#Get Ex love Back in Liverpool

[captainreecejames]

Down Bad || My Ex is a Footballer OP81 Edition

links [masterlist][my ex series masterlist]

summary it's time you date someone actually your age

pairings ex!andy robertson x reader, oscar piastri x reader

warnings not a good relationship with robertson, cursing

notes guys I'm not a liverpool fan so this was hard for me [kidding]. this took so long because I had trouble getting the dynamic right also I got a new job and working two places has not been easy but I gotta make money in this world.

yn's message august 2022 ---------

ynusername posted august 2022 --------

liked by estebanocon, andyrobertson94 and others

ynusername it's race week again yay!!! But I can't be with my boyfriend booooo

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username1 girl drop him!!!

username2 no boooo actually yayyy!!!

username3 shame she can't be with andy for the start of the season ↳ username4 girl be serious, season started almost a month ago and she was at every home game ↳ username5 yn is a diehard liverpool fan don't worry she was supporting her man

andyrobertson94 gonna miss you babe! ↳ ynusername miss you more!

alo_oficial excited !! 🩷

username6 yn I mean this in the nicest way possible, he's too old for you and he's not good

ynusername posted december 2022 -----

liked by oscarpiastri, alpinef1team and others

ynusername 22 season recap! Thank you so much to Alpine for bringing me into the world of f1 and introducing me to some amazing people, I will always be grateful for the chance you took on me and have love in my heart for you! Now on to being at anfield 24/7 to support my man!!!

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username11 ahhhhh oscar!! I' m fine everything is fine

oscarpiastri have a good break yn! ↳ ynusername you too ossie!

username12 ossie??! i'm screaming i love it already. alpine why did you have to break up my bestfriends that i didn't know were best friends?

estebanocon gonna miss having you around yn! ↳ ynusername oh estie! i'll see you around don't worry.

username13 why the fuck is Andy not commenting? ↳ username14 cause he's a little bitch 👍🏼 ↳ username13 oop

alpinef1team we love you yn! ↳ ynusername gonna miss you babe

username15 damn Andy finally got what he wanted and won't even congratulate her on doing this job ↳ username16 I'm new here, what did Andy want? ↳ username15 he has publicly wanted yn to not work and basically be a housewife, also he's like almost 10 years older than her so it's like weird he wants her to be a kept woman

liverpoolfc we're ready for you! ♥️ by ynusername

yn's messages --------

twitter february 2023 --------

ynusername posted august 2023 -----

liked by landonorris, lance_stroll and others

ynusername first half of the season done with my boss featuring ossie when he sees me sneak into the mclaren garage

oscarpiastri that's literally a lie I don't look like that when you come in ↳ ynusername then why do I have a picture of you looking like that??? ↳ landonorris gonna back him up on this one he does NOT look like this when he sees you ↳ username21 WHAT DO YOU KNW LANDO AHARE WITH THE CLASS

username22 guys not to be dramatic but there's been no Liverpool mention in months, I think she broke up with andy ↳ username23 DONR GET ME EXCITED

ynusername posted december 2023 --------

liked by carmenmmundt, georgerussell63 and others

ynusername sad that the season is over but happy I get a short break from being a full time Alonso Wrangler and part time student. Also lance is sad he hasn't been in a season photo dump so here have this

carmenmmundt 🩶🩶

lance_stroll wtf? ↳ ynusername 🫶🏼 ↳ lance_stroll I sent that to mari ↳ ynusername and she sent it to me ↳ mariloublg_ and I'd do it again ↳ lance_stroll DONT GANG UP ON ME

username34 TWO(2) OSCAR PICTURES? we're winning oscaryn truthers ↳ username35 we need him in the first picture now, no swiping is the next goal

username36 wait, yn are you in classes right now? ↳ ynusername I'm taking 2 classes right now remotely for my masters! ↳ username36 OMG you go girl! ↳ ynusername thanks babe

february 2024

landonorris posted on his story

replies to your story

oscarpiastri delete this

landonorris HAHAHAH

alo_oficial working on getting her to realize

landonorris they are both so dumb

mclaren get a picture together

landonorris you got it boss 🫡

username36 IT'S YN RIGHT! TELL ME IT'S YN LN

ynusername posted march 2024

liked by astonmartinf1, oscarpiastri and others

ynusername and we're back!!! Starting off with some helmet swaps and getting papa stroll a debut on the page

landonorris damn papa stroll gets a pic before me?? ↳ lance_stroll it took me a year to get a debut and even then it was a shit one so shut up ↳ georgerussell63 haha you guys suck ↳ ynusername it's cause Carmen bribed me ↳ lance_stroll and mari didn't? ↳ ynusername she did, that picture is what she wanted ↳ landonorris so what youre saying is I need a gf to bribe you ↳ oscarpiastri damn guess youre never getting your debut on this page ↳ landonorris and how the fuck did you get here???

username41 where's that girl that wanted oscar on the first slide? ↳ username35 RIGHT HERE AND I'M THRIVING

lance_stroll also landonorris that's mr. stroll to you ↳ landonorris okay...

ynusername posted july 2024

liked by landonorris, alo_oficial and others

ynusername oscar i don't have the words to describe how proud i am of you right now but just know that I always believed in you and always will

username51 ughhhh, when will it be my turn

username52 OSCAR WIN SO YN POSTS JUST OSCAR YES

username53 username35 aRE YOU OKAY GIRL? ↳ username35 NO I'M NOT

username35 JUST OSCAR IN EVERY PIC??? AND HE'S CLEARLY LOOKING AT YN? IS THIS MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT?

username54 the way oscar was looking for her >>>

alo_oficial congratulations oscar! ↳ oscarpiastri thank you nando

oscarpiastri thank you yn, you're support means everything to me

username55 no offense but I was kinda expecting more from you here ↳ username35 you want her to confess her undying love for oscar here on a social media post? you want her to do it on the internet instead of just to him privately so you can consume media and be in the presence of a relationship that you clearly have no respect for nor no need to be apart of because they don't know you?? that's what you want? be fucking for real ♥️ by mariloublg_ ↳ username55 first of all you also have a parasocial relationship with them, second of all, it's not weird for me to want her to express more about this when his team was shit to him ↳ username35 i can be excited about her posting him and still fucking respect their privacy. they don't need to post anything for us and it is a PRIVILEDGE that we get to see this. if you make it weird for them and ruin their PRIVATE relationship because you personally think she should be more vocal on social media then maybe you need to do some reflection on how you interact with people

ynusername posted august 2024

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

ynusername summer break is over, now I go back to being a student

load more comments

landonorris yay i can have my osc back ↳ ynusername uhhh... no, you can borrow MY ossie ↳ landonorris agree to disagree ↳ oscarpiastri don't I get a say in this? ↳ ynusername depends ↳ oscarpiastri well i pick you yn ↳ ynusername then yes you get a say

lance_stroll it's about damn time ↳ estebanocon SAYS YOU ↳ alo_oficial none of you have spent as much time with her as I have! I'm the only one that get's to complain ↳ ynusername I was not that bad ↳ alo_oficial yes you were ↳ estebanocon yes you were ↳ lance_stroll yes you were ↳ pierregasly yes you were

oscarpiastri haha babe you have a crush on me? ↳ charles_leclerc you were just as bad ↳ landonorris what he said ↳ oscarpistri damn okay

username35 ahhhh!!! congrats yn and oscar ↳ ynusername thank you! and we both appreciate you being so supportive

username63 see everyone, it pays to be a decent human being! ^^

[sky-is-the-limit]

Meddle About (Part 1)

P: Captain Price x F!Reader

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a pub and begin a beautiful friendship. Though you start developing feelings for the older man, he doesn't seem to reciprocate. That is, until you flirt with someone else to test the waters.

NSFW part 2 here.

WC: 2.3k words

CW: Nothing other than some angst (light), age difference and jealousy.

Notes: The age of the Reader is mentioned only because I feel uncomfortable writing about an age difference where X person is under the age of 23-25.

@glitterypirateduck

You stumbled into the pub, your heart heavy and your mind clouded with the weight of your breakup. The air was thick with the aroma of alcohol and the sound of muted conversations. You sought solace in the dimly lit corner, choosing a table far from prying eyes, hoping to drown your sorrows alone.

As you sat there, lost in your own misery, your gaze wandered aimlessly to the booth next to yours until it landed on him, the older man sitting alone, his presence almost ghostly in the shadows. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, drinking a glass of whiskey with a distant look in his eyes.

At first, you paid him no mind, too consumed by your own despair to acknowledge anyone else's existence. But then, just as the ache in your chest threatened to overwhelm you completely, a notification on your phone pushed you over the edge. It was a message from your ex, a cruel reminder to pick up your things from his apartment.

With a choked sob, you buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought. And then, as if sensing your despair, the older man's voice cut through the haze of your misery.

"Are you alright, love?" He asked, his words gentle and filled with genuine concern.

Startled, you lifted your head to look at him, your vision blurred by tears. His face came into focus, and you found yourself momentarily captivated by the sight of blue eyes, the ruggedness of his features softened by a hint of kindness. He extended a napkin towards you, a silent offering to wipe away your tears.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of whether to trust this stranger even with such an innocent gesture. But something in his demeanor, the warmth in his gaze, made you lower your defenses.

And so, with a shaky breath, you accepted, allowing the soft material to soak up whatever was left of your relationship.

As the night dragged on, the heaviness in your heart began to ease, replaced by a sense of relief as you found comfort in conversation with the stranger. He didn't speak much, but his attentive listening spoke volumes.

You found yourself pouring out your heart to him, recounting the details of your breakup, the betrayal, the lies, the countless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, wondering what you had done to deserve such treatment.

Were you ruining his night out? Was he growing tired of your rambling? Was he secretly wishing for an escape from your company?

Your overthinking vanished every time you looked into his eyes, finding nothing but genuine interest and compassion staring back at you.

The hours slipped away and the pub grew quieter, you realized that this stranger had become more than just a sympathetic ear. And though you couldn't quite put it into words, you knew that his presence had brought you a sense of peace that you hadn't felt in a long time.

As the night progressed, you learned that he was a military man, a Captain stationed at a base just twenty minutes away. His hesitance to get into the specifics of his job only added to the air of mystery surrounding him but you respected his boundaries, content to learn other parts of his personality. It wasn't like you'd understand much of the military life anyway.

In between sips of beer, you discovered common ground in unexpected places. He spoke passionately about his love for football, declaring his support to Liverpool with pride and that sparked playful banter between the two of you, given your loyalty to Manchester United. And then there was his love for 70s rock music, a good old Sunday roast and his German Shepherd named Bucky.

Everything he uttered seemed to captivate you. But it wasn't just his words that kept you staring in awe. It was the way he carried himself, the undeniable aura of strength and confidence that followed him.

His strong, masculine features were impossible to ignore. The full beard that hugged his face and trailed down to his neck, the small charming beauty mark on his nose, his ocean blue shaded eyes.. There was no force im the world that could tear your gaze away from him.

Despite being seated, he seemed to tower over most in the room, his tall frame accentuated by his broad shoulders and defined physique with thighs barely fitting under the table.

Each time your eyes met, you felt a rush of excitement, a flutter in your chest that you couldn't quite explain.

He definitely noticed, there was no doubt about it. You caught him watching you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips but he never made a point of it. It was as if he welcomed your attention, basking in the way you were taking him in yet never crossing the line between polite conversation and flirting.

Around two after midnight, the pub began to empty out, leaving only you and the interesting stranger as the sole costumers.

Stepping outside, the chill of the rain hit you both, shimmering under the moonlight as it landed on the darkened street below and he wasted no time in offering you his coat.

You protested but he insisted, draping it over your head as you both dashed towards your car. The rain poured down relentlessly, soaking him through and yet he seemed unaffected, almost as if he enjoyed the feeling of the water against his skin or perhaps in a way to make the night last a little bit longer.

As you turned the ignition, a sudden realization struck you. In the midst of the conversation, you had forgotten the most basic of exchanges. Names.

"Hey!" You called out over the drumming rain, "I never asked for your name."

"John Price." Came his simple reply, accompanied by a a small smile.

You reciprocated with your own name, something so simple suddenly feeling intimate, important. After saying your goodnights, you closed the door and began to drive away, the rain beginning to taper off.

But then, a nagging thought tugged at your brain. His coat still laid draped over your shoulders. Without giving it a second thought, you turned the car around and rolled down the window, calling out into the night.

"Hey, John! I still have your coat!"

He turned, his silhouette illuminated by the fading streetlights, and yelled back, "Bring it back here tomorrow, same time."

With a smile tugging at your lips, you nodded in agreement. That night, as you drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of your recent breakup seemed distant and insignificant. Instead, your mind was filled with the memory of the handsome Captain and the promise of tomorrow.

/////

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, your meetings with John at the pub became a tradition. Every Wednesday and Saturday, like clockwork, you would find yourselves drawn back to that familiar corner booth, where the outside world faded away and it was just the two of you, lost in conversation.

Your advances were subtle yet unmistakable, a brush of your hand against his, a playful flirtation laced with innuendo. And though John never shut you down, his demeanor remained restrained, as if he was holding himself back from crossing an invisible boundary.

He never pushed for more, never crossed the line into something deeper, leaving you to wonder if the attraction was one sided.

It was both frustrating and endearing at first, what had started as a playful game of cat and mouse had morphed into something deeper, more profound and the anticipation of seeing him, of sharing those precious hours together, became the highlight of your week.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. It was borderline obsessive how you tended to every detail, choosing the perfect outfit and spending hours grooming yourself to ensure you looked your best for him.

While his eyes traced the curves of your body with hunger, his hands always remained glued at his sides. Always a good conversation, a walk to your car and a goodnight to leave you awake at night, going through every scenario possible.

It was maddening, the way he welcomed your touches and flirtatious banter without ever making a move of his own.

Perhaps, if he was to turn you down outright, to reject your advances and put an end to the torture, it would be easier to accept. You could move on, content in the knowledge that you had tried and failed. But John never did that.

And so, that particular night, you swore, it would be different.

////

Another Saturday night unfolded and you found yourself once again nestled in the comfort of your favorite booth at the pub, opposite of John.

Dressed in figure hugging black dress that accentuated every curve, you couldn't help but feel confident and ready for what you were about to do. The neckline dipped low, offering a glimpse of your cleavage while the bold red lipstick painted your intentions clear for all to see.

Taking a moment to gather your courage, you lifted your glass to your lips, the sweet aroma of your fruity cocktail easing your nerves. After taking a sip, with a playful smile, you turned to John, nudging the glass towards him.

"Wanna try my drink?" You asked, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness.

You knew all too well that John was a man of simple tastes, his preference for whiskey never changing. Your intentions weren't supposed to change that, anyway.

John's gaze lingered on the glass for a few seconds and returned to yours, a small smile playing at his lips.

''I don't think I'm gonna enjoy drinking that one, love.'' He replied with a chuckle as he took another sip of his usual choice.

That was your moment.

With a coy smile, you took another sip from your cocktail, savoring the fruity sweetness that danced on your tongue and then, with a boldness you hadn't known you possessed, you placed your hand on John's thigh, the touch of your fingertips freezing him into place.

"You don't have to drink it to enjoy the taste." You replied, your words dripping with innuendo whilst you took in his unusually tensed reaction.

Without waiting for John's response, you leaned in, the anticipation coursing through your veins like wildfire.

Your heart pounded loudly against your chest as you pressed your lips against his, the taste of whiskey and strawberries mingling together the more you took his bottom lip between your own. There was a hesitance in the way your mouth moved, your tongue grazing his own as you awaited for him to deepen it.

Feeling the warmth of John's palms resting on your shoulders, you couldn't help but anticipate his next move, to reciprocate the kiss and finally make you his.

But to your surprise, instead of drawing you closer, John gently pushed you back, disconnecting your lips with a tender touch that almost felt like betrayal. His eyes remained closed, his expression unreadable as if he was still lingering on the taste of your kiss, contemplating what he was about to do next.

Feeling the weight of John's eyes piercing through you, you couldn't bring yourself to meet them, the sting of embarrassment and disappointment burning hot against your cheeks.

You felt exposed, vulnerable in a way you had never felt before. As his hands left your shoulders and came to rest on the table, you could sense the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

And then, finally, his voice broke the silence, "Y/N, I can't." He said, his tone filled with a mixture of pity and regret.

"Even if I want-" He started to say, but then abruptly stopped, as if his own thoughts had betrayed him.

You wanted to scream, to cry out in frustration and anger, but all you could do was sit there, confused and curious to the thought of him finishing that sentence.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you took in a deep breath and with trembling hands, you finally raised your face to look at him.

All you managed, was a one word question coming out as a barely audible whisper, ''Why?''

His hesitation, his struggle to articulate his thoughts only grated against your nerves but you sat there patient, waiting for him to state a good enough reason that would match with his last sentence.

"You're so young and I-" John began but his words only added to your ticking bomb. His excuse felt like a slap in the face, and before he could finish, you cut him off, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"Young? Is that it?!" You exclaimed, the anger in your voice palpable. "I'm 25 for fuck's sake!"

In that moment, what he said, the implication of his excuse became painfully clear. It wasn't about age. It was about fear, about his own insecurities. But you refused to be dismissed so easily.

"Younger, then." He persisted, correcting himself, his tone tinged with frustration. "You should be out there flirting with guys your own age, not messed up middle-aged men that you meet at a shady pub."

How dare he, you thought, how dare he belittle your choices, your feelings like that?

Your eyes widened in disbelief at what he was saying, the anger bubbling up inside you threatening to boil over. How could he be so blind, so oblivious to the depth of your feelings?

"Guys my age, huh?!" You retorted sarcastically, raising the volume of your voice just enough to make him look back into your eyes.

But instead of backing down, John simply nodded to your question. And then, as if to salt to your wound, his eyes trailed around the pub, landing on two young guys ordering a drink at the bar.

"Someone like him, not me.'' His tone devoid of self-pity or insecurity.

It was as if he was protecting you, shielding you from the potential pain that could come from being with someone like him.

