#like maybe we should just. try something new for a change

[time-traveller-archives]

So true, I always wonder why though? Is it a search of human validation or just our self doubt of not being able to understand our pain through our eyes? Maybe we all need someone to look out for us, to feel we are looked out for. To hope that someone is waiting to see us the next morning. Maybe that's what kept our day moving, idk. Maybe life is a blessing when someone's around. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe I wanted more than love, care or affection. I wanted a 'me' to shine out there for me, so that 'that me', could give back the love everyone who loved me deserved, not the love the present 'me' who was broken squeezing herself in corners and was nothing in front of her future me. I used to think it was the future me, who could give it all back. Not me, the me that existed even if she loved, she was broken, there was something wrong with her. So I crafted that me, worked hard to erase the present 'me' so I could be the new 'me' all for the people I loved and cared about the most. The future 'me' was waste of time though for the present 'me'. I would waste so much time thinking how she should walk, how she should move, who she should be, so that everyone around me and mostly myself would feel some pride in 'me' not me.

Seems like now, there's no future 'me', its just goals and ambitions, but now goals and ambitions don't feel passionate anymore, there's no zest of changing yourself every single day, it just feels like there was no point in being a person of service to others, there was a point in being so detached. There's no one left to serve, even if there's someone. Why should I? Should I go help, why though? Is there any reward or sense of happiness I will get with that, maybe, but how many skeletons do you think they have in their closets, is it worth being a helper forever, whose validation is it that Iam suffering so much for. Is there any love in it, in helping others, yes there is, there is love for humanity, not lizards, love for people, not a bunch of thieves who SA humans and burn them out on a regular basis. Not a bunch of disgusting people who instead of learning to live a good and humble life, who could have taught so much, decide to obliterate us through SA,pedophilia and what not? Is this what I am here for, on this Earth, why am i here? Am I not here to serve for the upliftment of souls, creation of new ideas and philosophies for helping the inquisitive minds grow, what is it I am here for? To see a bunch of greedy, selfish, pedos take powerful position and enjoy abusing others. What do I bring to this plate? Cause I have brought a lot, accepted a lot, tried to understand a lot more than I could have ever believed I could have ever done. More than the expectations of shit face people around me and their imposed beliefs on me and my benevolence. Then why? what have I done wrong?

Why should I stay stuck with the most disgusting people, out of all other humans and animals and other species. What am I here to do? Just suffer in their hands. Why? Just why am I here? Who brought me here to do this place? What am I doing here? How am I thriving? Why am I thriving? This is disgusting, I need my shell, my shell where everything is alright, nothing has changed, nobody has gone, where the hell is that dream, that future, those people I envisioned to see in my future. This is the most degrading I have ever been, and Iam trying so hard to match the vibe with my life that now my life is falling apart but not visibly falling apart. Just why? I hate this all this materialistic big room, big space, big bed, big floors, I needed this facility, yes but for why? Why Just why do I do this to myself? Why do I even need all these. I don't even need that extra space in the room, maybe I do. But why do I need this when all i wanna do is shrink, shrink and die. I'm tired I'm tired of being this and being 'her' that her who got it to Bangalore. I still can't believe its me. This opportunity is too big for me, I always knew it, I can't do it, I just can't, its too much. Why are we here? Why should I do this? Why do I this? Why did I start this in the first place? Who is this all for? Who was it all for? Was it me, no no way, it was me, it wasn't me, I didn't want her, I never knew this, could catch these stars, could have ever imagined expected or fallen for these stars. Then why stars, why are they here? They look all shiny and gleamy but its all play. They are rotten from inside. There's no way this college is this good. There's no way I'm in Bangalore. There's no way everything is going right in my life for the first time without any intervention, without somebody's help. How am I living this? How do I do this? Iam not capable of such power. I have never been. Then how do I do this? Where do I go from here? Who is it out there to meet me? Where do I take this from here? How just how, do I imagine, do I make it big. Does it grow? Does it go bigger than this? Am I there yet? Am I in my life yet? Where is it going? How do I row ? Is there it there? Can I do it again? And again? Will I make it there? Wherever it is there? Where is it? Can I go

“People start to heal the moment they feel heard.”

— Cheryl Richardson

[mossycakes]

i think lestat should probably stop dating depressed catholics

[mrspiastri]

Hi!!! Can I request 18, “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I just didn’t realize it until now.” For Max? Maybe a childhood best friend?

max verstappen x reader

prompt 18. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

💌💌💌

They had grown up together, navigated the chaos of life side by side. Max, with his relentless drive and sharp determination, had always been destined for greatness. And Y/N had always been there, cheering him on from the sidelines, never questioning her place in his life. But somewhere along the line, things changed.

Because now, she was questioning everything.

The realization hit her like a freight train at a post-race party in Monaco.

Max had won earlier that day, securing yet another victory, and his team had thrown a party to celebrate. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and for a while, everything felt normal.

But then, Y/N saw her.

Some girl—gorgeous, blonde, and way too close—flirting with Max.

At first, Y/N told herself it was fine. That Max was Max, and people flirting with him was nothing new.

But standing there, watching some random girl bat her eyelashes at her Max?

For some reason, it stung.

Max didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t react. He smiled—his polite, easygoing smile—but Y/N knew him too well. She could see the way his eyes flickered with distraction, the way he wasn’t really paying attention.

That should have reassured her.

But instead, she just felt restless.

Because suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about all the times she had watched people gravitate toward him, wasn’t thinking about how of course Max Verstappen attracted attention wherever he went.

She was thinking about herself.

About how she had never allowed herself to want more, about how she had spent years convincing herself that friendship was enough.

And maybe it had been.

Until now.

She found him outside on the balcony later that night, leaning against the railing, staring out at the Monaco skyline.

He turned when he heard her footsteps, his expression softening when he saw her. “Hey.”

Y/N swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Hey.”

He studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes. “You okay?”

She let out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know.”

Max straightened slightly, concern flickering across his face. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N hesitated, fingers curling around the cool metal railing. The words were right there, balancing on the tip of her tongue, but saying them felt like stepping off a ledge with no idea where she would land.

But then she met his eyes, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like falling at all.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t realize it until now.”

Max inhaled sharply.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, his expression unreadable, his blue eyes searching hers like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Y/N felt her heart plummet.

“Max—”

But before she could take it back, before she could even think about running, he exhaled a soft, almost disbelieving laugh.

“You just realized it now?” he asked, shaking his head slightly.

Y/N frowned. “What—”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids,” he admitted, voice quiet but certain. “I just never said anything because I didn’t want to lose you.”

Her breath hitched.

She had spent so long questioning everything, so long wondering if she was imagining things, when all this time, he had been waiting for her to see it.

Max stepped forward slowly, as if giving her time to stop him, but she didn’t move. His hands found her waist, fingers gentle, like he was afraid she might disappear.

“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore,” he murmured. “I want all of it. I want you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath.

She had never been afraid of taking risks. But this—this felt different. This was Max.

But then he smiled at her, soft and patient and just a little bit certain, and suddenly, she wasn’t afraid at all.

And then, before she could second-guess it, before either of them could ruin the moment—she kissed him.

She closed the space between them, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as she pressed her lips to his.

It was slow, unhurried, a quiet realization settling between them—something that had always been there, just waiting to be acknowledged.

When they finally pulled apart, Max rested himself against her, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a laugh, her fingers still curled into his shirt. “Shut up.”

He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Never.”

And just like that, something that had been years in the making—something that had always been—finally, finally found its place.

[nameless-jamie]

Been working on smth…

Jamie Tartt x ???? Fem! reader

TW: suggestive innuendos, kissing, cursing

A/N: Hi guys I’ve been working on smth new! Here’s a snippet. I wanted to see your reactions to it (and maybe you can guess what Jamie’s and Y/N backstory is) or maybe you have any other ideas for it.

The first thing Y/N registered was warmth—soft, steady, and entirely too comfortable. The second was the distinct feeling of being trapped. She blinked against the morning light filtering through Jamie’s curtains, her cheek pressed against a firm, bare chest, his arm slung lazily around her waist.

Her breath hitched.

Jamie was already awake. She could feel his gaze on her before she even looked up. When she did, he was smirking, tousled hair a mess against his pillow, eyes heavy with sleep but sharp with amusement.

“Mornin’, love.” His voice was low, husky from sleep, tinged with something else—something knowing.

Y/N swallowed. Her mind raced through fragmented memories—his hands on her waist, her name a rasp against his lips, laughter between tangled sheets, the way he had kissed her like he never wanted to stop.

She shifted slightly, and his grip instinctively tightened, fingers splayed across her back as if he had no intention of letting go just yet.

“Jamie,” she started, voice quieter than she intended.

He hummed, watching her with that infuriatingly pleased expression. “Yeah?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. What was she supposed to say? Good morning, thanks for ruining me last night?

Jamie, as always, seemed to enjoy her silence. His smirk softened, eyes flickering over her face before he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Y’look good in my bed,” he murmured. “Knew you would.”

Her stomach flipped.

She really should say something. Something normal, something casual—Haha, yeah, fun night, mate!—but she was still pressed against his bare skin, still feeling the ghost of last night on her lips, and Jamie knew it.

So she did the only thing she could.

She buried her face back into his chest with a groan.

Jamie chuckled, his hold on her tightening, his lips brushing the top of her head. “Yeah, alright,” he muttered, voice full of something dangerously close to fondness. “Five more minutes.”

Y/N had absolutely no excuse.

No drunken mishaps to blame, no moment of weakness fueled by too many shots of tequila. No, she had walked into this with full awareness, with every nerve in her body on high alert, and still—still—she had let Jamie Tartt kiss her like he had every right to, touch her like he already knew the shape of her body by heart, and pull her into his bed like this was inevitable.

And the worst part?

It felt inevitable.

She could try to deny it, but it wouldn’t change the way she had let herself lean into his touch, the way she had curled into him in her sleep like she belonged there.

Jamie’s fingers traced lazy circles against her back, warm and absentminded, like he did this every morning, like he wasn’t at all concerned about what happened next.

She, on the other hand, was very concerned.

Clearing her throat, she peeked up at him, only to find that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips.

“I can feel you thinking,” he murmured. “It’s too early for that, love.”

Her stomach flipped at the rasp in his voice, but she forced herself to focus.

“How did we even get here?” she mumbled, more to herself than him.

Jamie tilted his head like he was actually considering the question. “Well,” he drawled, his smirk widening, “if I remember right, you were lookin’ at me all night like you wanted to snog me senseless, and I, bein’ the gentleman I am, simply obliged.”

Y/N groaned, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “That is not what happened.”

Jamie arched a brow. “Oh? So you weren’t the one who dragged me back to yours last week after that pub quiz?”

