colored skin, heavy breasts that will fit perfectly in his hands, stomach taut, and wide hips leading to a bare vagina. Her clitoris peeked out between her labia lips and he was in awe at how wet she already was.

The mattress dipped as she crawled toward him with that predatory grace of hers. When she straddled him, the world narrowed to just this - April above him, curls wild, eyes dangerous.

April’s nails dragged lightly over his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Trent’s breath hitched, the anticipation coiling tight in his stomach. She sat back on his thighs, her hips pressing down just enough to remind him of her authority.

"You like what you see, Trent?" Her voice was low, teasing, a challenge in every syllable.

"Yes, ma’am." His response came without hesitation, his voice husky with need.

"Good." Her lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made his pulse race.

April leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest as her fingers traced the waistband of his boxers. She didn’t rush. Instead, she took her time, savoring his reactions — the way his body tensed, the way his hands clenched into the sheets, the way his eyes stayed locked on hers.

"You’ll learn something tonight," she murmured, her lips hovering near his ear. "Every touch, every sound, every movement — it's mine to give. Understood?"

"Yes, ma’am."

She kissed him then, soft at first, before her teeth nipped at his bottom lip. The sharpness made him gasp, and she took advantage, deepening the kiss, her tongue slithering inside his mouth. Her hands explored his chest, her nails scraping lightly, eliciting a low groan from him.

Her lips left his mouth, trailing down his jawline to the sensitive spot just below his ear. He shivered, her name tumbling from his lips in a whisper.

She pulled back, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Good boy," she murmured, her approval making his chest swell.

April’s hands moved lower, her fingers teasing his nipples. She shifted her hips, her bare skin brushing against him, a tantalizing preview of what was to come.

"You’re doing so well for me," she said, her voice soft but firm. "But we’re just getting started."

Trent swallowed hard, his entire focus on the woman before him. The world outside faded away. There was only April, and her deliberate, intoxicating control.

Her nails danced down his abdomen, and Trent’s breath came in shallow bursts, his focus entirely on her and the maddeningly slow path she was taking. She paused at the waistband of his boxers again, her fingers slipping just beneath the fabric.

"You’re trembling," she observed, her lips quirking into that dangerous smirk.

"You’re making it hard not to," he admitted, his voice rough with restrained need.

"Good." She tugged at his boxers, but not enough to pull them down. Instead, she let them snap back into place, her laugh low and sultry when he groaned in frustration.

"Do you want these off, Trent?"

"Yes, ma’am," he said, almost a plea.

She arched a brow, sitting back slightly, her hands still resting on his hips. "You’ll need to ask properly."

"Please," he said, meeting her gaze. "Please take them off."

The corner of her mouth twitched in satisfaction. "That’s better."

Finally, she slid the fabric down, exposing him inch by excruciating inch. Her eyes never left his face, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed it — anticipation, nervousness, pure want.

When the boxers were gone, she took her time, running her fingers along his thighs and deliberately avoiding where he wanted her touch most. His hips jerked involuntarily, and she pressed them back down with firm hands.

"Patience," she chided, her voice smooth as silk.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his stomach, just below his navel. Then another, lower this time. Her lips were soft, teasing, a contrast to the sharpness of her nails grazing his skin. Trent’s fingers twisted in the sheets, every nerve in his body lighting up under her touch.

"April," he breathed, his voice strained.

"Shh," she murmured against his skin. "I’m enjoying myself."

Her kisses trailed further, her breath warm against him, but she stopped just shy of where he ached for her. Her tongue flicked out, tracing lazy patterns along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh instead.

"Do you like this?" she asked, her voice a mix of sweet and sinful.

"Yes, ma’am," he managed, his voice a rough whisper.

She hummed in satisfaction, her nails scraping lightly along his hipbones. "You’re doing so well for me, Trent," she murmured, her words washing over him like a reward.

April’s control was absolute, her teasing calculated, and Trent was helpless against the storm she was creating. Every touch, every kiss was a well thought move, driving him further toward the edge while keeping him firmly in her grasp.

Her lips and tongue worked him into a frenzy that felt almost otherworldly. Every time he thought she would give him the relief he so desperately craved, she pulled back, her chuckle low and devastating. Her hands roamed over his thighs, her nails scraping lightly against sensitive skin, grounding him in the moment even as he floated further away from reason.

