#I don't need to go back through everything

[devilishchaos]

Shower | Lando Norris Imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Lando Norris

Summary: Y/N and Lando have soft shower sex.

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit talk, oral (m receiving), unprotected vaginal penetration (don’t do it!!! stay safe!), hair grabbing, swallowing, use of pet names

AN: domestic Lando, because I'm a sucker for domesticity <3. also..not me and yet another shower sex fic. also pt.2..am I back? I don't know, just wanted to write about Lando. enjoy x

Word Count: 2 517 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

You had it coming for a while, you knew it in the back of your mind. And it’s not like you weren’t looking forward to it, but just that the urges, that were slowly growing stronger for Lando, inside of you took a backseat as real world deadlines threatened to overcome you.

Lando had been staying home a lot more than usual, and found himself with a rare two-week break between races, a welcome pause in the relentless pace of the Formula 1 calendar. After months of high-pressure performances and grueling travel schedules, the weariness has started to catch up with him, coupled with the need to be with you and make up for the lost time, due to his hectic schedule, caused him to not want to leave the house. 

Coming back from work every evening, you were greeted with the sight of him whipping up something simple but delicious for you to feast on, his eyes getting all crinkled up as a smile covered his face whenever he heard you yell “I'm home!”. He was playing the part of a perfect boyfriend to the T and you really couldn’t have been more thankful for everything that he was doing for you, even though you couldn’t always say it out loud. 

But behind his loving exterior was something he wasn’t really telling you, for fear of coming across as selfish when he could clearly see the amount of stress you were already in. You weren’t blind though and just like him, you too could see that he was in need of some affection and some attention, was in need of someone telling him he did well on the circuit and was still doing well at home, and you also knew you were that someone. 

You could feel it in his touch, lingering just a second longer than necessary, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your skin. You could feel it in his kisses, turning hot and fervent despite starting out as soft and gentle. You knew he needed it and you knew he wasn’t going to be explicit enough and say it out loud nor was he going to pressure you into doing something you didn’t have the energy to do. 

Yet upon hearing the slow pitter-patter of water as you came back home, you had found your feet leading you towards the bathroom, your heart picking up its pace at the thought of Lando taking a shower. The bathroom door unlocked as always, his steamy silhouette could be seen through the glass wall. You couldn’t tell what came over you in that moment, but before you could stop yourself, your hands were moving on their own, getting rid of your clothing piece by piece, until you were naked. 

Your hand came resting against the glass as you peeked inside, taking in the sight in front of you. Lando looks gorgeous, the water trickling down his body and hugging him at all the right places, his shoulders and hipbones, making you want to lick the wetness away. The sight alone is enough to make you press your legs closer together, a need growing inside of you as you take your time admiring the beauty that is your boyfriend. 

Lando had his head under the water, his wet curls sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, his mouth slightly parted to let the warm water hit his tongue as he was lost in thought. And to say that he was beyond surprised when he opened his eyes and found you on the other side of the glass, naked and looking nothing but breathtaking to him, would be an understatement. A groan escapes his lips under his breath as he stares at you, his eyes trailing down, taking in your completely naked body and swallowing thickly, a hunger rising in him, just looking at you.

That is, until a voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting Lando’s as he calls you out. 

“Baby?” He murmurs, his voice sounding low as the water still hitting his face causes his words to come out muffled, but you could still hear that his tone was filled with need and anticipation. His left hand moves from where it was against the wall to press against the glass, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a silent conversation happening between you within just that moment, his eyes full of want, making his desire for you clear.

"I'm home" you say in a soft murmur.

“Yeah I can see that..” Lando mutters, his eyes still glued to you through the glass, his mouth going dry as his eyes rake you up and down, taking in every inch of you as if it was the first time he was seeing you like that. He was trying to focus hard on not letting his eyes linger between your legs, because the thought of it already has his brain short circuit.

“You want to join me in here?” He questions, his fingers tapping the glass lightly, giving a small smirk.

Lando can’t fight the grin that appears on his face as you nod, his mind already racing over what the two of you would do. He grabs the shower glass and pushes it open, his arms spreading out towards you as a silent invitation for you to come inside. He can’t wait to touch you again, to feel your skin against his, to hear your soft moans, but even amidst all of that he still has a tiny voice inside his head reminding him that you’re probably tired.

Lando closes the glass door back when you make your way inside, and all it takes is a couple of seconds for him to pull you into his chest against his wet, warm body, his strong arms wrapping around you gently. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he buries his face into your neck, the stress melting away from him just from having you close. His hands move up and down against your wet back, the water trickling between you.

He can tell what you’re planning and while it is something he’s been craving all these past days or weeks, now that you were right in front of him, he feels as if just having you so close to him is enough. And so he decides to show you, placing the softest of kisses to your crown as his grip tightens around your waist, the sensation making you lift your head up from his chest, a smile on your face. 

“You are so beautiful.” Lando whispers and that’s all you need to lose your footing. 

Before either of you can realize, your lips are moving in sync with his, a rhythm both familiar and new, being set up as you dance around your desires. You don’t know who started it, but it’s not like it matters anyway. All you can think of in that moment is the way his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you get lost in the love only he can give you. And it’s the same for Lando, his senses getting overwhelmed as he finds himself getting high on you, on the way you make him feel. You’re all he could ever want and more, and every time you touch him, it feels like you’re reminding him of the reason he’s alive. 

So he takes it in his stride, finally letting go of his fears and his worries, completely losing himself in you, in the love he feels for you. His hands roam all over your water-covered body, from your cheeks to your neck to your breasts and hips, and he takes his sweet time caressing and feeling every single one of them, just like you do too, your own hands lying pressed flat against his toned body. You touch him everywhere, letting your focus shift from his hair to his biceps to the round cheeks of his ass, and as you do so, you also find yourself pulling away from his lips, kissing down his body, crouching lower and lower till you’re on your knees in front of him. 

The sight makes something turn on inside of Lando’s brain, his hands making their way to your cheeks again. But this time, he’s just a little more assertive, pulling you closer to his crotch, because he can tell you already have eyes for his cock. 

“Want a taste?” he asks, his voice hoarse already and a lazy smirk playing on his lips. You can only nod at that, biting your lip as you lean in, placing a kiss to his tip. And from the sigh that escapes from Lando’s mouth at the small gesture, you know it’s just like the first time for him, over and over again. 

“Then suck on it, baby.” his voice calls out again, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

With that, your hands are quick to get wrapped around his shaft as you take him into your mouth, making him throw his head back in the slightest of pleasure. As your tongue begins to roll around his head, you make sure to savor the heavenly taste of his finest delicacy, your teeth grazing against his flesh as you decide to make up for the time and the rounds you’ve lost out on. 

His tip was already leaking, his body eagerly reacting to your touch, the anticipation building within him. He swallowed, his words caught in his throat, all he could do was let out a groan in response. His hips instinctively moved forward, pushing his cock further into your mouth, his body seeking more pleasure, more of you. He was powerless to the sensations coursing through him, every swipe of your tongue sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

"More," he found himself whispering, his voice rough "I want you to swirl your tongue around the tip, take it into your mouth, then-" he whispered, his eyes flicking down to you, the intensity in his gaze burning with need "Push your tongue into the slit, please.” 

Lando's body tensed, a low groan escaping him as you did as he asked, his eyes falling shut, his face flushed, his jaw clenched in an effort to hold back.

"Good girl," he groaned, his words husky, his voice filled with appreciation and a hint of dominance. 

Lando's eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping him as your free hand found his balls. His body tensed, his fingers gripping your hair a little tighter, his hips instinctively pushing forward in a shallow thrust.

"That's right," he growled, his voice filled with need, his words a husky rasp as he tried to control himself, his body trembling. 

As you pick up the pace, your surroundings fade away, the sound of the water acting as background music while you continue to give head to Lando, enjoying the effect you have on him. His hands guide you along, resting at your head, as your own take to worship his cock, your cheeks hollowed out to the max. Maybe it’s the lack of touch that he’s been forced to go through for the past weeks, or maybe it’s the way you seem so determined on bringing him to his knees, but Lando can’t seem to control the urge to cum right then and there, his body involuntarily thrusting his dick right down your throat and making you choke. 

“Go faster, please.” he groans, pretty sounds emanating from deep inside his chest as you oblige, going faster and harder as you begin deepthroating him. Countdown from ten in your head and that’s all you need to have him lose it, his seed seeping into your mouth as you lap every bit up. He tastes just as you remember or maybe even better because it’s been so long. As the last drops trickle down your throat, you let out a sigh of satisfaction, licking your lips before gripping his thighs to pull yourself back up. 

Your eyes meet his and you don’t miss the way he smiles at you, and you can’t help but ask, “Was I good?” and make him chuckle at your cuteness. 

“Incredible as always, love.” Lando says, leaning in to catch your lips in another kiss, his body weight pushing you flat against the glass wall. Maybe it’s you imagining things, but he somehow tastes even sweeter now, the aftertaste of his cum still fresh on your tongue as you make out with him once more. Parting your mouth open with his own tongue, he doesn’t leave a single spot untouched as his cock prods around your heat, silently seeking entrance. 

And you’re only too keen on granting him that, a whimper making its way out of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer than closer. 

“I n- need you..” you whine, kissing him harder as you feel yourself grow more needy by the second. Lucky for you though, your boyfriend is a great listener, listening to your demand as he thrusts himself into you, penetrating into your pussy at long last. He feels so delicious like that, moving in and out of you as your thighs squeeze around his, your walls tightening around his length as he fills you up with himself. 

You’re a moaning, struggling mess within seconds, the water making everything foggy and slippery as he continues to thrust in you, massaging all the right places you didn’t even know existed inside of you up until you started dating. Every move of his hips, as they roll against yours, sends you into a frenzy, gibberish rolling off your tongue as he starts speeding up more and more. Your bodies mold into one as you claw at each other’s skin, wanting to be as close to the other as possible. You’re in bliss at that moment, the pent up stress from work and the sexual frustration finally coming to the fore and bursting like a bubble as you make love. 

He cums first, his cock still sensitive from your lip-service as his load fills you up to the brim, his thrusts not stopping as he leads you to your own orgasm. It feels like an eternity and like a single second at the same time, your sense of being completely distorted as you focus only on the pleasure, your nails digging into the skin of his back as he pumps into you one last time, making you ride out your climax in style and leaving you panting for air. 

As a new slew of moans racks through your body, he vows to drown them out in a kiss with his hands holding you in place. When he pulls away, the expression on his face is the most lovesick one you’ve ever seen. 

“Thank you.” is all he says, but it’s enough to fill your heart up with warmth as he pulls away, ready to dry you up and lead you to the bed for another round.

[catscraftsandcommentary]

Not gonna lie, as a kid, I did NOT realize how much basic algebra and basic geometry would be involved in adulthood. All those word problems that you HATED as a student? They are preparing you to think your way through REAL SITUATIONS.

Real life word problems I have solved (or watched my dad solve, because he's very good at "let me show you how to do this Adult Stuff, so one day you can handle it on your own"):

I am preparing to retile the bathtub/shower in my bathroom. If the area is [measurements] on two walls and [measurements] on the other wall, and the tiles are [measurements] and come [number] in a box, how many boxes do I need? Does this include border tiles, which are [measurements]? Does this include cutting some tiles into two, where I need less than half a tile? How much will this cost? Do I need to keep the receipt to return extra tiles? What other materials do I need to prepare the wall for tiles, and how many of them do I need?

I want to make a cute knit hat. I have picked out a stitch pattern, a yarn type, and the appropriately sized needles. Using these, 5 repeats of the pattern is [measurements] and my head is [measurements]. Also, the border pattern that I want to use is [measurements]. How many repeats do I need to make for the hat to fit around my head? How many rows long should it be to cover the top of my head and down over my ears? When do I start decreasing for the top of the hat (where it goes from a tube to a circle)? Or do I start from the top and keep going until it's the right length? How do I adjust the pattern to account for the increases (top-down construction) or decreases (bottom-up construction) while I'm forming the top of the hat (the circle part)? If the pattern was written for flat knitting (back and forth) and I'm knitting in the round (always start rows on the right), do I need to adjust the pattern for that?

I want to follow a pre-written pattern for a fitted garment, BUT the test swatch I knitted came out the wrong size for the needles I used. Do I change needle sizes or rewrite the pattern [See process above for writing a knitting pattern.] If I change needle sizes, what size should I try next so I hopefully have to knit the fewest test swatches? Do I *like* the way that the pattern looks when I change needle sizes, or are the stitches now so loose that it's worth changing to a thicker yarn (test swatch was too small and bigger needles look bad), a thinner yarn (test patch was too big and smaller needles/tighter needles are hard to work with) or rewriting the pattern?

I am going to build a small wooden ramp for my new shed. What are the relevant local building codes? How long does my ramp need to be to reach from the door of the shed to the ground (which may be sloped) while keeping the appropriate slope? Am I using the gentle slope for handicapped access or the steeper slope for utility access? Is the ramp so long that it needs a level platform in the middle? How much space will this add? How many supports do I need? WHAT KIND AND HOW MUCH LUMBER DO I NEED TO BUY FOR THIS PROJECT? See also: screws, screw bits, support brackets, etc. How much will all this cost?

I want to reorganize my bedroom. What furniture do I have? Am I adding or removing any? What measurements do I need to take so I can make a small model of my room, doors, windows, electrical outlets, etc, and furniture? If I am doing this with graph paper, what scale am I using for "inches to graph squares" and what size does everything need to be? When I'm ready to move everything, what order do I move the furniture so that my largest pieces don't get trapped somewhere awkward?

If I also want to PAINT my bedroom at the same time, how do I move furniture so that I can reach the walls while doing the least rearrangement for heavy pieces? Do I have space in other rooms to temporarily move things out of my way, or do I have to keep most stuff in my room the whole time? How much stuff can I declutter and get rid of before I start?

I want to start a new embroidery project. What materials will I be using, and how much of each will I need? Can I use the things I already have in my Craft Stash, or do I need to make a run to the craft store? How big will the finished project be? Do I want to frame it (this will require extra fabric around the edges for mounting, plus the framing materials) or sew it on something as a patch (this will require a seam allowance and possibly backing fabric for the patch, like stabilizer) or embroider an existing item? What new techniques or skills do I need to look up and learn before I start?

I want to put organizing bins in my pantry cabinet. The shelves are [measurements]. Many of the cans and boxes that I want to organize are [measurements]. Of the organizers available, what size should I look for and how many will I need? Do I want everything one size, or do I want some larger or smaller for different things that I'm storing? How much extra effort will it take to set up and maintain this system, and am I willing to invest that effort - not just at the start, but as an on-going basis?

At work, we keep track of how much product we produce, the materials we use, and the waste that we had. (This helps for tracking "what does it cost to produce each item, including labor" which is important for budgeting. Unfortunately if management is obsessed with maximizing profits NO MATTER WHAT, this can lead to process changes that are REALLY ANNOYING.) If I have 5 rows of boxes plus 3 extra boxes on a pallet, and each box holds 12 items and each row holds 7 boxes, how many finished items are on the pallet? If I have 2 finished pallets (12 items per box, 7 boxes per row, 16 rows per pallet) PLUS that partial pallet at the end of the shift, how many items did we make that shift? If we threw away 68 lbs of material during the shift and there are 3.36 items per lb of material, how many item's worth of material did we throw away? What was our percentage of waste for the shift? (These ARE realistic numbers!) How much total material did we use during that shift, and when will we need to order more? If there are three production lines on the shift, all making different items and using different materials, how do we track everything? Are there any changes that management can make to make production more efficient? (More product produced, less materials and time wasted, less machine downtime for mechanical or user error problems.) How likely are those changes to drive experienced workers away, and is the cost of finding, hiring, and training new employees to a similar level of skill so high that we should NOT make those changes?