She glared at him. “That was different.”

“How?”

“Because I was frustrated!”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah, and I helped with that, didn’t I?”

She let out an exasperated sigh, but Jamie wasn’t finished.

“Alright, so what about the other night? When you kept findin’ excuses to touch me? Yeah, yeah, don’t give me that look, I clocked it, Y/N. Thought I was gonna have to start chargin’ you for all the times you grabbed my arm.”

Her face burned. “It was dark, I needed to make sure you were still there.”

Jamie’s smirk softened, something flickering behind his blue eyes. “I’m always here.”

Her breath caught.

He said it so easily, like it was a fact, like he wasn’t completely rewriting the rules between them with a single sentence.

Jamie studied her for a moment before nudging her chin up with his knuckles. “You gonna run?” he asked, voice quieter now.

She should. That was the smart thing to do. But running felt impossible when he was looking at her like this, like he was waiting for her, like he had been waiting longer than either of them wanted to admit.

So she swallowed, exhaled, and did the only thing she could think of.

She kissed him.

And Jamie—smug, beautiful, impossible Jamie—sighed against her lips like he had just won the easiest bet of his life.

[srrynrk]

even if it takes an eternity . . . 西村力

hai im back maybe ! short kinda angsty drabble of vampire ki cause iv been obsessed with @hoo-n-i-ki's vampire/twilight rk story (๑ △ ๑)* not proofread bbbtttwww

"So, what? You're just gonna leave again?" Her voice was sharp and stern as it always was, even when she was being sweet, her tone never faltered.

And she spoke like someone who knew what they wanted, someone who knew exactly what to do, and she told herself that she was that person. Whether she believed that or not was a different question

Riki could sense the disappointment that crept up her throat; he knew it was his fault, she'd drag him back home with continuous quotes of "You can change", and "deep down there's still human in you", but he knew there wasn't. He knew that despite how much hope she had, he had lost all desire to ever rekindle his old human nature. At some point, her convictions and comforts had turned into silent prayers that he'd believe in himself and they knew that, but seeing his eyes, so red and cold, just past them she saw someone worth forgiving, someone worth fighting for.

Riki looked to the ground, his way of channeling his shame. "Why won't you give up?" Cold demeanor falling as his voice shook "Why won't you just move on. Iv accepted this and you should too."

Looking at him, so beautiful and so ruined. Sighing at the sight you thought for a moment, truly pondering on whether anything you said would help at all. "I think..." His eyes flickered up slightly, her voice sounding much less confident then it did a few moments ago. "If you were truly gone, the human side of you i mean. If he was truly gone, you wouldn't keep coming back. You'd stop hearing me out when i plead, and you wouldn't bother holding me when i run to you again and again. But you do, so clearly, even though you won't admit it, you have hope that you can be happy again."

His cold eyes softened slightly, only enough for her to notice. "The day i give up on you is the day i see you bleeding out in the snow. Until then ill keep trying, i mean... we have forever anyway right?"

"Don't you get tired of waiting on me?" The cold air filled her lungs as she took in a deep breath and hummed "No, not really" "Were doing nothing but going in circles." She sighed "If it's you, i don't mind going in circles, even if we have to do it for eternity." She smiled slightly, and he hated to admit it to himself but maybe a piece of him was still human. Seeing her smile, her fangs slightly peeking out from her lips, was something he missed more than anything while he was hiding, it made his heart feel like it was beating again, even for a split second.

He was scared of hurting her, of draining her of all her hope and happiness, but more than that he was scared of losing her, even if he'd never say that.

He'll probably run away again, and they'll probably have to start over like they have for months now, but their cold hands feel warm within each other, and their past regrets disappear when they're together, so even if they do keep going in circles, he knows he'll keep coming back, no matter what.

note: haii!!! Im back for now, the riki vampire fics have made me want to write again, and i currently have a weird obsession with vampires! idk why! But I'll probably expand on this/write a new rk vampire story in all !! ദ്ദി ˵ •̀ᵥ_ᵥ- ˵

lowk couldn't figure out how to end this so it's poorly done and this whole thing is lowk ass dookie, sorry ^^

[iamquiantrelle]

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

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

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

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What pictures?"

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

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

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

"Work stuff that leaves hickeys?"

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying–"

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

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

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

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

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

"Leave it."

"The blogs are saying–"

"The blogs chat shit and you know it."

His phone buzzed.

April: How's the homework going?

April: That ring helping?

April: Remember - ten minutes minimum.

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

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

"That her?"

"None of your business."

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

"I will actually kill Ibou."

"So there are more marks!"

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

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

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

April: We can make them again soon.

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

Christ. Even her texts had him twisted up.

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

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

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

"Since when do you keep anything private?"

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

"People change."

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

"You want to play or not?"

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

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

"That's what you said about Sophie."

"This isn't like that."

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

His phone buzzed again.

April: Time yourself tonight.

April: Want a full report tomorrow.

April: Don't disappoint me.

April: Good boys get rewarded.

April: Bad boys get punished.

Yeah, definitely not like Sophie at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April: Got a new idea for us.

April: Think you can handle being tied up?

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

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

"Nope."

"Is she fit, though?"

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

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

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

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

Marcel frowned. "Why not?"

"Because… it’s complicated."

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

"No!"

"Then what?"

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

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

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

Trent didn’t reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aura clapped her hands, oblivious to the banter flying over her head. Her laugh was loud and full of joy, and it was impossible not to smile at the sound. For all the chaos in his life lately, moments like this grounded him.

They ate dinner together at the dining table, taking turns keeping Aura occupied while scarfing down lasagna and garlic bread. She babbled happily in her high chair, tiny fists banging the tray like she had something important to say. When Trent handed her a piece of soft bread, she examined it carefully before shoving it in her mouth with both hands.

"She’s better company than you," Marcel said, watching her with a grin.

"Yeah, she doesn’t talk as much," Trent shot back, earning a laugh.

By the time Aura started rubbing her eyes, her little face sleepy and content, Marcel offered to take her to his room. "I’ll keep an eye on her," he said, gathering up her blanket and bottle. "You can have some peace and quiet."

Trent didn’t argue. "Appreciate it."

Once they were gone, the house felt unnaturally quiet. He cleaned up the dishes, wiped down the counters, and wandered around aimlessly for a bit, trying to shake the restlessness creeping in. His phone sat on the coffee table, and he resisted the urge to check it again. He already knew what April’s texts would say: reminders, commands, a challenge wrapped in that teasing tone of hers that drove him mad.

Eventually, he gave in and went to his room, locking the door behind him. The cock ring, snug and unrelenting, had been on him since morning — a challenge April had casually suggested, as if wearing it all day wouldn’t drive him mad.

"Ten minutes minimum," he muttered, recalling her words. Christ.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the cool air of the room brushing against his skin as he pulled off his clothes and settled against the pillows. His fingers hovered over his phone, hesitating before he set a timer. Ten minutes felt like an eternity when she wasn’t there to guide him, her voice in his ear, her hands on him, pushing him to the edge but never letting him fall.

His breathing slowed as he got started, wrapping a hand around his dick, his body reacting instantly to the sensation. He focused on the timer, his fingers gripping his length tightly as he continued to stroke himself, the seconds ticking by. It was harder than he thought it’d be — staying in control, holding back, fighting the urge to let go too soon.

April’s texts replayed in his head, her voice a phantom in the room. Good boys get rewarded. Bad boys get punished. He wanted the reward, craved it, but the thought of disappointing her was unbearable.

By the time the timer buzzed, his body was trembling, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he exhaled a shaky breath. He grabbed his phone, typing out a quick message:

Trent: Ten minutes. Nearly killed me.

Trent: You happy now?

April: Always.

April: But don’t think you’re done yet.

April: Double it next time.

Double it? Was she trying to kill him?

He groaned, letting the phone drop onto the bed beside him. She was relentless, and he hated how much he loved it. As he lay there, his heart still pounding, the thought of another day like this made him want to cry, but Trent couldn’t help the way his body responded to her praise. He’d do it again — hell, he’d do anything if it meant hearing her call him that again.

The PSV match was all anyone at Liverpool was talking about as the team stepped off the bus in Eindhoven. Trent adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, glancing around the grounds as staff ushered them toward the locker rooms. The air was crisp, and the Dutch crowd was already buzzing outside, chanting in bursts that carried faintly through the concrete tunnels.

He was supposed to be focused — mentally locked in for a crucial away game in the Champion’s League — but his head was a mess. The last two days had been intense, and not just because of the extra drills the gaffer had thrown in during practice. Between training sessions, recovery, and keeping up with April’s homework, his body was on edge in every possible way.

Twenty-five minutes. That’s where he was now.

The first time he hit ten minutes, it felt like climbing Everest. Fifteen had been worse. But twenty-five minutes of sustained edging? That had him feeling like he’d unlocked some new level of torture. He’d barely gotten through it without cramping up, his body desperate for relief. And her texts? They weren’t helping.

April: Twenty-five minutes? Impressive. I’m proud of you.

April: But let’s not get too comfortable — aim for thirty next time.

April: Just imagine what you’ll earn if you keep this up.

The way her praise made his chest tighten was infuriating. She knew exactly how to twist him up with a few carefully chosen words, and she didn’t hold back.

By the time he’d packed his bag for Eindhoven, he couldn’t take it anymore. They’d been apart for too long, and waiting until he got back to Liverpool felt impossible.

He’d messaged her while they were on the plane, testing the waters.

Trent: Come to the match? I’ll sort everything. Flights, hotel, all of it.

Her reply came fast, sharp, and, of course, wrapped in her usual teasing.

April: Are you sure you want to waste one of your 10 match privileges?

That had stopped him in his tracks. She was right; their agreement allowed him only ten match appearances as part of the "girlfriend experience." He hated how much that phrase made his stomach flip. And wasting one on a group-stage game when they weren’t even guaranteed to win? She knew how to make him question himself.

He’d tried a different angle.

Trent: Fair enough. What about a weekend in Eindhoven then? Just us.

Trent: I’ll pay for your hotel. Doesn’t have to be fancy.

Her response took longer this time, but when it came, it was classic April.

April: I’ll get back to you on that.

The uncertainty left him restless. Even as he warmed up on the pristine PSV pitch, his head wasn’t entirely in the game. Every now and then, he’d glance at the stands, wondering what it would be like to see her sitting there, watching him like he mattered to her beyond their arrangement.

It was wild how much space she’d taken up in his brain lately. A month ago, he’d have laughed at the thought of anyone having this kind of hold on him. Now? Every pass, every sprint, every tackle felt like he was chasing her approval more than the win.

"You good?" Virgil asked, clapping him on the shoulder as they lined up for drills.