When her lips finally wrapped around him to take him fully, Trent’s head fell back, his own lips parting in a silent gasp of gratitude. But his reverie was short-lived. His gaze flicked forward, and that’s when he saw it.

The mirror.

He hadn’t noticed it before, perfectly placed in front of the bed like it had been waiting for this moment. From his vantage point, the reflection offered a full, unfiltered view of April — bent over him, her curls wild, her body a vision of soft, supple curves. And below, her bare pussy glistening with her arousal, catching the dim light like a beacon. Her clitoris was engorged and directly in his view. It was pretty – just like the rest of her and he wanted a taste so badly.

"Ma’am…" he whimpered, his voice breaking.

She didn’t stop. If anything, his reaction seemed to spur her on. Her hands gripped his testicles, firm but careful, the pressure igniting something primal within him.

"You like seeing how my pussy looks, Trent?" she asked, her voice sultry, tinged with just the right amount of mockery to make his face burn.

"Yes, ma’am," he managed, his breath hitching. "You’re so beautiful."

"I know I am," she replied, her confidence rolling over him like a tidal wave. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, her gaze locking him in place. "Do you want to fuck me?"

"Yes, ma’am," he said, the words tumbling out of him without hesitation.

"Do you want to be buried deep inside of me?"

"Y-yes, ma’am."

"What about cumming, Trent?" Her tone was almost sweet now, like she was asking about his favorite dessert. "Are you going to cum inside me?"

Holy. Hell. On. Earth.

His throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to find his voice. "Y-yes, ma’am," he stammered, his whole body trembling under her touch.

April’s smirk deepened, her satisfaction evident. "Good," she murmured, her lips brushing against his skin. "Because I plan to take everything you’ve got. Every. Single. Drop."

She moved away from him, leaving him to catch his breath — or so he thought. The cool air brushing over his heated skin was the briefest of reprieves before she swung a leg over him, straddling his waist.

Trent barely had time to react before she reached down, gripping him at the base with practiced ease. His dick throbbed in her hand, her touch enough to make his hips jerk instinctively. She lined herself up, teasing him with her warmth, and then she sank down, taking him inch by inch.

He let out a guttural groan, the sensation of her tight, wet heat engulfing him nearly overwhelming. She was so snug, so perfect, that for a moment, he wondered if this was some kind of divine punishment for sins he hadn’t even committed yet.

April didn’t wait for him to adjust. She started to move, her hips rolling with deliberate precision, the bed creaking beneath them in time with her thrusts. Trent’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides. Usually, he’d hold a woman’s waist, guide her movements, but with April, he hesitated. She was in charge, and he wasn’t about to ruin this. Not now.

Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure coursing through him, his body trembling with the effort to keep himself in check. He was already so pent-up from her rules, from not touching himself for a week, that every second felt like torture and bliss all rolled into one.

"Open your eyes," April commanded, her voice cutting through the haze of his pleasure.

He obeyed immediately, lifting his gaze to meet hers. She looked devastating — wild curls framing her flushed face, lips parted as she rode him with unrelenting purpose.

"You feel so good, you know that?" she asked, her voice low and almost tender.

He nodded, but it wasn’t enough.

"Use your fucking words," she said, slowing her movements to an infuriating crawl.

"Thank you, ma’am," he breathed. "You feel good too."

"I do?"

"Yes, ma’am."

Her smirk widened, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Then let me know how good this pussy feels."

He stumbled over his words at first, but the more he spoke, the easier it got. He listed everything — how tight she was, how warm, how wet. How he’d dreamed about this moment, and now that it was happening, it was better than he’d ever imagined. How badly he wanted to cum inside her.

April’s movements grew erratic, her nails digging into his chest as she ground against him with reckless abandon. Trent was right there on the edge, the familiar coil in his stomach tightening with every thrust.

"Look at that," she teased, her voice breathy. "You’re gonna cum?"

"Yes, ma’am," he choked out, his body twitching beneath her.

"Hold it," she said sharply, her hips still rolling. "I’m not done with you yet."

Fucking hell.

"Please, ma’am," he begged, his voice raw. It had been too long, and he was still new to this. How could she expect him to hold back when she was doing everything in her power to drive him insane?