Word problems are EVERYWHERE when you're an adult, and half the trick of solving them is recognizing that they exist, and then figuring out what questions you need to ask to solve them, and what info you need to answer your questions.

One thing they don’t tell you about sewing is that it is actually ironing

[crssvjb]

Secrets Revealed - Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Sumarry: After a painful breakup, you discover you are pregnant, but keep the secret out of fear and hurt.

The morning started like any other: a ray of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant sound of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. But the pregnancy test in her hands changed everything.

Two lines.

You felt your heart race. It wasn't possible. He read the leaflet again, checked the test three more times, but the result did not change. You were pregnant with Charles.

She sat on the bathroom floor, her back against the cold wall. His mind went back to the last moment they had together, weeks ago.

—"You think you're always right!" — You shouted, your voice cracking under the weight of emotions.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, irritated. — "And you think everything has to be your way! I can't deal with this right now."

— "Can't handle this? Maybe you can't handle me, Charles."

The silence that followed was the most painful you had ever experienced. He looked away, hesitating. When he spoke again, his voice was a little cold:

— "Maybe we were never right for each other."

You swallowed hard, the words burning like acid. Without saying anything else, he picked up his things and left, leaving behind not only his home, but also everything they had built together.

The sound of your cell phone vibrating brought you back to the present. You looked at the screen and saw messages from friends. There was a party that night and everyone was excited to go together.

But how could you face Charles now? He would probably be there. And you... you didn't know if you would have the courage to face him with the secret you carried.

The party was in full swing when Charles arrived. Dressed casually, he greeted his friends but seemed a little distracted. Since the breakup, he had tried to convince himself that the separation was better for both of them, but a part of him knew that he had messed up.

- "Hey, Charles." — Pierre caught his attention, holding out a drink. — "How are things with Y/N?"

Charles frowned, uncomfortable with the message of his name. — "I think this is over, Pierre."

Pierre looked a little surprised. — "It's over? But... what about the baby?"

The glass in Charles' hand almost fell. — "What baby?"

Pierre widened his eyes, clearly realizing his mistake. — "Ah, shit... I thought you knew. Sorry, Charles. I wasn't supposed to... forget it."

Charles didn't wait for explanations. Dropping his drink on the first surface he found, he hurriedly left the party, ignoring Pierre's calls.

— "Pierre, you big mouth." — Kika said, slapping her boyfriend's arm.

The knock on the door was unexpected. You opened it and saw Charles panting, his eyes shining with a mix of surprise and nervousness.

— "Why didn't you tell me?" — He asked, almost whispering.

— "Charles, I..."

— "You're pregnant, aren't you?" — He interrupted, his eyes searching yours urgently.

You hesitated, but you knew you couldn't deny it. - "I am."

Charles took a deep breath, clearly trying to process. — "Why didn't you tell me? I had a right to know."

— "And I had the right to be afraid." — You replied with a trembling voice. — "After what you said, how could I trust you again? How could I believe you would stay by my side?"

He looked devastated. — "I was an idiot. I got angry and said things I shouldn't have. But I never wanted to hurt you. And now... now I know that I only made everything worse."

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. — "I don't know if I can forgive so quickly, Charles. I'm hurt and I need time."

He took a step forward, hesitant but determined. — "I understand. And I'll wait as long as it takes. But know that I'm here. For you. For the baby. For us."

His words were sincere, but you knew it wouldn't be easy. The road to rebuilding trust was long. But maybe there was a chance for you. Over time.

⎊𝙘𝙧𝙨𝙨𝙫𝙟𝙗 - ²⁰²⁵

[allfearstofallto]

Familiar Stranger

Yandere! Caleb x Fem! Reader

TW: Yandere, Manipulation, Restraining

“It'll be just like-”

“-old times,” you cut Caleb off and finished the sentence for him. You'd been hearing it for days at this point. Except your voice didn't have that same excitement at the expression. You were distant, angry as you spoke. And Caleb could see that. That once friendly smile, the one he wore to mask himself as the real Caleb, it vanished and his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes growing dark.

He'd done this little change multiple times over the course of days, shifting from a person you knew to one you didn't. Each time it chipped away at the joy you were feeling just to see him, only to reveal a hint of anger you'd been hiding, even from yourself. Anger because while you sat and mourned for over a year, he was aware that you were mourning someone still alive. He could have sated your pain earlier. He could've been there when you needed him. But he wasn't. And he still hasn't given a clear answer as to why.

Caleb kneeled in front of you while you sat on the couch, coming face to face with you and giving a smile that was tender. The mask was back on. But each time he slipped on the disguise, you grow less susceptible to it.

“Won't you be good for me and stay here until I get back, hm?” he asked, his voice soft, soothing, like he was trying to put you to sleep. As he spoke, he reached up and tousled your hair. A gesture that you always found endearing from him, one that took you back to a simpler time where it was just you and him against the world, “It'll only be a couple hours.”

You slapped his hand away with your own. That mask of his was tricking you no longer. His sweet words said in Caleb's voice couldn't decipt you anymore. Your trust in him, the one standing before you, was all, but gone, “I can't stay here, Colonel.”

There was an aggressive strain on each word. A desire for him to hear each syllable full of distaste and disdain. A pressure that needed to be spilled, like a shaken can ready to explode. And the usage of his title? To put some distance between the two of you. As long as your lips called him Caleb, your heart would want it to be true. But you had to nip it in the bud, he was using it against you.

He sat back on his haunches. He was looking you over, his purple eyes seeming to peer into the depths of your soul and not just meet your gaze. And it was scary. Horrifying even. In the presence of the beast, you felt your mouth begin to go dry. But you didn't back down. You watched him force a smile that didn't meet his eyes, and laugh with an unnatural stiffness.

“You can't even wait for me a little?” He said with a smirk, trying to shift the perspective, make you seem desperate for his affection. You didn't know if he was playing this ploy to trick you, or himself, “I don't have to go in today, ya know?” You felt the cold leather of his gloved fingertip tracing down your cheek, “If you're acting this needy, I could just stay home with you,”

The word “home” angered you even more. Sky Haven wasn't your home and it never would be as long as he was here. Your home was a pile of rubble and ash now, where you lost everything you loved. Including him.

You went to slap his hand away again, only to feel a strong weight against your arms. A familiar weight. One you'd felt before. Like you were being pressed under the mass of a planet. Caleb was restraining you with evol. Not even his full power, he could crush you into bits with it if he wanted to. It was just enough to hold you there, a pressure just slightly too strong for you. All you could do was glare at him.

“Don't,” he growled through his teeth. He let out a sigh, as if trying to calm himself before speaking again in a softer, still agitated tone, “Don't act like my touch disgusts you.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. A sorrowful one. One full of pain. The idea of you hating him being the only weakness he ever showed when he was like this. He pressed a hand on your cheek. Then another against your shoulder. That same hand trailed all over your body, touching you, squeezing you, even tickling you and trying to elicit a laugh. Like he wanted to force you into liking, and missing the way he touched you. You couldn't even flinch away from his hand, the force of his evol still being too strong against your arms.

“It does,” you spat at him, making his expression visibly harden. But not like he was getting angry at you, but frustrated with himself, “You disgust me, Caleb.”

He didn't reply for a while. Evol still holding you down, he sat there on his knees in front of you. His fingers twitching, lip quivering. You felt a pang in your chest as well, seeing him this way. When he was like this, he was who you knew. But all the lying and hurt he'd brought to you, you had to remember it. If not, you'd fall into that same cycle of forgiving him, just because it was him.

Caleb stood. His full height seeming to tower over you, casting a looming shadow across your features. Once more, he reached down to pat your head, this time with his right hand. He looked visibly dejected before pulling away with a sigh.

“A couple hours, okay?” He repeated. The few words made your heartbeat quicken. Just when you thought you'd made a breakthrough with him, realization hit you that he still viewed what he was doing as right even though he knew it was wrong.

He adjusted his uniform in the mirror, looking back at you with one more weak smile before walking to the door. The entire time you watched him watching him leaving, all you could think was that his silhouette was unfamiliar. Not the one you'd race to see when you saw him approaching through the window, but a stranger.

The door shut with a soft click. His evol eventually dissipated because of the distance, freeing you from your invisible restraints. You rushed towards that door with a bit of hope, not caring about what you were leaving behind, but knowing that you had to. Turning that knob, all that hope you had vanished at your fingertips. Of course, it was locked.

[genderqueerdykes]

I still feel really iffy about transandrophobia (a bit less so after your explanation) but the main thing confusing me is why is it considered the intersection of being a man + being trans when it stems from transphobia and misogyny? It can’t really stem from misandry because misandry is systematically not a thing. I’m starting to understand it a bit but i’m still SUPER confused. I also feel really bad that So Many ppl who believe in transandrophobia are really rude to transfems.

hello there. i hope i can explain things that help make sense of it a bit better. i appreciate you coming back to ask more. please note that i'm saying this to be productive and not to hurt your feelings or anything. i just need to point out some key things that i see repeated often in these conversations

it's not "believing" that transandrophobia exists, it is acknowledging that it exists. this is not a religion. this is much like gravity in that this form of oppression doesn't cease to exist just because someone doesn't believe in it. it's not like god, belief is not necessary. it will happen regardless of whether or not you believe it's happening

i really need you to understand that transmascs and trans men are PEOPLE above all else and talking over them and telling them they don't actually know what they're going through and need someone else to explain it for them is so fucking horrible. please don't do that to an entire group of people. transmascs and trans men ARE reliable narrators on their own lived experiences. why is it okay to freak the fuck out when trans men speak for trans women, but trans women are the only ones we can listen to when it comes to trans manhood? please consider how screwed up this double standard is. if you refuse to listen to trans men talk about trans womanhood, do the same when trans women talk like they know everything about trans manhood.

why is it considered the intersection of being a man + being trans when it stems from transphobia and misogyny?

because that's not what it refers to! trans men and transmascs experience misogyny but they're not using "transandrophobia" to mean "misogyny 2". it's specifically because they are trans MEN and nothing else. we did not reinvent misogyny, this is a specific experience that we face that people can learn about if they just listen to us talk about it!

transandrophobia is a specific type of transphobia that is directed towards trans men and mascs that is specifically directed at them because they are trans MEN and trans MASCS. it's NOT stock standard transphobia, transmascs & trans men are specifically being targeted because they are trans MEN. being told that you're "not a real man" because you're trans isn't misogyny. being told you're "not really a gay guy" because you're trans isn't misogyny. mocking trans men for not having deep enough voices or enough facial hair to pass isn't misogyny. telling trans men they're not real men because they don't have penises isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they like women's clothing isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they work in a female dominated field isn't misogyny.

mocking trans men who can't grow body hair for not "being real men" isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they have feminine interests isn't misogyny. telling them they're too short to be a man isn't misogyny. telling them their face or body isn't masculine enough to be a man isn't misogyny. trans men getting misgendered for their voices isn't misogyny. getting called a "tranny dyke" or a "cunt boy" when someone finds out a trans man is trans isn't misogyny... all of these things are transandrophobia. these no longer have anything to do with being perceived as a woman, these have to do with being perceived/attempting to be perceived as a man/masc.

trans men are affected by misogyny too, but it's not the same as transandrophobia. as a matter of fact, telling a trans man that they're experiencing misogyny when they aren't IS transandrophobia..

I also feel really bad that So Many ppl who believe in transandrophobia are really rude to transfems.

i'm going to lay it down painfully easily for you, but when you say things like that, it really comes across as virtue signalling. i'm going to be blatantly honest with you here. it really sounds like you're trying to suck up to transfems for brownie points by saying trans men don't suffer any forms of oppression at all and that people who acknowledge that transandrophobia exist are mostly rude transmisogynistic assholes. you're participating in silencing trans men & transmascs for the sake of trying to look more Trans Friendly to transfems and trans women and we can see it for what it is. please stop. this isn't flattering. it scares transfems and trans women when you do this because we don't know when you'll turn that hatred, malice and ignorance toward us whenever the narrative shifts again. this does not make us feel safe around you.

acknowledging that transandrophobia exists doesn't mean someone is attacking trans women and trans fems. like i'm sick and tired of the "people who believe in transandrophobia are really mean to transfems" shit. it's not true! this is way over exaggerated for the sake of making trans men and mascs look bad. i cannot stress how much this is NOT true for every single person who acknowledges that transandrophobia exists. i have a lot of friends who acknowledge that transandrophobia exists, trans men, transmascs, and all other kinds of genders, including trans women and transfems! you know how many of them are ACTUALLY rude to or attack trans women?

0. none. i'm not saying those people don't exist but they are NOT the norm. hell, there are literally trans women who acknowledge transandrophobia exist. the world is not as tiny as you've been made to feel it seems. there ARE shitty people out there who acknowledge that transandrophobia exists, but it's not the norm. it's not the vast majority of us. we have to stop having this knee jerk reaction of "trans woman = defenseless pure cant ever hurt anyone constant victim always hurt by men no matter what the context is" and "trans man = evil because man subhuman deserves to die literally an attack to every and all trans women around them"

i would suggest actually reading the anons i get about transandrophobia if you want to learn more about it! please stop listening to people who AREN'T trans men and transmascs when it comes to what kinds of oppression they face. nobody else actually knows what they go through. please actually listen to THEM. it's not helping trans women by refusing to listen to literally every other kind of trans person. it's not alleviating trans women of the oppression we face to deny that other people can be oppressed, too.

also whether or not ppl wanna accept it, transmascs and trans men are human and you really, really do need to care about that. like genuinely. please just open your heart and care about transmascs and trans men in a way that doesn't involve throwing them under the bus to attempt to look better to transfems. it's not helping anyone. put your ego down for a good few hours and actually listen to other people- and yes, i really do mean more than just trans women. listening to trans women is great. we appreciate it. but stop silencing other people in order to do that. it's not necessary.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

A Firm Partner

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Lawyer Joel Miller x Female Reader Summary: Mr. Miller needs you to stay late... even if tomorrow is your birthday. Warnings: porn with very little plot, smut, unprotected p in v, office sex, couch sex, desk sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), joel has a filthy mouth, joel carries you and refuses to pull out while doing so, joel eats pussy from the back, probably the best way to ever wake up, law talk (but not a lot, this is an escape), no use of y/n Word Count: 3,400

A/N: Happy birthday dear @ohheypedrito! You are the absolute cornerstone of my Pedro obsession and nothing has been better than sharing in the delulu of him over the past couple of years. I can't believe we've known each other for 20+ years and all it took was Pedro Pascal to become so close. Sometimes I truly don't know how I'd be able to survive without our delulu yap sessions. Thank you for all that you do, and most importantly, being my friend. I wrote this while wearing my TTPD cardigan and listening to our shared delulu Joel Miller songs. 🪿 Thanks to @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon for their input and always letting me talk about how much @ohheypedrito means to me lol. Please also enjoy the requested nose against clit and playful spank mentions gifted from @schnarfer.

Masterlist

—-

The conference room is full of your coworkers, engaged in hushed conversations with each other as you take your seat at the mahogany table. Joel Miller strides in, your eyes are instantly drawn to him as the room hushes, his mere presence commanding attention.

He settles into the high-backed leather chair at the head of the table, everyone and everything seems to shrink around his presence. Joel’s reputation precedes him, his firm is the most prestigious in Austin. You can hardly believe you landed a position here, fresh out of law school. But you’re here now, sitting mere feet away from the man himself. You admire his broad shoulders filling out his impeccably tailored suit, the dark green color of his shirt highlighting the golden glow of his skin and the deep chocolate brown of his eyes. 