"Yeah," Trent muttered, shaking his head like he could clear her out of it. "Just ready to get this done."

Virgil gave him a knowing look but didn’t press.

As the rest of the squad settled into their routine, Trent’s phone vibrated on the bench where he’d stashed his bag. His heart leapt, and he ignored the impulse to check it right away. He forced himself through another round of sprints, telling himself it was probably just Tyler sending updates on the socials.

When he finally grabbed his phone during a water break, her name on the screen had him swallowing hard.

April: Eindhoven, huh? I could be convinced.

April: But if I come, you better make it worth my while.

He exhaled a laugh, biting down on his lip to hide the grin spreading across his face. Of course she’d make it sound like a challenge. And, of course, it was one he’d rise to.

Trent: I’ll handle everything. Just tell me when you’re landing.

April: You’re confident.

Trent: I have to be. You don’t make it easy.

April: Good. I like you better this way.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of tactical drills, and he pocketed his phone, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with football. If she really came to Eindhoven, the weekend would be… different. Distracting. Dangerous, even.

But he couldn’t wait.

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

The lobby of the hotel was quiet, save for the hum of soft jazz playing through hidden speakers and the occasional murmur of voices from other guests. Trent adjusted the strap of his duffle bag, keeping his hood low as he approached the front desk. His heart was racing — not from nerves, but from the anticipation that had been building since the final whistle blew at the PSV match.

April had been relentless since the game ended.

The first text had come as he was stepping off the pitch, a simple "Congrats, T 🖤" that had his chest swelling with pride. Then the photos started.

The first was tame — her reflection in a mirror, wearing a skintight leather skirt and a cropped top that showed off her toned stomach. His throat went dry just looking at it.

The next one? Not tame at all.

April had sent a shot of herself in a leather harness, her lips parted slightly around a ball gag. The caption read, Missing your sounds, but may have to try this tonight.

He’d nearly dropped his phone when he saw it. She was trying to kill him, plain and simple.

Now, standing at the front desk, he cleared his throat and whispered his name to the concierge, his voice low enough to keep from drawing any attention. The man behind the counter, professional and unfazed, simply nodded and tapped away at his computer.

"Your passport, please," the concierge said.

Trent slid it across the counter, followed by his credit card. He kept his head down, glancing around to make sure no one recognized him. It was one thing for the concierge to know who he was, but the last thing he needed was someone snapping a photo and posting it online.

"Here you are, Mr. Alexander-Arnold," the concierge said, sliding a keycard across the counter with a polite smile. "Enjoy your stay."

"Thanks, mate," Trent mumbled, grabbing the card and his documents before heading toward the lift.

As he stepped inside and hit the button for their floor, he couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing. The adrenaline from the game, the rush of victory, and the simmering anticipation of what was waiting for him upstairs were all hitting him at once. He let out a slow breath, trying to center himself.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out, walking quickly down the carpeted hallway. The door to their room was at the end, and he could already feel his pulse quickening.

Keycard in hand, he slid it into the reader, the light turning green with a soft beep. He pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The room was dimly lit, a few candles scattered around the space casting a warm glow. The smell of vanilla hung in the air, and the sound of soft music played from a speaker in the corner.

And there she was.

April was lounging on the bed, propped up on one elbow with her legs crossed casually. She wasn’t in the leather harness from her earlier photos, but her outfit was no less deadly. A black satin robe hung loosely off her shoulders, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the lace bodysuit underneath.

"You took your time," she teased, her voice smooth as silk.

"Traffic," Trent replied, setting his bag down by the door and shrugging off his jacket.

"Liar," she said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I was watching the match. You came straight here."

He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Can you blame me?"

April stood, the robe slipping off her shoulders completely now. She crossed the room slowly, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.

"Not at all," she said, stopping in front of him. She reached out, tugging gently on the drawstring of his hoodie. "You’ve been a good boy these past few days."

Trent swallowed hard, her proximity and the way her eyes raked over him making his head spin. "Tried my best," he murmured.

Her lips curved into a sly smile. "Let’s see if it paid off."

And just like that, any thought of the match, the team, or anything outside of this room faded away. He was hers for the next two days, and he had no intention of holding anything back.

His heartbeat raced as her sharp eyes swept over him, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Take off your clothes," she said, her voice low but firm.

He nodded, hands moving to tug off his hoodie first, followed by his T-shirt, leaving his chest bare. He hesitated briefly before unbuttoning his track pants and letting them fall, kicking them aside. Now standing in just his briefs, he paused, his hands twitching at his sides as he awaited further instruction.

"And kneel," she added, tilting her head as she stepped back slightly, giving him room.

Trent sank to his knees, keeping his head bowed, a surge of anticipation coursing through him. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as she moved across the room, the distinct sound of a zipper, and when she returned, his gaze darted up briefly before lowering again. She was holding a small leather crop, tapping it lightly against her palm as she regarded him.

"I’ll start off easy," she said, her tone almost playful as she toyed with the handle.

"No easy," Trent murmured, his voice strained but steady.

Her brow arched, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Oh? Wild boy, huh?"

"Yes, ma’am."

The words came out with a level of reverence that sent a thrill through her. She leaned forward, her eyes boring into his as she asked, "Safe word?"

"Anfield," he answered without hesitation.

"Good." She straightened, tapping the crop against her palm one last time before walking around him. "Let’s see just how wild you are."

The first strike was light, barely more than a whisper against the skin of his back. Trent let out a slow exhale, adjusting his posture to brace for more. She landed another, harder this time, and then again, alternating between his back and buttocks. Each strike sent a mix of sting and heat rippling through him, the sensation sharp but not unbearable.

"You like that, don’t you?" she teased, her voice cutting through the air.

"Yes, ma’am," he breathed, his muscles flexing beneath each stroke.

"Such a good boy," she purred, the crop trailing along his spine now, a featherlight touch that made him shiver. Then came another sharp crack against his skin, pulling a groan from his throat.

April’s hand suddenly moved to his neck, her fingers wrapping around it as she bent him forward just a bit more. Her grip was firm but not overwhelming, her thumb pressing lightly against his pulse. "Stay like this," she commanded, her voice close to his ear now.

"Yes, ma’am," he managed, his voice slightly strained but steady.

She struck again with the crop, her movements calculated, each one delivering a measured jolt of pain and pleasure. When she tightened her grip on his neck briefly, cutting off just a bit of his airway, Trent let out a low, guttural sound.

"Fuck, you like this a lot, don’t you?" she murmured, her tone a mix of mockery and approval.

"Yes," he rasped, his eyes shut tight as he surrendered completely to her control.

"Speak properly," she demanded, loosening her grip enough for him to answer.

"Yes, ma’am," he corrected quickly, his voice trembling.

"That’s better." Her grip on his neck shifted, and she used it to guide him into an even more submissive posture, his shoulders dipping as he knelt there.

She delivered a few more strikes with the crop, alternating the intensity, each one punctuated by filthy, teasing remarks. "Look at you," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "So eager, so desperate to please. Tell me how much you want this."

"So much, ma’am," he groaned, his voice raw.

Her hand tightened on his neck again briefly, enough to send his head spinning in the best way. The loss of air was fleeting, just long enough to make him dizzy, and when she released him, he gasped, the rush of oxygen making every nerve in his body feel alive.

"Good boy," she whispered, leaning in to kiss the shell of his ear before stepping back, placing the crop on the bedside table. "We’re just getting started."

April ran her fingers over the freshly made marks on Trent’s back, her touch light yet deliberate, tracing the faint welts with pride. Each one stood out against his caramel skin, evidence to the way he submitted to her so willingly.

"How does it look, ma’am?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with both curiosity and reverence.

"Beautiful," she said, her tone full of satisfaction. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the space between his shoulder and neck, her lips lingering for a moment.

Then she pulled back and straightened. "Get on the bed," she commanded.

He hesitated briefly, his body still humming from her earlier ministrations, but she arched a brow and added, "You can walk."

That was all he needed. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as the ache from the crop made itself known with each movement. He made his way to the bed, his head still bowed slightly as he climbed onto it.

"Lay down on your back, but take off your boxers first," she instructed.

Trent obeyed, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and carefully sliding them down, mindful of the sensitivity in certain areas. Once they were off, he lay back on the bed, his hands at his sides as he waited for her next move.

April approached him, his eyes locked onto her as she untied the sash of her robe and let it fall to the floor. Beneath, she wore a lace bodysuit that hugged every curve of her body, the intricate design accentuating her figure. She reached behind her and unclasped it, letting it slip off her shoulders and down her body until she was completely bare before him.

His breath hitched as she climbed onto the bed next to him. Without a word, she bent over and took his dick into her mouth, her lips enveloping him in a way that sent a jolt of pleasure shooting through him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily as the wet heat of her mouth consumed him.

April worked with precision, her tongue swirling around his tip, her lips creating just the right amount of pressure. One of her hands moved to his testicles, squeezing gently at first before applying more pressure, the sensation making his toes curl.

Just as he thought he was going to lose himself entirely, she pulled back and a string of saliva stretched all the way down the her nipples. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb before meeting his gaze, her expression filled with both mischief and authority.

"I’m going to fuck you nice and hard, Trent," she said, her voice dripping with promise. "How does that sound?"

"Good, ma’am," he replied, his voice shaky but eager.

"Good," she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "But first, we need to do a little something."

She slid off the bed and walked over to her bag, retrieving a set of silk ties and a ball gag. Trent’s pulse quickened as he watched her, his anticipation growing with every step she took.

Returning to the bed, she slipped off her heels and climbed back up, her knees pressing into the mattress as she loomed over him. "Arms over your head," she instructed.

He complied immediately, raising his arms above him. She secured each wrist to the headboard with the silk ties, ensuring they were snug but not cutting off circulation. Once satisfied, she picked up the ball gag and held it in front of his lips.

"Open," she said simply.

Trent obeyed, opening his mouth wide enough for her to slip the ball into place. She fastened the strap behind his head, her fingers brushing the back of his neck as she did so.

"There," she said, sitting back on her heels to admire her work. Her gaze swept over him — his bound wrists, the gag in his mouth, and his body stretched out and waiting for her. "Now you’re ready for me."

April positioned herself over Trent, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips as she guided him into her. His body tensed beneath her, and she watched his reaction closely, the gag muffling his guttural groan as her warmth surrounded him. She didn’t ease into it. No, that wasn’t her style. Once he was fully inside, she began moving with purpose, setting a relentless pace that had his head falling back against the pillows.

She rode him like her life depended on it, each bounce of her hips sending waves of pleasure through his body. His dick throbbed inside her, and he was infinitely grateful he’d practiced with the cock ring. If he hadn’t, he would’ve lost control far too soon.