And then it happened. His body betrayed him, the coil snapping as he spilled into her with a groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest.

April slowed to a stop, her expression shifting as she looked down at him. The pleasure that had softened her features just moments ago was replaced with a look of utter disdain.

"I told you not to cum," she said, her tone icy.

"I’m sorry, ma’am," Trent whispered, letting out a shaky exhale as he felt some of his cum leak out of her pussy to trail down his length. "I’m so sorry."

Her face hardened, her voice cutting through his apology. "No more apologies, Trent," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear as she added, "Now, you get to have your first punishment."

Training felt different with April's marks hidden under his kit. Every movement reminded him of last night - how she'd punished him for cumming without permission in round one ("Bad boys need to learn control," she'd purred before denying him release in round two), the way she'd marked him as hers with teeth and nails. His "homework assignment" was still ringing in his ears: practice edging, get better at control, earn his next reward.

His skin was a map of their night - bite marks scattered across his chest, scratches down his back from when he'd finally earned his release, bruises from her grip when he'd tried to rush things. Each mark a reminder of how she'd taken him apart piece by piece, only putting him back together when he'd properly begged for it.

He kept checking his phone between drills. Nothing from April yet. Was she disappointed? Had his lack of control put her off?

Tyler's texts were going mental though:

Tyler: Bruv these photos are INSANE Tyler: Timeline's gone crazy Tyler: Look at these quotes 😭

The thirst tweets were something else: "Trent Alexander-Arnold looking like a SNACK" "Whoever suggested this shoot deserves a raise" "Those EYES though 👀"

When Slot called time on training, every muscle in Trent's body was aching - and not just from football. April hadn't exactly been gentle after he'd disobeyed her first command about waiting for permission.

The changing room was rowdy as usual, everyone taking the piss about his photos. He tried stripping off carefully, but winced as the fabric caught on the deeper scratches - the ones she'd left when he'd earned his third release after what felt like hours of teasing.

"Yo what the FUCK?" Ibou's voice carried across the room. "Your back brother!"

Too late to hide the evidence - bite marks, nail tracks, proper artwork of them. Some still angry red, others already turning purple.

"Shit bruv," Darwin whistled. "She's wild!"

"Proper freaky one you've got there!"

"Lucky bastard!"

"Trent's finally found someone to put him in his place!" Robbo called out, cackling.

"Nah but for real," Curtis grinned, "she must be something special. Man's got a proper glow about him."

"More like proper marks about him," Joe added, making everyone howl.

"Oi," Trent cut in, something protective flaring up. "Show some respect yeah?"

"Aww, look at him defending his girl's honor," Robbo teased. "She got you proper whipped already?"

You have no idea, Trent thought, but said nothing.

"Please tell me she's coming to the PSV match," Ibou said. "Need to see the woman who's turned our Trent into a lovesick puppy."

"I'm not–"

"Mate," Mo cut in with that knowing smile of his, "you've been checking your phone every two minutes waiting for her text."

More laughter, more jokes of exaggerated cat noises and pretending to scratch each other. Even Virgil was grinning, which was rare enough to make Trent's face heat up more.

In the shower, hot water stinging his marked skin, Trent couldn't help grinning. Let them joke. They had no idea what April was really like - how she could switch from dominatrix to soft girl in seconds, how she'd held him after everything, whispering praise until he fell asleep.

His phone buzzed as he was getting dressed.

April: Been practicing your edging? April: Good boys get rewards… April: Bad boys get denied again.

Fucking hell.

.................tbd

[flannelstains]

𝓐bout 𝓜e

❛ 𝘰𝘰𝘩, 𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘢, 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ❜

⋆.࿐ hello !! my name is sienna, and i’m from california. my shifting journey started late two-thousand-nineteen, but i always kind of knew about shifting. i’m currently fifteen, and i’ve shifted once before for about five minutes. i’m under the sapphic umbrella, and currently trying to figure out exactly where under that umbrella.

i grew up extremely christian, and now i’m agnostic. my mom is my best friend, and knows i have different views on this crazy world— she’s also agnostic.

i couldn’t describe myself if i had a gun to my head, the trigger would be pulled because i would sit there pondering for hours while the metal was pressed against my temple.

from that analogy i hope you got a good idea on how you would describe me. i feel like i’ve always been a little different from the crowd, and maybe that’s why shifting found me, because i feel so at peace now that i can be myself throughout any reality.

i’ve always been called an ‘old soul’ since i was a child, and that really resonates with me currently, since in various realities i’m connected to, i’m older than i am in this reality.