“Good morning everyone,” his deep voice rumbles through the room as he begins to outline the case. You try to pay attention to him, try to focus on the case, but you can’t stop thinking about his plush lips. Would they taste of the strong coffee he’s drinking? How warm are they this morning? You’re mesmerized, watching the way his mouth forms each word, the slight Texas drawl rolling easily out. 

You’re interrupted from your reverie when you hear your last name and look up, your eyes meeting Joel’s. “You’re going to need to stay late with me tonight and get this taken care of.”

You nod, attempting to hide a sly smile as he continues on.

—-

The office fell silent hours ago, the last of your colleagues had long trickled out as the sun set. The only sounds now are distant noises from the city below and the clicking of your heels on the polished floor as you walk down the dark hallway to Joel's office.

You stop at the threshold, taking a quick moment to admire Joel. He’s sitting hunched over his desk, the light of his desk lamp casting him in a golden aura. His dark green shirt, usually crisp and buttoned to perfection, is now softened by the late hour. He’s undone the top few buttons, your eyes widen when you’re blessed with the glimpse of his neck and chest. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his toned forearms dusted with dark hair. His long, thick fingers absently tap against the stack of papers in front of him. Sensing your presence, he looks up, his dark eyes finding yours in the dim light.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “I need you to take a look. Close the door.”

The door clicks as it softly shuts, now it’s just you and Joel Miller in his office filled with polished furniture and framed accomplishments. The heady scent of him overwhelms you—coffee and expensive woodsy cologne—as you move towards him. Joel’s intense gaze follows your every move as you stand next to him. His shirt pulls taut across his broad chest when he leans back, running a hand through his hair.

“These depositions,” he says, gesturing to the papers on his desk. “Something’s not adding up.”

You lean in, acutely aware of how close he is as you scan the documents. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body as you reach for a page. He watches as you read through it, your eyes scanning through the typical legal jargon.

"What do you make of this discrepancy?"

"I think… we need to look closer at the witness statements,” you lay the paper down, searching for another file.

“I think you’re right,” he murmurs as he leans in to examine the paper.

“We should compare these statements side by side.”

“Mm, good idea. There’s more room on the couch.”

You nod, goosebumps prickling across your skin as you walk over and settle amongst the cool, leather cushions.

He sits next to you, impossibly close, you’re acutely aware of every point where your bodies almost touch. Joel leans back, the leather creaking slightly, as he casually drapes an arm along the back of the couch, just inches from your shoulders.

You try to focus on the papers in your lap, but you find it too daunting as he leans even farther in.

“What do you think?”

You turn your head slightly, your lips now mere inches away from his. Intense and unreadable dark brown eyes stare into yours. You can hear the ticking of the clock sitting on his desk and yet time stands still.

“I think…" your voice barely above a whisper. “We need to look closer.”

Your mind races, you can hardly keep any semblance of composure as he shifts slightly, his thigh now pressing against yours. The heat of his body seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

“Closer, huh?” he drawls.

You nod. Joel's eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze.

“Mr. Miller,” you whisper.

“Baby, you know you can call me Joel.”

“Joel…”

The papers on your lap flutter to the floor as he closes the remaining distance between you. His lips are warm, soft, and familiar, reminding you of the last time you kissed him–yesterday morning when he backed you up into the supply room, whispering against your skin how much he missed you. 

A soft whimper leaves your lips as your mouth opens, allowing his tongue to taste yours. A trail of fire is left on your skin when his hand slides up your thigh, bunching your skirt as he goes. He knows how to touch you and how to make you moan… Joel Miller knows you.

Charting a path, his lips move to your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive spot he knows you love to be kissed at.

You’re whimpering, already writhing against the smooth, cool leather of the couch. All day you’ve tried to focus on work, tried to figure out the case in front of you, but your mind was consumed by thoughts of Joel’s body pressed against yours again. It’s been almost six months of sneaking around, of heated glances across conference rooms, of always feeling his eyes on you while you’re in the office. Six months of pretending you're just another associate, when really you're the one who knows exactly how Joel Miller likes to be touched.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day darlin’,” he drawls. “Been waitin’ for you.”

Thick fingers find the apex of your thighs, already slick with need. He clutches your thighs, parting your legs as his palm grazes along your silky skin there. He smirks, a devilish look, when he feels just how wet you are for him.

His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply, like he really has been waiting for you.

You’re squirming, aching for more, and when he slides a hand higher, skimming the edge of your damp underwear, you sigh his name. “Joel…”

“Love it when you say my name baby,” he growls, pressing his finger against the soaked fabric. “Can feel how much you want me.”

His fingers slip beneath the elastic, finding your slick, swollen flesh. A long moan escapes you as he parts your folds, stroking your needy pussy. Your hands fist in his dark green shirt, holding on as he his thumb circles your clit. His touches are confident and purposeful, working you over like you’re a case.

Open-mouthed kisses are trailed along your jaw and down your neck, nipping at your racing pulse before soothing it with his tongue.

“You’re so wet f’me, aren’t you?”

You moan an affirmative noise as he leaves one last, chaste kiss against your lips before he moves to settle on the floor between your parted legs, his hands gripping your hips tugging you to the edge of the leather couch.

He slowly drags your panties down your legs, throwing them behind him before bunching your skirt up around your waist. He spreads your legs wider, his brown eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of your pussy dripping for him.

“Look at you, baby, so beautiful. Been thinkin’ about tastin’ this pussy all damn day.”

His dark eyes meet yours before he dips his head, the tip of his nose sweetly bumping against your clit as his tongue licks against your aching cunt. Your fingers thread through his thick hair, holding him close as he laps up the taste of you.

The way his tongue slides along your slick folds, teasing and probing before plunging inside has you arching off the couch with a gasp. You feel his warm breath against your skin as he sighs contentedly, his mouth working tirelessly to taste you.

"Oh god, Joel…" you cry, fisting your hands in his thick, dark hair.

He hums against you, the vibrations making you shudder. He holds you in place as he alternates between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue against your clit, keeping you right on the edge.

When he slides two thick fingers inside your slick heat, you nearly come undone. He pumps them in and out, slowly, so achingly slow.

"Joel..." you whimper, fisting your hands in the dark waves of his hair.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he rasps. "Could spend all night right here, worshippin' this perfect little pussy."

The tension inside you winds tighter and tighter, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head. You're right there, chasing that peak you’ve been waiting to climb all day.

"That's it, baby," he rasps against your flesh. "Cum for me.”

His gruff words are your undoing. With a sharp cry, you shatter, your walls clenching around his fingers as your orgasm rolls through you. He works you through it, not letting up until you're spent, chest heaving and panting.

Your limbs are loose as you float back down to earth in the middle of Joel Miller’s office, he places a soft kiss against your core before crawling back up your body.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, darlin’,” he growls before kissing you. You moan, licking the taste of yourself from his lips and tongue. Your hands slip under his shirt, feeling the plush of his belly before the hard planes of his chest.

Joel pulls back, his dark eyes boring into yours with intensity. He grips the fabric of his shirt and with one swift motion, tears it open. Buttons scatter across the room, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. You smile and take in the sight of his broad, golden chest.

You fumble with the smooth fabric of your blouse as you quickly remove it, revealing your light blue lace bra. He growls, fixated on the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each breath you take.

His large hands run up and down your stomach as you reach behind and unclasp your bra, letting it fall away.

“Perfect,” he breathes before dipping his head to take a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing lightly. His hand comes up to palm your other breast, kneading the soft flesh.

You're writhing beneath him, cunt aching with need as he sucks and nips at your breasts. “Please Joel,” you whimper.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, a devilish grin on his face. "Please what, darlin'? Tell me what you need."

"I need you.”

With a groan, he pulls back, undoing his belt and zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down, his hard cock springs free, his thick shaft hard and ready to fuck you. Veins trace along the length of him, pulsing with need.

You lick your lips unconsciously, wanting to taste the bead of precum glistening in the dim office light. Your hands reach out, feeling the nest of dark curls at his base as you give him one, long and tight pump. His hand covers yours, and with an agonizing slowness, you both stroke him, spreading the slick precum along his cock.

“Fuck me Mr. Miller.”

He groans, his hips bucking slightly before hooking his arms under your knees, lifting your legs up and apart, spreading you wide open as he notches himself at your entrance.

One, smooth thrust in and he’s sheathed fully inside your wet heat.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," he grunts, his thick cock spearing you as your hands roam over the flexing muscles of his back, your nails digging into his skin as he fucks you into the leather couch.

He pauses, his dark brown eyes locked on yours in the dim light of his office. You feel deliciously full, stretched around him.

"You take me so well, darlin',” he rasps, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips.

The leather couch creaks beneath you, his hands clamp down on your hips, yanking you against him as he pounds into your wet pussy. His breath is hot against your neck, as he sucks against the delicate skin there, fucking you senseless.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up against his broad chest. You gasp at the sudden change, when he lifts you off the couch, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Hold on tight, baby.”

You oblige, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Your breasts press firmly against his chest, nipples dragging against the coarse hair of him there. He walks you across his office over to the desk, his thick cock shifting inside you with each step. You exhale a breathy giggle when his palm makes contact with your ass, leaving a sweet sting against your flesh.

“Fuck darlin’, you feel so good wrapped around me like this.” 

His thighs flex with each thrust as he pounds you relentlessly. He growls your name, fucking into you, his legs set wide as he stands. Your head falls back, exposing your throat to his hungry mouth. He latches on, sucking and nipping, grunting against your skin. 

With one swift motion, he sweeps everything off his desk, scattering papers and pens to the floor before placing you on the edge of the desk. A small whimper leaves your lips when he pulls out, your pussy already missing the stretch of his cock. You’re pathetic for his cock, trembling with need, your legs spread wide. He steps back and looks you up and down, the edge of his mouth lifted in a cocky grin as he admires your wide eyes and heaving chest. 

“Turn around and bend over for me darlin’.”

You comply, sliding off the desk and turning around, spreading your legs wide, presenting your ass and cunt to him. 

“Mm,” Joel breathes appreciatively before you feel him kneel behind you. 

He pulls you back slightly, your pussy meeting his warm breath ghosting over your skin, a shiver of anticipation rolls through you when you feel the tickle of his beard on the backs of your thighs as he nuzzles against you. 

“Goddamn, you look good enough to eat.”

Your fingers scrabble for purchase on the smooth desk surface at the first swipe of his tongue against you. A long, low hum vibrates against your cunt as he delves deeper, his tongue worshipping every fold and crevice of your pussy. His nose bumps against your ass he buries his face between your legs, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over fills the office. 

You whine, your hips rocking back against his face, squirming all over his eager mouth. He sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling in relentless circles. Your legs begin trembling, barely able to hold you up. He chuckles lowly, before leaving one last kiss against your pussy. 

He rises behind you, his hands sliding up your back to grip your shoulders, his cock hard and lightly tapping against your ass.

“Easy now,” he grits, his voice rough and low. Your hips sway at the anticipation of feeling the length of him pulsing inside you again. 

The broad head of his cock teases your entrance before he pushes into you, stretching you wide. He leans over you slightly, one hand moving up to press between your shoulder blades while the other clutches the edge of the desk for balance. His skin meeting your skin echoes through the room blending with your heavy breathing. 

Your eyes flutter open, catching sight of the reflection in the window. Joel–his jaw clenched tight, brows furrowed together creasing his forehead, deep brown eyes watching his cock fuck your accepting pussy is backlit by the city lights twinkling outside. His power is on full display for only you and the secret you two keep. 

He pulls almost all the way out, swirling his length around your entrance, before sinking back in, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he anchors himself. Your fingers claw at the desk, searching for something to hold onto as his cock pistons into you. 

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me, can feel you gettin’ ready. Need to see your pretty face when you cum f’me.” 

He grabs your waist, turning you over with ease. He hovers above you, his broad frame caging you in, pressing your back against the smooth surface.

"Gonna fuck you so hard, baby," he promises. "Gonna make you feel it for days. You deserve it, don’t ya’?"

Wide eyed, and staring at him, you nod.

He sinks back into you with one deep thrust, bottoming out inside your slick heat, your head rolling back as he fills you completely.

"That's it darlin'," he rasps, his hips snapping against yours. "Take me so well."

Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer, deeper. His thick cock drags along your walls with each thrust, his finger finds your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. Your head falls back against the desk, a high keen escaping your lips.

"Look at me," he commands gruffly. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum for me.”

You force your heavy lids open, meeting his intense dark gaze. His brow is furrowed in concentration, a light sheen of sweat on his golden skin.

The pressure builds inside you with each stroke of his thick cock, every swipe of his finger against your clit. Your entire body feels like a livewire, every nerve ending alight within you.

"That's it, baby. You're so close, I can feel it. Your sweet little pussy's grippin' me so tight."

You’re teetering on the edge, ready to tumble over. Joel fucks you more erratically, his breathing labored. You know he’s cresting on the edge, right next to you. 

The tension inside you snaps. Your back arches off the desk as your orgasm bursts through you. Your walls clenching Joel's cock as you cry out his name, your vision going white at the edges. 

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he grunts. "Feel so good cumming on my cock."

A guttural groan tears from his throat as he stills, spilling deep inside you.

You cling to each other as you float down from the high, pulses gradually slowing. He places tender kisses along your jaw before claiming your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"Should we get back to work?" you ask against his lips, a sated smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest pressed to yours. "I think we're done for tonight, sweetheart. Let me take you home, want to wake up next to you on your birthday." 

—

Your body feels heavy and relaxed with sleep, but there's a warmth building between your thighs. Slowly drifting into consciousness, you become aware of the source - Joel’s tongue lapping at the sensitive skin between your legs.

You let out a soft moan, your fingers instinctively carding through the thick tendrils of his hair. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he devours your pussy.

Blinking away the last signs of sleep, you prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at him. His dark eyes twinkle with golden flecks lit by the soft early morning light filtering through the curtain when they meet yours.

He pulls back slightly, his plush lips and beard shiny from your slick. A roguish grin spreads across his face as he gives you a wink.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” he drawls before diving back in between your legs. 

—-

🪿

[angelofthenight01]

Truth Serum

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

genre: flufy  ||     warnings: none

It all started, as these things often do, with a seemingly straightforward mission. Infiltrate a HYDRA base, retrieve some stolen tech, don't get captured, the usual. You were pretty confident, you'd been training with the Avengers for a while now, holding your own, even earning a few nods of respect from Captain America himself. You weren't exactly a superhero, more of a very skilled and adaptable support member, but hey, it paid the bills and got you close to, well... certain people.

You remember the moment the serum hit you. It wasn't dramatic, no needles, no villainous laughter. Just a rogue vial – accidentally knocked off a table by a HYDRA goon who tripped over his own feet, a testament to their competence – and its contents splashed right onto your cheek. It didn't taste like anything, but a second later you could swear you felt your brain doing the cha-cha.

"Are you alright?" Tony's voice was crisp over the comms. You knew he was watching the feed from his suit.

“Peachy,” you said, your voice surprisingly calm, even as the world around you started to look a little too vibrant. “Just feeling a bit… honest.”

“Honest?” Steve’s voice now chimed in with that trademark wholesome concern. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know,” you found yourself saying, “like, if you asked me if I liked the way the light caught your hair this morning, I’d say yes, Steve, you’re like a walking, talking golden retriever of justice and your hair is always perfectly coiffed. Sorry, am I oversharing?”

A beat of silence followed, punctuated only by the sharp crackling of your boots on the steel floor of the HYDRA base.

"Uh, thanks?" Steve said hesitantly.

“And Tony,” you continued, unable to stop the runaway train of your mouth, “your sarcasm is a coping mechanism, and sometimes it's a little predictable, but you're actually really good at inventing things, even if you pretend to hate trying.”