His words only added more fuel to your fire that was threatening to consume you whole and so you stood up from your seat, straightening your dress with a determined flick of your wrist. Every fiber of your being screamed with frustration, but you refused to let it win.

"You know what, maybe you are right." You said to John, your voice tinged with bitterness.

Trailing your gaze towards the blonde guy at the bar, who seemed more interested in his reflection on his front camera than anything else, you saw an opportunity.

With a calculated move, you turned back to John, his eyes awaiting your next move. With a forced smile, you continued, "Maybe I should take my chances with a younger guy."

Without another word, you turned on your heel, grabbing your purse and made your way towards the bar. As you approached the blonde guy, you could feel John's eyes boring into your back but you tried your hardest not to take a peak.

Instead you sat down next to the new stranger, who finally put his phone down and turned his attention towards you, giving you a warm smile before introducing himself with a simple, ''Hey.''

Glancing back at John for a brief moment, you noticed an unfamiliar look in his eyes. A mixture of possessiveness and jealousy that sent shivers down your spine.

With his jaw clenched and posture tense, John seemed poised to stand up. But you refused to let his sudden change dictate your actions and so maintaining the same fake smile as before, you turned back to the blonde guy.

"Hey, there." You replied, your tone light and casual as you greeted him back.

It was time for you to finally be the cat and it was only a matter of seconds before the mouse came running back to your claws.

[bobskysworld]

moved on- Jadon Sancho

pairings: ex!Jude Bellingham x black! fem reader; current bf!Sancho x black!fem reader

type: SMAU

warnings: small angst if you squint

summery: 5 years down the drain, you swore you’d be done with footballers but here comes another to pick you up (starts in 2023)

note: this is my first post! the lack of Sancho on this app is sickening🫠💔, so requests are open for most footballers lmao, feel free to drop some feedback for me :)))

I also ran out of picture space, so I might do a part 2...

liked by user3, jobebellingham, realmadrid, 1,408,983 others

yourusername HELLO MADRID🤍

user2 ahhhh hello queen!🤍

user6 the only good thing to come out of Jude’s transfer is seeing Y/N in white🤭

user5 Y/N giving us quality Jude content😮‍💨

user6 our favourite Jude fan page fr!🤞🏽

yourusername i’m flattered!🤭

judebellingham of all the pictures we took last night…

yourusername none of them are IG friendly🧍🏾‍♀️

trentalexanderarnold THERE ARE KIDS ON THIS APP

realmadrid 👏🏽👏🏽welcome to Madrid Y/N

yourusername thank you so much!

jobebellingham maybe i miss you guys…

yourusername I KNEW IT

judebellingham HA! and you said you wouldn’t miss us

jobebellingham i take it back.

mbappe welcome welcome!

user9 how long have her and Jude been together?

user11 5 years… why does it matter anyways?

realmadridwags another beautiful WAG added!

liked by user8, user11, mbappe, trentalexanderarnold, 1,290,389 others

yourusername first game of the season, congrats on the win boys and HALA MADRID🥳🥳

user7 i ran into her after the game and she is the sweetest!

user9 that should be meeee💔💔💔

judebellingham 😉that goal was for you btw

yourusername i’d be offended if it wasn’t

jobebellingham arn’t all your goals for her?

judebellingham shut up you doughnut

realmadrid our favourite lucky charm!

realmadridwags repping the merch!😌

itsjiordynn was a BLAST meeting you yesterday

yourusername I LOVED MEETING YOU BEAUTIFUL!

itsjiordynn let’s leave these stinky boys and run away together

judebellingham AYE AYE HOLD ON NOW REF HAVE A WORD WITH HER

user4 i hope you enjoyed queen!

yourusername story:

judebellingham story:

liked by user1, user9, user 7 and others

halamadridnews BREAKING⚠️ Jude Bellingham spotted at Liverpool game with bombshell model Ashlyn Castro just shy of a month before his 6th year anniversary, has he broken up with long term girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N?

FULL VIDEO IS LINKED IN OUR BIO

user8 after 5 years together? men are really dogs

user4 what if... now walk with me now... WHAT IF THEY'RE FRIENDS???

user7 he walked down to the pitch to greet Trent and smiled up at her while pointing and speaking to Trent... that's not a friend

user5 okay grandma, lets get you back to bed

user04 the evidence is literally RIGHT THERE

user9 NO NOT MY MOM AND DAD

user3 oh my poor Y/N :(((

user6 I mean after 5 years I would also look elsewhere

user5 oh that's not....

user3 GET A LOAD OF THIS GUY

user1 have they picked you yet?

yourusername posted stories

liked by user9, user48, user19, user58, and 2,749,008 others

yourusername down time

user4 MOTHER?????

user36 mom who is this?

user5 yes mom, we need to approve of this man

yourusername soon my children, soon

user3 wow, it feels real now

user38 we are children of divorce omgggg

user95 moved on fast I see... always knew she was a gold digger

user4 "gold digger" mind you SHE was cheated on by YOUR boy.. user7 God forbid a woman heals from heart break and moves on.. user4 its been 2 years guys...

trentalexanderarnold HEY LOOK WHOSE BACK!!!

yourusername slowly but surely

jobebellingham missed you loads sis

yourusername missed you too stink! user2 Y/N got Jobe in the divorce

nonizinoo10 oh is this....

levicolwill this must be.... romeolavia the myth and the legend... user8 why's the whole of Chelsea here???

chelsea enjoy your holiday💙

user6 wait a damn minute could that be....

user7 starts with a J, rhymes with maiden?

liked by nonezinoo10, pedroneto_30, Chelsea, 1,389,888 others

sancho what they call a photo dump innit?

user5 are we just gonna slide past frame 2?

nonizinoo10 the boy 💪🏾

romeolavia no wonder he's not answering the group chat sancho aye chill, the reception here is bad nonizinoo10 is that her name now? sancho ENOUGH

colepalmer ❄️

user9 OH WE LOST A SOLIDER TODAYYY

user7 if 2 + 2 is 4...

user0 lets get you to bed now grandma

chelseafcwags a new WAG??

user7 and she's got melaninnnnn

levicolwill enjoying your holiday I see....

reecejames rest well, need you recharged for the next season

liked by user5, user8, sancho, Chelsea and 2,789,092 others

yourusername I wish this could last forever

user9 okay you can stop edging us nowwwww

user4 you look so happy

sancho the best 2 months of vacationing with you of my life❤️ user8 SO YOU'VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR 2 MONTHS??? yourusername a year and a half* 😉 sancho best year and a half of my life romeolavia okay broken record 🙄 sancho who needs haters?

levicolwill was a pleasure meeting you on FaceTime! (invite her to a game Sanch)

sancho all in due time bro

reecejames I hope he's been staying on the diet yourusername I'll make sure he's in the gym 8AM sharp on Monday captain! sancho you can't even wake up before 10AM angel... yourusername hush boy.

user9 she's already vibing with the Chelsea boys

chelseafcwags NEW CHELSEA WAG!! Welcome Y/N!!

user8 I remember when she was a Madrid WAG... user0 OH MA GOD BRO GET OVER ITTT

jobebellingham I'm happy for you big sis🩷

yourusername 🫂 user00 awe Jobeee

user55 how do you fumble someone this beautiful bro

user2 idk man lets ask user judebellingham

pedroneto_10 Carolina said she can't wait to meet you!

yourusername I can't wait to meet her!!! (Jadon won't invite me to a game) sancho FALSE!! YOU WANTED ME TO WAIT UNTIL WE SOFT LAUNCHED yourusername YOU HAVE NO PROOF OF THESE ALLEGATIONS sancho actually I have texts.... yourusername oh! sancho I thought so....

user9 PLEASE THEY ARE SO FUNNY

user 40 we missed happy Y/N!

[lisenberry]

The Mountain is You

Ch. 5 - I'm pouring out myself, I'd give it all for the view

4.5k

CW: John's POV. All the usual bdsm suspects, plus chemical play, edging, penis in vagina sex (yay finally!) and nipple play. Men talking about their feelings (kind of) and John's divorce.

MDNI/NSFW

(Start from the beginning) (Ao3)

You were perfect. 

John was sure to tell Simon as much when he met him for a pint to watch the Liverpool versus Man United match one Saturday afternoon.  Whether they were home or deployed, they'd always made time to connect over their friendly rivalry.  It had been their tradition for years before he met his wife.

Ex-wife.  He had to correct himself often, despite being divorced for longer than they’d been married.  The ‘ex’ made it sound like a failure.  A premature evac from a hostile, unbeatable situation.  An unsuccessful mission.  Unable to execute the objective. 

“You make it impossible to love you, John,” she’d told him at the end of it all.  He hadn’t disagreed, necessarily.   He just thought he had more time to get it right.  War hadn’t come easily to him at first.  He expected love to be just the same.

His work at Life Connect 141 had been a bridge for him back into the real world.  Civilization.  Maybe he’d rushed things in his desire for the normalcy that seemed so easy for everyone else.  She wasn’t a natural Sub, and after his initial charm wore off, she’d balked at his gruffness.  Fought back against his need for control. 

She’d called him selfish.  That was the one that cut the most.  Hard-headed?  Always.  Cold?  Sometimes.  But selfish?  Never. 

Not when he’d devoted his life to the service of things beyond himself.  His country.  His men.   His clients.  He’d been prepared to do the same for his woman.  But it hadn’t been enough. 

He wasn’t enough.

Mortar fire hadn’t felled John Price.  Torture hadn’t broken him.  Marriage had rocked him to his bloody bones.

“I missed you, mate.”  Simon tapped his glass to the side of John’s before he took a long pull.

“I’m sorry, Simon.  For staying away so long.”  For hiding out like a fucking coward.  Forsaking the people that had been there for him when it mattered.  For being the first to get married, and the first to leave. 

Ghost had never approved of her, and saw something in the situation that John hadn’t.  Until it was too late.  As he’d done so often in the field.  At least no one died.

“S’alright.  Glad you had the good sense to listen to me this time.  For once.”

“For once?”  John smirked as they both paused long enough to watch the match unfold on the screen above them.  Man United had a chance to score, but the ball was intercepted by the defenseman at the last minute.

“Fucking hell,” Simon groaned at the miss.  “Looks like I’ll be owing you ten quid before we’re through.”

“I might let you off the hook.  On account of my pleasant mood.”

“The dove got you that good, eh?”

Good was an understatement.  From the very first session when you’d looked up at him with those shy, trusting eyes, he knew it was going to be the beginning of something special.  Something he could enjoy getting right. 

Bleeding Jesus, you were fearless.  A bit tough to crack at first.  But you were smart, and kind.  You could steady yourself and didn’t mind being led, slowly and gently, into something deeper.  A little more intense. 

There were boundaries he couldn’t cross, but everything else had been free to explore.  He’d forgotten that there were things out there that he hadn’t seen yet.  Hadn’t done.  Puzzles he hadn’t yet solved. 

Watching you react, watching you fight, watching you take it all and finally give in—seeing you come from something he did was like jumping out of a plane, or disabling a bomb.  You had called it a rush.  It was the closest he felt to living in a long time.

You’d asked him what he was looking for in the arrangement.  At first it had just been a distraction.  A diversion from the mundane one-night stands and overindulgence in alcohol and pain killers that had taken up his days and nights.  He wasn’t out for his own satisfaction at all.  Didn’t even consider using you for his own pleasure until you begged it from him. 

And when you did, he’d felt something change inside him.  A door unlocked. 

You were strong.  He admired that.  They’d all seen clients who thought they wanted something, only to find out later they’d been wrong.  Pain slut wasn’t a designation given lightly.  Especially not without any backstory as to how you'd come to crave it.  There was a fine line between masochism and self-harm, but you seemed to have reached a balance that worked for you.

But John wasn’t any closer to finding out why you needed what you needed.  Maybe it wasn’t his place.  Maybe he was the instrument, the weapon, and you were the directive.  Nothing more complicated than that.

It vexed him all the same.

He wanted to please you, and to do that he needed to know you.  It was a relationship, no matter how calculated the terms. 

More than that, he fucking liked you.  Despite all his efforts to the contrary.  All his safeguards in place to protect against the eventuality.  A Dom didn’t need to have feelings for his Sub.  Fondness, sure.  An attraction helped. 

“I haven’t figured her out yet,” John mumbled into his pint.

“Who hurt her, you mean?”

That, too.  The fierce protectiveness that coiled like a serpent in his chest. 

“That’s not really for us to know, is it Cap?  Not part of the job, as you always said.”

“Right.  I did say that, didn’t I?” he conceded.  “Why’d you give her up?  You could’ve done some side work, outside of company time.  I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“The bird outgrew the nest.  Probably for her own good.  You know how I get.  If I had her to myself, I’d find a way to fuck it up.  I still need the rules.”

John knew all about that.  Ghost worked just fine alone, but he did best with something to tie his leash to.  Given free rein, it was easy to forget they weren’t all still animals. 

John walked into your next session to find you naked, kneeling on your pillow and facing his chair.  He thrummed with anticipation, as he always did, at the perfect picture of subservience you made.  Free of anything of your own.  With only what he gave you.

He’d changed your usual routine by not laying an outfit for you to wear across the chair.  Instead, he left a small box tied with ribbon on the seat.

He spent the day wondering if you’d open it without him, but it wasn’t a test that you could fail.  He wouldn’t put you in that position.  And he wouldn’t have been disappointed if you did.  It was more of an experiment for his own amusement.  Would he arrive to find you naked, as you were?  Or would you open it, and take it upon yourself to model it for him when he came in?

The prize inside was as much for him as it was for you.

“You waited for me, I see.”

“Yes, sir,” you answered, curiously.  Two simple words he’d heard thousands of times before, and yet from you, they held multitudes. 

He crossed the space in two long steps and sat in the chair, legs spread wide as he bent forward to offer you the box.  “Open it.  It’s a gift.”

Your eyes drifted from his enough to untie the bow and look inside, widening briefly as the gold caught the light.  A soft smile on your lips as you let it dangle in between your fingers.

“I can’t collar you like I want to, but I thought maybe this might suit you better anyway.”  He’d had it custom made.  Finely detailed and glittering with real stones.

“It’s beautiful.  Will you help me put it on?”  You held it out to him excitedly, with your bottom bouncing off your heels to meet him at his lap, before you stopped just shy of touching him without permission.

There were two nipple clamps on one side of the chain, and two more for your labia or clitoris on the other.  A sweet, pretty sort of thing that contradicted the sharpness of its bite.  It reminded him of you.

So much more than meets the eye.

“Inspection first, sweetheart.  Sit pretty for me.”  It was his command to sit up straight with your knees slightly parted and your hands clasped behind your head.

The perfect starting point for most of the activities he’d planned throughout your time together.   It gave him a lovely view of your form, and any areas from previous sessions that were still too sore to use again.

It had been two weeks since your last appointment, and he looked for any lingering rope burns from his Shibari work or cane marks fresh enough to be in danger of opening up again upon contact.

“Spin,” he said, satisfied that your front was in good shape, and you shuffled around to show him your back and rear.

Nothing in particular concerned him, as he ran his hand over the meat of your rump and thighs. 

“Does that hurt?”  There was some bruising, and he tested it by giving your ass a light squeeze.

“No, sir.”  He was satisfied when you didn’t flinch.  Even so, your front was in the best condition, and it would work best for what he had planned.

“Good,” he gave you an affectionate pat to signal he was finished.  “Lay with your tits up on the ottoman.  I’ll be right back.  And then you’ll get your gift.”

He left long enough to find a set of four velvet ties and a few other things he’d been waiting to try, and returned to secure your wrists and ankles to the legs of the rectangular upholstered stool. 

It was yet another thing he had made just for you.  He judged the size based on your first meeting with him and Ghost.  Between it and the pillow, there were two pieces of you that never left his apartment.  They held your lingering spirit as he filled the hours before you came back again. 

He often stopped whatever he was doing to picture you on it, and the sounds you made would ring like a comforting piece of music in the stark solitude of his home.

“What a sight you make,” he muttered to himself.  You filled it out so well as he dragged the chain from your collarbone, through the valley of your breasts and down to your navel. 

It left a trail of goosebumps as your nipples pebbled and your stomach fluttered.  A slight shiver curled your toes in response.  You were sensitive today, he noted.  It made him wonder what had you so worked up. 

He remembered how sexy you looked in the restaurant a few weeks before.  Smiling through your teeth while you held the balls of a couple of corporate muppets in the palm of your hand.  He imagined you always had to be the smartest person in the room. 

Your job demanded it, and maybe your personal life did too.  Maybe you were just so tired of being strong, and the release of that pent up aggression felt good.  To stand down and surrender to someone even more fierce than you.  To let yourself fear something. 

To let yourself feel something.

“These are sprung extra tight, so you’re going to feel a pinch,” he warned, as he palmed a breast and clamped the first of your nipples with the small, shiny vice.  You bit your bottom lip as he moved to the second.  “How’s that?”

“Incredible,” you breathed, brows pinch in concentration as you kept your eyes on him.  “Sir.”

You were always quiet at first.  That sort of “Keep Calm and Carry On” demeanor that kept you to yourself until he opened you up.  Until you let it all go.

“Good,” he nodded his response, moving to kneel between your legs for a better look at your folds.  But instead of using his hands to part you for inspection, he used the clips.  Securing each side like a set of curtains before delving between them with his mouth.

He couldn’t resist a taste, as the blunt hair of his mustache met the soft curls of your cunt.  Filling his nose and mixing his own salvia with the slow drip of your arousal.  He followed the length of your slit from top to bottom and back again.  Stopping to suckle along the straining bud of your clit. 

You did moan then, finally, he thought.  That sweet tune just for his ears as you let the pleasure wash over the sharpness of the clamps’ bite like a wave over jagged rocks.  He almost lost himself in it, forgetting everything else he wanted to do, as you softened and swelled under his tongue like a flower opening its petals in a lush bloom.

“Not yet,” he hummed, swiping the tip of his nose across the hood of your clit affectionately.  He allowed himself to smile a bit indulgently as if it were a lover before he stood in view of you.  His expression returned to neutral as you squirmed and sputtered at the denial.