❛ 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘴, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥. ❜

⋆.࿐ since it is hard for me to describe myself through words, i’ve decided to give examples of songs i adore and feel really describe me.

i. sweet carolina, lana del rey.

ii. cynical one, tv girl.

iii. sienna, the marías.

iv. skinny love, bon iver.

v. writer in the dark, lorde.

vi. 104 degrees, slaughter beach, dog.

vii. bag of bones, mitski.

viii. pier 4, clairo.

ix. elementary school, delaney bailey.

x. sparrow, big thief.

xi. beaches, beabadoobee.

xii. the killing moon, pavement.

xiii. letter to god (1974), halsey.

xiv. bigmouth strikes again, the smiths.

xv. my girlfriend, tv girl.

xvi. sandy, alex g.

xvii. in my feelings, lana del rey.

xviii. not a lot, just forever, adrianne lenker.

xix. angel, alice phoebe lou.

xx. angelina, lizzy mcalpine.

⊱ plus many more..

❛ 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ❜

⋆.࿐ i am an infj !! and before anyone goes on blabbing about how they’re rare, and im faking, or i’m probably just an infp, i promise you, i am an infj. and the only reason i stand by this, is because i’ve taken the these about five times over the span of two years and i’ve only gotten infp once, and all the other times i was an infj.

so, being on the topic of an infj, i’ll list the characters / people i am like !

i. lisa simpson. ( the simpsons )

ii. izuku midoriya. ( my hero academia )

iii. amy pond. ( doctor who )

iv. newt scamander. ( fantastic beasts and where to find them )

v. lexi howard. ( euphoria )

vi. daenerys targaryen. ( game of thrones )

vii. loki laufeyson. ( marvel )

viii. diane nguyen. ( bojack horseman )

ix. kyle broflovski. ( south park )

x. james. ( the end of the fucking world )

xi. aragorn. ( lord of the rings )

xii. remus lupin. ( harry potter )

xiii. jeanne d’arc. ( joan of arc )

xiv. luka couffaine. ( miraculous )

xv. esther coleman. ( orphan )

xvi. andrew hozier-byrne. ( hozier )

xvii. sally. ( the nightmare before christmas )

xviii. glenn rhee. ( the walking dead )

xix. clarke griffin. ( the 100 )

xx. marinette dupain-cheng. ( miraculous )

⊱ plus many more..

❛ 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. ❜

⋆.࿐ i hope that summed up kind of who i am, and how i view the world. i’ve been on tumblr for about a year now, but i haven’t really ever posted until recently, so i’m still navigating the app.

i will make more posts about my journey, along with my opinions and views, including some questions, but for now i just am slowly warming up to be a tumblr poster !!

WARNING !!! i have opinions. also, i’ve been told by almost everyone i meet that i am odd, so if i act strange, just tune it out. smile and nod guys, just smile and nod.

[darkenedroses-world]

Cooking Chaos — Pezzy x Reader

🔹 f!reader 🔹 clooless group 🔹 Possessiveness 🔹 Light Degradation 🔹 cooling 🔹 flour fight 🔹GN!Reader 🔹 lighthearted romance🔹 funny moments🔹 chaos🔹 Request 🦋

The kitchen buzzed with chaotic energy as the stream rolled on. Laughter and chatter filled the air, accompanied by the clinking of pots and pans. The plan was simple—make dinner live on stream—but with you, Grizzy, Droid, and Puffer at the helm, “simple” had turned into “anarchy.” Flour was already dusting the countertops, stray droplets of batter clung to the stove, and somehow a random spoon ended up stuck to the ceiling. Chat, predictably, was eating it all up, with messages flooding the screen.