You could hear Tony sputter in disbelief. Before he could recover, you spotted your quarry – the tech – in a nearby room. And then you saw her. Natasha Romanoff, a whirlwind of controlled fury and ballet-like movements, expertly disarming guards left and right. Everything suddenly seemed… brighter. And also terrifying. Because, of course, the truth serum also seemed to have activated your inner monologue on high volume.

"Oh, damn it," you muttered, your voice still broadcasting. "You're so cool, Natasha, your hair looks amazing, are those tactical boots because you can be both deadly and elegant and it's totally not fair. I also think... I think..." You clamped your mouth shut.

There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath over the comms. You could practically feel Natasha's gaze burning through the screen and directly into your soul.

"Alright," Natasha said, her voice silky smooth, but with a definite hint of something dangerous lurking beneath. "You’ve had your moment. Let's finish this."

And that’s when you realised that you had a very, very big problem. You had a mission to finish, sure, but you also had to not reveal your crush on the world's most deadly spy. You could picture it now, if you even let a hint touch your tongue, it would be all over the tower, Tony would create a song about it, and Clint would laugh and draw cartoons of you in love struck positions.

You moved with newfound urgency, grabbing the tech and bolting for the nearest exit.

“I’m just gonna, uh, take this and go now,” you announced, “Gotta avoid... uh... social interactions. Bye!”

You broke into a run, your boots thundering on the metal floor, the comms going silent as everyone processed what had just happened. You could hear footsteps behind you, and you didn't need to look back to know who was trying to catch up to you.

You burst out of the HYDRA base into the cold night air, not caring where you were going, just knowing you needed to get away from Natasha. You sprinted across the snowy landscape, your breath puffing in white clouds.

Then, you hit a patch of ice.

You went down, hard, landing in a comical heap with a muffled oof.

“Are you alright?” Steve’s concerned voice came over the comms, making you groan.

“No,” you whined. “I just busted my butt. Also, I think I need to be honest with you all about the way I prefer to put my butter on my toast, and it’s not the way you would imagine, it’s much more…”

You cut yourself off before you could launch into a detailed explanation of your highly unorthodox buttering techniques. You scramble to your feet, wincing.

“I think I need to go home now!” you shouted, then took off running again, stumbling over the uneven snow.

“Wait!” Natasha’s voice called out from behind you again. Closer this time.

“No!” you yelled back. “I can’t, if I’m not running away, I’ll probably tell you I think you’re amazing and all of the romantic feelings I have for you and then you’ll get weirded out and it’s just, a whole thing!”

You didn’t wait for a response, diving behind a large snowdrift. You could hear Natasha’s footsteps pause, a beat of silence followed, and then you heard a sigh.

You peeked over the top of the snow drift, and saw the figure that was Natasha, hands on hips, a look of fond exasperation on her face. It made your heart do a little flip of emotion.

"Okay, fine," Natasha called out, "I'll give you some space. But you're not getting out of this conversation without explaining all that 'buttering' talk later. And your feelings." She added the last bit in a soft voice.

You ducked back down, a blush creeping up your neck. You could hear laughter coming through the comms this time, Tony, Clint and Steve having a field day. You might have also heard Thor laughing way too loud, then suddenly a deep growl, and then silence.

You knew you couldn't hide forever. But for tonight, you decided, you'd take your chances with the arctic wind over the truth serum and the very attractive woman currently stalking you. 

For now, your escape was enough. You would deal with the awkward, heartfelt, and hopefully not too embarrassing aftermath tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight you are just a very honest person with a severe case of avoidance and a very big crush. And that’s something, right?

[madebycloud]

What Would I Do Without You?

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you've been through hell and back with jinx, and despite it all, you couldn't leave her behind. (requested by anons) warnings/themes: HEAVY ANGST, character death (reader), blood, hurt no comfort harhar words: 2.6k notes: first time writing something so angsty like this haha i hope this is angsty enough... (this takes place when jinx rescued isha in prison) a repost cz tumblr is shti!

You could run.

You could run right now, escape with Isha and Sevika.

But-

How can you? You can't just leave Jinx alone—not now. Not after everything. Not when she's facing off against this monster.

Why didn't you listen?

Why did you have to play the hero?

Why, why, did you choose to stay?

“What are you doing?!” Jinx screams.

And that's the last thing you hear before you face off against the beast, watching as it launches itself at you-

At the last minute, you duck.

Too slow.

Too slow and too late.

In one quick motion, the beast tears into you.

It claws straight at your stomach-

You can feel the air leave your lungs.

You hit the ground.

Blood blossoms on your shirt.

But… it worked. The beast backed away. It fled.

You managed to scare it. You've saved Jinx. You've protected her. This is a victory.

Yet-

Why do you hurt so badly?

You look down, and your stomach is-

Oh.

Oh no...

Everything is red.

There's blood. There's blood everywhere.

Your blood.

You hear the sound of running footsteps. “NO!”

It's her voice.

“PLEASE, NO!” Jinx kneels next to you.

Your mind goes hazy, clouded by pain.

Arms grab you and move you into a sitting position. She's holding you. “Please, please,” she's sobbing as she puts pressure on the wound. “You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine.” You know that's a lie.

You cough. Red bubbles on your lips and slides down your chin.

“No, no, you're okay,” she repeats. “Don't go,” she sobs. “Don't you dare go. Look at me. Look at me.” She grabs your face, trying to angle your face up towards hers. “Please, stay with me. Stay. With. Me."

You feel so tired. You want to sleep.

But she needs you to stay here.

“Sevika!” she screams into nothingness, holding you tighter. “I need help, please come over here!”

The pain is still there, but the adrenaline is starting to wear off.

Your body hurts. Your eyelids flutter, but you force yourself to focus on her face.

She's crying. Her whole body is shaking. She's a wreck, but even like this, she's the most breathtaking you've ever seen.

You think that if you were to die, you'd want the last thing you ever saw to be her face.

She's still holding your head as she screams for help. “SOMEBODY—SOMEBODY PLEASE GET OVER HERE!”

Your body is getting cold. You can hear your pulse, thump, thump, thump, thump, in your head.

There's an arm around your back, supporting you as you slowly slump against her. Your head rests on her chest, and you can hear her heart beating loudly.

“I'm scared,” she whimpers. “I'm so scared.”

She is scared.

She's scared that she'll never taste your lips, never feel your breath on her neck.

She's scared that she'll never again feel your fingers on her hip, or your hands on her waist, or your face in her hair.

She's scared that you'll never hold her close, or tease her, or say her name in a way that makes her heart flutter.

She's scared that this is her last moment with you.

“Jinx.” You call her name one last time, her heart breaking when she hears how labored your voice is. It sounds so unlike you.

“No, no, don't say my name like that,” she begs. “Don't say my name like that—it can't be. Please, it can't be.”

She's crying, her tears fall onto your face. You taste saline and sweat and sadness.

You look into her eyes. Those beautiful eyes, full of tears. The eyes that made your heart pound faster and faster whenever you met her gaze.

You think of her face, her laugh, her smile. You think of her hand in yours and the way she looks in the light of dawn. You try to remember her smell, her voice, her skin.

You know this is probably the last time you'll ever be this close to her.

You love her so much.

You try to reach up and touch her face, to wipe away her tears. Your muscles protest and scream at the movement. But you try, anyway.

She catches your hand, presses it against her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft, and you memorize the feeling of it. You hope you'll always remember how her face feels.

“I love you,” you manage to say.

Her lower lip trembles. “What?”

“I love you.”

“No, no, no… don't say that,” she cries. “Don't say that. You're staying right here. You aren't going anywhere.”

She can't let you go. Not like this. Not after she just got you. Not after being so close to a life together. Not after finding someone who loves her so much.

You'd give anything for a few more minutes together. An hour, a day, a week.

You want to stay with her. 

You want to stay and be with her and see her grow into the woman you know she'll be. You want to watch those eyes light up at a joke and see her smile. You want to sit by her side as she laughs and talk to her for hours. You want to hold her, for as long as you can, and tell her you love her.

You try to muster a smile. “It's okay,” you whisper. “I'm here, right now. I'm… I'm not going anywhere,” you lie.

She nods. She tries to wipe away her tears.

“Please don't cry. You're too pretty to cry.”

She scoffs as she smiles through her tears. You love her like this. Even just hearing her scoff, even if she's upset, makes you happy. 

“I'm a mess,” she says. “I'm a crying, snotty mess.”

“I'll love you anyway.” 

“Don't say that,” she pleads. “Don't say that, please.”

“Why?”

Her voice breaks. “If you keep saying things like that, I'm not going to be strong enough to let you go.”

“You won't have to.”

“Don't say that either,” she whispers. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“I'm right here.” You try to speak louder. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Stop. You don't know that.”

And you don't. But you want to believe it. Oh, god, if anything, you want to be right.

You reach up again, brush the hair from her face. You try to be gentle so she won't notice how much it's hurting you to move at all.

“Please tell me a story,” you breathe. “Please. I want to hear your voice.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything… anything at all.”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and bites her lip in thought. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I… I have an idea. Do you want to hear it? It's a story, if—if that's okay.”

You slowly nod and take her hand. She's shaking so hard. You run your thumb over her knuckles. 

“When I was a little girl,” she starts quietly. “I used to watch the stars. They were so pretty… I'd stay up past my bedtime, just sitting by the window and trying to find the brightest ones in the sky. I always looked for that one star, and I knew I could find it no matter what time it was. I know it's silly…”

It doesn't feel silly to you. You like that she's talking, and even if it's a dumb story, just hearing her is making you feel better. 

“I—I wanted to know if there were worlds up there. I didn't know about planets and stars yet, so I'd sit there in my room and imagine all these worlds, full of people who had entire lives I couldn't dream of.”

Closing your eyes, you focus on the sound of her voice.

This is the last time you'll get to hear her talk. The last time you'll get to see her. The last time you'll get to hear her voice. The last time you'll feel her touch. The last time you'll get to be with her.

You smile.

Despite the pain.

You smile.

Even as things start to grow dark.

You smile.

Because even though it won't be for much longer, you know she's still out there.

And she will find her way through this, because you know she can.

Even without you.

“Whenever I couldn't fall asleep,” she continues, “I'd look at the stars and imagine what it was like to live there and what people there were like. I liked to think people on the other worlds would look up and see the same stars and wonder the same things, just like I was. I wanted to see those stars and know that, even if I was by myself in my room, I wasn't really alone.”

“I wanted to know what it was like to explore those other worlds,” Jinx murmurs. “What it was like to be one of those people, with real adventures and fun and families. No rules, just… freedom.”

She keeps talking and talking and talking and-

She notices your hands. Cold. No.

Her hands are shaking, but she reaches out. She reaches for your cheek, caressing it as her fingers tremble. Her hand trembles, and she can't focus on anything but the fact that she's touching your skin, that she's touching you-

She feels the blood on her fingers, trickling down her hand, but she pushes that out of her mind. She doesn't care. You're the most important thing. Always.

She watches your chest, your stomach, waiting for a twitch, a breath, anything to show her that you're still here. That her worst nightmare isn't happening right in front of her eyes.

But there's nothing.

She presses her ear to your chest. Come on, she thinks desperately. Come on, please.

Silence.

Her fingers fumble to find your pulse on your neck.

Nothing.

Her world collapses around her.

No.

No, not like this.

Tears blur her vision. She blinks them away, trying to fight off the tears so she can see you. Can't see you. She doesn't want to. She can't. Not now.

One minute.

Just one more minute, that's all.

Just a few more seconds.

Please.

There's a pressure growing in her chest. It's so tight, it's hard to breathe. She can't breathe. Why can't she breathe? She needs to breathe. She needs to breathe, she needs to breathe, she can't stop crying, she can't stop because you're-

No, no, no. Don't think it, don't think it, don't think it-

“Hey, c'mon,” she says. “This isn't funny. Wake up.” She grabs your shoulders, shaking you. “Wake. Up.”

You're not moving. You're not talking. You're just-

Cold, limp. Nothing's different.

Please, not like this.

“You can't do this.”

Please.

“You have to wake up.”

Please!

“You have to wake up.”

Please, please, please, please.

“You don't just—you don't just get to do this to me!”

This isn't real.

It can't be real.

She closes her eyes.

She reopens them, looking down at your body.

It's real.

“Please wake up! I need—I need you, please.”

She's begging you, to the wind, to the moon, to the stars, that maybe if she pleaded hard enough, hard enough to the whole universe itself, maybe fate would be on her side just this once.

But fate was never on her side.

Life did this to her, it took everything she had and loved and was precious, it took away the only person she knew loved her. Life wasn't good, it was cruel and cold and harsh, and it was taking away everything she had. It was taking everything.

She hates this.

She hates what life was doing to her, what it had done to her. She wants to scream and pull her hair out. She wants to burn the world down and scream at the top of her lungs, at life, at the whole universe, begging it to bring you back.

Just. Bring. You. Back.

How many times had she watched you laugh, watched you smile, and done something as simple as breathing? How often had she watched you speak and talk and joke about something?

How many times had she told you she loved you, how many hours had you lost track of just the two of you talking? How many good moments had the two of you had that she would never be able to experience again?

It had been taken away from her.

You'd never laugh or smile again, that beautiful voice of yours is only a memory now.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much to think about how she's never going to hear your voice. How she's never going to see you walking around the hideout again. She'll never be able to see the smile you give every time she says something stupid.

She'll never be able to hold your hands, to kiss you, to lay her head on your lap. She'll never get to hear you laugh or feel your hands on hers.

She loved you. Every piece of you.

Every smile.

Every laugh.

Every word.

Every tear.

Every kiss.

Every touch.

Every moment.

Every single time.

Every single time you were there for her.

Every single time that you'd given her the best hugs when she'd cried on your shoulder.

Every single time the two of you slept on a small couch just so she could feel safe.

Every single time you'd hold her in your arms.

Every single time you talked her out of a bad mood.

She'll never get to have those again.

She'll never get to experience all of those wonderful, beautiful things again.

And she wants to do it one more time.

One more time to hear you laugh. One more time to feel you put your arms around her. One more time, she wants you to tell her everything is going to be alright. To take her face in your hands, look into her eyes, and say that.

Just one more.

Because what would she do without you?

How would she go on living without you when you were the person who had kept her going for months?

For the longest time, you were the one person that she trusted. The one person that she felt safe with.

Without that, what was the point?

She can still remember the first time she met you. She can still remember the butterflies in her stomach each time she saw you, the way her heart raced whenever you spoke to her. She can still remember that first, awkward kiss, how you held her close in your arms afterwards and didn't let go.

She can still remember the first time the two of you had said, “I love you.”

It was so hard for her to say it because she hadn't felt loved in a long time. And she's nervous, she's scared. But you spoke first, you pulled her close.

It was a whisper, a quiet “I love you” spoken in her ear. And then she started crying, she turned and buried herself in your arms.

I love you.

She'll never hear those words again.

But she can still remember what you sounded like.

That had to be enough.

That has to be enough.

Those three words have to be enough for her.

They have to be.

But they weren't.

Because now, you are gone.

“I love you too,” she murmurs. “So much-”

But there's no one to hear it.

She closes her eyes again, letting the tears roll down her face.

This is what love is, she thinks.

This is what loving someone does to you.

She'd never hated something so much in her life.

“How am I supposed to live without you?”

notes: forgot that singed is literally right there… (might write pt2)

[entitled-fangirl]

Billionaire Brucie.

Bruce Wayne x reader

Summary: Moving into Wayne Manor is an adjustment the two have to manage- spending Bruce's money being one of them. She refuses to spend more than absolutely necessary. He throws it around like confetti.