You knew better than to argue, but he couldn’t help but wish that you did.  A pathetic growl of frustration was his only reward.

“You didn’t think this was your only present, did you?” he tutted, as he straightened with a small groan of his own and found the small plastic tube he’d set aside.  He held it up to show you the label before pulling on a pair of black rubber gloves.

It was a menthol cream used to treat muscle aches and pains, of which he had plenty.  On the sensitive areas of your sex, it would burn like hell before fading to a cooling numbness. 

As he released the clamps and massaged a pea-sized amount into your outer lips, you hissed a sharp, cleansing breath through your teeth.  With his clean hand, he drew gentle, tickling circles around the insides of your thighs. 

“The wetter you get, the less it’ll hurt.  Unless you like it like this?”

“I like it...sir.  Just like...umm...that.” you answered in broken words while your eyes rolled back in your head.  He watched you fight silently past the searing pain and onto acceptance as his smooth, gloved fingers dipped in and out of your hole to mine the thick, soothing slick within.  It coated like syrup as he slid it along your folds as he would a salve.

He ached to taste you again, to bring it up to his mouth and lick it his fingers clean, but your natural mix of scent and flavor would be tainted by the cream.  Instead, he continued guiding you along your path.

“Are you going to come, lass?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”  You remembered yourself just before he could pull away, “Please, sir.”

But he stopped you short with you a harsh slap to your still burning cunt, and a hard yank on the clips still hanging from your tits.  It pulled your attention in too many directions to focus on your building orgasm, and he watched with the calculation of an interrogator as your muscles quivered and your posture deflated in your bonds.

“Bastard,” you whispered, under your breath.  So softly you probably didn’t even hear it.  But he did.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing.  Sorry, sir.”  You had the nerve to grin, and he fought back his own.

“I see we still have too many brain cells left in that pretty little head.  Guess you’re not ready yet.”

“I’m sorry, please!  Please let me come,” you yipped like a wounded puppy, despite the blissed out smile on your face.

If you weren’t all the way gone yet, he’d just have to fuck you down.  He’d been waiting for the right moment, when all of his tricks of torture failed to work, and you needed something more to push you over the edge.

“Mouthy little brats don’t get what they want.”

He emphasized his admonishment with another slap to the inside of your thigh, before he unbuttoned his pants and set himself free.

“If that’s your punishment, I’ll call you every name in the book, sir,” you huffed, and tested the stretch of the velvet ties as you shifted your body ever so slightly to meet his.

“Careful, I’ll change my mind.”

He couldn’t take it back if he wanted to.  His cock was hard as fucking steel, and he was seeing double with the blood loss to his head.  The sight of your pussy so irritated and swollen, sopping wet despite what he knew was enough of a sting to bring a tear to his own eye.

It was only the thought of him not fucking you that made you finally beg proper, a genuine tremor to your bottom lip as you promised to be good.

“That’s better”, he chuckled inwardly, as he unrolled a condom down his length.  He hated the damned things, but to be completely honest, he’d tested the cream before he used it on you and had no desire to feel it again.

He could take a certain level of pain, but he didn’t enjoy it as much as you did.  He reminded himself he hadn’t gone soft, he’d just had enough of it to fill a lifetime.

And that was the last coherent thought he had, for when he pressed the tip—as dulled as it was by the latex—past the incredibly hot, blessedly pliant band of your entrance, he nearly lost all control.  He didn’t know whose moans he heard first, for you both exchanged oaths at the coupling.

He gripped under your hips to pull you in closer, his own knees bent in a crouch to meet the height of the ottoman, and sank to the root with a flush of motion that knock the air from your chest.  Tears flooded your eyes, and you squealed and squirmed at the stretch.

The hair at his root and sac buffered against any remaining residue of the cream, diluted as it was with your juices, and he thrust with the momentum of a horse at full gallop.  When the sting of the menthol faded, you’d be left numb, and he couldn’t have that.  Not before he gave you what you wanted.

“You’re going to come, sweetheart.  You’re going to come on my cock, or not at all.  Understand?”

Your head bobbed with the rhythm of his hips, and you struggled to speak.  How could you feel so hot?  How could you feel so good around him?  How did he feel like it was the first time he’d ever fucked so hard in his life?

“Answer me, damn it!"  You were going to come, and you were going to ask permission, and he was going to pump his seed into your perfect fucking—

“Yes, yes.  Sir.  I’ll come on your cock, please let me.  I’m going to—oh god!”

He felt the ripple through his hands first, where they fisted into your hips and ass.  And it slowly rushed to your core, as it shuttered and gripped his length.  A fresh wave of slick flooded your walls like a hot bath around him, and he cursed the bloody condom for keeping it from his skin.

“That’s a girl.  Take it.  Take it all.”  He didn’t stop until you came again, a second burst that started before the last one ended.

When he was convinced that you’d screamed your throat hoarse and were left a panting and whimpering mess, he pulled out and tossed the empty condom to the floor.  Instead of spilling inside it, he waited just long enough to stuff your face with the mound of hair at his base and jerked himself to completion against the purple tips of your poor pinched teats.

You inhaled deeply at the musty, sweaty juncture of his balls, sucking in any air you could get.

“Easy now.  Just breathe.  That’s it,” he cooed, as he fought to keep his own heartrate steady and wiped the rivers of perspiration from his brow with the back of his arm.  The last spurts of spend dripped from his tip as if in reluctant surrender.

If he gave you an extra minute to settle before he tried to move you, it was out of courtesy, and not because he was afraid of his own knees buckling from the force of his orgasm.

“Do you mind if I stay under a bit longer?  I don’t want to come out yet,” you spoke slowly, groggily as you turned further into the crook of his arm.  “That was the...hardest I’ve ever come.”

From what he knew about subspace, it was a natural euphoric state, like what one could feel from deep meditation.  The difference being that it required the unique connection between a Dom and a Sub.  Some outward stimuli from a partner was needed to trigger it, rather than a reaction within oneself.  Its effects were similar to certain types of drugs.  Some of his clients described it as a sort of peace.  Others like the most intense high they’d ever felt.

He'd never felt it before, or what would be considered domspace in his case.  Only the satisfaction of being useful.   The pride of being in control. 

“What’s sex like for you without all this?” he asked.

He had you for a bit longer, figured he might as well make conversation.  Dig a little bit deeper into all the questions he’d had about you.

“Can I come without being smacked around, you mean?” you inflected with a lazy smile against his shirt.  “Sure.  It can even be nice.”

“Nice?” he snorted mocking sort of derision.

“Sometimes I like nice, and sometimes I need my mind blown to pieces.  It would be a lot easier if I could do it to myself, but it’s kind of like being tickled.  It only works if someone else does it.”

You sat up a little straighter then and reached for the water on the side table, and John rubbed your back in small circles while you drank it down.

It was a moment before you spoke again.  “What’s a normal relationship look like for you?  Or do you only work with Subs?”

“I can be normal, most of the time, I’m pretty sure,” he grumbled.  “I was even married once.” 

It slipped out before he could take it back.  He was supposed to be learning your secrets, not divulging his own.

“Oh really?  What was she like?” you asked lightly, and in your state, he knew there was no jealousy or ill-intent.

“She ended up marrying my brother after our divorce.  Seemed she liked the last name, but not the man she took it from.”

The final blow to whatever capacity he had to trust.  Himself or anyone else.

“I’m so sorry.  That must make the holidays incredibly difficult.”  The wistful tone had gone from your voice, and he felt you hold him just a bit tighter.

“I haven’t been to any since,” he confessed with a dismissive shrug.

His brother had always been everyone’s favorite, and asking his parents to choose or divide their time away from the son who had stuck around when John was busy running around the world’s battlefields seemed unnecessarily petty.  It was easier for him to stay away.

Sometimes he wondered if they even noticed any more, aside from the few times a year he met them and his sister for dinner.

He looked at his watch to avoid meeting your gaze, afraid of what he’d see.  Pity would’ve cut like a shrapnel wound, and sympathy would’ve curdled the sweet taste of you in his mouth.  He found himself speaking without thinking.

“Mind if we cut this one short?  I have somewhere I need to be.”  He didn’t, and he hated the way his lie made you stiffen against his side. 

You hadn’t done anything wrong.  He was the arsehole who brought up his marriage, as if it was something that you cared about.  That you even wanted to know.  You were only being kind. 

“Sure, no.  I understand,” you assured him too quickly, as you let his robe fall to the floor in search of your own clothes.

He’d always enjoyed this part of the evening.  When your wits returned and you stood shyly in front of him, freshly marked from the session.  A glimpse of all the ways he’d be with you out there in the world before he opened his door to find you greeting him again.

You’d pull on your leggings and shimmy them up over your mottled ass.  Strap your love-bitten tits into your bra before tugging a jumper over your head.  You’d say goodbye with a sweet peck to his cheek and a soft squeeze to his shoulder. 

Everything would be a little brighter for just a little while.

But he’d scared you off this time.  You curled away from him instead, staying behind the sofa and dressing before he could see if the clamps had left blisters behind on your nipples, or if you seemed tender between your legs from the stretch of taking his cock for the first time.

Christ, he’d gone hard.  Taken more for himself than he should’ve. 

“You don’t have to leave just yet.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping it wasn’t too late to get you back. 

He was supposed to be the one in control.  The steady one. 

“I can take a hint, John.  I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“You didn’t,” he quickly corrected.  “You’re perfect.”

“I’m not.  And we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.  Ever, okay?  That includes talking.”

“Wait, take this with you.”  He slipped his fingers around your wrist and placed the golden clamps in your palm.  “It’s yours to keep.  You can wear it and think of me.”

When you were out there on your own, conquering boardrooms and slaying your enemies.

“Can I tell you secret?”  You leaned into his ear for emphasis.  “I only like it when you do it.”  You dropped a kiss on his forehead and threaded your fingers through the hair on his cheek, before leaving him all alone in the haunted cavern of his apartment.

The one he always thought he’d share with someone else.

Right, he was the dominant one.  When every time you left, you were the one to comfort him.

“I only like it when you do it.” 

His cock was going to be a leaking, rigid pipe until your next appointment.  He only hoped you didn’t wait too long.

[afterglowsainz]

hi you said you were free to request someone you haven’t mentioned so i’m wondering if you’d be willing to write something for trent alexander arnold?? anything you won’t but i love angsty -> fluff

i look in people’s windows | trent alexander-arnold

summary: you struggle to move on from your break up with trent until one day you have to face him at your favorite coffee shop

warnings: none

word count: 1.2k

a/n: this wasn't very specific which was great (in a way) because the angst to fluff plot gave me an idea for my tortured athletes series! (i also didn't mean to make this so long, but i hope you enjoy it)

you're not proud to admit that you still stalk your ex-boyfriend's friends on social media just to see a glimpse of him. it wasn’t that hard considering that you live in liverpool, if you wanted to see his face you just had to go outside and he will be there in any billboard. but there was something more personal about casually watching him on someone’s post. sometimes you just look up liverpool’s account to see him during matches or making fun challenges.

you consider blocking him, blocking his friends and everyone else remotely associated with him, you even did it for two full weeks, but it was impossible not to see him everywhere you look. sure, he was not showing up on your phone, but he was in the streets, he was on the tv playing a game, or acting in a random commercial; he was even in the supermarket next to a product he was the face of.

trent alexander-arnold was absolutely everywhere and he was impossible to escape.

so you unblock him and everyone else and you just see him. not everyday, of course, you weren’t gonna get over him if you stalked his socials every day.  maybe once every week you look up one account, and then another, and then another, and you see him, and once you do you turn your phone off and do something else and maybe, you forget about him for a moment.

sometimes you wonder what would happen if your eyes met one more time. would you realize you got over him? would you fall back in love? would he even say hello?

“what can i get you?” the barista behind the counter asks you.

“hi, an iced vanilla latte, please.” you smile. the guy nods and charges you, moving quickly to the next client.

you sit down in a booth while waiting for your name to be called, and play with your phone in the meantime. suddenly, a huge shadow blocks the natural light that was hitting your face and you shift your face from your phone to the stranger who sits in front of you, only it wasn’t a stranger at all.

“y/n.” trent whispers your name with a smile.

you were a bit shocked to see him in person, like it was the first time you lay your eyes on him all over again.

“hey.” you respond. he chuckles at your lack of words.

“i knew it was you the second i heard your voice.” he points at the register. “an iced vanilla latte as always.” he repeats your coffee order and only then you register the situation.

before you have a chance to say something, you hear your name being called throughout the whole coffee shop, announcing your order was ready.

“stay there.” he says before you have the chance to even stand up. “i’ll go get it.” you didn’t know what to say so you just nodded and he made his way to the front, claiming your coffee and getting it to you.

“thank you.” you say when he was finally in front of you again.

neither of you say anything for a few seconds. you didn’t feel uncomfortable at all, but it did feel odd to be there with him, not saying anything.

“nice jacket.” you mention, just to fill the silence.

“you like it?” he unconsciously touch it and smiles at you like he always did.

“mhm, it's pretty.” you take a sip from your coffee.

“i haven’t seen you in a while. how are you?” he asks.

you were about to answer when you got interrupted again by the barista calling his name to get his coffee. he quickly made his way to the front and back, sitting in your booth in no time.

“what is that?” you ask with a grimace, looking at his order. it was some sort of juice? you couldn’t really tell.

“it’s a pomegranate lemonade.” he shrugs. you arch a brow and he shakes his head smiling. “don’t look at me like that when you drink vanilla flavored coffee.”

a laugh escapes your lips and you just agree, still confused by his drink of choice but not making any more comments.

“how are you?” he repeats his question.

“good.” you lie to him. “you?”

“bad.” he says.

“oh?” this took you by surprise. “what happened?” you try to remember if maybe he lost any big game recently or if something happened to any friend of his, but you can’t remember anything of relevance.

“i just…” he exhales and takes a sip from his lemonade. “i’ve been missing you. a lot, actually. a bit more everyday.”

your face grows hotter by the confession and you just look at him without reacting.

“why are you saying this?” you ask the first thing that comes to your mind.

“because.” he shrugs. “why not? i’ve miss you so much since we broke up i can’t think of anything else, and now i feel like i’ve think you so much i actually manifested you and now we're both at the same coffee shop at the same time, i mean, what are the odds of that, you know?” he rambles and you feel your heart beating in your throat.

to be fair, this was the same coffee shop you both used to go to while you were still dating. and you both still live in the same city. and you’ve been stalking him on social media so you might’ve manifested him as well by accident.

“you woke up brave this morning, didn’t you?” you joke lightly and the shadow of a smile takes over his lips. “i didn’t know you still think about me.” you say instead of confessing your feelings back at him.

“you’re not an easy one to forget.” his eyes clocked in with yours and you felt like everything was the way it used to be.

why did you even break up in the first place? looking at his chocolate eyes you couldn’t even remember anymore. you finally clear your throat to speak, but he interrupts you.

“you don’t have to say anything right now,” he pleads. “i don’t… if you’re gonna say something that’s gonna break my heart for good, i don’t think i’m prepared to hear it just yet.”

his eyes look away from yours, but you’re still watching him.

“i think about you too.”

your voice was barely a whisper, but it was loud enough for him to hear it and look at your eyes, straight into your soul.

“we should talk, no?” you knew he was battling a triumphant smile but he kept a straight face for you. you nod. “wanna take a walk?” he points to the window with his head, but you shake your head.

“it’s too cold outside.” you say and he laughs, shaking his head as well.

“you and cold.” he rolls his eyes amused.

“hey.” you slap his arm playfully. “i have sensitive skin.” you defend yourself.

at that moment you felt grateful for this little plot from destiny that had brought you and trent together again. you didn’t have to wonder ‘what if, you didn’t have to avoid seeing him downtown, you didn’t have to look into people's windows anymore. his eyes meet yours one more time, and now you know.

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER TWO

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

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

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

word count — 9.3k

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

an —the tension… i hope you’re enjoying so far! i had so much fun writing this

masterlist

the night was already a disaster.

the tension between y/n and trent had been palpable the moment they stepped into the club. the air was thick with the heady mix of sweat, alcohol, and the unspoken animosity that seemed to grow louder with every second they spent together.

and as if the universe hadn’t done enough to mess with her lately, both their exes had decided to grace the night with their presence.

jadon was at the bar, leaning casually like he owned the damn place, his smirk a little too smug, his glances in her direction a little too calculated. each look felt like a reminder of how easily he used to worm his way into her thoughts.

“you sure you want to keep pretending this is going well?” y/n muttered, her fingers curling tighter around her glass as she leaned closer to trent.

he didn’t even look at her, his posture casual as he lounged against the booth. “you’re the one who thought this was a good idea,” he said, voice dry. “don’t blame me now.”

her irritation bubbled over, and she rolled her eyes. “fine. if you won’t, i’ll find someone else to dance with.”

she started to move, but before she could take more than a step, his hand shot out, wrapping firmly around her wrist.

“don’t even think about it,” trent said lowly, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

her eyes snapped to his, her lips curling into a defiant smirk. “let go of me.”

“not until you stop acting like a child,” he retorted, his grip unyielding.

she yanked her arm, but he didn’t let go, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t place. “you want to make a scene, or do you want to dance?”

the challenge in his tone made her bristle, but instead of pulling away, she leaned in just slightly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “fine. let’s dance.”

he led her to the dance floor, his grip still firm, and as they stepped into the pulsing lights and pounding bass, the tension between them only seemed to grow. the room was a wash of reds and golds, shadows playing tricks on their faces, but there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze as he turned to her.

“keep up,” he muttered, his hand settling low on her waist as he pulled her closer.

“don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, though her heart was hammering against her ribs.

their bodies moved in sync, the rhythm pulling them together in ways that felt far too intimate. her arms looped around his neck, her fingers brushing the short hair at the nape of his neck, and she felt him stiffen slightly under her touch.