This is a cooking stream? More like a destruction derby

Somebody please save that kitchen

10/10 stream, would hire them as my chefs immediately

You couldn’t help but grin as Droid accidentally splattered pancake batter across Puffer’s shirt. “Bro, seriously?” Puffer groaned, staring at the sticky mess. Droid shrugged innocently. “Just seasoning it with some chaos, man.” Grizzy was doubled over laughing as you attempted to take control of the situation—or at least, pretend to. “Okay, okay, focus!” you called out, trying to suppress your own laughter. “We’re supposed to be making dinner, not turning the kitchen into a crime scene.” “Too late for that,” Droid quipped, licking some batter off his finger. Then came the moment of truth—Pezzy left the room. “I’ll be back in a sec,” he said, his tone casual as he disappeared toward the hallway. You immediately perked up, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Guys, I have an idea.” Grizzy looked up from the pile of dishes he was pretending to wash. “Oh no. That tone never means anything good.” You smirked, pointing to the bag of flour sitting on the counter. “Flour. His face. Let’s go.” Droid grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, I am so in.” “Wait,” Puffer interjected, though his grin betrayed his interest. “What’s the game plan here?” “Simple,” you said, your excitement building. “When he comes back, we’re all chill. Then, bam—flour to the face. But act like nothing happened, okay?”

Grizzy raised a skeptical eyebrow but couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” “Worth it,” you replied, grabbing a handful of flour. “This is for the greater good of content.” The moment Pezzy stepped back into the room, the kitchen fell into a suspiciously serene silence. You focused on stirring the pot in front of you, Droid hummed an innocent tune, and Grizzy busied himself with meticulously folding a dish towel. Pezzy froze in the doorway, his eyes narrowing. “Why does this feel like a setup?” “What?” you said, feigning innocence. “We’re just cooking.” “Yeah, real domestic over here,” Droid added, though the smirk tugging at his lips was a dead giveaway. Puffer, barely holding it together, cleared his throat. “Max, can you check the stove? Something smells weird.” Pezzy sighed, muttering something about the group being “too chaotic to function,” and moved toward the stove. That’s when you struck. With the precision of a seasoned prankster, you hurled a handful of flour straight at his face. Except, your aim was a little too good. The entire handful exploded across his face in a perfect white cloud, coating his skin, hair, and even his shirt. For a split second, the room was dead silent. Then Grizzy let out a wheezing laugh, doubling over as he clutched his stomach.

Puffer practically fell to the floor, gasping for air, and Droid had to grip the counter to stay upright. Pezzy stood there, frozen, blinking through the flour that now covered every inch of him. “You—” “I didn’t mean—” you tried to say, but you were laughing too hard to form coherent words. “You’re dead,” he said, his tone calm but his eyes flashing with amusement. Before you could react, he grabbed the entire bag of flour and upended it over your head. “Pezzy!” you shrieked, your laughter mixing with a yelp as the bag emptied over you, turning your hair and clothes into a snowy mess. The chaos that followed was nothing short of legendary. Droid grabbed a handful of flour and flung it at Grizzy, who retaliated with a fistful of sugar. Puffer somehow found a bottle of chocolate syrup and squirted it across the counter, declaring, “It’s war!” The kitchen devolved into an all-out food fight, with ingredients flying through the air and everyone covered in a mix of flour, sugar, and who knows what else. Chat was going absolutely wild.

This is peak content

I haven’t laughed this hard in ages

Somebody clip the whole thing. ALL OF IT

When the flour had finally settled—literally—you and the guys surveyed the wreckage. The kitchen looked like a bakery had exploded, and you were pretty sure you’d be finding flour in random places for days. Pezzy, still dusted in white, shook his head with a laugh. “You’re a menace, you know that?” You grinned, brushing some flour from his hair. “And you’re just mad I got you good.” “Maybe,” he admitted, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. “But I gotta admit, you make chaos look pretty damn good.” From the other side of the room, Droid groaned loudly. “If you two start flirting right now, I’m leaving.” Grizzy threw an arm over Droid’s shoulder. “Nah, let’s stay. This is the content chat lives for.” As the laughter started up again, Pezzy leaned closer to you, his voice low so only you could hear. “Thanks for making this fun. Even if you did turn me into a human donut.” You smiled, brushing a bit of flour from his cheek. “Anytime, Max.”