Masterlist

............................................

Y/n walked through the grocery store, her eyes scanning for the next thing on her shopping list. She adjusted the basket handles in the crook of her arm. 'Where…?' She mouthed. She finally found the aisle she was looking for and took off in the direction.

After moving in to Wayne Manor (finally), she'd barely mentioned wanting to go grocery shopping before Bruce held his credit card between his fingers. 

She was now at the second store, running in to grab the few things she couldn't find at the last one.

Bruce had gotten the notification for the transaction at the first store, and he'd immediately stood, stretched, and grabbed his coat.

His sweet girl was so hesitant to spend his money.

She reached up, reaching for Bruce's favorite protein powder. She felt a sudden presence far too close to her and a veiny arm came around her. "Was thinking about trying a new brand."

Oh. She knew that arm. "Bruce?"

His breath fanned over the back of her neck, his other hand tugging playfully at her ponytail to get her to look up at him. Their eyes meet. "Hi, sweetheart."

He kisses her, using it as a distraction as he pulls the basket from her arm. No need for her to carry that around while he's there. "Finding what you want?"

She sighs, savoring the kiss for just a moment longer. "About."

"Is that so? Hard to get everything you want when you've only spent $35. And you're getting my things too? Sweetheart."

"I'm just moving in, not completely restocking the pantry."

He gave her a knowing look. "But I know you'd like more than," he peeked into the basket, "cheap deli turkey and chocolate muffins."

"Hey, these chocolate muffins got me through college," she reprimands. "Besides, I'm one person. I can't eat $100 worth of snacks in a week."

His head tilted in a confused manner.

Realization dawned on her. "I'm like… half your body weight, Bruce. I don't have," she did a grand gesture over his torso, "outrageous muscle mass to keep up with."

"No, you eat like a bird," he grumbled. "Which is why I'm getting you anything you want. I'm paying, baby. Why are you so hesitant?"

"Why the interrogation?" She questions, moving down the aisle- knowing he'd obviously keep up.

"I have billions, Y/n. You're buying Hillshire Farm's cheap deli meat when I could buy a whole turkey farm for you. I just don't get it. Like that dress last week-"

"-Do not bring up the dress."

It wasn't like in the movies where a dress in the window catches your eye, but she had hesitated passing one of the stores in the mall. Bruce then shoved her inside, disregarding her assurances that she didn't need new clothing.

The thrice repaired coat in her closet said differently.

Bruce had politely waved off the saleswoman and perused the racks like any good boyfriend would do, careful to spot any pieces that would look striking on his girl. Y/n, refusing to touch the racks, peered around him when he'd shuffle through some of the hangers.

"What about silk?"

"I'm bringing up the dress," he reasoned.

"You know what?" She huffed. "I don't need this. I don't need anything in that basket you're holding. Not really. So, I'm gonna go if you're gonna keep being up my ass about what I buy. I just thought doing my own shopping would be nice." She moved past Bruce, shoulder checking him. Then, of course, wincing cause he was as firm as a brick wall.

She had driven back to the Manor in a frustrated manner, slamming the door to their bedroom when she'd arrived. 

Now's a good time to empty some of these boxes. 

She sorted through her clothes, taking careful time to hang them up. They'd been through a lot and she'd be damned if their unfortunate end happened from a hanger. 

Opening the closet, she saw the damn dress again, only rehashing her frustration with Bruce.

"It can be whatever color you want, sweetheart. I'm hosting the damn thing, after all. You want a red dress? I'll make the theme red."

"But the theme is green. And in two days."

He shrugged. "Pick an odd color. Make me work for it."

"I'm not… just…" her words trailed off as an associate walked by with the prettiest white gold dress she'd ever seen.

The one in her closet right now.

It was striking. An absolute vision on and off the hanger. She felt unworthy of even being seen in the same room as it. 

But with one little wave of his hand, Bruce had sent her and the dress off to a fitting room.

She emerged with it on, and she was practically glowing in it. She looked unsure, her smile not quite reaching her lips.

"Isn't she just a vision?" the saleswoman grinned at Bruce.

"Always," he muttered in her direction, his eyes not leaving his girl. "Give me a spin, baby." She did so, and he ran a hand over his jaw to keep his thoughts in. "Give us a minute, will you?"

Before the woman was even gone, Bruce closed the distance. "What's wrong?" He purred. "You not like it?" He spun her around to the mirror, bending to place his chin on her shoulder. "Do you not see how gorgeous you are?"

"It's just… the price," she muttered, her cheeks red at her admission.

"The price," he voice drew out, like he didn't understand. "The price," he said again, finally comprehending it- like it was such a foreign concept. "Do you like it?"

"I do." She ran a hand over her torso, smoothing the fabric out as she admired it in the mirror.

"What do you like about it? Tell me."

"The… the color is nice. I think it goes well with my skin."

"Mm hm," he acknowledged. 

"And the length is already right for me. That's helpful. The slit is a little high."

"That's my favorite part," he grinned against her ear. 

"And the top is snug," she continued, completely ignoring his flirty comment. "It fits nice. It's secure. I like the sleeve situation. It just… it's really nice."

"It is," he agreed. He gently guides her hair out of her face, kissing her shoulder gently. 

"So… at least I know what I like now at least. For… future stores. You know?"

And when she had left to use the restroom later, he journeyed back into that store and had the dress shipped to the Manor.

She put on her headphones, just needing to drown out everything. And eventually, the day turned to night and the boxes were unpacked. Most of them, at least.

With a rumble of her stomach, she elected to go to the kitchen- she'd at least gotten a few snacks at the first grocery store. She would be more than fine.

But upon entering the kitchen, an assortment of all her favorite snacks- ranging from the energy drinks Bruce told her to lay off of, those fucking chocolate muffins, and the healthy granola bars she made all the boys eat- was laid out across the counter in a pretty manner. A small note beside it: 

I'd give you the world and more, pretty girl. -Your Bruce.  P.S. This didn't break the bank, by the way. So, go to bed tonight peacefully for once. And have pleasant dreams (about me). I'll be home after patrol.

He was infuriating. But staying mad at him with those muffins staring back at her was hard. She'd forgive him. This time.

...............................................................

[vi1223]

"Have you got everything you need?"

"Yes, Alfred...."

"Good."

Bruce walked towards the front door and was about to leave when he thought of something. He looked back into the house.

"Alfred?"

Alfred turned around in confusion.

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Would you.... Would you like to go with me this time?"

Alfred was shell-shocked.

"Are you.... Are you sure, Master Bruce?"

Bruce smiled and nodded.

"Yes, it's.... it's what my father would have wanted."

Alfred smiled.

"I'll go pack my things."

----

3 years later

Bruce sat at the dining table reading his newspaper when Alfred approached him."

"I noticed you haven't packed for the annual camping trip, Master Bruce. You haven't forgotten, have u?"

Alfred said as he set Bruce’s coffee on the table. Dick stops midway through his breakfast.

"What camping trip?"

Dick asked in confusion.

"No, Alfred, I haven't forgotten. I've just been too busy. And with Dick around, I think we should just skip it this year."

Bruce answered Alfred, ignoring Dick's confused glances.

"Why Master Bruce, you haven't missed a day, I don't think you should start now?"

Dick was getting increasingly annoyed, understandable as a 6-year-old.

"Missed what? What's going on?"

Bruce sighed.

"I'm busy. Besides, I can't exactly leave Dick alone in the manor. And before you suggest staying behind, you know I'm not letting you do that."

"Actually, I was going to suggest you bring the boy along this year."

Alfred nodded towards an excited Dick Grayson.

Before Bruce could protest, Dick jumped out of his seat in excitement.

"Yeah, camping trip!"

Dick exclaimed as he began jumping up and down.

Bruce frowned.

"I don't know...."

"It would be a good bonding experience for you and young master Richard."

Bruce looked thoughtful and sighed.

"Alright."

----

"Are you sure you don't want to come, Alfred?"

"No no, I have far too many chores to do. You boys enjoy yourselves."

Dick was excited. It was his first time going on a trip with Bruce since moving into the mansion. Bruce was so busy with work, they seldom had time to hang out and it often made Dick wonder why Bruce fostered him in the first place.

"So what exactly are we doing again?"

Dick asked, as they headed out.

Bruce sighed.

"When I was little, my dad would take me to hiking in the forest just north of the manor. We would camp the night and watch the sunrise in the morning."

Dick grinned.

"Sounds cool. I've never been camping before."

Bruce smiled fondly at the boy.

"When my parents died, I invited Alfred along with me. And it kind of became a tradition for me and Alfred."

Dick nodded. Bruce had told him a little about his parents' death, but he knew it was still a touchy subject.

"My dad promised to take me camping once."

Dick piped up.

Bruce looked at him with interest.

"But Haley's circus was always moving. We never even had a chance to visit the woods."

Bruce listened with interest. He patted the boy on his head. Alfred was right, this would be good for him and the boy.

Bruce suddenly stopped abruptly. Dick frowned in confusion.

"Why did we stop?"

But Bruce did not answer. Instead, he picked a pebble from the gravel floor. Dick looked on with interest.

"Choose a nice stone. You're gonna need it later."

Dick nodded and grabbed a pebble that caught his eye.

They continued on their hike and finally found a nice clearing. 

"We're here. This is the campsite."

"Yes!"

Dick placed down his things. Bruce did the same, then took the pebble from his pocket and walked over to a corner where a pile of stones were gathered.

Dick followed him curiously.

Bruce took it a marker and handed it to him.

"Write your initials and place down the stone."

He placed down his own rock on a little pile of rocks labeled 'B.W.'

"Each time we come here, we place a rock until we make a little rock mountain. This is mine."

Then he pointed to a smaller stack beside his own labeled 'A.P.'

"This is Alfred's."

Then he gestured to the largest stack labeled 'T.W.'

"And this is my dad's."

Dick did as he was told and admired the other rock structures.

"Whoa. That's tall. Your dad must've come here often."

Bruce smiled.

"He used to come here all the time with his dad. N now I come here with you."

Dick registered the information, and a wide grin spread across his face.

"Thanks, Bruce."

"Anytime, son."

----

"Come on, Cass. You should come with us this year! It'll be fun!"

Duke persuaded.

Cass shook her head, stubbornly.

It was the annual camping trip. Bruce and the boys were all packed and ready to go. It was extra exciting, as it was Duke’s first trip with the family.

Steph placed an arm around Cass.

"Yeah, you're never going to convince her to come to your little 'Boy's trip'."

Dick chuckled.

"They're right, you know. We all tried."

Babs walked in.

"Plus, with the boys out of the house. Alfred lets us throw a little girls' night."

Duke looked at them, impressed.

"How'd you make Alfred agree to that?"

Steph shrugged.

"As long as we clean up after ourselves and keep the guest list to a minimum, Alfred sometimes even joins us for mani-pedis"

Dick grinned.

"Fair enough. Come on, let's make sure Tim isn't over-packing. Again."

Duke looked concerned.

"Again?"

Jason nodded.

"Yeah, last year he tried to bring 10 packs of instant coffee. Alfred caught him just in time."

Duke laughed at that. At the corner of his eye, he noticed Damian arguing with Bruce on bringing his pets along on the trip.

----

Duke felt a little silly carrying a pebble in his pocket, but the rest just gave him mysterious grins and said he'd find out later.

Finally, they reached a clearing. Duke began unpacking his things when he noticed the others gathered in a corner.

"What are you guys... doing?"

That's when he noticed the little rock structures with each of their initials. The boys grinned as they added a new rock to their structures.

Duke was still watching in amazement when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Bruce smiling at him and handing him a marker.

"It's your turn, son."

Duke smiled and took the marker. He wrote 'D.T.' on his pebble and set it beside Damian's.

"Hey, Bruce! Your pile is almost high as your dad's!"

Jason commented, ruining the perfect moment.

-----

Note: I wrote this a while ago. It was inspired by something, I think it's a comic page. If anybody knows, please help. Thx.

[corroded-hellfire]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRESrvDc/

Omg please make this an AYW one shot like imagine Luke and Ryan going big brother mode on someone messing with Eliza

This is the relationship I aspire for my future children to have. My first thought was, "Eddie needs to be told this is a joke so he doesn't freak out even more than the boys." lol

Words: 1.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

"This gonna be so funny!"

Eddie comes to a halt outside Eliza's room. The mischievous tone to her voice reminded Eddie of a scheming goblin he'd seen in some fantasy movie somewhere. Normally, he'd associate that comparison more with Luke than tiny three-year-old Eliza, but she was certainly well on her way to earning her own title. 

A thought occurs to your husband: what if Luke and Eliza are working together? Whoever the target is doesn't stand a chance. The surge of panic has him pushing the slightly ajar door open to make sure there isn't some diabolical plan to burn the kitchen down in protest of having vegetables with dinner tonight. It's a complete shock to the system though, when Eddie sees you sitting on the soft pink carpet, cross-legged as your daughter sits across from you. Both of your beautiful faces turn to look at him and Eddie is simultaneously amused and leery of the maniacal smile on Eliza's small pink mouth. 

"Um..." Eddie hums, eyes going back and forth between you and Eliza. "What's going on here?"

"Oh, nothing," you say far too casually to be believable. 

"We gonna get the boys!"

Eliza's admission has you looking back at her, internally reminding yourself that it's good she tells the truth—even if she's a snitch at the moment.

Eddie chuckles and rests his shoulder against the doorjamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at the two of you.

"Is that so?"

"Mhmm!" Eliza replies. "Cause they ate my noodles. After Mama writed my name on them!"

It doesn't surprise Eddie in the least. The two growing teenage boys would eat anything and everything in sight. He never thought his food would be safer in the fridge at work than in the one at home. 

"What exactly are we planning, ladies?" Eddie cocks an eyebrow, making you feel like a child right alongside your kid. "Not anything I'll have to clean up after, I hope."

"Oh, don't worry." You wave a dismissive hand at your husband. "It's just a joke to see how they react."

"To what?"

"Shhh!" Eliza pushes herself up and rushes forward to cover your mouth with her little hands. It's impossible not to laugh against her palms as she looks at you with imploring eyes. 

Gently, you remove her hands from your face and tug her so she's sitting in your lap.

"Nothing bad," you assure Eddie. "I promise."

Eddie didn't need you to tell him that; he trusts you with not only his own life but the lives of all the kids as well. You would never do anything that would hurt them. 

"Can I watch?" he asks.

Eliza nods. "But you gotta hide!"

"Where?"

"They're watching tv, right?" you ask, maneuvering Eliza to the side so you're able to stand up. 

"Yeah. Some movie with Jack Black starting a band of children."

Eliza grabs your hand in hers as the two of you head towards the door. 

"We'll walk through there and into the kitchen," you explain. "You can stay in the hallway and peek out. And remember..." You reach up and lovingly tap Eddie's right cheek. "What we're going to say isn't true. It's part of the prank."

Eddie's brow furrows and he tilts his chin up.

"That doesn't sound reassuring."

"Is a joke, Daddy!" Eliza explains, making you giggle. 

"Alright, alright," Eddie laments, leaning down to playfully pinch her nose. She swiftly bats his hand away and ducks between the two of you out into the hall. 

You follow out behind her, motioning for your husband to follow behind—but at a distance. He nods in understanding and keeps a few paces behind his favorite girls. 

As you approach the living room, Eliza starts to giggle. You widen your eyes at her and hold your finger up to your lips, reminding her she has to act serious if she wants her brothers to buy your act. She nods and follows your lead to take a deep breath. 

You motion for her to head out into the room the boys are relaxing in. She strolls out, alarmingly casual for a three-year-old playing a prank. Before you follow out after her, you look over your shoulder and share a look of amusement with Eddie.