“you’re not even trying,” she teased, her voice low as she leaned in, her lips grazing his ear.

his grip tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him. “careful, y/n,” he murmured, his tone a warning laced with something else entirely.

she tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes gleaming with defiance. “or what?”

his jaw ticked, his eyes flickering down to her lips for just a second before meeting her gaze again. “you don’t want to find out.”

the words sent a shiver down her spine, but she refused to let him see how much he affected her. instead, she pressed closer, her movements slower, more deliberate, the friction between them almost unbearable.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” he muttered, though his voice lacked the conviction he was going for.

“i could say the same to you,” she shot back, her lips curving into a smirk as she leaned in just enough to brush against his jaw.

his breathing was heavier now, his hands twitching as though they wanted to roam, but he kept them firmly on her waist. every movement, every glance, every word between them was laced with an edge, a challenge neither was willing to back down from.

but then his movements faltered, his grip loosening as if he’d realized just how far this had gone. he stepped back, his eyes darker than they’d been before, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

“this is over,” he said, his voice clipped, the tension still thick in the air.

“gladly,” she replied, though the breathlessness in her tone betrayed her.

he turned on his heel and stalked off without another word, heading back toward the vip section where layla was still perched, her eyes following him.

y/n stayed where she was for a moment, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, willing her heart to slow. she exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders before finally making her way back to the booth, her pace slower, more deliberate.

when she got there, trent was leaning back in the booth, a glass in hand, his jaw tight. neither of them said a word, the silence between them louder than anything the music could drown out.

the tension followed y/n like a storm cloud as she made her way back to the section, her heels clicking against the club floor. she didn’t want to acknowledge the heat curling in her chest—anger, frustration, something unnamed—but it built with every step. and when she reached the section and saw a girl perched beside trent, her hand resting casually on his thigh as she leaned in to talk, the storm inside her broke.

she didn’t think twice.

her hands slid down trent’s shoulders from behind, her touch featherlight but deliberate, and she leaned in close enough for her lips to brush the curve of his neck. the kiss wasn’t soft or tender—it was calculated, staking a claim she didn’t even fully understand.

“who’s your friend?” she asked sweetly, her voice carrying an edge sharp enough to cut glass.

trent stiffened under her touch, his posture rigid. sarah turned, her smile tight as she took in y/n’s presence. “i’m sarah,” she said with a pointed edge. “his ex.”

y/n feigned surprise, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “funny. trent hasn’t mentioned you.”

sarah’s expression flickered, her pride bruised, but she recovered quickly. her tone turned venomous as she said, “that’s odd. he was in my bed just a few weeks ago.”

the air between them crackled, and trent’s body went rigid under y/n’s hands. but y/n didn’t flinch. her nails traced along his shoulder as she tilted her head, her smirk sharpening. “shame,” she said lightly, “he’s in mine now.”

sarah face twisted with anger, her façade cracking before she stormed off, her heels clicking in retreat.

y/n stepped back, crossing her arms as she stared down at trent, her chest rising and falling with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “you could’ve warned me.”

trent turned to face her, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. “why? it’s not like it’s any of your business.”

her laugh was short, humorless. “you’re right. i could care less. but weren’t you the one lecturing me about being seen with exes?”

his eyes darkened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “that was different. your thing with sancho was messy. sarah meant nothing.”

y/n arched a brow, her tone sharp enough to cut. “doesn’t seem like it by her reaction. but sure, keep telling yourself that, trent.”

she turned to leave, her steps swift, but his hand shot out, gripping her arm. he pulled her back with enough force to have her facing him, their faces just inches apart.

“what the hell is your problem?” he demanded, his voice low but heated.

“my problem?” she shot back, her eyes blazing. “maybe it’s the fact that i’m supposed to be your fake girlfriend, and you’re letting your ex hang all over you like a lovesick puppy.”

trent’s brows furrowed, his frustration bleeding through. “what are you so mad about? this isn’t real, remember?”

her lips parted, but no words came out at first. because the truth was, she didn’t know why she was so mad. the jealousy burning in her chest wasn’t supposed to be there, but it was. and it infuriated her.

she shook her head, masking her feelings with attitude. “i’m not mad. i just think you’re a hypocrite, that’s all.”

trent’s hand loosened on her arm, but he didn’t let go. his gaze searched hers, his voice dropping to something softer, more teasing. “you’ve got an attitude tonight.”

“and you’re insufferable,” she snapped, though the heat in her voice wavered under his stare.

he leaned in closer, his breath brushing her cheek. “face it, y/n. you’re acting like this because you care.”

her jaw clenched, her defenses rising like a shield. “care? please. the only thing i care about is not having your exes make me look like an idiot.”

trent scoffed, his grip on her arm tightening just slightly. “you’re full of it. you’re mad because you didn’t like seeing her next to me.”

her laugh was sharp, cutting through the tension. “you wish, trent.”

his voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “don’t I?”

the intensity in his gaze was suffocating, but she refused to back down. “careful, trent. it might seem like you actually care.”

his eyes narrowed, the space between them charged and crackling. “and what if I do?”

the words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken, before y/n tore her arm from his grip and scoffed. “yeah, right,” she muttered, her voice wavering as she walked away, her heart pounding as if it were trying to tell her something she wasn’t ready to hear.

“y/n,” he called, his voice sharp, cutting through the music and chatter of the club. when she didn’t stop, he moved, his longer strides closing the gap between them quickly. grabbing her wrist, he turned her around, forcing her to face him.

“what now?” she snapped, her eyes blazing with frustration.

he leaned in, his voice low and biting. “i know exactly what this is. you’ve got an attitude tonight, and you know what? it’s because i’m not playing your games.”

her brow furrowed, her lips parting as if to argue, but he didn’t let her.

“you’re mad because i’m not giving you the attention you so desperately want,” he continued, his tone dripping with irritation. “and you can’t stand it.”

y/n’s eyes narrowed, the anger simmering in her chest threatening to boil over. “don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, her voice sharp enough to cut.

he smirked, though there was no humor in it. “oh, i think i’ve hit a nerve. admit it, y/n. you hate that i’m not falling all over myself for you tonight.”

her jaw clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. but then she smiled, slow and dangerous, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“maybe i’ll go find jay,” she said sweetly, her tone dripping with mockery. “he’s never complained before. in fact, he’s pretty good at setting me straight.”

trent froze for a split second, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. his grip on her wrist tightened as he stepped closer, their faces just a breath apart.

“say that again,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into hers.

her smirk didn’t waver, though her heart was pounding. “what? the truth?”

his jaw tensed, his hand moving from her wrist to her waist, pulling her in just enough for the air between them to crackle with tension. “you’re playing a dangerous game, y/n.”

“am i?” she whispered, her eyes searching his, daring him to make the next move.

trent’s grip on her waist tightened, his breath warm against her skin. “you don’t get to throw his name in my face and walk away.”

her smirk softened, turning into something more vulnerable, more dangerous. “and what are you going to do about it?”

the space between them disappeared as the weight of their words hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

trent’s voice dropped, low and deliberate, his lips brushing just close enough to her ear to make her breath hitch. “you keep pushing me, y/n. one day, you’ll regret it.”

she tilted her head, her smile razor-sharp as she met his gaze. “regret?” she whispered back, her voice dripping with defiance. “the only thing i regret is wasting time here with you.”

his jaw tightened, but before he could respond, she pulled away sharply, her steps purposeful as she turned on her heel. “enjoy the rest of your night, trent,” she called over her shoulder, her tone mocking, leaving him standing there, simmering in the aftermath of her words.

the fluorescent lights of the boutique gleamed against the polished floors as trent trailed a few paces behind y/n. the two of them had been roped into this public outing, some half-baked idea from their teams about being spotted “casually” shopping together to sell their partnership. it was ridiculous, and y/n had made her feelings about it very clear.

“try to keep up,” she called over her shoulder, her tone sharp as she sifted through a rack of designer jackets.

trent shoved his hands into his pockets, smirking as he followed her. “it’s a store, not a marathon. no need to rush.”

y/n shot him a withering look, flipping her braids over her shoulder. “if you’re going to be useless, you might as well wait outside.”

he chuckled, stepping closer. “relax. i’m just enjoying the show.”

“what show?” she asked, not bothering to look at him as she tugged a sleek black trench coat off the rack and held it up to inspect.

“the one where you pretend this isn’t your idea of a good time,” he said, leaning casually against a nearby display. “shopping and showing off? come on, y/n. this is your element.”

she turned to face him, holding the coat up against her body. “first of all, i’m here because you needed to prove you can function in public without causing a scene. second, if this were my element, i wouldn’t be stuck with you.”

trent tilted his head, his smirk never wavering. “if i remember correctly, you’re the one who invited yourself to the dance floor last night. doesn’t seem like you mind being stuck with me all that much.”

her grip on the coat tightened as she narrowed her eyes at him. “you dragged me out there. don’t twist it.”

“right,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping. “and you just happened to press your back against me like that? totally involuntary, i’m sure.”

her cheeks flushed, but she quickly masked it with an eye roll. “don’t flatter yourself, trent. you’re not that special.”

“funny,” he said, crossing his arms as his gaze swept over her. “you didn’t seem to think that when we were dancing.”

y/n turned back to the rack, ignoring him as she rifled through the hangers. “you’re delusional.”

“am i?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “because i can still feel the way you fit against me. a perfect fit.”

she froze for a split second before recovering, pulling another jacket from the rack. “you really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

“only when i’m right,” he said, leaning against the rack beside her. “admit it, you enjoyed it.”

she scoffed, holding the jacket up and inspecting it. “enjoyed what? your mediocre dance moves or your constant need to run your mouth?”

“both, probably,” he said with a shrug. “but if it makes you feel better, you looked good doing it.”

her head snapped toward him, her brows furrowing. “doing what?”

“letting go,” he said simply, his voice softer now. “you should try it more often.”

she blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. but just as quickly, her walls went back up. “i’ll let go the day you learn how to shut up.”

he laughed, stepping back as she moved past him toward another section of the store. “keep telling yourself that, y/n. but we both know you had fun.”

“if this conversation keeps going, i might lose my mind,” she muttered, though there was a slight curve to her lips that she didn’t bother to hide.

trent followed her, falling into step beside her. “you know, i think we make a pretty good team.”

“you’re delusional,” she said again, shaking her head.

“you’ve said that already,” he teased, nudging her gently with his elbow. “doesn’t make it any less true, though.”

“just pick something out so we can leave,” she said, trying—and failing—to ignore the way his laughter echoed in her chest, warm and infuriating all at once.

trent sank into the plush leather couch in the boutique's dressing room, his legs stretched out and his phone in hand. the faint murmur of soft jazz music played overhead as he scrolled mindlessly, only half-paying attention to whatever was on his screen.

this whole outing had been nothing but a headache. y/n was impossible—always had something to say, always ready to argue, always…

he glanced up when he heard the faint click of heels approaching, his breath hitching as y/n stepped into view.

the dress was black, fitted, and hugged her curves in ways that were borderline sinful. cutouts on the sides revealed just enough skin to tease the imagination, and the hem grazed mid-thigh, showing off her toned legs. her new light brown hair caught the light, framing her face like a halo, though the mischievous glint in her eyes was anything but angelic.

trent sat up straighter, his phone forgotten as his gaze lingered a moment too long. he tried to look away, but she caught him—of course she did.

y/n smirked as she turned to face the mirror, pretending to adjust the straps of the dress. she tilted her head, watching him through the reflection, her eyes sharp and knowing.

"well?" she said, her tone light but teasing. "you’re awfully quiet, trent. cat got your tongue?"

he cleared his throat, leaning back and attempting to regain his composure. "it’s… fine," he said, his voice coming out steadier than he felt.

she raised a brow, finally turning to face him fully. "just fine?"

before he could respond, she walked toward him, the sway of her hips deliberate. her heels clicked softly against the floor, and his eyes betrayed him, flickering downward before snapping back up to her face.

she stopped just short of his spread legs, leaning down slightly so their faces were level. her hands rested lightly on his thighs, her nails trailing faintly against the fabric of his pants as she tilted her head, her lips curving into a slow, sultry smile.

"so," she said, her voice low and honeyed, "what do you think, hmm?"

trent swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his expression neutral. her proximity, the heat of her hands, the way her perfume enveloped him—it was all too much.

"it’s a dress," he said finally, his voice strained.

her smirk deepened, and she leaned in just a fraction closer, her gaze locking with his. "you might think you’re in charge here, trent," she murmured, her tone like silk, "but you’re not. i am."

his breath caught, and he knew—knew—that she was doing this on purpose. she was toying with him, and damn it if it wasn’t working.

before he could muster a response, she straightened, her hands sliding away from his legs as she turned on her heel.

"good talk," she said over her shoulder, her voice light and mocking as she strutted away, the dress moving perfectly with every step.

trent’s eyes followed her, helpless to do anything else. he leaned back into the couch, running a hand over his jaw as he exhaled deeply, his pulse racing.

damn her, he thought, watching until she disappeared from view.

the meeting with their management teams had been as tedious as y/n expected. words like progress and great chemistry were tossed around like confetti, and both she and trent had to force smiles that barely hid their mutual irritation.

they’d spent an hour listening to executives pat themselves on the back for their "brilliant" pairing, nodding along as if the very idea of them working together wasn’t an elaborate mess. by the end of it, y/n was itching to leave, and she could tell trent felt the same by the way he loosened his tie the second they stepped into the hallway.

“that was... enlightening,” she muttered dryly, crossing her arms as they walked side by side toward the exit.

“if by enlightening, you mean a complete waste of time,” trent replied, shrugging off his blazer and slinging it over his shoulder. “at least we’re getting paid to sit through their nonsense.”

“wow, you really do think money solves everything, don’t you?” she quipped, throwing him a sidelong glance.

he smirked, his steps slowing as they neared the glass doors at the end of the corridor. “it helps. not that you’re complaining, considering you’ve been benefiting from this little arrangement too.”

she stopped, turning to face him with a glare that could cut glass. “benefiting? please. you’ve done nothing but annoy me since day one.”

“is that right?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock disbelief as he took a step closer.

“yeah, it is,” she shot back, lifting her chin defiantly. “you’re insufferable, arrogant, and—”

“and yet, here we are,” he interrupted smoothly, his eyes narrowing as a smirk played on his lips.

the hallway was quiet, the faint hum of distant voices from the meeting room fading into nothing. trent’s steps were deliberate as he closed the space between them, backing her toward the wall.

“you always this quiet when you’re annoyed, or is it just me?” trent asked finally, his voice cutting through the stillness.

she glanced up, narrowing her eyes. “maybe i just don’t have anything to say to you.”

he smirked, pushing off the wall and taking a slow step toward her. “funny, you had a lot to say the other night. remember? when you were rubbing on me”

she groaned, dropping her phone onto the counter. “you really can’t let that go, can you?”

“why would i?” he asked, his tone maddeningly casual as he closed the distance between them. “you practically melted in my arms. might’ve even heard you gasp a little.”

her jaw tightened, and she hopped off the counter, refusing to let him see how easily his words got to her. “you’re so full of yourself.”

you could be too” he followed her as she moved across the room, his steps unhurried but deliberate.

she stopped in front of one of the floor-length mirrors, pretending to fix the hem of her dress. “you think every girl is dying to be in your orbit, but newsflash, trent: i’m not.”

he laughed softly, the sound low and mocking. “keep telling yourself that, y/n.”

she turned to face him, her glare sharp. “i mean it.”

he raised a brow, his smirk still in place as he stepped closer, backing her toward the wall. “then why are you blushing?”

“i’m not,” she snapped, though the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her.

his grin widened as he closed the gap between them, his hands bracing on the wall on either side of her head. his body was close—too close—and her breath hitched as she pressed herself against the cool surface behind her.

her gaze flicked to his lips, unbidden, and her heart raced as she realized the proximity wasn’t just physical. the air between them felt electric, charged with something she didn’t want to name.

“you gonna kiss me, trent?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost a challenge.

his dark eyes searched hers, his smirk softening into something more dangerous. “keep pushing me, y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “see what happens.”

her breath caught, her pulse hammering in her ears as his words hung in the air. she couldn’t tell if she wanted to shove him away or pull him closer, and the uncertainty made her head spin.

he leaned in just a fraction closer, his nose brushing hers, and for a split second, she thought he might actually do it. her fingers curled into fists at her sides, every nerve in her body on edge.

but then he pulled back, his smirk returning in full force as he dropped his hands and stepped away.

“thought so,” he said, his tone smug as he turned his back on her and walked down the hall.

she exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling as she glared at his retreating figure. she glared at his retreating figure, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. “you’re a nightmare,” she muttered under her breath before storming off in the opposite direction, vowing to keep as far away from him as possible—at least until the next meeting..