Her breasts moved with every motion, catching his gaze and holding it captive. He groaned at the sight, the sound muffled but still desperate, his hooded eyes locking on her with adoration and lust. She looked… happy. Or at least, as happy as a dominatrix could look. Her lips curled into a smug, knowing smile as she maintained her pace, clearly enjoying how much he was losing himself beneath her.

"You like that, don’t you?" she teased, her voice laced with the filthiest kind of sweetness.

Trent nodded fervently, unable to form words. Every nerve ending in his body was alive, focused on the perfect way she felt around him, how her movements seemed designed to drive him to the brink.

"Such a good boy," she purred, reaching behind herself.

He gasped, his body jolting as her hand found his testicles. She squeezed and twisted them, the mix of pleasure and pain making his eyes roll back in his head. He was overwhelmed, completely and utterly at her mercy, and he loved every second of it.

"Don’t cum yet," she warned, her tone sharp but teasing.

Trent exhaled sharply through his nose, nodding as he tried to focus on anything but the coiling tension building in his core. He clenched his fists against the silk ties, his muscles flexing as he tried to hold back.

April leaned forward slightly, her pace never faltering as her filthy words poured out. "You’re so fucking perfect like this, all mine, stretched out and taking whatever I give you."

He whimpered beneath her, his body trembling as she twisted his scrotum again, her forefinger caressing the sensitive part of skin, mere centimeters away from his anus. She was unrelenting, riding him with the determination of someone on a bull machine at a Hen Do, and all he could do was watch her in awe.

How was this his life? How did he end up here, with her — this beautiful, commanding woman who seemed to know exactly how to ruin him in the best way?

Her dirty talk became filthier, the words cascading over him as her hand continued its relentless assault. Trent squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on anything else — his breathing, the way the bed creaked, the cool air against his heated skin — anything to keep from succumbing.

Then she said it. The one word that shattered his resolve.

"Cum."

A guttural growl erupted from his chest as his body finally gave in, the release overwhelming him. His hips jerked beneath her as he spilled into her, the sheer intensity of it leaving him breathless and trembling.

April moaned softly at the sensation, and that sound— God, that sound — made his heart race even more. It was one of satisfaction, of contentment, and he realized he loved hearing it.

"Trent, you feel so good cumming inside me," she said, her voice dripping with praise.

His already hazy mind spun. Holy fuck, did she really have to say shit like that?

Before he could even process her words, he felt her inner muscles contract around him, like she was trying to hold his essence deep inside her. He gasped, his body tingling as the feeling overwhelmed him.

He never knew a woman could do that, but now that he did… he was ruined for anyone else.

Two days in Eindhoven had wrecked him, but in the best way possible. Trent's body felt like he'd played three matches back to back, muscles aching in places he didn't even know could ache. The amount of times April had made him cum should've been physically impossible - like some kind of scientific study waiting to happen.

His reflection in the car mirror showed fresh marks peeking above his collar. April had been... thorough about marking her territory this time. "So you don't forget who you belong to," she'd said, adding another bite to his collection.

The drive to training was a blur of memories - April's commands, her praise when he followed them perfectly, the way she'd push him just far enough before pulling back. Never thought he'd be into all that, but here he was, proper addicted to it.

The lads would give him shit again when they saw the new marks. Let them think he was some legendary lover, giving as good as he got. Truth was, he was just April's willing toy – and fuck him if that didn't get him going more than anything.

Actually made sense when he thought about it. He'd always been a people pleaser, hadn't he? Always trying to be what everyone needed – perfect footballer, local lad made good, but with April... it was different. She wanted him to please her, yeah, but she also built him up with it. Every "good boy" felt like winning a trophy, every command followed perfectly earned him praise that made his chest tight.

"Look who finally made it!" Robbo's voice carried across the parking lot. "Thought you might've got lost in Eindhoven!"

"Nah mate," Trent grinned, grabbing his bag. "Just had better things to do."

"We can see that!" Joe called out, pointing at Trent's neck. "She trying to write her name or something?"

The changing room was chaos as usual, everyone proper taking the piss. But Trent didn't mind - let them joke. They had no idea how good it felt being April's toy, her good boy, her willing servant.

His phone buzzed as he was changing.

April: Miss me yet?

His face must've done something because suddenly Virgil was looking at him with that knowing smile.

"She's good for you," his captain said quietly. "Never seen you this... settled."

Settled. Yeah, that was it. For the first time in his life, Trent knew exactly what he was meant to be.

Even if that meant being on his knees for a photographer who'd proper rewired his brain.

Another buzz.

April: Don't forget - edging practice tonight.

April: Thirty minutes this time.

April: Show me how good you can be for me.

Fucking hell.

But his "Yes ma'am" was typed and sent before he could even think about it.

Training was flowing smooth - every pass finding its target, every cross curling just right. When Slot called for lunch, the lads practically sprinted for their phones like teenagers, but Trent took his time. Saturday's match against Bournemouth was looking promising, and he was feeling dead confident about it.

But the weird looks on everyone's faces when he reached them had his stomach dropping.

"What?"

Danns wordlessly held out his phone. The Daily Mail. Brilliant.

There they were in Eindhoven - him bending down to April's height, grinning like some lovesick puppy. Then another shot of them kissing, a kiss he'd proper begged for because she'd had him so wound up for affection. His hood was up but anyone with eyes could tell it was him.

The article connected all the dots - identifying April as the photographer behind his recent shoot, the mystery woman in the Ferrari, even digging up that she was some decorated army officer's daughter from Liverpool. The comments were surprisingly positive:

"He's got his swagger back!"

"Local girl, army family, proper match"

"Old Trent's finally back"

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was bound to happen eventually, but still.

"You good?" Virgil asked quietly.

"Need to check on April..."

"Lads," Virgil called out, captain voice in full effect. "Give him space yeah? See you in the canteen."

Back at his bag, Trent's hands were shaking slightly as he checked his phone. But April's texts weren't about the article at all.

Instead, there was a screenshot of DMs with a simple message: "Get your bitches in line or I'll do it for you."

The DMs were from Sophie - old photos of her and Trent together, proper intimate ones from their relationship. Like some sad attempt at threatening April.

"Fuck," he whispered, but something hot curled in his stomach at April's possessiveness. Sophie had no idea who she was messing with.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Waiting for your response.

April: Tell me how you’re gonna handle this.

April: Or I will.

Christ. Why was her being all territorial turning him on so much?

Trent stared at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What do you even say when your blocked ex is trying to start beef with your... whatever April was?

Trent: She must've made a lurk account

Trent: I'll sort it

April: No need.

April: Already handled it.

April: Sent those photos to my lawyer.

April: She won't try that again.

His stomach flipped. Course April would handle it like a proper boss.

April: Though we still need to discuss punishment.

April: For not telling me about her tendency to... reappear.

Even when she was proper mad, she still had him wanting to please her.

April: The Mail article though...

April: You looked proper needy in those photos.

Trent: Was needy for you wasn't I?

April: Bold of you to flirt when you're in trouble.

April: See me after your match Saturday.

April: Bring overnight gear.

April: And that ring I bought you.

His whole body went hot. The new ring she'd gifted him in Eindhoven was intense - designed specifically for "training" she'd said.

"T!" Darwin's voice made him jump. "You coming to eat or what?"

"Yeah, give me a minute."

Trent: Yes ma'am.

Trent: About the article though... you okay?

April: Worried about me? Sweet. But I can handle some pap shots.

April: And clearly I need to remind you who you belong to now.

April: Since your past keeps trying to creep in.

But before he could respond, she sent one more message:

April: Now go eat. Need you strong for Saturday. And what comes after 😈

Fucking hell.

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

The restaurant was buzzing, one of those nice-but-not-too-nice spots in Liverpool where everyone knew everyone. Trent tugged at his turtleneck - bit warm for it really, but better than explaining to his mum why he looked like he'd been mauled by a tiger.

"You're fidgeting," Dianne noted, bouncing Aura on her knee. "Everything alright love?"

"Just match nerves," he lied. Actually it was the marks from last weekend's "session" with April making his collar itch, but his mum didn't need to know that.

"Michael!" Some old fella from down their street appeared at their table. "Good to see the family together. And Trent lad - you're looking proper back to yourself these days."

"Thanks Mr. Thompson."

"Heard your new girl's from round here? Army family yeah?"

Word traveled fast in Liverpool. Before Trent could answer, another regular - Mrs. Kelly from the corner shop - stopped by.

"My Denise went to school with a Goodplenty girl," she said, like they'd asked. "Her dad was proper decorated, served in the Middle East and that. Good Toxteth family before they moved."

His dad perked up at that. "Toxteth? Must know some of the same people then."

"Dad…" Trent warned, but it was too late.

"What? Just saying it's nice you're seeing someone local. Someone who gets it."

Gets what, Trent wanted to ask. The marks? The commands? The way she had him properly wrapped around her finger?

"She coming to any matches?" his sister-in-law asked, rescuing him from that train of thought.

"Maybe." If he earned it. April had been clear about that - match attendance was a reward, not a given.

Another neighbor stopped by, then someone's cousin, then a lad he vaguely remembered from school. Everyone had something to say about April's dad - where he'd served, what medals he had, how proud Toxteth was of him.

His phone buzzed under the table. April finally replying to the selfie he sent before coming to dinner.

April: That turtleneck looks suspicious. April: But I like knowing what's underneath. April: My marks. My boy.

Christ. Even from wherever she was, she had him squirming.

"Who's that got you smiling?" his mum asked.

"No one," he said quickly, but his face must've given him away because Liv started laughing.

"Look at him blushing! Dead obvious mate."

"Leave him alone," Michael chuckled. "Boy's allowed his privacy."

Privacy. Right. Like that existed in Liverpool when you were TAA and dating a local girl whose dad was apparently some sort of legend.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Bet you're thinking about Eindhoven. April: How prettily you begged. April: How good you were for me.

He shifted in his seat, turtleneck suddenly feeling way too tight.

"You sure you're alright love?" His mum was giving him that look. "You've gone all red."

"Fine mum. Just warm in here."

Another buzz.

April: Taking those marks to dinner with your family… April: Such a naughty boy. April: We'll have to discuss that tomorrow.

This was going to be a long dinner.

Marcel kept shooting him these proper smug looks across the table, especially when Trent had to adjust his collar for the hundredth time.

"Bit warm for a turtleneck innit?" his younger brother said innocently. "Unless…"

Tyler kicked him under the table while Trent shot him a death glare.

Aura started fussing in Dianne's arms, making grabby hands at Trent. "Un-ca! Un-ca!"