"Your daughter," you whisper, not giving your husband time to respond before following behind her. Quietly, you clear your throat in preparation for your first line: "Are you serious?" You internally wince as your voice comes out a tad dramatic, but you have to keep it mildly louder than usual to catch the boys' attention. 

Eliza's small stride allows you to be at her side a moment later. You check on your sons out of the corner of your eye and see them lounging on the two couches in the living room, faces blank and devoid of a care in the world as they watch the movie. 

"A boy pushed you down on the playground today?" you ask, turning your attention to Eliza at your side. 

"Mhmm," she hums, only the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

In your peripheral vision you see Ryan turn his head in your direction. His posture straightens a little, his attention securely locked in on your prank. 

"How old was he?" you ask Eliza.

"Eight."

"An eight-year-old pushed Eliza down on the playground?" Ryan shouts, practically launching himself out of his seat. 

"What?" Luke adds, voice booming as his brother's words pull him in. He jumps off the couch and both teenage boys cut off your and Eliza's path to the kitchen, forcing the two of you to come to a halt.

On one hand, this is the hardest it's been so far to keep yourself from breaking character. On the other hand, seeing the true concern and ire in the eyes of Eliza's big brothers is moving. The protectiveness they have for their little sister and the readiness to defend her at the drop of a hat is so touching that you fight tears from filling your eyes. 

"What happened?" Ryan demands.

"Were you with Grandpa? Did he see it?" Luke questions.

You expect Eliza to crack right there, let out a loud laugh, and tell her brothers that they should see the looks on their faces. Instead, she proves to be a master at improv as she replies. 

"It was behind the slide. He didn't see."

"Did you tell him?" Luke takes a step closer, practically towering over the three-year-old. 

"No."

"Why not?" Ryan is almost shouting at this point. 

"Who was it?" Luke asks, not allowing Eliza a moment to answer the older Munson brother's question. "Do you know him?"

"How would she know an eight-year-old?" Ryan asks, turning to look at the thirteen-year-old.

"I don't know. How did she know he was eight then?" Luke squabbles. 

As if knowing this is the moment that neither of you could keep the ruse up any longer, both you and Eliza break into a devious bout of giggles. 

The confused look on the boys' faces is enough to make you and Eliza laugh even harder.

"I don't think this is funny," Ryan says.

"But it's not true!" Eliza yells, jumping up and down in excitement.

"What?" The look on Luke's face is reminiscent of when he found out his favorite cereal brand had been discontinued. 

"We pranked you!" Eliza shoves her finger into their faces, an evil grin on her own. 

You can see the gears turning in both boys' heads as they take in her words and try to comprehend what is happening. 

"No one pushed me!"

Luke tilts his head to the side before running his hands over his face. "I'm so confused."

"This is Eliza's little payback for you two eating her macaroni and cheese," you explain, planting your hands on your hips. 

"You were in on this?!" Luke's shock causes his changing voice to crack. 

"Girls gotta stick together." You hold your hand out towards your daughter, and she jumps up and slaps a high five against it.

Ryan groans and drops his head back, glaring up at the ceiling.

"You guys suck," he complains. "I was really worried!"

"I have been betrayed." Luke mimes getting stabbed in the heart and crumbles down on the carpet. Eliza laughs and starts to crawl on top of him. Waiting for the right moment, Luke snatches his little sister to his chest and starts tickling her.

She squeals and starts squirming around in his grip.

"Nooooo! Ryan, help!"

The fifteen-year-old scoffs and folds his arms across his chest.

"No way, squirt. Not after that."

"Mama!" Eliza calls through her peals of laughter. "Help me!"

Before you can even take a step toward the two of them on the ground, Ryan comes forward and wraps his arms around you. It's an approximation of a hug, but it's really to keep you where you are; standing a couple of feet away with your arms locked against your sides.

"Ryan!" You laugh.

"What?" he asks, unable to keep from chuckling himself. "I'm just hugging you!"

"Lies!" Eliza yells.

"You're one to talk!" Ryan calls back. 

"Daddy!" It's Eliza's last attempt at help.

"He's not here to help you," Luke taunts, adding an evil laugh for emphasis. 

"Yes huh!" Eliza squeaks.

As calmly and casually as can be, Eddie strolls out from the hallway and eyes the four members of his family, slipping his hands into his pockets as he watches it all.

"What's up, sweet pea?" he asks. 

She shrieks as Luke tickles a particularly vulnerable spot. 

"Help!"

"Pick a side, Dad," Ryan says.

"Choose wisely!" Luke adds. 

"I'm his baby!" Eliza argues.

"But you guys said girls stick together and he's not a girl!" Luke reasons. "He should be on the guys' side!"

"Hmm." Eddie lazily tilts his head to the side, his fading brown curls falling against his shoulder. "You both make excellent points."

"What about me?" you ask, struggling in Ryan's hold. "I'm your wife!"

"But you've known us longer!" Ryan retorts. 

"I think I'll stay impartial." Eddie shrugs, keeping a bored expression on his face. "Maybe I'll go make some macaroni and cheese."

"The root of all evil," Luke laments with a sigh, ceasing his attack on Eliza. The little girl is quick to slip from his grasp, immediately running up to Ryan and attempting to shove him away from you.

"Get off Mama!"

"I'm just hugging her," Ryan says, planting his feet to resist her impressive strength. 

"Daddy, help!"

Eddie shrugs. "Sure." He takes a step forward and scoops Eliza up, tossing her over his shoulder as if she were a rag doll. 

"No!" 

Her legs flail but Eddie keeps a strong grip around her middle. Small hands pound against his back, but Eddie ignores all attempts at escape as he keeps walking into the kitchen. Tired from fighting off Luke a moment ago, Eliza lets her body go limp over her father's shoulders. She heaves a sigh filled with the exasperation of someone three times her age.

"Boys."

[sosasturns]

handlin business - c. sturniolo

the low hum of the range rover's engine filled the empty lot, headlights casting long shadows against the rusted shipping containers. chris sat in the driver's seat, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel while the other scrolled through his phone. you, seated in the passenger seat, pulled at the hem of your hoodie, the oversized essentials fabric swallowing you up in the dim light.

"how much longer?" you murmured, glancing out the tinted window at the dark stretch of concrete.

chris didn't answer right away, his thumb tapping out a reply to some unread text. finally, he slid his phone into his lap, his profile sharp as he looked past you, eyes narrowing on the figure stepping out of a black sedan a few feet away.

"not long. stay in the car," he said firmly, voice low. you rolled your eyes but didn't argue, watching as he pushed open the door and stepped out, his black nike tech blending into the shadows.

jay was already waiting, a slim, wiry figure leaning against his car with the nonchalant air of someone who thought he was untouchable.

"bout time," chris said, walking up, his hands in his pockets.

"traffic," jay replied with a smirk, straightening up as he reached into the backseat to pull out a black duffle bag.

you leaned forward in your seat, straining to hear their conversation through the cracked window. chris's posture was relaxed, but there was something about the way his shoulders squared up that made your stomach tighten.

jay unzipped the bag, holding it open for chris to inspect. even from the car, you caught the metallic glint of what was inside.

everything seemed fine at first-until it wasn't. you couldn't hear exactly what jay said, but whatever it was had chris stiffening, his head tilting slightly as if to say, you wanna run that by me again?

your hand went to the door handle instinctively, ignoring the warning echoing in your head: stay in the car.

by the time you stepped out, chris had shifted his stance, one hand brushing the waistband of his pants where you knew his glock sat snug. he didn't pull it—he didn't need to. the action alone was enough to make jay pause, his hands going up slightly.

"the fuck are you doin' out here?" chris snapped, his voice sharp as he turned to see you standing a few feet away, arms crossed.

"you looked tense," you said simply, your tone laced with a mix of concern and defiance.

jay's eyes flicked between the two of you, a smirk curling at his lips. "this your girl?"

chris didn't answer. instead, he took a step closer to jay, the weight of his presence enough to wipe the smirk clean off his face.

"y’got what i came for or not?" chris asked, his tone steady but dangerous.

jay swallowed, nodding quickly. "yeah, yeah, it's all here. clean, like you asked."

chris reached out, grabbing the bag with one hand, his other still hovering close to his waistband as he gave jay a look that said ‘don't make me regret this.’

"count it," you murmured from behind him, earning a sharp glance from chris.

"she always this mouthy?" jay asked, chuckling as he rubbed the scruff on his chin.

"watch y’self," chris said, his voice low and cold. you bit back a smirk as chris opened the bag, rifling through its contents with a practiced eye. satisfied, he zipped it up and tossed it over his shoulder.

"we out," he said to you, turning back toward the car. jay opened his mouth to say something else, but one look from chris had him thinking better of it.

as you followed chris back to the range rover, he grabbed your waist, pulling you close.

"what part of stay in the car didn't you understand?" he asked, his voice a quiet growl.

"the part where i saw your jaw clench like you were two seconds from airing this bitch out," you shot back, shrugging as you slid into the passenger seat.

chris huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he started the car. "hard-headed ass," he muttered, glancing over at you.

you buckled your seatbelt, leaning back as the range rover rolled onto the main road. "we getting food? chilli's is right down the road."

chris glanced over, one hand resting on the wheel. "chilli's?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.

"yeah, chilli's. a triple dipper sound’ real good right now," you said, trying to keep a straight face.

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "you don't listen, you stress me the fuck out, and now y’want chilli's?" he said, lips curving into a smirk. "runnin’ my pockets, man."

“problem?” you smirked back, crossing your arms. "u-turn this bitch around, i’ll go ask your fr—”

the car halts to a sudden stop at the green light, your words making chris look over at you with a raise of his brow.

"lil’ girl," he said, a playful warning in his tone, but the smile tugging at his mouth told you he didn't mean it. his hand reaching to wrap around the back of your neck. “keep playin’ with me ‘n watch where it get’ you.”

you could only smile, your eyes searching over his face with amusement.

“lights green,” you murmur, smirking as he lets out a low hum, his eyes narrowing. his hand slowly loosening on your neck though he still kept it there.

brrrrrrrrrrrrt. the sound of someone honking their car horn drawled out making chris eyes advert yours and calmly shift to the rear view.

pressing his hand down onto the steering wheel, he honked back, his foot resting on the break like he wasn’t holding up traffic.

“chris,” you murmur, letting out a small breath of a laugh as you knew how petty he could get with road rage. “go.”

he smirked, watching the traffic light switch to yellow as more cars began to honk from behind.

“i’m good,” he replied, resting his hand on his lap as he looked ahead.

“i’ll give you head.” you counteroffer, a smirk tugging on your lips as you watch him turn his gaze back towards you, his foot pressing down heavy on the gas, making the car drive forward.

running the red light, the engine purring as he zoomed down the road. his hand steady on the wheel as his other shuffled on his lap, undoing his belt.

you scoff, unbuckling your seatbelt as he motioned you closer with his hand in a beckoning motion. “now?” you questioned teasingly, looking him up and down, though you were very much with it.

“hell yeah now, girl…” he scoffed, smirking. “better put in work for that triple dipper.”

@ sosasturns

sosas 💬’s : another addition to the shoota!chris n bottle girl!reader au! want more? sound off in my inbox! requests r open

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike

[bunny-jpeg]

soft coat

fernando alonso

tags: smut/pwp, selkie au, selkie!reader, divorced!fernando, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, cowgirl position, loving

a/n: i'm writing a very long fic set in a selkie au, but this is just a little something for ya'll since the idea was so popular <3

"my love!" you heard fernando as you were outside. it was summer time and you were hanging up the laundry for the week. it had been nicer the last few days. it wouldn't be much longer before you had your pup. the swell to your middle was impressive, you were indefinably carrying a selkie pup.

he came down the steps and said, "your coat is dry inside." he approached you from where you were between the rows of clotheslines. he hung up your coat inside, your seal fur that you protected with your life. and fernando by extension protected it too. it was an extension of you. he placed it over your shoulders while you hung up one of his shirts. and got his arms around you, he felt your bump.

you had been more close to your coat since you got pregnant. it had been hard to transform from seal to human with another life inside of you. so your coat was a good way to feel closer to the sea while not being fully transformed. so fernando did everything he could to make sure that this entire process was comfortable for you.

"let me help you, you relax." he said softly to you. but you stayed close by. leaned down to hand him clothes and clothespins. he thought it was adorable as he finished up quickly. then the two of you went back inside.

you had met fernando over the previous summer. you had got yourself onto his boat and kept eating his fish. you were hungry and he was right there! and then slowly over time you grew closer to him until you showed him your human form. and from there you fell in love. now you were carrying his child.

and like how you lured him in, he lured you into the bedroom so he could make sure you were taking breaks and having rest. but once you got into the bedroom with your coat on the bed to get comfortable on top of. but you pulled your human husband close to you.

you were both laid on the fur with your hands on his bearded face and pressing a series of kisses along the tops of his cheeks. you made cute squeaky noises as you kissed him and he simply melted into your touch. his life had changed so much since you met, but he wouldn't have changed a single aspect of it. he loved that you were with him, that he had you to love.

you soon reached for the belt of his jeans and got it off while he worked his white t-shirt off of him. you kissed across his strong chest and he shuddered under your affection. his hand found your middle and he sighed contently.

"are you alright to do this, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do." he kept his hand on your middle and leaned in close to you, "i need to make sure you're okay."

you nodded before you took off your shorts and t-shirt (that belonged to fernando) and exposed more of your middle to him. your pregnant swell. and he placed both hands on your middle while you were both naked in your bedroom with the sunlight streaming through the large windows of your bedroom.

your lover laid out in your furs with you straddled his waist with your hands on his chest. you dug your nails into his pecs for a moment and licked your lips. he looked amazing. he was a fair bit older in human years, but technically you were older. your kind lived longer. you tensed up a little in anticipation before you sank down on his cock. you let out a sweet little moan.

he tensed up then relaxed. his hands remained at your middle as you rolled your hips. you were gentle, loving with your movements and it made him shudder with a certain want. you felt beautiful on top of him, you weren't going to have rough sex with him. not while you were this pregnant. you needed to be easy on your body, even with your abilities as a selkie. and fernando didn't want to hurt you either, he wanted to be gentle. make you feel good in his own way.

his hands roamed your body as he softly praised you, "my beautiful wife, the light of my life. you are so beautiful. even with my baby in your belly. a sign that i claimed you." he clutched your hips and made him shudder with want. he needed you more than anything. the creature he loved more than the sea and the sky.

"my world. my rock." you leaned in a little bit to kiss his face once more. your noises were sweet as you made love to your husband. you never thought you could meet a man like him, be in love with such a human. he alluring, he accepted your world and brought you into his and the product of that was the baby you carried. your pup.

pleasure continued through your body as you moved against him. you took control of your movements and let him feel every inch of you. you licked your lips at the sight of him. your lover, your husband. the human that made you learn to love. to accept affection.

he leaned up to kiss you, both hands on your swollen middle. promises of a future together, a happy sweet future with your family. you picked up the pace marginally. the rolling of your hips felt good on his cock.

he knew from the moment he met you, when you came onto his boat with a hunger, that you two would be close for a lifetime. and any time after. he rubbed your belly lovingly as he tried to meet your pace. you two were wrapped up in your little world, tucked into the shores. protected. you could raise your child in peace and love your husband. and he could love you. you'd never be alone again, not while fernando still breathed.

you two kissed one another deeply, your swollen mound was pressed between you two. but, it only made you two feel closer. he loved the feeling, the knowledge that he made you this way. that he was your first and only lover. the only one to ever have you in a sexual fashion. that was quite the title to have and fernando wore it with pride. he loved you, he loved every inch of you. you were such a curious woman and fernando wanted it all.

the two of you continued to make love on the bed. you continued to feel up one another as the two of you rutted against one another. there were soft words exchanged, promises of love and devotion. fernando loved you as deep as the oceans went. it was the pull in his chest.