“and you’re still blushing,” he called over his shoulder, his laughter following her as she stormed off in the opposite direction.

it was getting harder to pretend she didn’t feel it. the heat, the pull, the way trent had this uncanny ability to get under her skin and stay there like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch.

too many close calls. too many moments where the line between professional and personal blurred, where his dark eyes lingered just a second too long or his smirk hinted at things he wasn’t supposed to be thinking.

y/n hated that she knew exactly what he wanted. trent wasn’t subtle, not in the way his touch lingered when he didn’t need to, or how he always found a reason to be close to her, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from him. he wanted her. she could feel it every time his gaze dropped to her lips or his hand ghosted the small of her back.

but she wasn’t stupid. not anymore. she’d learned her lesson the hard way, and if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that giving in to temptation always came with a price.

she’d been there before. jadon had been her cautionary tale, a masterclass in how easy it was to lose yourself in someone who was all charm and bad intentions. he’d made her feel like the only girl in the world until he didn’t, until she realized the pedestal he’d put her on was just another place for her to fall from.

and she had fallen. hard.

so no, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. trent might have been different, smoother in his arrogance and sharper in his wit, but the outcome would be the same. she wasn’t going to be the girl who got caught up in another man who thought he could have her just because he wanted her.

and yet, avoiding him seemed impossible.

she’d vowed to keep her distance, to keep her head down and focus on getting through this arrangement without any more unnecessary complications. but when her phone buzzed and she saw his name flash across the screen, she knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

just a plane ticket. no message, no explanation, no apology for roping her into yet another situation she didn’t want to be a part of.

paris.

of course it had to be paris, the city of love and all the other clichés that made her want to roll her eyes.

she stared at the itinerary for a long moment, her jaw clenching as a wave of irritation washed over her. who did he think he was, deciding things without even consulting her? it wasn’t like she could just drop everything and jet off to france because he said so.

except she could. and she would. because their management team would insist, and the media would eat it up, and the illusion of their "chemistry" would keep them relevant for just a little longer.

she hated this. hated how easily he could disrupt her life, how the very thought of being stuck with him for a weekend made her stomach twist in equal parts annoyance and something else she didn’t want to name.

because as much as she disliked trent, as much as his smug grin and infuriating confidence grated on her nerves, there was something about him that got to her. something about the way he looked at her, like he saw through every wall she’d built around herself.

he wasn’t jadon. she knew that. but he was still dangerous in his own way, still capable of making her want things she shouldn’t.

and that was why she had to keep her guard up.

this wasn’t about trust, or attraction, or whatever it was that made her heart skip a beat when he got too close. this was about self-preservation. about not letting herself get pulled into something that could only end in disaster.

so she tossed her phone onto the couch and let out a heavy sigh, already dreading what the weekend would bring. paris, the city of love, with trent.

she could survive this. she had to.

y/n arrived at the hotel later than expected, her mood dark and her mind still tangled with the frustration that had plagued her all day. the studio had been a nightmare—no matter how hard she tried, the song she was recording just wasn’t coming out the way she wanted. the lyrics felt forced, the melody too distant from what she’d envisioned. she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was failing herself, and nothing, not even the supposed glamour of paris, could lift her spirits.

the hotel lobby was sleek and modern, everything shining with an effortless elegance. it should have been comforting, the smooth marble floors and plush seating, but instead, it just felt like another reminder that she was here because trent had pulled her into this situation, and she was stuck.

as soon as she stepped into the elevator, the door closing behind her with a soft whoosh, her phone buzzed. it was trent.

trent: you here yet?

y/n stared at the message for a moment, her finger hovering over the keyboard. the last thing she wanted to do was face him, but she knew better than to ignore him. this was all part of the show, after all.

coming now she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral, as if she wasn’t still carrying the weight of everything she’d been struggling with.

when she finally reached his room, the door opened almost instantly. trent stood in the doorway, his gaze flicking over her with that usual mix of amusement and something else she couldn’t quite place. but tonight, there was no smirk, no teasing. just a quiet observation that made her feel seen in a way she didn’t want to be.

trent watched her for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, before he pushed himself off the wall and made his way toward her. his eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of her slumped posture and the distant look in her eyes. he’d known her long enough to recognize when something was wrong, and tonight, she was giving off all the signs.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was a hint of something else lurking beneath it.

y/n didn’t even glance at him, her focus still on the window as if the city outside could offer her some form of escape. after a long pause, she scoffed under her breath, her words dripping with bitterness. “like you care.”

trent paused for a moment, his jaw tightening, before he shrugged nonchalantly. “i don’t. but we aren’t exactly selling a love story if you’re upset. they’ll think i’ve done something.”

y/n let out a dry laugh, the sound empty and dismissive. “maybe you have.” her eyes flicked to him for just a moment before turning away again.

inwardly, trent’s stomach tightened. he hated how she’d phrased that, but he refused to let her know how much it bothered him. he’d never been good with emotions, especially not when they were tied to someone like y/n. but as much as he tried to keep his distance, the truth gnawed at him. he hated seeing her upset—hated that he couldn’t just snap his fingers and fix whatever was bothering her. only he could annoy her to the point of being upset, but the thought of someone else doing it… that was something else entirely.

he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. not when this whole thing was supposed to be fake, a simple performance for the cameras. but there she was, looking like she’d been hit by a storm, and he couldn’t push the feeling away. something in him wanted to know what had her so worked up. maybe it wasn’t his business, but the image of her like this didn’t sit right.

with a long exhale, he took a step closer to her, his voice softening, though his words were still laced with that same playful edge. “come on, y/n. we’ve got to at least pretend like we’re enjoying this whole ‘love story’ thing. otherwise, they’ll think i’m the one driving you to the edge.”

y/n tilted her head slightly, her eyes flicking over to him, but still not fully meeting his gaze. “that’s not the problem, trent.”

“then what is?” he pressed, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. deep down, he knew it wasn’t really about the cameras or the performance—there was something more behind it. but if she wasn’t going to tell him, then he couldn’t do anything.

she exhaled, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. “it’s nothing. don’t worry about it.”

he could tell she wasn’t being honest, and that gnawed at him more than it should. there was a part of him—one he would never admit— that wanted to pull her closer and take away whatever was eating at her, but that wasn’t his place. not really.

“you know,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower, “if you keep acting like this, people are going to start thinking we’re not even pretending to be in love. i mean, really, i’m working my ass off here.”

y/n rolled her eyes, the tension in her shoulders still evident as she glanced at him, then back out the window. “you’re such a drama queen.”

he smirked at that, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. “and yet, you keep putting up with it. tell me, y/n, what’s really going on? something happened at the studio?”

for a moment, y/n hesitated, her expression flickering between annoyance and something softer, something almost vulnerable. but before she could say anything, she snapped back into her usual guarded self, the walls going up again.

“it’s nothing,” she repeated. “just… a bad day. nothing you can fix.”

but it wasn’t nothing to him. it never was.

trent watched her for a moment, then closed the door behind him, leaning against it. “come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“it is,” she said flatly, her back still turned to him as she stared out the window. the city lights of paris twinkled in the distance, but they might as well have been a world away. “i just spent hours in the studio trying to get a song right, and i can’t do it. it’s just not coming out the way i want it to, and i feel like i’m failing at something i’m supposed to be good at.”

there was a beat of silence before trent spoke again, his tone gentler this time. “you’re not failing. it happens to everyone.”

“no, it doesn’t.” she turned around, facing him, her eyes burning with frustration. “i’m supposed to be better than this, and i can’t get it right. i don’t even know how to fix it.”

he pushed off the door and walked toward her, his presence suddenly too close, too overwhelming. “you’re overthinking it,” he said, his voice low. “you’re way too hard on yourself. i’ve seen you perform, y/n. you have something they can’t replicate, no matter how much you stress over it. but right now, you’re stuck because you’re trying to force it.”

y/n let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “you think i don’t know that?” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. “i hate this feeling. i hate how out of control i feel.”

trent’s eyes softened as he took a step closer, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “you don’t have to do it alone, you know. it’s okay to need help sometimes.”

the sincerity in his voice made her heart skip, but she pushed the feeling aside. this wasn’t about him, not tonight. “i’m fine. i just… need to get my head straight.”

“so why don’t you take a break?” he suggested, his hand lingering on her arm a moment longer. “forget about the song for a while. we’re in paris, y/n. maybe we can find a way to get you out of your head.”

she met his gaze, her chest tight with the pull between wanting to retreat and wanting to be close to him. “and what, pretend this is just a vacation? pretend i’m not about to fall apart because i can’t even make a song sound right?”

“you’re not falling apart,” he said firmly. “but if you want to talk about it, i’m here.”

y/n didn’t know why, but something about his offer made her feel like she could drop the act. she didn’t want to be vulnerable, especially not with him, but the weight of everything was suffocating. “i don’t know how to make this work. everything feels… harder than it should be.”

trent was silent for a moment, just watching her with that same steady gaze, as if he could see right through the walls she’d built around herself. and in that moment, she hated how much he knew.

y/n stood there, her gaze still locked on the window, but her thoughts were elsewhere, swirling in a way she couldn’t quite stop. she knew trent was just being trent—always quick with a quip, pretending not to care, but there was a softness in his voice, an edge of concern she hadn’t expected. he’s just playing the role, she reminded herself. that’s all this is.

but it wasn’t just the role she was fighting. something about the way trent was looking at her now, like he was genuinely waiting for her to open up, felt like a door she wasn’t ready to walk through. it’s not real, she told herself, trying to convince her mind that his attention was just part of the act. but the comparison kept creeping in.

with jadon, it had been different. after everything—the messiness, the anger, the mistakes—he’d known how to listen. or at least, he’d made her feel like he did. those late-night conversations, the vulnerability that came after they’d been wrapped up in each other. they never really talked before they were tangled in the sheets, but afterward, it was always easier to let down her guard. she could tell him things, things she never said to anyone else, and he would listen with that same, steady gaze. those moments were always fleeting, but they were hers, shared between the two of them in the quiet aftermath. he didn’t need to ask her what was wrong; he could already feel it, the shift in the air, the things she wasn’t saying.

but with trent? it felt different. in the beginning, when they first started pretending, she assumed he wouldn’t listen at all—he was too cocky, too sure of himself. his charm was his armor, and anyone who looked beneath the surface was either a fool or a casualty. yet now, he stood in front of her, waiting for an answer he could’ve easily brushed off, watching her with an intensity that was starting to fray her composure.

it was almost frustrating how he kept pressing. why couldn’t he just let it go? why did he keep pushing when she wasn’t ready to share, when she wasn’t ready to let anyone in, least of all him?

still, the difference between the two of them weighed on her, more than it should. jadon would’ve known by now, she thought bitterly. he wouldn’t have kept pressing. he would’ve just let me be.

“why do you care so much?” y/n finally muttered, turning to look at him, her voice tinged with frustration.

trent raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips. “i’m just trying to make sure you’re not gonna make us look like idiots. you know, if you’re upset, they’re gonna think i’m the one who did it.”

she rolled her eyes at his excuse, but there was something almost genuine in his words that made her pause. his voice was too calm, too level for it to be part of the usual bravado. maybe he does care, she thought, though she quickly shoved the thought away, unwilling to entertain it.

“you’re the last person who should be concerned about how we look,” she snapped, trying to distance herself from the conversation. “besides, it’s none of your business.”

“maybe not,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. “but it’s my business if it affects this whole charade we’ve got going on, yeah?” he shifted his weight, stepping a little closer. “but it’s also my business if you’re upset, y/n. i mean, we’re supposed to be ‘in love,’ right?”

the way he said it, so light, so playful, only made her feel more exposed. the heat in her chest rose, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. she knew he was just trying to get under her skin, but it was working. damn him.

“whatever. it isn’t a big deal,” she snapped again, her voice sharper this time. but she couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t face him long enough to lie to his face. her gaze kept flicking to the floor, avoiding the piercing look he was giving her.

trent let out a soft chuckle, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. he was too close, too much of everything she didn’t need. “y/n. whatever it is, you can talk to me, you know.”

she looked up, finally meeting his gaze, and for a moment, she let the walls slip. maybe he is different, she thought. but the thought made her feel unsteady, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. no, don’t fall for it.

“you know, y/n,” he said, leaning back just slightly, “you might think you’re the only one struggling, but we’re both faking it here. just… don’t let them see you crumble, yeah? because we’re in this together, whether you like it or not.”

his words were meant to lighten the moment, but she couldn’t help but feel like they were more than that. a little more sincere than they had any right to be.

trent stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her. he had already gathered her things for her, throwing a jacket over his shoulder and tossing the keys to the hotel room onto the table. “you’ve got, what, an hour to freshen up?” he said, his voice cutting through the silence in the room. “i’ll meet you downstairs.”

y/n didn’t answer right away, still staring out of the window, trying to gather her thoughts. everything felt so complicated. trent’s presence, his playful persistence, the way he always seemed to get under her skin in ways she didn’t expect. she had spent so much time trying to convince herself that she didn’t care about him, that he was just a part of the charade. but even now, as he stood there, the words stuck in her throat.

he doesn’t care. she reminded herself. don’t let him in.

with a sigh, she turned back toward him, nodding briefly before stepping past him toward the bathroom. she moved with mechanical precision, still turning the events of the evening over in her head. he had coaxed her into talking about the song, which, if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure was even the root of her frustration. it was everything else—the tension, the heat, the way he made her feel like she was being pulled in two different directions.

as the water ran over her skin, she let the warmth wash away the feeling of being so caught. it wasn’t just the pressure of the trip, or the eyes of the people on them—it was trent, the fact that he had made her feel something, even for a split second. she cursed herself for being distracted by him, for giving him any power over her feelings.

but when she emerged from the bathroom, her thoughts were scattered, and there was only one thing on her mind: don’t give in.

when she reached the lobby, trent was waiting near the door. his usual confident smile was in place, and there was a certain glint in his eyes. but for a moment, she noticed something else—he was looking at her with a hint of something unspoken in his gaze.

“ready?” he asked, casually slipping his hand into his jacket pocket.

“lead the way,” y/n replied, her tone cool, though it was hard to ignore the way he made her feel whenever he was close.

the city of paris had already started to buzz with the energy of the evening. tourists and locals alike were heading toward the iconic landmarks. trent led her through the streets with a confident stride, not once acknowledging the way the people around them were looking at them—because they were looking, she realized. as much as they wanted to pretend it was just another weekend getaway, there were too many eyes on them now.

they arrived at the restaurant soon after, one with a beautiful view of the eiffel tower, its lights sparkling like stars above the city. the place was intimate, the kind of place where you were supposed to feel special, where every glance across the table felt significant. and as they sat down, y/n had the distinct impression that this was no ordinary meal. trent was too comfortable here, as if he belonged to this world.

as they began talking, a sense of awkwardness lingered, but it didn’t take long before trent was leaning back in his chair, the smirk on his face one of familiarity. and then, without a word, as y/n was lost in her own thoughts, he snapped a photo of her.

she wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t paying attention to anything except the view, and when she glanced back at him. she swallowed hard, trying not to let the rush of emotions show on her face. she hadn’t expected this. sure, he’d teased her before, but the way he looked at her? this felt more like a claim. like he was… proud to be seen with her. and that made her skin crawl and her heart race at the same time.

as they continued their dinner, with the lights of the eiffel tower twinkling in the background, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was exactly what he wanted. a casual show of affection, one that blurred the lines between fantasy and reality. and despite her resistance, a part of her was starting to wonder: did he mean this? or was this just part of the act, too?

trent couldn’t help himself. as y/n sat across from him, lost in the view of the eiffel tower, he snapped the photo. it wasn’t of her face, not this time—just the back of her head, the curve of her neck, the way her hair cascaded over her shoulder. nothing that could be traced back to her directly, nothing that would scream her to the world. no caption, no tag—a sliver of his carefully curated life.

yet, as he hit post and the photo went live on his story, a knot of tension tightened in his stomach. it wasn’t the kind of post that demanded attention, but there was enough to make people start murmuring. the subtle suggestion that she was his, even if only in this moment, was enough to stir up the kind of gossip he hated.

he told himself it was all for show, just a small part of the game they were playing. nothing personal, nothing real. just a picture taken on a whim, for the sake of keeping up appearances. nothing more.

but as he sat across from her, watching her sip her drink and glance at the distant lights of the tower, he couldn’t shake the thought that had been creeping into his mind since he’d taken the photo. what if?

what if this wasn’t just for show? what if this was more than just a PR stunt? what if, in some twisted way, he wanted it to be real?

the thought sent a jolt through him, sharper than anything he had felt in a while. he shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the nagging pull in his chest. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. he had no business getting attached, not to someone like her—someone who had already shown that she wasn’t interested in any of the games he was playing.

and yet, every time she looked at him, every time their conversations shifted from the fake pleasantries to something more personal, he found himself wondering if she could see through the mask he wore.

he glanced down at the photo again, his thumb hovering over the screen. he had just posted a shot of her, a moment of vulnerability captured in the most casual of ways. it was nothing, and yet it felt like too much.

as y/n looked up from her drink, their eyes met across the table, and trent quickly looked away, trying to shake off the thought that had suddenly lodged itself in his mind. it’s for show, he reminded himself again. nothing more than that. but even as the words passed through his head, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of something else in his chest—something he didn’t want to examine too closely.

he leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath. this wasn’t supposed to happen.

but it was, and it was happening whether he wanted it to or not.

the hotel room was quiet when they returned, the faint hum of the city slipping through the windows as they stepped inside. trent tossed his jacket on the chair and stretched, glancing over at y/n, who was standing near the bed, looking a little out of place.

“you know, this is a smaller bed than i’m use to,” he said, teasing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “you sure you’re okay with it? you get shy around one bed?”

y/n rolled her eyes and turned toward him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “stop projecting, trent,” she shot back, crossing her arms in the same manner. “i barely slept three and a half hours last night, so if you’re expecting me to give a damn about sharing a bed—this is happening. i’m sleeping in this bed.”

he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. he wasn’t sure why she was always so quick to shut down his teasing, but he kind of liked it. it kept things… interesting.

“fine, fine,” he muttered, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “but don’t blame me if you end up on the floor.”

y/n ignored him, already starting to unbutton her shirt, the fabric falling away as she rummaged through her bag for something to sleep in. trent, too, began to peel off his clothes—nothing too showy, just enough to get comfortable. the routine was familiar, like it was something they’d done a hundred times before, even though they both knew it was not the case.

he stole a glance at her as she pulled on a loose tank top, her back to him as she readjusted the straps of her shorts. she wasn’t looking at him, but there was a faint vulnerability in the way she moved, like she didn’t want to admit how easy it had become to be around him.

after a few moments of awkward silence, y/n crawled into the bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. she let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling as if she was trying to make sense of everything that had happened today—the date, the moments with trent that had made her question what they were even doing here.

trent, not one for silence, shifted next to her, settling into the bed with his hands behind his head. “so,” he began, his voice low and playful. “you enjoyed the evening more than you thought you would, huh?”

y/n turned her head to look at him, surprised by the question. “yeah,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t expect to enjoy it this much. i’ve been to paris before, but… i don’t know. tonight felt different. everything felt different.”

trent’s eyes flickered to her face, and for a brief second, their gazes locked. it was odd—this feeling that she was opening up to him, even just a little. but he couldn’t push it too much, couldn’t ruin the moment with any of the usual jokes or questions he’d normally ask.