"Come here then," he said, grateful for the distraction as he scooped her up. She immediately went for his collar because of course she did. Little menace had proper timing.

"Oh, look at you!" Some woman he vaguely recognized as his mum's friend appeared at their table. "Always knew you'd be good with kids. Speaking of…" she gave him a knowing look. "Saw those pictures of you and that lovely girl. Army officer's daughter, isn't she?"

"Here we go," Marcel muttered, earning another kick from Tyler.

"You two look proper sweet together," the woman continued, completely oblivious. "Really hope this one works out. Would love to see more little ones around soon!"

Trent nearly choked on his water while Marcel started properly cackling.

"You alright there?" his dad asked, while Tyler tried (and failed) to hide his grin.

"Fine," Trent managed, bouncing Aura who was still determined to expose his neck to the whole restaurant. "Just… went down wrong."

"Sure it did," Marcel said under his breath. "Nothing to do with certain… marks."

This time both Tyler and Trent kicked him.

"So," his mum started, using that tone that meant an interrogation was coming, "when are we going to meet her properly then?"

Trent focused on helping Aura with her sippy cup. "Bit early for all that isn't it?"

"Early? It's all over the papers that you're together."

"Doesn't mean we need to rush things," he muttered, while Marcel made whipping sounds under his breath.

"Those photos though," Liv cut in, probably trying to help but making it worse. "Tyler was right about working with her. She's got proper talent hasn't she? The way she captured you - all artistic but still real."

"She's got a good eye," Tyler agreed. "Brands are going mental for those shots."

"See?" His mum wasn't letting this go. "She's practically family already, working with Tyler–"

"Mum."

"I'm just saying! Would be nice to have her round for Sunday dinner sometime."

The thought of April at a family dinner - knowing what she did to him behind closed doors - had his face burning. She'd probably whisper something filthy in his ear just to watch him squirm in front of everyone.

"Let the boy breathe," his dad cut in. "They'll tell us when they're ready."

They. Like it was already settled. Like April hadn't made him sign a proper contract about family meetings.

"I just want to make sure she's good enough for our Trent," his mum said, and Marcel actually snorted his drink.

If she only knew. April was so far out of his league it was actually mental. Here they were worrying if she was good enough for him when really, he was the one trying to earn her approval every day.

"Trust me mum," Tyler said with a knowing look that made Trent want to sink into the floor. "She's exactly what he needs."

Proper violation how right he was about that.

"At least she's local," his dad said, like that made everything simple. "Not like that London lot you were hanging round with before."

"Sophie was alright," his mum defended, making everyone at the table groan.

"Sophie was about as scouse as caviar," Marcel muttered.

"And about as warm as Anfield in December," Tyler added.

Aura chose that moment to properly grab Trent's collar, nearly exposing everything. He caught her hand just in time, but not before Marcel's eyes went wide.

"Bruv," his younger brother mouthed, looking properly scandalized.

"Shut it," Trent mouthed back.

"Is she treating you right?" his mum continued, oblivious to the collar situation. "These artistic types can be… different."

Different. If she only knew.

"She's good to me mum," he said carefully, while Marcel fake-coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "very good."

"Must be," Tyler couldn't help adding. "Never seen him this happy."

"Or this covered up," Marcel whispered, earning simultaneous kicks from both brothers.

"Oi!" Liv cut in. "What's with all the kicking?"

"Nothing," all three brothers said at once, making their parents exchange that look they'd perfected over years of raising three kids.

"Right," their dad said slowly. "Anyone for dessert?"

Thank fuck for dessert menus and their ability to end awkward conversations. Though knowing his family, this wouldn't be the last time they brought up April.

He just hoped next time he wouldn't be wearing quite so many marks to hide.

The Vitality Stadium was proper packed, and Trent's head was everywhere but the pitch. His overnight bag in the coach's hold felt like it was burning a hole in his mind - that new ring from Eindhoven, April's promised punishment, everything that was coming after.

"Earth to Trent!" Robbo shouted during their stretches. "You with us mate?"

He wasn't. Not really. His first touch in warm-ups was shocking, the ball bouncing off his foot like he'd never played football before.

Focus. Football first. Pleasure later.

The match started, and Trent's mind was still in London. His first three passes went straight to Bournemouth players, earning him a yell from Slot on the touchline.

"What's got into you?" Virgil called after Trent misplaced another cross. Even the easy balls weren't coming off - like his body had forgotten everything it knew about football.

Mo somehow managed to score in the 23rd minute despite Trent's wayward passing, putting them 1-0 up against the run of play. Pure instinct that - nothing to do with Trent's contribution.

Slot had them playing deeper in the second half, probably trying to minimize the damage Trent's shocking performance could do. Every touch felt wrong, every decision a split second too late. The gaffer kept looking at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Bournemouth came at them hard after the break, targeting Trent's side like they knew he wasn't right. He took a tackle from their winger, didn't even see it coming.

"Head in the game," Virgil said as he helped him up, proper concern in his voice. "Where are you today?"

In London. In April's flat. Anywhere but where he needed to be.

The last ten minutes were torture - Bournemouth throwing everyone forward, Trent barely hanging on. When the final whistle blew - somehow at 2-0 - his legs were trembling from relief more than anything.

"You alright?" Virgil asked as Trent rushed through his post-match routine, desperate to get out of there.

"Yeah just... got plans."

"Plans that involve sorting your head out? Because that wasn't you today."

"Sorry." He couldn't even argue - it had been shocking.

"Just... be careful yeah? Whatever's going on..." Virgil gave him that captain's look. "Don't let it affect your game."

Too late for that. Everything was affecting his game lately - April, the contract, the punishment coming his way. Football used to be simple. Now nothing was.

But they'd won. Somehow. Despite him playing like he'd forgotten which sport this was.

Maybe April would punish him for that too.

The train from Bournemouth to London felt endless. He'd gone full incognito again - puffer jacket, balaclava, the works. His legs were heavy from the match, and his mind was heavier with thoughts of what April would say about his performance.

A group of lads further down the carriage were watching match highlights on their phones. He could hear their commentary - "TAA's not himself today" and "proper shocking that." They weren't wrong, were they?

His mind wandered to what April might have planned. Punishment for the Sophie thing, obviously. But now probably extra punishment for playing like he'd forgotten how football worked. That's how it worked now - every mistake had consequences, and today had been full of them.

The woman across the aisle was reading the Mail's article about them on her phone. There was that photo again - him bent down to April's height, looking proper lovesick. The headline called them "Liverpool's New Power Couple" which was laughable really. Only power dynamic between them involved him on his knees, and after today's performance, he'd probably be there a lot.

London got closer with every station. His overnight bag felt heavy in his lap - that new ring buried under his clothes, along with other things April had "suggested" he bring. Each item carefully chosen to push his limits.

The tube was packed with Saturday night crowds - couples heading to dinner, groups out clubbing. None of them knowing that Liverpool's right back was standing there, having played one of his worst matches in recent memory, about to face whatever punishment his photographer girlfriend had planned.

By the time he reached her building, his stomach was in knots. The doorman - same one from his first visit - gave him a knowing smile as he buzzed him up.

The lift felt like it was moving in slow motion.

Deep breath.

Time to face his punishment - for Sophie, for the match, for everything. And whatever else April had planned for Liverpool's golden boy who couldn't seem to remember how to play football anymore.

The door opened before he could knock, like she'd been waiting. Pussy Galore was wrapped around April's ankles, yellow eyes judging him as usual. April stepped aside to let him in, and he dropped his overnight bag near the entryway table.

But something was different. April wasn't giving off her usual dominant energy. Instead, she looked... worried?

"What was that today?" She gestured at the muted TV still showing match highlights - him misplacing passes, getting caught out of position. "That wasn't you out there."

"I know–"

"Our professional relationship comes before anything else, you know that right?" She ran a hand through her curls, proper agitated. "I can't have you playing like that again. If this is too much, if what we're doing is affecting your game, we can end–"

"No!" The word burst out before he could stop it, echoing off the exposed brick walls. "Please, no. I was just... too much in my head today."

"About what?"

He slumped against her doorframe, the cool metal of her coat hooks pressing into his shoulder. "Everyone's seen those pictures now. Family friends, neighbors, everyone's got something to say about how I seem 'better' now." His hands clenched. "Like before I was just... I dunno. All those PR relationships, trying to be posh enough for Sophie and her lot. Changing everything about myself to fit in with that London crowd."

"And then Sophie tried stirring shit," April added softly, understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Yeah." He exhaled, watching Pussy Galore wind between their legs like she was trying to tie them together. "Just reminded me of everything I was trying to forget. All that fake stuff."

April moved closer, and for once she wasn't prowling like a predator. Her hand reached up, cupping his chin in a gesture so gentle it made his breath catch. When she pulled him down for a kiss, it wasn't like their usual ones - all heat and demand and earning his pleasure.

This was soft. Tender even. Like she understood exactly what he needed.

When they separated, he could only manage a confused "Whaa?"

She just took his hand, leading him toward the bedroom. The bag with all his "homework" supplies sat forgotten by the door.

"Should I get the ring and everything?" he asked, still thrown by this gentler version of April.

"Maybe later." She squeezed his hand. "You don't need that right now."

Her bedroom was different tonight - no candles, no toys laid out, none of the usual setup for their games. Just the soft glow of her bedside lamp and those black silk sheets he'd become so familiar with.

"Sit," she said, but it wasn't a command this time. More like... an invitation.

He perched on the edge of her bed, watching as she moved around the room. She shed her oversized jumper to reveal a simple tank top underneath - nothing like her usual dominatrix gear or those lacy things designed to drive him mental.

"You know," she said, settling next to him, "when I first met you, I could see right through all that posh act."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm." Her hand found his, fingers intertwining naturally. "Could tell you were trying so hard to be what everyone wanted. The polished footballer, the perfect boyfriend... exhausting wasn't it?"

He nodded, throat tight.

"But that night at the club? When you let that mask slip a bit?" She smiled - not her usual predatory grin, but something softer. "That's when I knew I wanted you."

"For your collection of toys?" The words came out more bitter than he'd intended.

"No." She turned his face toward her. "Because I saw someone who needed what I could give them. Freedom to just... be."

Something in his chest cracked open. Because she was right, wasn't she? All those commands, all that submission - it wasn't about being controlled. It was about being free to want what he wanted.

"Come here," she whispered, pulling him down onto the sheets. No orders, no demands, just... comfort.

He went willingly, letting her arrange them until his head was in her lap, her fingers carding through his cropped curls. Pussy Galore jumped up to join them, settling at their feet like some furry guardian.

"We can play later," April said softly. "Right now, just breathe."