[illicitdream]

" probably ? nah, it's in your system now. " he nestled into them again, taking a moment to live in the scent they created. " i've been told it's terminal too, so. no choice but to live out your twilight years with me, what a horrible way to go. " this should feel strange, but it just doesn't. not even a little bit. two days ago they were in this same place, not the bedroom but not far from it talking about personal things, making little friend plans, figuring out what bar they should go to, talking about what he'd come to realize was a slowly failing relationship. and now they were cuddled up in their bed, idly talking like they always had. " okay, didn't think i came across as 'has a humiliation fetish' but really appreciate the shot. " it felt like the most natural thing in the world, laying there. even with flossie on top of him, breasts pressed against his skin, the two of them practically sticking together until they slowly began to dry off, it felt like they were right where they belonged. where they'd belonged this whole time. " yeah, actually. " energy spent for now, he went limp beneath her and focused on his breathing. " i could go anywhere with you and have a good time. i could take you to dinner or we could go out drinking and singing but. " moving his back, he made enough room for their arms to hook around him again, raising a hand to brush some of the hair out of their face so he could watch them kiss his chest. " it's kind of . . . i wanted it to be a little more personal, you know ? i mean i'm no gordon ramsay or anything but it'll be something i make with my effort. you can pick the movie though. " his head arched back as they started to crawl up his body, not wanting to deny them any space. " not gonna' scare you away by making you sit through the extended editions of the lord of the rings. yet, anyway. " by the time she'd reached his throat, and asked, he flexed his hands at his sides and rolled his ankles. " i don't know if i can fit in your bathtub, i couldn't fit in mine if i tried. just, " he leaned up, pecking at her lips only to start rolling over, offering them the chance to stand up. " give me a . . . " a few moments later, with both feet on the floor, he stood up. he wobbled briefly before catching himself with a laugh. " thought you made my legs go numb there. " he had been spent, physically. but there was no denying: the two of them stunk. it was a smell he'd commit to memory, but around their other friends ? now that they weren't clinging to each other still, and they could collectively stumble to flossie's bathroom, he took every opportunity to stretch his legs, watching as they started the water. " should be a fun reveal for everyone else. you think we should wait to say something and surprise everyone with christmas cards ? "

now that the sticky sheen of exertion was easing, the touch was nice. being pressed against him everywhere that she could possibly be felt right for flossie. they didn’t know how the pair of them had gone so long surviving off of friendly hugs or leaning in to one another. now she knew what it felt like to be touched by him everywhere, would be able to feel the warmth of his skin long after they untangled themselves from one another. “infectious? oh gross, i probably have it now,” she feigned a whine, though it hardly had any holding with how she encouraged him to nuzzle in closer. a soft hum fell from their lips as they contemplated his words, slow smile forming. “yeah — i can see you being into that.” though, she was now aware his perhaps otherwise rather meek personality didn’t translate everywhere. despite initial uncertainties, he’d certainly seemed confident handling them if you asked flossie. maybe it was instinctual to take what he needed but she had no issues with it. was always happy to be guided, urged, put exactly where her partner wanted her to be. the trust aspect helped. they knew that they could trust allen with anything before they’d taken this step together and now the trust could only grow. she hummed softly at his suggestions, quite happy to let him rattle off whatever he was thinking. after settling on top of him, they let their hands wiggle in between his body and the mattress underneath it so that they could hold him at least a bit. “would you like to do that instead, then?” tilted her head to rest her cheek on his chest, picking the side where she could surely hear the sound of his heart beneath the surface. it was so comforting. it was so sure that she couldn’t doubt for a moment that this was real and actually happening.“a nice, slow evening being curled up together sounds good to me, too.” their head levelled to be straight on, lips pressing between his pectorals and at his sternum. it was just a soft, gentle press over and over again. his heart was supposed to belong to her now. she’d have to treat it well. “would you like to shower with me?” they asked after a moment, lips still moving on his skin. wanted to offer him all the care and affection they’d both been starved from in all the time they’d been waiting for one of them to realise they could have what they wished for. “or a bath?” the peppering of lips continued until she reached the hollow of his throat, nose sliding up the column before she lifted her head to lock eyes with him.

[rookrecurring]

[annt-i]

i was halfway through drawing Alex celebrating thanksgiving like god intended (completely alone and miserable) before I remembered that he's british and they do not celebrate that there.

[iamthepulta]

*crawls onto dash like an axolotl*

i- i am alone. back home. writing time.