“i get it,” he said finally, his voice surprisingly sincere. “paris does that to you. makes you see things in a different light.”

the silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind of quiet that came with familiarity, the kind of silence shared by two people who’d been around each other long enough to know what the other needed without saying it. the room was warm, the faint scent of their day lingering in the air. it was strangely domestic, like they were just two people existing in a space where nothing needed to be forced.

y/n shifted again, curling up on her side, facing him as she tugged the covers up around her neck. she could feel the weight of his stare, even without looking directly at him. it wasn’t the usual judgment she’d expect from him—it was softer, almost contemplative.

“you’re quiet,” she murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow. “are you gonna make fun of me for this now?”

trent shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. “no, i think i’ll just… enjoy the peace for once.” he said it teasingly, but there was something in the way he said it that made her feel… well, seen.

y/n didn’t know how to respond. it wasn’t like she could tell him that being here with him was comfortable in a way that confused her. that, despite everything, she felt more relaxed around him than she had with anyone else in a while.

the bed creaked as trent shifted again, closer this time. she could feel the heat from his body, the way the space between them seemed to shrink with every passing second. she wasn’t sure if it was the day, the city, or just the weight of their shared proximity, but she couldn’t help the way her heartbeat picked up when he reached for the light switch and dimmed the room.

“goodnight, y/n,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of something unreadable.

she closed her eyes, still unsure of everything that had just happened between them, but there was a flicker of something warm in her chest as she whispered back, “goodnight, trent.”

the night stretched on, but sleep didn’t come easy.

next

© PDRIESTA 2024

[shifterin]

♪ 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧' 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 ♪

or... an introduction to the lady beatle! february 8, 1964

so, you want to know more about the enigmatic redhead that's taken the world by storm? you're in the right place!

ivy lennon is the 21 year old co-lead guitarist of the beatles and younger sister to john lennon. she was born june 20, 1942 in liverpool, england. ivy stands at 167 cm with iconic auburn locks!

the beatle is best known for her coy attitude, sarcasm, and killer wit. we'll get a straight answer out of you one day, ivy! on top of that, she's something of a bombshell. young girls across the globe are attempting to replicate her look. not to mention, an object of envy. who wouldn't want to be in close proximity to those four boys?

when the subject is breached with the guitarist, she'll simply scoff and say, "i'll trade places with you, really."

have you heard the rumours about ms. poison ivy? our sources say she has a secret romance with fellow beatle, george harrison!

we all know the story, as the two have spoken of it on numerous occasions (not doing much to quell the rumours, are we, ivy and george?) back in '57, when the beatles were still the quarrymen, george had just recently joined the band. though, it seems he was much more interested in his bandmate's sister than actually playing the guitar.

the pair recall that he would sneak away during the practice session's, that usually took place at john and ivy's home, under the guise of 'using the restroom' and find himself at ivy's door. this became a regular routine for them. secret rendezvous in a teenage bedroom? it does make one wonder. george was even the one who convinced ivy to join the band's practices, which ended up being the catalyst for her joining.

indeed, even today, the pair are suspiciously close. longing glances, lingering touches, shared inside jokes. is there any truth to these rumours? and more importantly, how does the over-protective brother feel about it? only time will tell, our dear readers!

the ever talented lennon family, we all know and love them! what goes on behind the curtains?

ivy lennon and her older brother, john lennon, had quite the tumultuous upbringing in their early years, which the beatles' have been very open about. their parents could often be overheard by neighbors, yelling profanities at one another and causing a ruckus even late into the night.

their father once disappeared for several months leaving their mother, julia, to raise her two children alone. in his absence, julia began seeing another man. neither of the children took well to this, especially young john, who began rebelling against the new man of the house in all the ways his 7 year old mind could conjure up. when their father returned, he demanded custody of their children. the gall! julia refused full custody, but agreed to visitation.

it was during one of these visits that he attempted to kidnap (gasp!) john and ivy, so that he could raise them himself from all the way across the border. julia and her boyfriend at the time had their suspicions and followed her ex-husband’s car from a distance. when he stopped to get gas, far beyond where he was supposed to be spending time with his children, the two confronted him about his intentions and, after a bit of unconvincing denial, he admitted what he'd been planning to do. it was in this instance that the two got into yet another one of their many spats, but this time, they’d turned to ivy and john, and asked them to choose who they'd rather live with. ivy, only 6 years old at the time, had immediately turned to her brother, passing the decision on to him.

“all i cared about in that moment was making sure we stayed together. i had my own preferences, but john mattered more to me than any of that. so, i would go wherever he wanted to.” ivy revealed in a recent interview, tugging at our heartstrings.

john, only 8 years old himself, ultimately pulled ivy along with him and clung to his mother's summer dress. their father felt a childish sense of betrayal at this and vowed to leave them to their happy little family from that point onwards. shortly after this event, however, mimi, the children's aunt, decided enough was enough. she became the primary guardian of ivy and john. julia reluctantly relinquished custody, admitting that the children would probably be better off being raised by someone as put-together as her sister, though she never stopped visiting as often as her new family would allow.

and the pair today? as thick as thieves! john lennon even recently went off on a reporter for a questionable remark he had made about his baby sister's musical abilities. we all support ivy here, john, no need to bring the claws out!

our interviewer's asked ivy about her top five artists right now, here's what our girl had to say! (she refused to rank them, so, in no particular order!)

...lesley gore

...bob dylan

...the temptations

...the beach boys

... and the beatles, of course!

[bitchin-beskar]

the taste of scotch and cigars - chapter two

Rating: M

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!Reader

Warnings: relatively light for this chapter in terms of sexy content, but I'm keeping the M rating for the story. fake dating trope, but make it marriage instead, hints of exhibition kink, hints of voice kink, absolute fucking douchebag of an ex, mentions of cheating, descriptions of an abusive relationship.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: once again I am thirsting for Captain John Price. I have been thinking about this story nonstop, and I've finally had the motivation to write more for it! I was originally going to make this a much slower burn, but I am impatient so we will be getting to the sexy times much faster than expected. in the meantime, enjoy this chapter!

Oh.

Well, if you weren’t flustered before, you certainly were now.

Your teeth began to worry your lower lip out of nervousness, and your stranger, John, stepped closer, letting go of your hand to bring his thumb up, gently pulling the flesh of your lip from between your teeth.

“None’a that, love,” he murmured, his eyes going dark in a predatory kind of way that made your breath stutter. “There we go.”

God, this man made it damn near impossible for you to think, every sense you had consumed by the gorgeous specimen of perfection in front of you. Seriously, there was no way he could be real.

He seemed reluctant to separate from you, and before you could try to contrive some way to ask for his number or something out of pure desperation, he offered you that out.

“Have you eaten, princess?”

You shook your head. You’d been too nervous to eat for tonight, and then at the bar all you’d had were your vodka sodas, something you’d be sure to regret in the morning if you didn’t try to offset the incoming hangover with food.

“If you just wanna go home, I understand, but if you’re interested, I know a place not too far with some pretty good grub.”

It took you a few tries to respond, but you finally managed it, a semi-steady “alright,” making it’s way past your lips as he grinned and gently took you by the elbow and began to steer you down the street once again.

A comfortable kind of silence fell over the two of you as you walked. You took in the area, having been far too frazzled to really pay attention on your way to the pub this afternoon. You’d only been living here for a few months, and there was still a lot you had to get used to. Liverpool wasn’t large, but it was still a stark difference from the southern United States, where you’d been raised.

John’s hand left your elbow, but before you had a chance to mourn it’s loss, his palm settled in the small of your back, just the slightest bit of pressure to direct you, but not any more. You could feel the heat of his skin through your shirt, like a brand. Not for the first time, you wondered what the hell was going on with tonight. Everything felt like a fever dream, and you were half afraid you’d wake up in your bed to find it had all been conjured up by your mind. You decidedly did not think about how devastated you’d be if that were true.

The small little hole-in-the-wall John was taking you to came into view as you rounded the corner. It looked… well, charming, for lack of a better word. You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting, but this looked like the kind of place you’d try on your own, just because it looked interesting.

John held the door open for you and you ducked inside, taking in the cozy atmosphere. Like the outside suggested, it wasn’t a very large place, maybe half a dozen tables and the same amount of booths, and a bar along one wall. The exposed brick walls and exposed wooden rafters gave the whole restaurant a rustic feel, and soft strains of guitar music floated down from the speakers. John led you towards a booth at the back, the two of you sliding onto the plush, well worn leather seats opposite each other. In the soft golden lighting of the lamp over your booth, you could admit that your earlier estimation of John’s apperance wasn’t quite accurate. The man embodified pure sin, the kind of beauty the preachers in church swore that only angels could achieve, which meant John Price, mortal as he was, couldn’t be anything but the Devil.

You might’ve argued that he could’ve been an angel in human form, but no angel would’ve kissed you the way he did not even half an hour ago.

The waitress wandered over, grinning and greeting John by name. He responded in kind, asking her how she was and how her degree at university was going, and it brought a small smile to your lips. How people treated servers and other wage workers was usually a good measure of character, and you were pleased to see that John Price was the kind of man to treat them like his equals.

The waitress–Clare, she’d said her name was–asked for your order, and John looked to you for a brief moment. You gestured for him to order for the both of you.

“I trust you know what’s good here?”

Clare chuckled, and John looked a little sheepish. “He’s here enough to,” she said, laughing. “I’ll bring out the usual. Lemme know if you need anything else.”

As she walked back towards the kitchen, you looked to John to see his eyes on you with a soft look on his face. “If you don’ mind me askin’, what’s the story with that prick at the pub?”

You let your head tip back, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips. “That, John, is a long story.”

“I don’ got anywhere else ta be, love.”

You weren’t sure what it was, but something about this man made you want to tell him what had happened. Something told you he’d be a good listener, something you were honestly in desperate need of. Maybe it was the lingering effects of vodka. Maybe it was the sincerity that laced his voice. It didn’t really matter in the end, as you opened your mouth.

“I grew up in Bumfuck Nowhere, USA,” you started, a wry grin crossing your lips. “We had about 250 kids at my high school. My graduating class was about 40 kids, if that gives you any idea of how small the town was. Everybody knew everybody, which was more a curse than a blessing, if I’m honest.”

Clare came back out with waters and a basket of chips while you were talking, and you paused to take a small sip.

“I’ve known Christian my entire life. Pretty sure my momma decided she wanted him as a son-in-law when we were still in diapers. She spent my entire childhood pushin’ the two of us together, and I swear when he asked me out right at the start of high school, she damn near started crying. Went ‘round tellin’ everybody her little girl was datin’ the Christian Abraham Beauregard III.”

You stopped when John abruptly choked on his water, coughing roughly into the crook of his elbow. You winced when he pinned you with an incredulous stare.

“Come again?”

“You heard me,” you said, shrugging. “The Beauregards founded our town, and damn near everybody worshipped the ground they walked on. I cannot tell you how many nasty notes I got in my locker and jealous stares I received when it got around I was goin’ steady with Christian. We dated through high school, and he proposed after graduation.”

Your voice was bitter with old pain. You’d wasted so many years trying to make everybody around you happy, and all it did was make you miserable. You’d never had a plan for after graduation, not because you hadn’t wanted one, but because you’d been told over and over that once you married Christian, you’d be expected to stay at home and do whatever he required of you. You didn’t need a university degree to be a good housewife. You’d tried so hard to force yourself to be happy with that.

“We were married for two years. I was fuckin’ miserable. He was always gone for work, there’d be days that went by where I didn’t see him. I couldn’t do anything right. I didn’t clean enough, my cooking was shit, I was a bore in bed, I didn’t tell him I loved him enough, the list went on.”

You paused to take a drink of your water to try and calm yourself down from the familiar fury that had risen up in you. Christian had always had a way of getting under your skin, and it infuriated you even now, all these years later.

To your surprise, John reached out and grabbed your hand before you could pull it back from your glass and place it back on your lap. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, gently soothing away your ire. How exactly a man you’d met not even a full hour ago had managed to find such an easy way to calm you down and settle your heart was lost to you. He looked like he wanted to interject, but he held his tongue, merely nodding at you as a gesture for you to continue.

“Then, one day, I’d been out running errands but I had to stop at home because I realized I’d forgotten my phone. I walked into our bedroom to see Christian-” you spit the name with venom dripping from your tongue, eyes blazing with fire. “-balls deep in my best fucking friend. Who was wearing my lingerie, if the rest wasn’t bad enough.”

John growled, the sound low and rough in his throat. It startled you slightly, hearing him make a sound so inhuman. And yet, you weren’t scared. Quite the opposite, in fact. You wanted to know how that growl would feel with his mouth pressed to your skin, his teeth sinking into your flesh, if he’d feel more animal than man.

You shook yourself from the daydream. “I divorced him, to the horror of damn near everybody. My mama was furious with me. All the gossipy old birds tutted and shook their heads at me, shaming me for darin’ to go against the Bible’s teachings and leave the bastard. My friends, if you could even call them that, all sided with Christian over me. My grandmama was the only one who was ever on my side, but she’d been in the hospital with a broken hip, so she couldn’t do much.”

You paused, needing to take a second to shove down the old hurt from being abandonded by essentially everyone in your life in one fell swoop. To your horror, your eyes are starting to water, and you roughly swipe at them with your free hand.

“Hey.”

You focus back on John as he gently grabs your attention. There’s a furrow in his brow, and he looks both heartbroken and furious at the same time. But surprisingly, there’s no pity. Whenever people have asked, or inadvertedly learned some facet of your life’s story, there’s always pity in their eyes. It’s something that endlessly frustrates you, and eventually you just stopped telling people altogether. But in John’s gaze, there’s nothing but understanding, and it throws you.

“You don’t have ta keep goin’ if ya don’t want to, love.”

God, could this man get any more perfect? Honestly, this is only cementing the idea in your head that somehow, someway, John Price is a figment of your imagination, because such a perfect man can’t possibly exist in real life.

“Ah, s’alright, John,” you say with a wry smile. “Figure you deserve an explanation for being acosted and propositioned by a stranger in a pub on a random Friday night.”

“Well, it’s certainly been a more interesting start to a weekend than I’ve had in a while.”

You snort, not expecting that from him. He chuckles with you, and as the two of you pull yourselves back together, Clare arrives with your food. She’s brought fish and chips, as well as bangers and mash. She sets the food down, and your stomach grumbles a bit at the delicious smells. Still, you give John a bit of a look.

“So you’re a proper Brit, huh?”

He gives you a wicked grin. “Proper isn’t usually a word used to describe me, love.”

Fuck, this man’ll be the death of you.

You take a break from the impromptu trauma-dumping you’ve been subjecting John to in order to eat, and damn if he wasn’t right in saying that this little pub had good food.

“This might be some of the best food I’ve had in the UK so far, John.”

He scoffed at that. “Clearly you’ve not been havin’ good experiences then. I’ll have to recommend some more places to ya’.”

A pleasant little buzz swirled low in your belly. Maybe that means you’ll see more of him? Maybe some how you haven’t managed to scare him off with your fucked up life story so far. Small mercies.

After taking a bite of his own food, John fixes you with a look. “So, how’d a southern belle like you end up in fuckin’ Liverpool of all places?”

You couldn’t stop the bark of laughter at his incredulous tone. “Quite the change, isn’t it? After the absolute disaster that was my divorce, I couldn’t stay in that little town. Every single person knew what’d happened, and not a single one aside from grandmama was on my side. I was drowning.”

You paused to take another sip of your water. “I needed an out. I needed an escape. And then I saw an ad for an international student sponsorship program in the UK, and it was like a sign from the Lord Himself. Offering a full ride to international students if they attended UCL and then joined the workforce in the UK for a minimum of five years. Best damn decision I ever made.”

John furrowed his brows. “I’d imagine it’s mighty difficult to transfer credits, ‘n all that.”

You laughed bitterly. “Didn’t need to transfer shit. I wasn’t allowed to go to uni in the states. I had to fight to get my momma to let me get my damn high school diploma. Apparently, Christian had wanted to propose even earlier, and she was all for it, but I wanted that diploma. I’d earned it. But higher education? A housewife doesn’t need that. Don’t need a fancy degree to play house, and that’s the only career I’d ever been told I was allowed to have.”

The look on John’s face was explosive. “Tha’s fuckin’ bullshite,” he growled, and again, the tone of his voice sent shivers down your spine, in the best way. “It ain’t up to them. ‘S your life.”

His words damn near made you start crying again. How is it that this man understood you better than every single person in your stupid little town that you’d grown up in? They’re the ones who’d known you for near two decades, and yet, the image of you they wanted to believe in was about as far from reality as one could get.

“That’s a small, southern town for ya,” you muttered, twisting a napkin between your fingers. “Backwards and misogynistic and fuckin’ racist.” You paused. “Well, not always. There are plenty ‘o towns that are jus’ fine in the South, filled with wonderful people. I just wasn’t lucky enough to be born in one of them.”

John nodded sagely. “Tha’s true of damn near everywhere, love. For every good person, seems like there’s four bad, unfortunately.”

You shook your head. “Anyways, I grabbed what little belonged to just me, and left town as soon as I could. I had a small amount of savings from doin’ odd jobs for the neighbors, and it was enough to pay the fee to apply to UCL. I don’ know how, but I got in on the sponsorship, and I was on the first plane outta the states I could get. I got here broke as hell, with half a suitcase to my name, but for the first time ever, I’d felt like I was in charge of my own future, you know?”

The look he gave you was so tender it just about broke your heart. “Oh, princess,” he sighed, reaching out with one hand, palm up. He waited until you placed your hand in his, fingers brushing across a calloused palm before he continued. “You always should’a been allowed that choice. I’s a damn shame you weren’t. But the fact that you were strong enough to break free? It speaks volumes. I don’ gotta wonder how you got into UCL. They’d’ve been fools to reject ya.”

You covered your mouth with your free hand, trying desperately to hold back the sobs. “I swear I’m not usually this emotional,” you protested shakily, trying to wrest back control. “Shit.”