So he did.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, April's fingers in his hair, the steady rhythm of her breathing matching his. No one had ever seen him like this - not Sophie with her polished expectations, not the string of PR-arranged dates, no one.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice was muffled against her leg.

"Hmm?"

"Why'd you make me sign that contract? The girlfriend experience part?"

Her fingers stilled for a moment. "Because I knew you'd need boundaries. Structure." She resumed stroking his hair. "And because... maybe I needed them too."

He shifted to look up at her. "You don't usually do the relationship thing?"

"Not usually." That hint of vulnerability in her voice was new. "Most subs... they're just passing through. But you..." She smiled down at him. "You’re getting under my skin somehow."

"Was it my excellent football skills?" he joked, thinking about today's disaster of a match.

"Definitely not after today." But she was grinning. "Though knowing how you try so hard to focus during training while wearing my marks... that's pretty entertaining."

He felt his face heat up. "Proper violation that."

"You love it though."

"Yeah," he admitted. Because what was the point of pretending anymore? "Love all of it really."

Her hand moved to trace his jaw. "Even the punishment?"

"Even that." He paused. "Speaking of..."

"We're not doing that tonight." Her voice was firm but gentle. "Tonight's just... this."

"Just this," he echoed, settling back against her.

Pussy Galore stretched and repositioned herself closer to them, like she approved of this softer version of their dynamic.

"Though tomorrow..." April's voice carried that familiar edge that made his stomach flip. "Tomorrow we'll discuss your shocking performance on the pitch."

"Yes ma'am."

She tugged his hair lightly. "What did I say about tonight?"

"Sorry." He couldn't help grinning. "Just habit innit?"

"Cheeky." But she was smiling too. "Now shut up and let me hold you."

For once, that was an order he was happy to follow without any punishment needed.

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

Morning light streamed through April's massive windows as she handed him coffee - black, two sugars, just like last time. Pussy Galore perched on the counter.

"Food's on the way," April said, checking her phone. "Ordered from that place around the corner."

"So you don't cook for men but you order food for them?" He couldn't help grinning.

She rolled her eyes but he caught that smile. "Yes, smartarse. Consider yourself special."

They settled at her breakfast bar, morning sun catching her curls. Something about last night had shifted things, made it easier to ask what he'd been wondering.

"Can I ask... how'd you get into all this? The dom thing?"

April took a slow sip of her coffee, considering. "Maybe I was looking for something I never had growing up? Only child, military family - we moved constantly. Prague when I was little, then Turkey, finally the States for a few years."

"Must've been hard, all that moving."

"Was proper mental. Never felt settled anywhere. Came back here for uni in Manchester and..." She smiled at some memory. "Guess I was always rebelling against structure, until I found a way to control it instead."

"How'd you figure that out?"

"Stumbled into it at uni really. Tried being a sub first - proper disaster that was." She laughed. "Turns out I'm much better at giving orders than taking them."

"No kidding," he muttered into his coffee.

"Oi!" But she was grinning. "Watch it or I'll make you eat breakfast on your knees."

His face must've done something because she actually giggled - a sound he'd never heard from her before.

"You're too easy to wind up," she said, just as their food arrived on her phone app. "Now go get our breakfast before I change my mind about being nice this morning."

He went out then returned with their food - proper full English for him, some posh avocado thing for her. Pussy Galore immediately tried to steal his bacon.

"So what was America like then?" he asked, defending his plate from the cat.

"Weird. Lived in the D.C. area because of dad's posting. Everyone thought I was proper posh because of my accent." She smirked. "Should've heard them try to understand my dad's scouse."

"Bet that went down well."

"About as well as when we moved back and everyone here thought I was American." She pushed her food around. "That's probably why I got into photography. Easier to observe than participate sometimes."

"Until you started making footballers strip for art."

"Oi!" She kicked him under the table. "That's a very small part of my portfolio, thank you very much. Though..." Her eyes got that dangerous glint. "You are one of my favorite subjects."

"Because I'm so photogenic?"

"Because you're so..." She tilted her head, studying him. "Genuine. Once you drop the act anyway. Most people in this industry, they're always performing. But you..."

"I just like being told what to do?"

"Exactly." She grinned. "Speaking of which, we still need to discuss yesterday's match."

His stomach flipped. "Thought you said no punishment?"

"That was last night. This morning..." She reached across the table, fingers trailing along his arm. "This morning we need to make sure you remember who you are."

"Yes ma'am."

"There's my good boy." Her voice had shifted into that commanding tone he knew so well. "Now finish your breakfast. You'll need your strength."

Fucking hell.

April collected their plates once they'd finished, moving with that fluid grace that meant she was shifting back into her dominant role. "Get the ring from your bag."

His heart started racing. "But–"

"This morning we're going to work on your focus." Her voice carried that edge again. "Can't have you thinking about me during matches, can we?"

He went to retrieve the ring from his abandoned overnight bag, remembering how different things had felt just hours ago - her gentle touches, the soft conversation. But this was what he needed now, wasn't it? Structure. Control.

"Strip to your boxers," she called from the bedroom. "Then kneel by the bed. Let's see if we can train that wandering mind of yours."

As he followed her commands, he caught his reflection in her full-length mirror. The marks from Eindhoven had faded, but something else was different. He looked... settled. Like he finally knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.

"Good boy," April said from the doorway, now wearing that black silk robe that meant business. "Ready to learn your lesson about focus?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Remember your safe word?"

"Anfield."

"Good." She moved closer, running her fingers through his hair before gripping it tight. "Now let's make sure you never play like that again."

His body responded automatically to her touch, to her commands. This was what he needed - not just the dominance, but the understanding behind it. She knew exactly how to push him, how to make him better.

"Color?"

"Green, ma'am."

"Perfect." That devil's smile was back. "Let's begin."

Christ.

"Today's lesson," April circled him slowly, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor, "is about control. Focus." She stopped in front of him. "Yesterday you let thoughts of me and everyone else distract you on the pitch. That stops now."

"Yes ma'am."

"Put the ring on."

His hands shook slightly as he complied. The metal was cool against his skin, causing his dick to twitch in anticipation.

"Now," she settled on the edge of the bed, looking down at him. "We're going to work on your concentration. I want you to recite Liverpool's upcoming fixture list. Every match, every date."

His brain short-circuited. "What?"

"You heard me." Her foot traced along his thigh. "Start with next weekend."

"Tottenham at home," he managed. "Then..." Her touch was making it hard to think.

"Continue."

"Arsenal away..." He swallowed hard as her foot moved higher, gliding against his balls. "Then... fuck..."

"Language." Her voice was sharp. "And that's not the next fixture."

"Sorry ma'am. Plymouth Argyle away. Everton away."

"Good boy. Keep going."

It was torture - trying to remember dates and opponents while April tested his control in increasingly creative ways. Every time he got distracted, she made him start over.

"This," she said after he'd finally managed the full list without stumbling, "is how we train your mind to focus. To compartmentalize."

"Yes ma'am."

"If you can focus through this..." Her hand gripped his hair. "You can focus through anything. Including matches."

His whole body was trembling with need of release, but his mind felt... clearer somehow. Like she was teaching him more than just submission.

"Color?"

"Green, ma'am. So green."

"Good. Next test," April's voice was pure control. "Tactical setup for Tottenham. Formation, positioning, everything."

His knees were aching on the hardwood floor, the ring a constant reminder of who was in charge and edging him perfectly. But this was different from their usual play - she was actually training his mind.

"4-3-3," he started, then gasped as her nails dug into his shoulders. "They'll - they'll press high..."

"Keep going." Her touch was maddening. "Every detail."

"Their right winger likes to cut inside..." The words came out strained as she added another mark to his collection. "We'll need to... fuck..."

"Start again." No mercy in her voice. "And remember - good boys maintain their focus."

It went on like that - April testing his concentration while he tried to analyze football through a haze of need. Every time his mind wandered, she made him begin again. Every successful recitation earned him praise that made his chest tight.

"Understanding now?" She gripped his chin, making him look at her. "How to keep your mind where it needs to be?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Because next time you let thoughts of me affect your game..." Her nails dug in slightly deeper. "The punishment won't be nearly this pleasant."

His whole body shuddered at the threat and promise in her voice.

"Now," she stepped back, admiring the fresh marks she'd left. "One more test. Champions League tactics...." That devil's smile once more.

Fucking hell. He was never going to survive this session.

But maybe that was the point.

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

Fresh from the shower, Trent examined his new collection of marks in April's bathroom mirror. Some from training his focus, others from his rewards when he finally got it right. His fingers traced a particularly vivid one near his collarbone - that was from reciting the entire Champions League tactical setup without stumbling once.

"These are going to be fun to explain in the changing room," he called out, pulling his t-shirt on carefully.

"Better not get distracted by them during training," April responded from somewhere in the bedroom. She'd shifted back to her usual self - all mystery and edge after their moment of softness last night.

He found her organizing her camera gear, probably for some shoot later. "Hey, was thinking..."

"Dangerous habit that."

"Proper funny you are." He leaned against her doorframe. "Would you maybe want to spend a weekend with me in Liverpool? At my place? Could show you around properly..."

She turned, that familiar smirk playing at her lips. "That's not in our contract, is it?"

"Could be an extra?" He tried for casual but probably missed by miles. "If I earn it?"

"If you earn it?" Now she was properly grinning. "Bold of you to assume you can."

"I can be very convincing."

"Prove it then." She moved closer, reaching up to adjust his collar over the marks. "Show me perfect focus in training and at your matches. No distractions. No mistakes." Her fingers lingered on his neck. "Maybe then we can discuss... amendments to our arrangement."

"Yes ma'am." The words came automatically now.

"Good boy." She stepped back. "Now go. Before I decide to test your concentration again."

At her front door, he turned back one last time. "I'll make you proud next week."

"You better." But her smile was soft for just a moment.

Walking to the train station, Trent couldn't stop grinning. His body ached, his mind was properly exhausted, and tomorrow's training was going to be intense.

For the first time in ages, he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.

Even if what he wanted involved earning the right to show his dominatrix around Liverpool.

Life was proper mental sometimes.

………..tbd

[lacucarachapisser]

give me your honesty colin zabel x f!reader

warnings : smut, oral sex fem! receiving, make up sex, fingering, fluff slash angst, cringe lol, edging i guess, pwp? reader have pubes leads to insecurity, overstimulation, um yeah pretty much thats all. 1.3k wc.

a/n : im trying to get back into writing and ngl this is actually um for me since yknow, somebody has to keep writing for him. i decided to write for part two of this fics, you can read the first chap, but this could stand alone so you dont have to read the first, suit yourself. every like, comment and reblog are very appreciate, i hope you all enjoy this. and apologies if its suck. sorry.

colin holds your body tight, his fingertips pressing onto your back, afraid that his grip might slip if he loosens it even scarcely a little. your fearful thoughts, about his feelings possibly changing, his silence, and the thousand excuses he’d given are nothing compared to his fear of losing you. not again. he doesn’t want to be left again.