"you looked beautiful." he said, "more beautiful than any woman. beautiful like the sea." he felt lost before he met you, after his wife left. he never though he'd find love again. but there you were, now on top of him as his hand explored your body. as he took in the beautiful feeling of your curves. his beautiful wife.

his selkie lover.

you felt the pleasure hit its peak inside of you. you felt the fire in your core that spread into your blood as you rode him through your climax. you made loud noises as you felt the pleasure hit through your body. you hissed and held onto his shoulders tightly. it only made him hold onto your hips tightly as the two of you made love. the climax felt amazing as he met your pace.

your beautiful lover with his dark eyes and smile that pulled you in. his expression shifted as he felt himself cum as well. he rolled up into you and game inside of you with a few more heavy thrusts. the feeling was intense and it left fernando with a achy need for his selkie wife. with you both reached climax, fernando felt up your body once more. he took in the feeling of you against him. he loved it, he loved you.

eventually you were laid out beside fernando and he held you close to him. your naked bodies on top of your coat. curled up against one another. eventually fernando moved down to kiss at your swollen middle with such a dedicated and love. a promise.

"i love you." he said

you replied softly as your breathing leveled out, "i love you too."

"i will keep you and our child safe, for as long as i can." he said as he kissed the soft skin. he loved you and he loved your baby. always.

-

fernando didn't know what to expect when he knew he was going to have a child with a selkie. he had heard the stories from folklore. but, when your daughter was born. she didn't have gills, fins or fur. she was just a plump little baby. your little mira.

curious brown eyes, and chubby cheeks. he looked quite a bit like fernando. but was smart just like her mother. you were close to the shore in the water now that the seasons were changing. you were cooing to your daughter and brought some of the sea water to her. you were wetting her cheeks, to get her used to the water that she'd come home.

you sang her soft songs of your kind. and fernando stay close to protect his wife and daughter. in his arms was your selkie coat. the biggest trust you could give. but, you were beyond establishing trust. you were his and he was yours, and your love produced a sweet baby girl. he admired you from behind and felt the love for you in his heart. down to his very core. his little world were in those waters and he'd always be there when you came back to shore <3

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Can we get more hurt reader for Quinn to care for pretty please with 🍒s ontop?

I think it's about time I get the reader to a game, don't you?

Nothing could beat the energy of a sold out Canucks game.

Tonight was poised to be a tight game against the Atlantic Division's Toronto Maple Leafs and the hometown boys. You had made the plans weeks ago to attend the game, but none of your friends were available to go, so you were going solo. It hadn't been the first time sitting with no one to talk to in the stands, as there was always someone to strike up a conversation with, argue a wrong call over, or heckle one of the visiting players with. You wouldn't be without company that night.

Things had started off fast paced, with Quinn scoring the first puck mid-way through the opening period. It was always special getting to see him score in person, hearing the fans cheer for their beloved captain, and also with you being able to join them as just another fan. No one knew who you were; best as anyone else knew, you were just another girl in a Quinn Hughes jersey, and that was enough.

The players would take their positions back at center ice and Vancouver would lose the faceoff, and play would move into the Canucks' territory. Defensively, they seemed to be struggling to get a turnover and multiple shots would be deflected by Demko before the puck would get back to the neutral zone. However, it would get tipped and go up and out of play, with Toronto trying to return back to the offensive zone. You had been guilty of watching Quinn instead of where the puck was and that would be your downfall that night.

At first, you thought the guy sitting next to you had clocked you in the side of the head by accident. It wasn't after you heard a kid yell, "Get it! Get the puck! I want it!" that you were able to discern that you had missed the rogue puck sailing towards you and that had been what had your head spinning. That was your last, straightforward thought.

The rows behind you, who had seen the contact be made, gasped collectively and several reacted around you to make sure you were alright. Your ears were ringing, and you weren't quite sure where you were as you slumped forward and to the side, nearly slipping out of your seat. Everything was getting hazy and your vision was fading out. Your head had never hurt so bad in your life.

"Yeah, I need medical to section 116", you heard the usher radio in, your eyes slowly opening. Everything was too bright, too loud, and you were dizzy. There was a towel placed to the left side of your head and the throbbing felt like someone was hitting you with a hammer repeatedly. "Ma'am, try to stay still, please. We're going to get someone to help you."

You gritted your teeth against the sound of the packed arena and how it aggravated your brain, and you had to keep your eyes closed against the harsh lights above. All you wanted to do was slip away into sleep.

"We're going to help you up, okay? Are you good to stand?" A woman's voice asked you, feeling gentle pressure to your upper right arm. Slowly, you'd turn your face towards her and nod. "Okay, gently now. Go slow for me, okay? We're going to make sure you don't fall. "

You bit your lip as you made your way to the aisle, still holding the towel to your face. "Still doing alright?" She asked again once you were up and out of the seats. After you nodded, she'd change her hold to your left arm and slowly, you'd be escorted up the stairs as clapping would follow you as a sendoff.

"We have an ambulance coming around to take you to the hospital and get you checked out."

You couldn't focus on anything and just kind of mumbled at whatever it was she was saying, and since she and no one else around was frantic, you remained calm despite being told you were going to the hospital in an ambulance. Sure enough, you'd be strapped to the stretcher in the lobby, a neck brace fastened in place, and wheeled into the awaiting transport out front. Everyone was so kind to you, but there was one person you couldn't get off your mind. You hoped Quinn hadn't noticed it was you who had been hit by the puck, but if he had, you wished it wouldn't interfere with his playing for the remainder of the game.

- - -

It would be after the game clock ran out before you'd be done with your visit at the hospital.

You had a series of stitches above your left eye and a concussion, but otherwise you were fine. The Canucks had won the game which was a relief to you, because what kind of fan would you had been if you didn't feel like whatever you did --or had caused-- had directly affected the game? Wore the wrong jersey and they lost? Your fault. Changed your order from your usual pre-game selection and they lost? Also your fault, and yours alone. That was just the overly superstitious sports fan brain at work.

Once cleared to leave, you had called a girlfriend and told her what had happened and if she could take you back to Quinn's apartment. She had offered to stay with you until he came back, but you had managed to convince her that you wouldn't have to wait for too long before he was home. There was reluctance to leave you, after saying you had sustained a concussion, but you had apparently been persuasive enough and she would leave shortly after getting you settled on the sofa.

You were thankful for the darkness and the silence of his apartment. The hospital had been busy and terribly bright, so just a smaller arena atmosphere, and you had suffered for hours before finally getting to actually relax. Your phone was next to you but looking at the screen, even with the brightness down, shot through your head like a bullet. The light sensitivity had been incredible, yet you were told it was common and nothing to worry about. You wanted to message Quinn, but typing was impossible, so a voice-to-text message would have to do the trick.

Y|N: Hey baby I'm okay. Just got home from the hospital. If you didn't know I'm the girl who tried to catch the puck with her face. Ha ha, lucky me. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I'm fine. Love you. (11:55pm)

Quinn: I was hoping that wasn't you. :( I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm glad you're okay. I'll be home shortly. I love you more. (12:09am)

When Quinn got home you were still sitting on the sofa, an ice pack pressed against your browbone where the new stitches were. The lights in the kitchen were dimmed, as you had gotten up shortly after his text message and turned them on, so he wouldn't come home to a pitch black apartment. You didn't want to scare him by being a creep in the dark, just waiting for him to get in.

"Hey Quinny," you said, half asleep and leaning against the corner of the sectional.

"Hey," Quinn replied, voice soft and low as he wasted no time getting to your side. "How are you feeling?"

He'd sit down beside you and try to see just what had happened. You'd drop the ice pack to you lap, fingers cold after having to hold it for so long. "I'm tired."

Quinn frowned, tipping your chin to the side just slightly, "Looks like it got you pretty good, babe."

"Yeah, I was watching you...so I didn't see it coming," you breathed out ashamed.

"Now, what would you do that for?" He laughed, hoping to raise your spirits. "I didn't see it happen."

"I'm glad you didn't," you mumbled, returning the ice to your face, feeling it throb again. "I got blood all over my jersey, too."

He gave a weak smile, hoping you were trying to be sarcastically upset, seeing the stains for himself. "I'll get you a new one. I'm just glad you're okay. It could have been a lot worse." His voice was near a whisper at the end.

"I don't want a new jersey! That one is special, don't you remember?" You cried out with emotional hurt, growing more upset thinking about how quickly the night had spiraled.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said trying to keep you calm. "It's been a long time since that date, babe. I'm sorry I forgot it was (that) one. I'll take it with me and see if one of the equipment guys can clean it for me, okay? We'll get it taken care of. Now, can I get you anything?'

You just shook your head.

"Why don't you go lay down? You've had a long day."

You wouldn't say anything to him, but instead, would get up and try to walk past him but he would stop you. His arm would block your path, his hand gripping your thigh gently. The way he looked at you conveyed his concern, while his words remained minimal. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing," you replied flatly, wishing he'd let you pass.

Your response prompted him to stand up. Now you wouldn't be going anywhere until he felt better about your situation. "Will you talk to me?"

"I don't want to talk, Quinn," you grumbled, your head pounding harder now that you weren't at rest.

Without a word, Quinn brought you into his arms. He knew how concussions could affect a person, how they could make you irritable and emotional out of nowhere. All he hoped was that a quiet moment would calm you down. He wasn't upset with you and your sudden attitude change; he knew how being hit with pucks felt and you hadn't been wearing the gear like he did. Not to mention you had been hit in the face.

"You're okay, baby. You just need to rest. I wasn't trying to order you around. And I'm sorry about the jersey thing."

Out of habit, you'd lay your head against him, but it would be those tender stitches that would make contact with his shoulder, causing you to pull back in pain.

"Ouch!" You hissed, fingers shielding the area.

"Careful, careful," he soothed, taking your face in his hands. When your hand fell away to your side, Quinn placed the most delicate kiss to your forehead, just above where your skin was split. His softness made your eyes close. You felt so touch starved all of a sudden, like you wanted to beg him for more. How had one kiss melted your sour mood away like that? You'd stand there like a statue, eyes still closed, feeling his warm hands cup your face.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked, having expected a different reaction from you.

"No," you replied, opening your eyes to his face, "that just felt so nice."

Quinn would smile, relieved that you finally had one moment of comfort against everything else that had happened that night. He'd take all of your pain away from you if he knew how. If little angel kisses made you better, he'd take as much time as was needed to pepper ever inch of your skin with them.

"How about I get you ready for bed and make sure you get to sleep, hm?

"I can do it."

Quinn's thumbs caressed your cheeks, while he still remained holding your face, "Let me help you. I promise to be gentle."

Your eyes softened when you gave him an affirming nod. You hadn't wanted to bother him with anything after a game, but he was insisting and who were you to deny him wanting to do such sweet things for you?

"Come on, princess. Let's get this done so you can get some sleep."

His hands would fall from your face, to take one of yours and lead you down the hallway. Quinn's pace was slow and cautions even though there was nothing wrong with your ability to walk; he would never rush you a single step.

"I'm only going to turn on the vanity lights, okay? They shouldn't be as bright."

"Okay."

The Edison bulbs came to a glow over the mirror, casting a soft, golden hue to the bathroom. Your head felt plagued by the worst migraine you could remember, but you'd struggle through while Quinn did whatever he had in mind for you. He'd have you put your back to the counter and would lift you up, so you were sitting slightly above his eye level; your feet kicking gently as they dangled in front of the numerous drawers.

"What do I need to take your makeup off, baby?" He asked, hands resting on either side of your thighs.

"In the basket, under the sink, there is a pink package of wipes. Those are fine. The Micellar ones."

"Under the sink, okay," he said softly to himself, giving your leg a tap before looking under his sink for this particular basket, and sure enough, like you had said, he was able to find them. "Just one?"

"Mhm, just one," you said, hand out-stretched for the product but he wouldn't hand them over.

"No, sweetheart, I said I'd do this for you," he smiled, removing one of the large sheets. "Just tell me if I do something wrong."

His touch was so delicate as he worked around your eyes, paying special attention not to graze your stitches. The nurses had washed most of your face of blood and some makeup at the hospital, but you were happy to let Quinn finish the rest. He pressed the cloth to your eyelashes for a couple seconds before pulling away the difficult product from them. Had he been paying attention to you all this time? He seemed confident in his approach and you appreciated the caution he implied.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to do them right now," you told him, finally opening your eyes once he was done.

Quinn wondered if he had done something wrong to make you not want anything more from him, "Like what?"

"There's a whole routine, but I don't care enough right now. My head hurts," you said, frustrated, tossing the melting ice pack in the sink.

"Alright, sweetheart, it's whatever you want." He pressed forward for a kiss which you would give before Quinn would get you down off the counter. For some reason, each step you took felt like it rippled through your feet straight to your pounding skull. Thankfully his bed wasn't too far away now.

"I should have carried you," Quinn lamented, only after having you sit on the bed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. My legs work."

"I know they do, but anything to make things easier on you," he whispered, hands finding their place on your legs again. "Let's get you out of these clothes, okay?"

- - -

"I'll join you in a little bit. I'm going to put this in my backpack," he said, carefully folding the jersey. "But I've gotta get something to eat. I'm a little dizzy myself."

From the bed he had you carefully tucked into, you frowned hearing that he wasn't feeling to good himself. Now, you wanted to be the one to help him, but you knew there was no way that he was going to approve of you being out of bed, especially to wait on him.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" He asked you before fully leaving the room.

"I had something at noon."

"That's it?"

"Mhm, but I don't want anything. This headache kind of has me nauseous," you confessed, pulling the blankets up closer to your face.

You could faintly see him frown at your admission. "I can make you some tea. Would you like that?"

Smiling through the pain you'd nod, "Yes, please."

Unfortunately, you'd fall asleep before he could get back to you with the tea. He'd put it down on your nightstand and look at you for a moment. His lamp was still on so he could see you fully. You looked so delicate laying there aside from the deep bruising becoming more evident under your skin. He was so thankful you were okay, but vowed the next time you went to see him play, you'd be safely in a seat behind the net. He couldn't stand seeing you hurt like this again. Not if he could do anything about it.

[thewitchblue]

You eyed the family suspiciously. They are dressed too nicely. They don't even dress up this nicely for galas. Why do they look like they were in a fight but somehow appear so polished? As if they got into a fight, then went on a date.

Tim looked pretty normal, at least. It seems like Jason and Dick were able to gang up on him and capture him without much force.

You had been wedding planning with Tim in your apartment until he had to leave for patrol. He left your home with a kiss only for Dick and Jason to immediately kidnap him the second he was out of your window.

Apparently, Dick was feeling petty and wanted a surprise wedding since the engagement "wasn't a big deal."

Dick was petty the entire time. From the cheers to the toast to the vows he altered when he broke into Tim's room and your apartment, everything was very passive-aggressive.

It was a small and private wedding, and it was beautiful. He must have stolen your shared wedding plan that Tim insisted on writing down. Tim had said he needed all the details to refer back to when you both go to each place.

Bruce must have been in on it, as he told you to wear your wedding attire to check for tailoring needs at the manor, but you didn't expect the wedding to happen.

Nobody in the manor said anything despite your rapid questions until you had to walk down the aisle. Not even Alfred revealed what was going to happen.

Everything started clicking when you walked through the manor and saw all the decorations. You looked for Tim, who was squirming at the end of the aisle, his hands tied with a constrictor knot and a gag Jason happened to have mixed in his Red Hood gear (nobody asked questions). Jason had an iron grasp on his shoulders and had him lifted into the air, so he made no progress in running to you.