John abruptly stood up from the booth, not letting go of your hand.

“C’mere,” he said gruffly, tugging you to your feet and into his arms. You went willingly, letting him wrap you up in a strong embrace. One arm banded around your waist, pressing you tightly against his chest as his hand settled low on your hip. The other hand came up to cradle the back of your head as you buried your face in the hollow of his throat. Your fingers twisted in that light blue henley that felt so damn soft under your touch. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, and just held you.

Giving up the fight, you let some of your tears fall, letting the old pains and sorrow that tonight had resurrected fade away. The last time you’d been hugged like this had been when your daddy was still alive, but he’d died when you were just a little girl, and it’d been so long since you’d felt that same safety and comfort you’d felt in his arms.

“I mean every word I’ve said, love,” John whispered into your hair. “Every damn one. I work with some o’ the toughest bastards you’ve ever seen, and you’ve got every single one’a them beat. You’re one o’ the strongest women I’ve ever met, survivin’ what you have. Don’ let anyone tell you any different.”

The conviction in his voice stunned you. Once again, you were struck by the thought that maybe you’d fallen and hit your head and were in some kind of hallucinatory dream state. People like John Price didn’t exist outside of the pages of romance novels, and there was no way you were lucky enough to stumble into the physical embodiement of the kind of man you’d dreamt about rescuing you from your sad, pathetic life for years.

It was a foolish hope you’d held during your brief marriage and the tumultuous divorce. That a knight in shining armor would come to sweep you off your feet and take you away from everything bad in the world. Eventually, you’d decided that you couldn’t wait for a wish upon a star, and had taken the steps to save yourself. And you’d done it. You’d made it. You’d become more than what they’d planned for, but somehow you’re still having trouble believing you’ve come across the exact kind of man who would’ve saved you, if given half the chance.

You held on tightly for a few seconds more, letting yourself relish in being held in what you could imagine was a loving embrace. Then you took a step back, wiping at your eyes as you tried desperately not to let your embarrassment show.

“You’re probably the kindest man I’ve ever met, John Price.”

He smiled down at you, his own eyes bright. “Nothin’ less than what you deserve, princess. Now, c’mon an’ finish the rest o’ the story.”

You both took a seat again, and it took you a few seconds to remember where you’d left off and what question you were actually answering.

“Uh, yeah, so I went to UCL, worked my ass off, and managed to get my degree in two and a half years. I spent another half a year with the university as a teaching assistant, before my professor gave me a job recommendation for a consulting firm out here. I’d been living in dorms, so I didn’t have much. Makes moving easy when you haven’t set down roots. I found a small flat overlooking the river, and started at my job. I’ve only been in Liverpool for about six months now.”

John shook his head. “You’re goddamn incredible, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks burn at the compliment, and took a sip of water to try and not make it obvious just how affect you were by his words.

“I’m serious. Fuckin’ incredible. The only thing I don’ get, is why the fuck your ex from Bumfuck Nowhere, USA is here. Can’ imagine Liverpool bein’ all that attractive of a tourist destination for a lil’ shit like him.”

You sighed. “It’s a stupid class reunion of all things. Was originally supposed to be a five year reunion that ended up getting cancelled because a bunch of them got sick. That’s the problem with living in a small town. When one person gets sick, the whole fuckin’ town gets sick. But Christian wanted to go all out, and sent out a big invite to our whole class, all 40 of us, declaring that he was funding a trip to Liverpool for the class reunion.” You shook your head. “Don’t know why Liverpool, my only guess is that he thinks it’s ‘exotic’ or some such bullshit. Most’ve them have never left the state, let alone the country.”

John scratched at his beard pensively. “Did he know you were in Liverpool?”

You felt dread pool in your gut, ice cold and terrifying. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Christian could’ve chosen Liverpool because you were here. You just figured he was being a stupid, uneducated idiot, choosing a random city and country to fly to just because he could.

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered. “I cut off all contact with everyone back home, but I didn’t exactly keep my plans a secret. My momma knew I was taking off to Europe. She still worships the ground Christian walks on, if he asked her, she’d absolutely tell him.”

John scowled. “Maybe he wants another chance?” But before he could even finish the thought, already you were shaking your head.

“Christian never loved me. I’m not sure he’s capable of it. But I was supposed to be his, we’d grown up hearing that, and when I divorced him, it was like taking away a toddler’s favorite toy. He threw some pretty epic tantrums in court.” You took a deep breath. “He doesn’t want me back because he missed me, or wants another chance. He just wants ‘what’s his’, or something else equally stupid, I’m sure.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated. “What the fuck am I going to do? They’re holding the damn reunion in the town I live in. Even if I didn’t go to the events, I’m sure they’ll find ways to fuckin’ harass me. And I can’t afford to take a vacation anywhere right now.”

John hummed in agreement, a thoughtful look on his face. He tapped his thick fingers against the rim of his water glass as he looked at you, and you felt very suddenly like you’d just let a fox in the henhouse.

“I’ve got a… proposition, love.”

You nodded slowly, suspiciously. “Go on?”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “What’dya say we continue our performance from earlier? It’d be damn hard for him ta harass you into gettin’ back with him if you’ve got your husband with ya.”

[blouisparadise]

Today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry have popular jobs such as firefighter, flight attendance, florist, and mechanic. Since we get requests for rec lists with these particular jobs often, we decided to compile them into one list. We're marked each fic according to which job it features. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog the post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) December | Not Rated | 1,924 words | 💐

Magic happens here, in December.

2) Pilot | Teen & Up | 5,279 words | ✈️

“We have fifteen minutes.” Harry glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “How fast do you think my tongue can make you come?” Still against the wall, Louis felt a shiver run from the back of his neck down his spine. In three years walking on moving planes, he’d never had such zero control over his legs. At least not until now.

3) Your Apathy’s Like A Wound In Salt | Explicit | 5,312 words | 🛠️

“What a fucking ass!” Louis shifts his body so he’s completely facing away from the scene. “I asked him last night to fix my car and he said he would accept a payment in the form of me sucking his dick. I guess he’s really desperate, I can’t believe him.” Louis rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink in one go. Niall shakes his head and shrugs, “I told you to ask any other mechanic in town but you didn’t listen to me.” “Well, I didn’t think he would fucking say that now did I, Niall?” “Louis,” Paige rests a manicured hand on his shoulder, “So, you’re saying you still wouldn’t hit it?” “My ex?” She nods. “Yeah, I’d still hit that. Except this time it would be with a car or a baseball bat.” Suddenly, Niall spits out his beer all over the table as Paige bursts out laughing. “Fucking ruthless, you are.” Niall runs a hand through his styled hair.

4) Oil and Lube | Explicit | 5,552 words | 🛠️

The one where Harry's a car mechanic and Louis' engine can't seem to stop revving around him.

5) A Place To Call Home | Mature | 8,113 words | 💐

The thing is, he’s pretty sure he’s found home in a person in his life, someone who’s been essential in everything he’s done since he was seven years old. Through every broken bone, through every breakup, through every failure; through every triumph, personal and professional, and every goal he has scored in his time in Man U, there’s been someone there for it all.  That’s his best mate. Harry. A twenty-two year old with the kindest heart known to man, a slow drawl that is entirely too endearing, with the dreams to open up his own flower shop. A quiet and earnest boy with those he doesn’t know, and open and honest and absolutely lovely with those he loves.  It all hits him, really, the night of their final game of the Premier League. Again, timing is not his forté. They’re gearing up, ready to hit the field for the second half against Liverpool that determines their ranking in the League, when his brain decides to come online (after seventeen years, apparently), and conveniently supply him with the revelation that oh yeah, you’re kind of in love with your best friend.

6) If This Room Was Burning | Explicit | 8,629 words | 🔥

Where Louis’ cat gets stuck on the roof and Harry is the firefighter who ends up saving her.

7) Decorated Emergency | Not Rated | 10,359 words | 🔥

So what if they kissed once. It was the end of a shift that had seemed to drag on for twelve days instead of twelve hours. Their doctor was slow and felt the need to transfer every single patient, putting more work on every member of staff. Harry was stressed. Louis was the one who crowded him up against the door in the break room. It was Louis' fault, he was always pulling shit.

8) Taking The Long Way Home | Mature | 12,499 words | 🛠️

Coming home from the beach, Louis' car breaks down and he has to call mechanic Harry.

9) Bloom | Explicit | 24,887 words | 💐

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry tucks the flower into the top pocket of Louis’ jacket, patting over his heart just once. “What is it?” Louis asks, eyeing the sunny little yellow flower, a bit like a buttercup, “It’s lovely.” Harry pushes a piece of hair behind his ear and smiles, “It’s a primrose. I got them in this morning, reminded me of you.”

10) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27,083 words | 🛠️

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

11) A Hungry Heart | Explicit | 27,601 words | 💐

Harry Styles, florist and Great British Bake Off contestant, loves many things. He loves his flower shop, he loves baking, and there’s also that little crush he has on pop star Louis Tomlinson. But when Louis arrives on set as the surprise guest judge, Harry’s worlds collide. Throw in a cup of cuteness, a teaspoon of teasing, and a pinch of pining, and there’s all the ingredients for an epic love story, or absolute chaos.

12) Tangled Up And Blue | Explicit | 30,159 words | 🛠️

Kai just shakes his head, making his way down the small batch of stairs with a hop in his step. “Have fun on your weird adult date.” Harry sighs. “It’s not a date.” “Dad, you already have him in your bed most nights,” Kai sings, walking backwards towards Louis’ car with an insufferable smirk on his face. “It’s not looking too good for you,” he shrugs, hands curled around the straps of his backpack.

13) You Wish I Was Yours And I Hope That You’re Mine | Not Rated | 31,259 words | 💐

“What did you wish for?” Harry blushes, “If I tell you it won’t come true…” Louis sits straight again, a cute little determined look forming on his face, “I wished that a certain curly ‘aired boy would take me on more dates because I ‘ad such a good time on this one. And that’s going to come true, isn’t it?” “Of course,” Harry nearly splutters. “Yeah, yeah definitely.” “See?” Louis grins smugly. “Now I told you mine and it’s still going to come true, so will you tell me yours?” Their wishes were different though, because whereas Louis’ wish was cute and endearing, Harry found his own wish rather embarrassing. But he can’t lie to Louis, nor can he say no to Louis, so he sucks in a shaky breath of air before he speaks softly, “I wished that I was brave enough to kiss you…”

14) Stay Until Tomorrow | Explicit | 36,766 words | 🛠️

There’s a dull ache seeping through Louis’ body as he wakes up; a mild headache from last night’s alcohol intake, a cramp in his right arm from sleeping on it weird and a familiar soreness between his arse cheeks that Louis fully blames on his lousy one night stand.

15) One Heart Broke, Four Hands Bloody | Explicit | 47,429 words | 💐

Louis’ life is really fucking dull until one day he happens upon the scene of a crime, as said crime is happening. A murderer with big hands and a charming smile somehow manages to change his life for the better.

16) Once Burnt, Twice Shy | Explicit | 52,644 words | 🔥

Louis and Harry are polar opposites in every way. Where Louis is a bestselling author from the city, Harry is a small-town firefighter who’s never left his home. Where Louis is spontaneous and spirited, Harry is introverted and calm, never straying from routine. When an ill-fated accident and an exceptionally intelligent tabby bring them together, they are forced to confront their pasts and forge a better beginning for themselves. Will sparks fly, or will it all go up in flames?

17) No Going Back | Explicit | 56,102 words | 🛠️

Sales reps Harry and Louis are bored with their jobs and their lives. After meeting at a conference in Cardiff they hook up, have a few too many drinks, and jokingly apply to become remote lighthouse keepers. Six months, just the two of them, looking after the southernmost lighthouse off the bottom of Australia. It’s not like their applications will be accepted. Right? This is the story of how one choice - a left instead of a right, a go instead of a stop, a yes instead of a no - can change the future forever and that sometimes, taking that leap of faith, is worth the risk.

18) Between The Sand and Stars | Explicit | 63,128 words | ✈️

When an earthquake strands flight attendant Louis Tomlinson on a tropical island, he’s got paradise at his fingertips - miles of sunny beaches, immersion in vibrant culture, and a beautiful seaside mansion to enjoy. Unfortunately, it belongs to the egotistical musician Harry Styles, whose incorrigible management can do little to hinder his playboy complex. Despite Louis and Harry’s abhorrent first impression, contrasting backgrounds, and tendency to bicker every time they speak, who says opposites can’t attract? Them, of course, because they hate each other … right?

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Six

Paul and Linda: walk in. Me: Panics in bisexual

He’s so weird. He’s been carrying her purse, gives it back, then tries to change his mind again and the look she gives him. ‘You’re very cute, but I can carry my shit.’ 

But the “Linda’s a cameraman.” Rare Paul feminism moment. Slow clap.

And then instantly, “I’d better go and put in some piano practice.” You fucking addict. Linda, what are you getting yourself into, girly?

“Actually, we’re going on a farm in Scotland.” “I’d love to find a . . . a farm.” I wonder at what point he showed it to her. So far, they’ve done the dirty weekend in LA, Christmas in Liverpool and Portugal, a stay in New York, and now London. Have they done the Mull of Kintyre at this point? Oh, boy. Today might be the Paul and Linda show for me, folks :/

Why does she look like a loving mom watching her daughter’s dance audition? 

Paul taking Mal’s advice on “Standing” VS “Waiting” 

“I feel the most relaxed around Ring.” Linda/Paul/Ringo threesome fic when?

Ringo again with the EXCELLENT taste in jackets. That blue is So pretty. With the black velvet collar. Immaculate. 

“There’s enough obstacles without putting them in the song” is the most Paul quote ever. It’s like his artistic mission statement. The surface read of Paul’s songs is that they’re just these weightless, meaningless, pretty nothings. But the real read (part of) is that they’re meant as comforters, bolsterers, flashlights, and silver linings. 

He does love a good pair of hands, doesn’t he?

He really is showing off for her, though, here. When Linda hasn’t been here, has Paul ever just sat down at the piano and run through all his new songs? Not even close. And it’s so immature and so lovely.

“It was like a comedy, when I heard it.” Proceeds to sing some of the most heavy, blue lyrics. The above comment on Paul’s music notwithstanding, I must admit there are also extreme levels of emotional repression going on. 

“Castle of the King of the Birds”!!!!!!! First of all, who is the "king of the birds" if not Paul McCartney? It’s so extremely beautiful. Achingly so. When I fist heard it, I was like “where have I heard that before?” and when Peter Jackson pointed out that it’s the Top Gun theme? How many songs out there are actually Paul McCartney’s illegitimate children? Like, be Lennon/McCartney with me, for a minute here, and translate this sexual metaphor into musical terms. Paul just jerks it a bit, and before he can even finish, about ten people are pregnant from a drop of his precum and ten magical star children are born who he has no idea of. Does that make any kind of sense at all to anyone?

Honestly love the political version of get back. And clearly so does Yoko. That’s the most I’ve seen her get into a song they’ve written, like, ever. Hey, guys. I have an idea. Maybe you should ask the actual immigrant for ideas on your pro-immigration song. Just a thought. 

 When you’re trying to flirt with your new GF but your ex keeps making you giggle

A vignette of Lennon/McCartney’s writing process. Paul: trying to make up some lyrics. John: makes a joke lyric. Paul: puts it in and it works better than what he had. John: 

John: I’ll be taking me shirt off. Paul: definitely not picturing it at all

Okay but my hot take is that the first two verses at least of “Came in through the bathroom window” are a diss track at Jane. Seriously though, it’s got to be one of my many underrated favs to come out of these sessions. Also, they’re so in love doing this one, my heart can’t take it. 

“This isn’t daddy’s tea, is it?” And Yoko just, without skipping a beat, says, “No.” Girl, I know he’s the one calling you mommy in bed, don’t lie. 

It’s the mutual caring of it all, you know? How he’s sitting in her lap while playing with her hair. How he makes her laugh and she buries her face in his tummy. Gosh, she’s gonna love that tummy for almost thirty years. And while the breakup is heartbreaking, isn’t that lovely to think about? 

George, you should’ve made a Bob Dylan cover album. He sounds sooo pretty. 

Ah, yes. The “Just Let it Be, love. He’s not going to leave you.” Dream Song. Which John does not look enthusiastic about. And then it becomes “Well, you said he wouldn’t leave me, mama. But, you know, he went and did it.”

Peter Jackson, WHERE is that Linda/Yoko dish session audio, you absolute monster! Those are Not small-talk faces. Would I rather listen to what they’ve got to say than hear one of the twentieth century’s greatest masterpieces come to be? Yes. Yes, I would.

[lt-banks]

Lieutenant Holly “Fox” Banks - 32 - She/Her ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Stone PMC

Basics

Name: Holly Nadine Banks

Callsign: Fox

Nicknames: Hollz/Holls, Hol, Holly Dolly <- her dads nickname for her

Nationality: British

Birthplace: Birmingham, UK

Accent: Brummie

Sexuality: Bisexual

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Appearance

Height: 5'4"

Physique: Slim, athletic build

Eyes: Green and bright

Hair: Bleached blonde - she usually has some natural brown roots visible

Other Features: She has ornate, watercolour roses tattooed on her collar bones and hip bones. She also has these same roses blooming amongst a spine bone tattooed on her back - “Growing a backbone” she calls it. She has her ear lobes pierced and her nipples.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Personality and Quirks

Fiesty

Confident

Loyal

Cocky

Bossy

Protective

Hot headed

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Other Info

She loves cats. If she sees a stray, that stray is getting pets, no matter how scrunkly it looks.

Being from Birmingham and having a Brummie accent, often tacks on a “bab” or “babes” at the end of her sentences, as well as using other verbage local to the area like “Turrah/Ta'ra” to say goodbye.

She owns a cat called Nancy that stays with her elderly neighbor Mrs. Harris whilst she’s deployed.

Fills her time outside of deployment with fitness classes. She likes reformer pilates, yoga and pole dance.