“i should be the one who say sorry. i was so stupid.”

you gently stroke his back with your hand, drawing gentle circles against his broad back before slowly pulling away from his embraces, however still in the same position, sitting side by side on the couch.

“you know i love you,” his voice sounds like a whimper, sad and desperate. do you know he loves you? for a split second, your mind assure you that he does, but the rest is filled with doubt about whether his heart is still truly yours.

“i got so caught up,” he crouched closely beside you, clearly unbothered about the fact that you just draw back from his body. “it’s been a really terrible time at work, i’m exhausted and became such a complete ass when you’re certainly trying to be just there for me, i’m so ungrateful. never thought about making you feel left out. i never meant to. i’m really sorry.”

you let him continue his monologue, listening and nodding all along. colin gently moves a strand of hair away from your face, slips it behind your ear. his gaze fixed on you, as if waiting for you to say something. “baby, look at me,” he says.

his brown eyes are flickering. even the lines at the corners of his eyes make him seems even more woeful. “i’ll take a day off, and we can do anything you want, together. what do you think?” you didn’t respond but it put a small smile on your face, and he returns it.

“maybe we can go to the new coffee shop with all the puppies you mentioned earlier, hm?”

no. it doesn’t feel exciting anymore.

“anything you want,” his grip on your waist becomes a little firm, lips lightly starts traveling your face, planting soft kisses on your cheeks and the tip of your nose. you remain silent. colin’s apologies have always been like this. his sorry was just like a routine, continuously repeating. there’s a long pause after those kisses drift across your face. you stay still, fidgeting with the thread in the edge of your shirt.

“let me make you feel better, yes?” he asks, slow and soft as possible. you haven’t even respond at that yet he makes another assertion “come on let me make it up to you” his eyes hungrily scanning your body and face, as if he tries to expose you. “baby, say something.” he sighed and took your face in his hands and turned it towards him.

hearing him saying how he wanted you for making a voice makes you frustrated. now that he talk. where was him all along?

“what do you want me to say?” your silky voice came out like a whisper.

“say you want me,”

he shoots you with his big brown eyes, serious but gentle. his hands start grabbing your hip making their way up slowly to your waist.

“…i want you,”

the smile emerges like a blooming flower, his eyes shone like someone actually got their first jackpot. colin pushes you slowly on the couch to make you more relax. his eyes never leave yours as he gets down and sit on the floor so now that his body perfectly wrapped in between your spread thighs.

“wait, here?” a short hesitation vibrates through your voice.

the unwillingness of waiting sparks through his expression. he nods and quickly unbuttoning your pants, working hard to pull it off. at that moment, the only thing that troubled your mind was, are you clean? like down there? and suddenly never in your entire life you have wanted to take a bath so bad.

in a blink, you have no idea where’s those fabric that supposed to cover up your private. he shamelessly leans his right cheek to your bush. it somewhat abashed you to witness him this way, clinging onto your thin curls and delicately spreading butterfly kisses across of it.

using his skillful jaw, he begins to get your thick lips apart to another. passionately making out with your fold in a very slow motion. he relentlessly hold your labia in his mouth, slightly biting and creating the most obscene sounds you have ever heard. there’s nothing you can do besides squirming and moaning, listen to the slurping sounds he made with your aching cunt.

he grasps your both thighs to prevent you from moving, face pressed to your abused pussy. he starts to add his talented tongue to play around, kitten-licking your clit causing you to jolt in surprise with intense pleasure. the smooth and sweet chuckle which leaving colin’s lips sending a sweet buzz inside, body jerking while gripping his shoulders hard.

“baby, stay still..” he speaks softly, lips still connected to your pussy which criminally doesn’t help to make you stay still at all.

“relax, enjoy it,” he continues to drown his face.

“c-colin…” body arching even more as you writhe, and that didn’t make him stop. he breaths a moan while vibrating his tongue inside you, and it feels like your head is consumed by a huge clouded cyclone.

his eyes flickering back and forth from your core up to your face, watching your reaction when he brutally gobble it up, sucking you as if a baby is suckling at their mama’s.

he starts pushing his two fingers inside you, pumping you slowly. the ecstasy sensation makes your toes curl once more, legs instinctively close, worry you might crush his head between your thighs.

“mm’ taste so good..” he mostly sounds so sweet and cute when talking, but this activity surely make him a bit different. he enjoys every respond you have made. your eyes light up and roll back uncontrollably, imagining those fingers as a violent flesh entering you with a sharp blow, touching your sweet spot over and over. thus makes you grab his hair hard and scream even harder.

“ah colin.. i’m close..”

he quicken the pace and the orgasm feels so much better when he does that. even after the long orgasm, colin still kissing you there. tasting every drop of your honeyed hot syrup that can cause him high, he definitely doesn’t wanna waste it.

“too much.. too much..” you choked and its like an electric shock escalates in every part of your body, hitting hard on your sternum. he smiles and slowly pulls away.

“i’m taking such a good care of my little girl,” he whispers, more like talking to himself rather than to you. the admiration sculptured on his face, another art that he proudly created. “you’re doing amazing, sweetheart,”

it almost makes you work up again listen to his mesmerizing voice, lips so close to your tired pussy, deliberately blowing the hot breath. he did that effortlessly, he always managed to get you work up so easily. the soreness ate your limbs and muscles you can’t move your body properly. the only thing you can do is just draw up a sluggish lazy smile.

“you okay? how was it?” still with a soft smile, a gazing wide brown eyes concerned towards you.

“hm..’mazing like always,” you both let out a little chuckle and he looks exceedingly satisfied.

“let me take you to bed, okay?” you nod and with a last strength you had, you open your arms to welcome him. he places your hands around his neck as he slips his big arms beneath your body, grab and scoop you up in one swing whilst he gets up. he affectionately kisses you on your temple before walking to your shared bed.

“good. i need to get you more comfortable,” you come up with nothing as you think about what’s gonna happen next, whether he’ll let you rest or he’ll take his turn, either way you’d end up take it gladly.

•

•

•

another notes: yes i do remember someone asked me to do pt 2, literally only one person and of course why not. this is for you jazzy @lockedxroses not sure if you remember hehe but yeah this also for all colin’s wives out there. love yall sm<3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I saw what you said about the dreams being nothing and useless to the story, and I was curious about something, do you think the characters that never got closure or development from their book should have stayed like that or do you think a new book should have been made to tie up the initial stories?

Heartslabyul for example had a lot of loose ends on their book that never got resolved, Cater never had focus or allowed development, the others too didnt get true closure, and I thought the heartslabyul dreams was the perfect way to finish their arc in a fulfilling way.

But you hold the opinion the dream arcs shoudnt have focused on them too much right? Do you think It was okay for the characters development to end in their book, or do you think their closure should have been in a different moment or way?

[Referencing this post!]

While I realize that the original post was very critical of the dream hopping segments, I did not mean to call them "nothing" and "useless" as a whole. I'm unhappy with how the dreams were executed, especially the lack of urgency present in them. My main gripe is how the characters know that they're on a time crunch, yet they hardly ever act like it. Instead, they stand around for multiple segments eating fake food or casually sharing stories about their families. This is time-wasting nonsense and it does nothing to help their situation. We quickly started to stray from Diasomnia and the urgency of the conflict at hand in favor of fanservice (like dorm leader Cater, despite Cater expressing he never wanted the position) and trying to explain away that fanservice with contrived dialogue.

Please do not misunderstand me. I never said that I don't want any non-Ignihyde or non-Diasomnia character to get development in book 7. It's true that many characters, especially the non-OB boys, never got the spotlight in previous books or that we never got the satisfaction of seeing their growth this far into the school year. If any of them were going to get attention, it makes sense to do it now as one last hurrah in book 7. It might not have been very obvious due to the critical nature of that original post, but I actually thought some of the later dreams (namely the Savanaclaw and Heartslabyul ones) were good and wrapped things up nicely. I will, however, still lampoon them for having the characters standing around and eating/talking for way too long.

It's not that I wished the game didn't focus on the non-OB boys, it's that I wished the execution of them wasn't so meandering. If the devs wanted to keep the dream segments in, they should have trimmed the fat out. Get rid of all (or most of) the idle parts, or at least trim down on the idle dialogue by a lot. Or maybe just make the OB boys mandatory and the others optional. Like, still part of book 7 but you can read the non-OB boys at your leisure, similar to collecting individual students' wishes in the Wish Upon a Star event, and you only need to clear the OB boys to advance in the story. Have short scenes where dorm members reunite (sort of like at the end of book 6, when everyone regrouped with their respective OB boy) and gear up + strategize with each other. Cut back briefly to Malleus and Lilia's brawl between each dorm, just to keep them relevant and/or remind us of that clock ticking down as Lilia gets more and more worn down. Maybe standardize how many parts are dedicated to every character too… Not have a spread of 4 to 46. That would at least speed us along a little faster or at least give a better sense of rushing to prepare for the fight against Malleus.

That being said, characters don’t just magically stop developing the instant their book ends. They’re changing on their own, outside of the purview of the player or off-screen (like when Riddle talks with his mom over winter break), all the time. A lot of this happens through self-reflection/internal thoughts, so we the players don’t get to see it. It doesn’t mean the characters haven’t changed or wouldn’t change without us viewing it ourselves. Even now, the characters are still growing and changing. Some of them might have more concrete “closure” now (like Kalim finally getting to punch Jamil), but the truth of the matter is that character development never truly “ends” (ie Kalim and Jamil still have their complicated relationship to sort through). It is a continuous thing we consciously work at. There’s truly no end in sight for it. Regardless of whether we got those dream sequences or not or how that development was delivered to us, this still would have been true.

[stxrsniolo]

⠀⠀ ⠀✦ ⠀ :⠀⠀somnium⠀ ⠀💭 ⠀ . . .

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 notes : dear reader, this story will unfold over approximately 15 chapters, all of which have been meticulously outlined by yours truly (aka me, yes). it’s a slow burn between the characters, filled with a little bit of everything—from scenes not suitable for sensitive audiences to purely comedic moments, and even the classic teenage drama you’d expect from characters navigating this stage of life.

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 pairing : dreambound!matt x lucid dream!reader

chapter 06: when the night changes

the morning light seemed to have a different quality to it, brighter, more inviting, as if the sun itself was celebrating matt's newfound happiness. the dreams with heist had become a source of joy rather than confusion, her presence in his subconscious like a beacon guiding him towards a better version of himself.

he was up early, the first one in the kitchen on the second floor, the aroma of coffee already filling the air as he prepared breakfast for himself and his brothers. there was an energy to him, a vibrancy that had been missing for too long.

chris was the first to join him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "yo, you're up early. what's the occasion?"

matt, with a grin that was more infectious than usual, flipped pancakes with the ease of someone who'd found a new rhythm in life. "no occasion, just felt like starting the day right."

nick stumbled in next, drawn by the smell of food and the unusual sight of a cheerful matt. "is this the real matt, or did you get replaced by an alien?"

laughing, matt served them plates piled high with pancakes. "nah, just feeling good, man. can't a guy be in a good mood without it being weird?"

the breakfast was filled with laughter, the kind that comes from genuine happiness. matt was talkative, engaging in conversations about everything from their next video ideas to mundane things like what they should watch on movie night. his accent, always there, seemed to carry a lighter tone today.

"should we do another challenge video? or something more chill, like a Q&A?" matt suggested, his enthusiasm contagious.

chris nodded, his mouth full, "Q&A sounds good. let's give the fans what they want."

nick chimed in, "and maybe some behind-the-scenes stuff, they love that."

after breakfast, matt decided to take on lunch too, a rare occurrence in their household where takeout or simple meals were the norm. he hummed as he chopped vegetables, the melody something he'd heard in one of his dreams with heist.

"since when do you cook like this?" chris asked, watching matt move around the kitchen with confidence.

"since i felt like doing something nice for us," matt replied, the joy in his voice unmistakable.

the lunch turned out to be one of the best they'd had in a while, and the compliments from his brothers only added to matt's good mood.

the day continued with matt feeling this surge of life, this desire to reconnect with the world. he hadn't posted on his personal social media in ages, too caught up in his own head, but today felt different. after showering, shaving, and dressing in a cool hoodie, cargo pants, and his iconic silver horse pendant necklace, he decided to take a selfie.

he posed in front of his bathroom mirror, the natural light from the window softening his features, his smile genuine. he stopped, wondering what he could add to the caption, "nah," he shrugged it off and hit post.

the response was immediate, the comments flooding in:

randomuser: matt's back! and looking better than ever!

randomuser: whoever is making you smile like that, thank you!

randomuser: 🔥🔥🔥🔥

his brothers, seeing the post, gave him knowing looks. "so, who's the inspiration behind this glow-up?" nick teased, scrolling through the comments on his own phone.

matt just laughed, shrugging it off. "just me, trying to get my life back, you know?"

but in his mind, he knew; it was heist, her laughter, her presence, her way of seeing the world had influenced him, made him want to be the best version of himself, even if just to share that with her in his dreams.

later in the day, after the shared activities, matt felt an urge to do something he hadn't done in a while - record for his individual channel, which had been largely neglected. he set up his camera in his room, the same place where he had woken up from his dreams with heist, feeling a connection to her even in this act.

"hey, everyone, it's matt," he began, his voice warm, his accent a comforting sound. "i know i've been kinda MIA for a while, but i wanted to come back with something real, something from the heart."

he adjusted his hoodie, the camera catching the glint of his silver necklace. "lately, I've been thinking a lot about mental health, about how we all deal with our own shit, ya know? and i realized, dreams - not just the ones we have at night - but the ones we chase, the ones we hold onto, they can change everything."

he spoke candidly about how his perspective had shifted, how the night had become not just a time for rest but for discovery, even if he kept the specifics of heist to himself. "i used to think sleep was just sleep, but now, i see it as a reset, a chance to wake up with new ideas, new energy. it's like, if you can dream it, you can live it, right?"

matt shared small bits of wisdom he'd gleaned from his experiences, talking about the importance of listening to oneself, of acknowledging when you need a break, or when you need to push forward. "and mental health, it's not just about being sad or happy... it's about balance, it's about knowing when to reach out, when to take time for yourself, and when to just... dream."

he ended the video with a promise to be more present, not just in his dreams but in his life. "so, thanks for sticking with me... here's to dreaming bigger, living better, and maybe, just maybe, changing the world one dream at a time. peace out."

after stopping the recording, he felt a sense of accomplishment, a feeling of having shared a piece of his soul with his audience. he now could acknowledge totally how heist had influenced this new outlook, her presence, her warmth, even if only in dreams, had given him the courage to speak about these things.

as he prepared for bed, he reflected on the day, on the video, on the selfie that had sparked so much positive feedback. "she's changed me, hasn't she?" he mused to himself, looking at the selfie on his phone. "even if it's just in dreams, she's made me want to be better."

he felt a pang of longing, wishing he could share this day with her, tell her about the video, the comments, the joy she'd inadvertently brought into his life, but for now, he was content with the happiness he felt, the shadow of her influence very much part of his reality now.

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my baddies: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy @mattswifeyy @oopsiedaisydeer @v4lsturn @pair-of-pantaloons @idkwhatthisevenislol

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

[the-spam-specialist]

Fluffy request!

Zooble and Caine spend time brainstorming ideas for parts together. I think it would be cute! (platonically)

It goes about as well as you think. Caine will still be Caine sometimes.

Brainstorming Session

Characters: Zooble, Caine

Word Count: 800-ish

Zooble sat cross-legged in their room—a cozy burst of shapes and patterns that mirrored their eccentric appearance. Today was special, apparently; Caine had decided to dedicate the afternoon to helping them brainstorm new attachable limbs. Or more like he had shown up at their door and proposed the idea with more excitement than should be legally allowed. 

Zooble sighed, “Look, Caine, I appreciate the enthusiasm, really. But I’m… fine.” They waved their arm dismissively. “It’s not like I need new limbs.”

“Nonsense, nonsense! Everyone needs a little pizzazz! And besides,” Caine lowered his voice conspiratorially, “haven't you mentioned wanting… adjustments?” 

Zooble lowered their head a bit. They had told Caine they had been trying to find parts they liked since they had gotten here. It made sense Caine wanted to talk with them about making new parts. They sighed and let him into the room, “Alright, come in.” 

“Wonderful!” He zipped into the room and summoned a notepad and a comically oversized pencil. “Operation: Zooble’s Bodily Bliss is officially underway!”

Zooble narrowed their eyes, “Don’t ever call it that again.” 

“Catchy, isn’t it? Right, so, let’s brainstorm! Think of anything, anything at all! Perhaps… spring-loaded legs for extra bouncy movement? Or maybe arms that can extend to unimaginable lengths for reaching those high shelves I keep forgetting to index?” Caine’s eyes, located within his denture head, gleamed with manic creativity.

Zooble rubbed their mismatched eyes. “Actually…I was thinking…maybe just…normal legs?”

Caine paused, pencil hovering over the notepad. “Normal? Fascinating concept! Elaborate, if you please! Are we talking…bipedal locomotion? Standard issue…human-esque?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.

“Yeah, like… matching legs. So I don’t wobble when I walk. And maybe… matching wing parts for my shoulder slots?” Zooble gestured to the empty slots on their blocky shoulders where wing attachments sometimes resided.

“Hmmm…I think I can make that happen!” The AI jotted all of these notes down, his mind already thinking of all the models he was going to create for these new parts. He then flipped to a page in his notebook that already had words written down on it, as well as some drawings, “I’ve been exploring possibilities for your new arms, too! How about ones shaped like candy canes? They'd be sweet!"

Zooble blinked their mismatched eyes, colors shifting with a gentle annoyance. "Caine, I appreciate it. But candy canes... that’s not really my vibe."

"Ah! Right! Not candy canes, then! How about...tentacles? They could be all squiggly and playful!" His big, googly eyes widened with enthusiasm.

They shuddered at the idea. They knew Caine’s creativity was always front and center with his thinking, but his mind needed to be…grounded while thinking of parts for someone else.  "Caine, I get you want the limbs to be fun, but none of it feels normal. I mean, can I just get something like…hands? Just normal hands."

Caine paused. "Normal, right! Right! What does ‘normal’ feel like to you?”

Zooble looked away, their heart racing at the challenge of explaining something so intrinsic, yet so elusive, even to themselves. They wished for something that didn't call attention but felt like an extension of who they were. “It’s hard to explain. When I think of hands, I think of… you know, helping, holding, existing without all mismatched confusion. I just want to blend in without losing who I am.”

A thoughtful look crossed Caine’s face, “Ah, I see! Blending in while being you...we can do that! How about we create hands that can change colors but function like regular human hands?”

Zooble’s geometric form twisted in curiosity. “Hmmm… that has potential.”

“Imagine transforming from a soft blue for calm moments to a vibrant orange with excitement! You can express yourself while feeling less out of place!” Caine beamed, his enthusiasm lighting up the room.

“Maybe…that could work,” Zooble mused, warming to the idea. It did sound kind of fun. They liked the idea of their arms turning red with anger as they choked the [%$!#] out of Jax. 

After a burst of sketches and ideas filled the digital air, a moment of silence enveloped them. Caine’s eyes flicked back and forth, a hint of uncertainty surfacing amidst his charismatic demeanor.

“Do you…like these concepts?” he asked, a soft gleam in his eye betraying the fear of disappointing them.

“In all honesty,” Zooble began, heartened by Caine’s concerned expression, “this really means a lot to me. Thanks for taking the time to help me with this.”

Caine floated a bit higher, his dentures shining with pride. “You deserve to feel good in your own shape! I will do my absolute best to ensure your limbs feel just right, Zooble! Remember, this circus is a home for everyone, and you should feel comfortable being yourself.”

Zooble felt a tingle within, a mix of gratitude and relief. They had spent so long trying to adjust to an environment which often felt foreign, but here within the warmth of Caine’s endeavor, they felt understood. For once. 

[elftwink]

i know ive said this exact same thing ten thousand times before but it actually boggles my mind that we have just sort of accepted "generational divides" and the resulting discourse. generations are not real on the population scale. there is no dividing year where one generation starts and the next begins. the closest you can get to this is specifically BABY BOOMERS. who were born during the BABY BOOM. because a huge large amount of people had children immediately following the second world war. thats it. since then there has not been another clear generational divide and the things you think are clear divides are probably divides between specifically your age demographic and specifically your parents age demographic. because that's what a generation actually is when we stop trying to form stupid little clubs. im no longer participating in the legitimization of these terms & if i see the word zoomer one more time i'll detonate the explosives

[quietwingsinthesky]

doctor who human!au with multiple doctors but they’re all named by their numbers because they’re all trans and picked them out theirselves.

[shiryawashere]

you ever miss your comfort character so bad you gotta go outside about it

[girlivealwaysbean]

i never grew up it's getting so old

[keeps-ache]

i think that's strike three on accidentally rbing to the wrong blog, is anybody counting hfbshfv

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.