Her favourite genres of music are pop and uk garage.

She used to be a real party girl in her early 20’s. Each time they were stationed somewhere with a bar or club, she would be there with her comrades.

She cannot hold her liquor. She’s a lightweight.

Typical short girl with a scrappy attitude.

Supports Liverpool FC since her Dad was from Liverpool.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Backstory:

Holly had a regular childhood growing up, up until she was 16. She was babysitting her younger sister Charlotte, who was a baby at the time whilst her parents were on a date night.

They never came home that night, instead, Holly answered the door later that evening to flashing blue and red lights, and a policeman solemnly explaining to her that her parents had died in a car accident.

This led to a rebellious two years in the care system, no other family to take them in, separated from her sister who was in a separate care home that focused on infants for a while. The loss of her parents and being separated from her sister caused a downfall. She failed her classes, isolated herself at school and caused issues at the home she was placed in. When she turned 18, with no real prospects, she made the decision to get out fast, turning to military recruitment in the British army which helped her regain routine and control over her frustrations.

Every time she returned home from deployment - she would visit her sister constantly, ensuring she never felt alone.

Eventually, after a number of years, she managed to get a down payment on a small apartment in the city of Birmingham, with the goal being to have Charlotte live with her once she was out of the care system, preventing her from having to make the drastic choices that Holly had to make at 18.

She found herself excelling in the role of a soldier, pushing herself further and further, eventually being offered a spot within Stone PMC. She trained closely with her Captain for a number of years, eventually showing the dedication and skills required for the role of Lieutenant.

Sometime after joining Stone PMC as a Sergeant in her mid twenties, she met her ex, Darren Gold - a salesman, in a nightclub. They hit it off and started dating after for about two years, eventually leading to him proposing to her. They were happy for a while, until Holly came back to her apartment early to surprise Darren, instead finding another woman in bed with him and all their photos together on the walls and around the apartment taken down and hidden.

He tried to blame the fact she would be deployed often and that her job as a mercenary emasculated him. This made Holly leave him, calling off the engagement.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Stone PMC Information:

Stone PMC is a made-up Private Military Company, similar to Shadow Company but operating within the United Kingdom. They have a strong focus on stealth operations and intelligence gathering. The team are often called in for assistance with other groups, when they need the teams specialty skills or extra man-power.

Holly’s team at Stone PMC consists of:

Captain Dominic Ruthers - Father figure, was there for her after catching Darren cheating on her. Has shaped her into the Lieutenant/Mercenary she is today.

Sergeant Wesley Oldham - Her best friend, ride or die. They like to take smoke breaks together to gossip.

Sergeant Bianca Sanders - Latest member of the team and younger. Reminds Holly of her sister and tends to baby Bianca a little. She just cares about her a lot.

Important note that Holly is a firm believer of found family, and in Stone PMC, she’s truly found her family. They’ve been there for her, seen her at her worst and vice-versa.

Eventually, thanks to Laswell’s careful liaisons, Stone PMC was acquired and merged with Task Force 141 as additional manpower.

Note: I am happy to RP as part of either Stone PMC or Task Force 141! *Blows a kiss at KorTac and Shadow Company*

[illleavemymessageinmysong]

Get Enough: I’ve been looking for love but it gets me nowhere

One of the most emotionally raw things Paul has ever put out, the lack of attention given to ‘Get Enough’ is baffling. Some random thoughts on the song:

If we’re looking for songs that might have real personal meaning to him, one that starts by recounting a memory and includes a quotation, seems a pretty good bet.

So, can we identify who he is addressing in the song?

“It was a time when we walked by the docks, I told you, "I need you all of my life", and watching the tugs rolling by together, do you remember?”

Docks? Liverpool, John?

“Now and then I see your face”, seems to seal it. We know the importance of the phrase “now and then” to Paul and, as has been pointed out, he has spoken of how if he recognises a face in one of his paintings, it is more than likely to be John.

Then there’s “I keep looking for love but it gets me nowhere”? Who would have foreseen Paul singing that in 2018? How has that gone largely unnoticed?

It is hard to escape the John associations. Could there be anything else going on in there too, though?

Well, it is kind of odd that having managed to be non-gender specific throughout the song, at the very end he changes “get enough of” to “get enough girl”. Why do that unless, and I know this is a crazy idea, he’s actually talking about a girl? That the song at least in part, is about an ex?

It might also be worth pointing out that, with regards to the docks reference, he never stopped going back to Liverpool or the Wirral. He could have taken a walk by the docks with someone that he brought home when visiting his dad. Yeah?

A lot of the criticism of the track on fan forums focused on the use of auto-tune, ignoring that it is being used as a device: distinguishing the current thoughts of the bridge from the reminiscence of the verse. Maybe those current thoughts are so raw that they need some distancing effect as he sings them.

The glorious release of the bridge at 1:58 with that odd, barely audible spoken word passage underneath. Not in the speaker’s first language? Lennonesque wordplay? I’ve no idea but, if we find out it could open up a lot about the song.

While we’re speculating madly and oscillating wildly, one more thought? Could the memory described in ‘Get Enough’ be the same one evoked in Paul’s ‘New Moon Over Jamaica’?

Both songs reflect on a memory: “I’m living with an old memory” (NMOJ) ; “it was real, do you remember?” (GE)

Both reflect on somebody he used to be with, an old love. Watching the moon triggers the memory in NMOJ and is part of the memory in GE.

NMOJ is set at New Year. GE was, very unusually, released as the clock hit 12 at New Year 2019.

“New moons and new years and old loves don’t mix” (NMOJ)

[dailyniallnews]

Interview with Niall Horan, ex frontman of One Direction

If the global success with One Direction is now far behind, the fortune that Niall Horan is enjoying as a solo artists is very current. His third album was just released. Emblematic title: The Show, and the show could not get better than this. Article by Leonardo Clausi

Precisely because this is the new age of anxiety (from the title of the poem by W. H. Auden The Age of Anxiety, 1947, and from Symphony n. 2 by Leonard Bernstein inspired by it, 1949), Public Health around the world should prescribe listening to Niall Horan. As anti-anxiety medicine, tonic for the psyche, emotionally restorative medicine. Really, who else in the modern soft rock world is as capable of tuning in for ten tracks on an equally balmy wavelength, without ever straying into drama or comedy, as Horan does on The Show, third album since he went solo after the dissolution of One Direction, the (boy)band who competed with the Beatles in music sales? Not even the much more wanted colleague Harry Styles, with his unapologetic Bowie-ism that annoyed Tony Visconti so much.

30-year-old Horan doesn't have the same ambitions. We could easily ask him to go and pick out our daughter from school because he is so.. fragrant? Since 2016 - without stopping except from when forced by the pandemic - he's been writing music and bringing it on tour. A constant motion of three albums, the feverish craftsmanship of a diligent entertainer devoted to the career that he was raised in thanks to the shortcut, sometimes a brutal one, with which talent shows have short-circuited the discography and industry of A&R (Artists and Repertoire). We intercept him as he drives, always busy as a bee. "I just came back from America yesterday. Today I am in Liverpool. It's constant travelling, I spend most of my time jetlagged". He is understandably satisfied with his latest discographic effort, which will become the center of the homonymous The Show Live on Tour, with the Italian stop on 21st March 2024 at the Mediolanum Forum in Milan: "I spent a lot of time writing and producing it during the pandemic and the year after. I’m happy, the response has been very, very interesting around the world". Not surprising, considering the melodic quality of the tracks, touched by the Californian light of the Laurel Canyon, with vocal harmonies reminiscent of the Beach Boys, and references to the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac. "I trusted that I could write a song. I knew I had the ability to do it. I just needed to trust that I could get a guitar, or sit at a piano, and something good would come out of it. It's out, but you never know. I need to keep my head down, work hard and see".

The 70s were his first introduction to music through records (or vinyls, as hipsters say), which were floating around the house; the real love however started "when I realised how lucky I was to have grown up with music that stayed with me to this day. My parents had a large album collection. I still listen to a lot of them now. When I’m in the studio I often use analogue mixing desks, it’s an important part of the sound I’m looking for". Speaking of the search for the 'organic' sound that digital audio is not able to embody all the way, what does he think of artificial intelligence, now that creators in the entertainment industry are taking the streets as well to protest against forcibly becoming obsolete? "Artificial intelligence can really do a lot, but it can’t give you that feeling that I call the human touch. It couldn’t write 'Hey Jude' or any other masterpiece. Humans will always have the upper hand".

Horan's Irishness is a prominent element of his personality, that proud affability that made his country a cultural superpower despite its size. And that was worth the warm reception of none other than the POTUS, who is also a descendent of the Celtic diaspora. "For how small the nation is, the relevance we have worldwide is amazing. Only five million inhabitants, and yet our culture of drinking, night life, musical or literary traditions are known everywhere. It's something I always keep in mind and want to show off as much as possible. And yes, I was invited at Washington to meet Joe Biden". Understandably, the fact excites him: "It was crazy that someone from a small town like mine (Mullingar, northwest of Ireland, ed.) ended up playing for the President of the United States at the White House. I still can't believe it". Not to mention the fact that, from a particularly bigot and conservative society that it once was, Ireland is now one of the most advanced and liberal ones of the West. "I'm not sure how it happened, but I am very proud of it. It was great to see it become one of the first countries to have gay marriage, for example. And I’m proud that it’s acting as a catalyst for change in other countries".

And does he know U2, this compatriot up and coming group? Would he collaborate with them? "Some of my all time favourite songs are by U2, their shows are some of the best I’ve ever been to. It would be great to do something with them if they ever ask". Coming from one of the best selling bands meant that there was a challenging precedent to compete with. But Niall Horan is doing great. It's impossible to refrain from asking about a 1D reunion. "It’s a busy time for everyone, so no, not that I know of. We keep in touch but everyone’s doing their own thing. Louis is touring in America, Liam is working on his music, Harry’s busy on the biggest world tour... In fact, if you hear about a reunion, please let me know".

[theroseses]

Oh God, I ran across a funny Cillian interview and made the mistake of reading the comments - there was a bunch of people cry arsing about Cillian hating the English because he became uncomfortable with his kids sounding posh-English.

Firstly, this would be the Cillian Murphy who's most frequent film collaborator is Chris Nolan, an English man. And who loves the Beatles, the band from fucking Liverpool, England.

Secondly, the Irish have an understandable reason to feel that way about their children being absorbed by English culture. It's called our entire history with Ireland.

And despite what those cry arsing losers say, this isn't in the past. Irish, Scottish and Welsh people still get shit over here from the same ignorant losers crying about this. A friend of Mike's now-ex was Scottish and he got so much shit during the fucking EU referendum and I don't imagine the Irish and Welsh got it any better. My Polish friend got threats too.

I absolutely get why Cillian went back to Ireland.

Our behaviour is still shameful. That's just the truth.

[elise-51-blog]

Gary Neville is a REF

So inspired by this. Working on a WIP, another which may it see the light of day someday. An AU where Gary gets kicked out the the United youth academy and becomes a referee instead. Carra has his Liverpool career.

[[Absolutely inspired by this marvelous fic here as well, where both of them became refs instead of footballers, please give it love: PLAY THE WHISTLE by saltstreets ]] credit: @zevons

Snippet of my WIP here.....

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

“It’s a fuckin’ shambles, Gaz.”

Gary should’ve known better than to answer his phone. It’s a beautiful day for football. Which has fuck all to do with Gary. Gary’s on holiday. At home maybe, but it still counts. He’d even had a lie-in ‘til nearly half seven.

He doesn’t, won’t, can’t hold back a weary sigh, soul-deep. He’s got a headache already. Worse, he already knows he won’t say no in the end.

Still.

“I can’t fuckin’ do it, Stuart. I’m on holiday.”

“What, in fuckin’ Bury?”

“How d’you know I’m still in Bury? Maybe I’m in Ibiza!”

“Fuck you are, you boring cunt. You’ve probably been in the back garden, tellin’ the daisies which way to grow.”

“Fuck off.” They both laugh, it’s fucking true innit.

“Fuck me.” He can’t do it. He will do it.

“Already got me lad on the way, son. He’ll scoop you up, you’ll be on the pitch in thirty. Lovely day for it.”

“They’ll not go for it, Stu.” For fucking obvious reasons. “Raffa won’t, anyways.”

“Already had it out with ‘em, you mong, ‘course I have. Sir Alex and Raffa are well up for it. Talked you up, didn’t I? No one I’d trust to do the job right. Sterling lad, absolutely professional he is, our Gary Neville, no one else for it.”

“No one else stupid enough to take it on, you mean.”

“Right you are, son!”

Stuart laughs some more at Gary’s pain. It’s a thing they do. “It don’t hurt you’re a short taxi ride away, either.”

“This is mad, this is.” Gary shakes his head. “If the scousers even let me off the pitch in one piece, I’m gonna get absolutely killed by the fans, no matter the result. Both sides, probably.”

“Yeah. But you’ll be golden in my books, Nev, don’t you worry about that.”

Gary feels a bit sick. “This is me fucked, you understand that, right?”

“Listen,” Stuart actually sounds worryingly sincere. “I wouldn’t ask it if we didn’t need you, Gaz. Really. I know it’s unorthodox, but I’ve made everything absolutely crystal with the managers. The press is being made aware. It’s the wrong time of year for a re-play, innit. Everyone wants to play today. I’ll protect you, lad, I swear it. It’ll be alright.”

He can see it now: Ex-Academy Player Officiates Derby Match, Ripped to Pieces By Former Teammates and Blood-Thirsty Scousers Alike!!

Gary tries to grasp at anything to make the situation better in his mind. “It’ll be Keane and Gerrard to captain, I assume?”

There’s a suspicious pause. Stuart sounds mildly apologetic. 

“Err, well. Gerrard’s out today, actually, knee’s acting up again. It’ll be Carragher in his place.”

Oh, well, fuck Gary Neville then. Just fuck him all day long.

“Oh, well, that’s more good news then, Stuart. The only moderately sane man in Liverpool is out on injury, in his stead an Actual Fucking Lunatic.” He is absolutely insane is Carragher. “Between him and Keane, it’s gonna be sunshine and fucking daisies. I can’t wait to be spoken to with nothing but dignity and respect for ninety minutes.”

Suddenly, Gary hears the desperate honks of a car horn idling impatiently just outside the kitchen window. Stuart must hear it over the phone, he sounds absolutely elated to ring off.

“That’ll be our Dave, then. Off you go, Gaz, that’s a good lad! Don’t forget your whistle, you’re gonna need it today, sure!”

Christ.

It’s gonna be a fuckin’ shambles.

[jsprnt]

Healing Hearts PT.1 | Virgil van Dijk

Would a fresh start bring you more than just a new job?

WC: 806

Summary: Y/N L/N is a very skilled and praised physiotherapist. A certain event pushing her for a fresh start, as a physiotherapist for Liverpool FC. One question always being in the back of her mind: Will she be able to let go of her past and allow herself to experience new things?

I throw my blanket off of me for what feels like the millionth time these past two hours. Shifting on my new bed. These covers were expensive, though it seems like I won't be fully enjoying them tonight.

My head is full of thoughts, making up certain scenario's over and over again. I turn my phone on again it unlocks immediately, the Face ID somehow recognizing my horribly tired state. "Oh thanks I guess", I mumble, a little offended.

My fingers instinctively tap onto my e-mail, opening that one message again. 'We welcome you for your first day at Liverpool FC next Monday'. The words read, it still felt weird. It wasn't like I had no experience at new clubs, no I had quite a bit of that, despite my age.

I never specifically dreamt of becoming a physiotherapist growing up. I had fantasies about literally every profession. I had my vast collection of career Barbies to thank for that. Although, I did have a preference of studying medicine, accompanied with the delight of my parents, though our relationship had never been the best. That's just what I did. I had met a lot of people during that time of my life, including my best girlfriends. Couldn't have gone through all those sleepless study sessions without them.

I did some research before graduating high school. Looking at all the bachelor studies universities close to me had to offer. Then I realized physiotherapy was my calling. My last year internship was then, by the fate of the universe at AFC Ajax. Thankfully, it wasn't far from home at all. The connections, knowledge and memories I had built there still manages put a smile on my face when I think of them. I was so lucky to be able to experience that. When they offered me a three year contract after graduating I didn't hesitate to sign. Those three years had me build up so much knowledge and the mentors were amazing people to look up to.

That's unfortunately also how I met my ex Theodore (Yes, he was as snobby as his name), he was a supporter, sitting in the VIP chairs. I can't lie and say it wasn't love at first sight, our relationship progressed from there.

Years later an insane offer was presented to me when I was nearing the end of my contract at Ajax. FC Barcelona's head physio wanted me on his team! He had heard about my skills from people in the industry. After much consideration and discussions with my loved ones I decided to accept my new job at FC Barcelona.

To my surprise my ex had also decided to move with me. After all he was practically filthy rich, living off ofhis mommy's money. So, he wasn't bound to be somewhere for work or anything. I can't help but roll my eyes when I think of what that man-child put me through. The only positive thing about him was the connections I built at parties and gatherings he made me go to as his little picture perfect girlfriend. Ladies, only date a rich man once for the connections and money. Don't let it drag on for to long though, know when to get out before it gets too toxic.

My time at FC Barcelona was amazing, though I didn't feel that free with my boyfriend breathing down my neck at anything I did. I worked hard, the players and staff were amazing. I still talk to some of them today, a message here and there to check in on each other. When me and Theo finally broke up I decided to move away and quit working at Barcelona, it was a difficult decision with many players and staff trying to convince me to stay, but I had to. Just to feel fully separated from him.

That puts me here in Liverpool, laying restlessly in my bed at almost two in the morning. I glance outside my apartment, my curtains half drawn. Some of the city lights reflecting back onto the window glass. A smile replaces my previously anxious expression. Working hard and spending hard had its perks.

I turn my phone off, placing my head on my new not-yet-comfortable pillow, grabbing another one for comfort. My racing thoughts tire me out, my eyes fluttering shut, curious for what will happen tomorrow...