You shared a look with Tim as if to ask if he wants to continue the wedding. Tim looked flustered, but he stopped squirming long enough to nod. He's fine with getting married now, but he was incredibly anxious being unable to walk alongside you. He felt silly, but he wanted to be at your side, and he was willing to fight for it.

You, unsurprisingly, had Alfred walking you down the aisle. How did Dick manage to swear all the guests into secrecy? You know nothing was a coincidence.

Alfred had to borderline chase after you as you sped over to Tim with a grin. You'd have to applaud Dick for his efforts. Everything was perfect. It was exactly as you planned with Tim.

You laughed when you noticed the ring bearer was actually holding two painite rocks instead of rings. That was definitely Tim's idea. He has grown attached to rocks. He even told you he's going to make you a rock garden for your anniversary. He's already thinking about his future with you.

Tim calmed down significantly when you were at his side. Jason finally let him go, untied him, and stepped back into the background as if nothing had happened.

Tim gasped for air as he yanked off the gag. His glare promised a fight later, and Jason's answering smile felt like a challenge. You sighed. You can already imagine the photos of Tim dangling like a squirming puppy. You shouldn't have expected a normal wedding. It was really idealistic to think you could ever have a normal wedding in this family.

Your eyes turned to the gems with a fondness as you remember all the rocks you've given him through the years. All those memories will be immortalised. You remember every rock given and your thought process when you picked them up.

You both were handed your respective rocks, then your rings after trading rocks. You took a deep breath before saying,

"Tim, I give you yet another rock to love and cherish. I promise to keep giving you rocks until my last breath. You will always remember getting beat by your big brothers every time you look at the pair of gems, but one day, you will look at them like the best beat down you've ever experienced."

Tim gave a shrug and said he rated it,

"7/10. I could have fought more if my laptop wasn't my main priority."

Dick and Jason looked offended, but everybody else laughed.

"Tim, I promise my love for you will be as immortal as these stones and as fierce as an otter."

Tim laughed. He loved your little speech for him. You gave him a kiss to seal your vows, and he begins his,

"I told you rocks were for proposals when you gave me my now ring, and I'm happy to be here to tell you I was correct. I'm correct again in choosing you to spend the rest of my life with you."

Tim sounded incredibly amused. You laughed and hugged the gem closer. He twisted his wedding ring nervously as he continued,

"My love for you will be as permanent as the rocks you've given me. This rock rock isn't a diamond, but it's become more precious than any diamond in the world. You are my rock and my love."

Tim gave you a kiss to end his vows. He's never looked happier as he looked at you. You were his everything.

"I didn't realise this was a rock rock."

You teased. Jason called you both weird but he had too soft of an expression for the words to have any bite behind them.

Dick handed you both the paperwork and patted Tim on the back. Tim didn't trust him for one second and read the certificate to make sure Dick isn't legally binding him to anything besides you.

You also read the papers before signing anything. You love Tim, but you don't trust his brothers when they feel petty or slighted.

"'You are from now on required to inform Dick Grayson first about any future big commitments such as any potential future children.' Dick, are you serious?"

Tim sounded offended as he read the words outloud while you chuckled. Dick was still mad. You shook your head and asked him,

"How would we even hide a kid?"

Dick immediately said,

"The same way you hid your engagement."

Tim was irritated now as he said,

"We were engaged for an hour until you found out. Let it go."

Dick didn't let it go. He brought it up at any chance he could. Jason snapped first.

"Suck it up and shut up, Dickhead. I was right there and you weren't. Deal with it."

Jason then proceeded to chug his cup of vodka to calm his urge to punch Dick. You both left when the two brothers started to bicker with each other over Jason's drinking. Jason will forever be the little 10 year old kid to Dick.

"You're officially stuck with me now."

You said as you took his ringed hand in yours. He looked at your conjoined hands with a fond expression.

"I'm not stuck with you. I love you."

You tugged his tie lightly and dragged him into a kiss. You vaguely heard the drunken wolf whistles and cheers, but you didn't care. He's yours forever. That's all that matters to you at that moment.

This is a part two @hearts4mica requested. I may have had too much fun with it.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 5) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

The Atlanta airport is different after months of European terminals. Everything's louder, more familiar, more home. Leila's dragging her designer luggage (a gift from Josette on her birthday) past Popeyes and Chick-fil-A, the smell making her realize how much she's missed proper Southern food.

Her mama nearly drops her church hat when she walks through the door unannounced, clutching her chest like Leila's appearance might send her straight to Jesus.

"Lord have mercy! What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Did that boy—" Jeanna Mae's already reaching for her phone, probably to alert the whole prayer circle about her prodigal daughter's return.

"Mama, breathe." Leila drops her bags by the door, taking in the familiar scent of sweet potato pie and those vanilla plugins. The house looks exactly the same – family photos covering every surface, that ancient TV guide that hasn't been opened since streaming existed, her daddy's old recliner still in its spot of honor.

"Don't tell me to breathe when you show up looking like somebody broke your heart." Her mama's fingers are flying across her phone screen. "And I bet it's about that captain of yours. The one who won't admit his feelings."

"Mama—"

"Don't 'mama' me. You flew across an ocean to run from that boy. I raised you better than that."

Before Leila can defend her life choices, her phone explodes with notifications:

Yolanda: BITCH YOU'RE HOME??? Kenzi: Emergency drinks at Slim & Husky's in 30. This is not a request Tasha: Don't even think about saying no. We saw your IG stories Yolanda: Already ordered the wine. GET HERE

Her mama's already pushing her toward the stairs, that knowing look in her eyes. "Go change. Your girls are waiting. But don't think this conversation is over. I want to know everything about this William boy too."

"How do you even—"

"Baby girl, I might be old but I know how to use Instagram. Now go. But we're having a proper talk when you get back."

An hour later, she's squeezed into a booth at Slim & Husky's, surrounded by her best friends since middle school and enough pizza and wine to fuel a proper intervention. The restaurant's busy for a weeknight, filled with that specific Atlanta energy she didn't realize she'd missed.

"So let me get this straight," Yolanda leans forward, wine glass dangling dangerously while her bamboo earrings catch the light. "You got TWO fine African men fighting over you? In EUROPE?"

"They're not fighting—"

"Girl, please." Kenzi rolls her eyes so hard they might get stuck. "One's bringing you Lebanese food while the other's having whole breakdowns in tunnels? That's fighting. That's fighting in multiple languages."

"And you're here because…?" Tasha raises an eyebrow, already reaching for another slice. "Because from where I'm sitting, you running from good dick. Multiple good dicks."

"I needed space," Leila adjusts her glasses, a nervous habit that makes her friends exchange looks. "From both of them. From all of it."

"Space?" All three look at her like she's lost her European mind.

"From the situation," she clarifies. "It's complicated."

"What's complicated about your captain being clearly in love with you but too scared to say it?" Yolanda's got that look that means she's about to start speaking truths nobody asked for.

"Or about you dating his teammate to make him jealous?" Kenzi adds, signaling for more wine. "Because baby, that's what you're doing."

"I am NOT—"

"You are." Tasha cuts her off, voice gentle but firm. "And baby? That never ends well. Trust someone who knows."

"Plus," Kenzi adds, "that William seems sweet. He doesn't deserve to be your rebound."

"He's not—"

"He is." All three say it in unison, years of friendship making them a well-oiled truth-telling machine.

"Look," Yolanda sets down her wine glass like she's about to deliver a sermon. "You got these two fine men – both rich, both fine as hell, both clearly interested. One's bringing you food and treating you right, while the other's having whole emotional breakdowns over you but won't say why. And instead of dealing with it, you flew home to eat pizza with us."

"The pizza is good though," Leila mutters.

"Not better than French dick," Tasha coughs into her wine.

The truth of it all hits different over pizza and pinot noir in her hometown, surrounded by friends who've known her since she was wearing Limited Too and dreaming about her first kiss. Maybe she did run. Maybe she's still running.

But maybe she needed to come home to figure out where she's actually trying to go.

"So what are you gonna do?" Kenzi asks softly.

Leila looks down at her phone – no messages from Aurélien, but three from William checking if she landed safely.

"I don't know."

But that's a lie.

She does know.

She's just not ready to admit it yet.

"Well if it isn't the finest women in Atlanta."

The voice makes Leila's entire body cringe before she even looks up. Torrance Johnson – high school quarterback turned local gym trainer – is standing at their table with that same smile that definitely worked better ten years ago.

"Torrance," Yolanda's voice could freeze hell. "Don't you have some protein shakes to blend?"

But he's already focused on Leila, eyes doing that slow scan that makes her wish she'd worn a turtleneck. "Damn girl, Europe's been good to you. When'd you get back?"

"She's not staying," Tasha cuts in. "And she's taken."

"By two men," Kenzi adds helpfully, earning herself a kick under the table.

"Two?" Torrance's eyebrows shoot up. "Nah, can't be. Our Leila? Miss Voted Most Likely to Marry Her Books?"

Something about the way he says it – that hint of dismissal, that suggestion that she couldn't possibly have multiple men interested – reminds her exactly why she left Atlanta in the first place.

Her eyes catch on his deliberately distressed jeans, probably bought that way from some boutique in Buckhead, and suddenly all she can think about is Aurélien. How he dresses like every Atlanta rapper's Pinterest board come to life, all designer streetwear and chains that probably cost more than Torrance's trainer fees.

"You should go," she says finally, not even looking up from her wine. "Your protein shakes are calling."

"Come on now—"

"She said go." Yolanda's voice carries enough attitude to make several nearby tables look over.

He leaves, but not before dropping his card on the table with a wink that probably works better on girls who haven't seen him throw up at prom.

"The audacity," Tasha mutters, reaching for more wine. "Acting like you ain't out here with whole European footballers fighting over you."

"They're not—"

"Girl, if you say they're not fighting one more time," Kenzi cuts in. "We've seen the videos. Your captain looked ready to commit murder in that tunnel."

"And William?" Yolanda adds. "That's not just trying to get some, that's husband behavior."

Leila's phone buzzes – another text from William asking how her first night home is going. Nothing from Aurélien, but Cama has sent her a video of him absolutely destroying the training ground equipment.

"You know what's funny?" she says finally, still staring at her phone. "Aurélien dresses exactly like these Atlanta boys trying to look hard. All ripped jeans and chains and-"

"Baby," Tasha interrupts gently, "the fact that you're thinking about how he dresses tells us everything we need to know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Yolanda starts, "that you flew across an ocean to get away from your feelings but you're still noticing his clothes."

"His very expensive clothes," Kenzi adds. "Not whatever Fashion Nova collection Torrance was trying to rock."

"Can we not—"

"Compare them?" Tasha grins. "Too late. We've all seen your Instagram stories. We know exactly what kind of men you're working with now."

"And neither of them," Yolanda adds, "is anything like these local boys trying to act like they're something. Your captain might dress Atlanta, but baby? That man's got that real money energy. And William?"

"Pure class," Kenzi nods. "The way he looks at you in those photos? Like you hung the moon or something."

"Meanwhile Aurélien looks at you like he's trying to figure out how to possess your soul," Tasha observes. "In a hot way."

"Y'all are doing too much," Leila mutters, but her cheeks are warm.

"Are we though?" Yolanda challenges. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've got two whole meals fighting over you in Europe while Torrance 'Peak in High School' Johnson is trying to get your attention with some jeans he probably bought at ASOS."

"The difference," Kenzi adds, "is that Aurélien's probably wearing jeans that cost more than Torrance's car."

"And William's probably never worn distressed anything in his life," Tasha laughs.

"Can we talk about something else?" Leila pleads. "Anything else?"

"Sure," Yolanda grins. "Let's talk about how you're going to handle going back to work. That's coming whether you're ready or not."

The reminder sits heavy in her stomach. One week left of pretending she's not running from her feelings. One week of Georgia comfort before facing reality.

Her phone buzzes again – a text from her mama this time:

That boy called me again. The captain. Asked how you were.

She turns her phone face down.

The chatter at the table felt like a lifeline, a reminder that even with the chaos of her love life — or whatever this was — her friends never changed.

"Alright, y’all," Leila starts, her tone light but her fingers nervously taps her glass. "If we’re gonna dissect my life like this, at least give me something useful. Any advice for handling… all of this?"

"You mean William?" Yolanda grin like she’s been waiting for this moment. "Or both of them?"

"Both," Leila admits, earning a chorus of gasps and exaggerated cheers from around the table.

"You kissed him, though?" Kenzi presses. "William? Wilo? What was it like?"

Leila took a sip of wine, letting the anticipation build. "It was… nice," she says, feigning nonchalance.

"Nice? Girl, come on!" Kenzi groans.

"Fine," Leila relents, a sly smile creeping onto her lips. "It made my kitty purr."

The table erupts, laughter bubbling up loud enough to turn a few heads in their direction.

"Big purr!" Yolanda cackles, fanning herself dramatically.

"And yet, you’re still hung up on Aurélien," Tasha says knowingly, swirling her wine like she had the upper hand in this conversation. "You can’t hide that."

"Because he’s got her heart," Yolanda teases. "William might’ve gotten a kiss, but Aurélien’s the one she wants to risk it all for."

"Okay, okay, but," Kenzi cuts in, her tone shifting into unsolicited-advice territory. "If you’re really gonna give Wilo a shot, you need to bring your A-game. Like, head game on ten."

Leila groans, her head falling into her hands. "Why do I feel like I’m about to regret asking this?"

"Because you probably are," Yolanda teases, ignoring her protest. "But listen up. The trick with a guy like William? You gotta be confident. Show him you know what you’re doing. And eye contact. Always."

"Exactly," Kenzi agrees, raising her glass. "And if he gets all quiet or grabs your hair—"

"I’m leaving," Leila interrupts, though she stayed firmly in her seat, face buried in her hands.

"You’re not going anywhere," Tasha says with a smirk. "This is gold, and you know it."

"I can’t believe I’m having this conversation," Leila mutters, peeking up from her hands.

"Believe it, baby," Yolanda says, taking a sip of her drink. "And take notes, because we all know William’s got that 'nice boy' energy, but Aurélien?"

"He’s giving 'break-the-headboard' energy," Tasha finishes matter-of-factly, earning another round of laughter.

Leila tries to glare at Tasha, but the heat rushing to her cheeks betrays her. "Y’all really have no chill, do you?"

"Not when we’re right," Yolanda says, sliding her phone across the table. "Speaking of Aurélien, have you seen this picture of him on the pitch? Look at his tongue."

Leila glances down reluctantly, only to be met with an image of Aurélien mid-game: shirt clinging to his torso, a sheen of sweat glistening under the stadium lights, his tongue peeking out in what was either concentration or defiance. His face was as expressive as ever, eyes lit with determination.

"You’re telling me this man isn’t whispering filthy things in French while making you see God?" Yolanda asks, her tone almost academic.

"I’m saying nothing," Leila says, snatching the phone and flipping it over. "Y’all are too much."

"But we’re not wrong," Kenzi shot back. "Aurélien looks like he’d talk you into doing things you didn’t even know you wanted to do. Just with that voice."

"And that tongue," Yolanda adds, grinning devilishly. "Girl, do you know how expressive his face is? Like, come on. He’s not just scoring goals on the pitch."

"Alright, that’s enough!" Leila protests, trying to keep her composure despite the riotous laughter around her.

"Enough?" Tasha raises a brow. "Girl, we’ve barely started. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About him and that—"

"I haven’t!" Leila lies, her voice is a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

"Uh-huh." Yolanda wasn’t buying it. "Listen, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. That’s not just casual interest. That’s 'call out my name when you’re about to come' energy."

Kenzi nearly spat her drink. "I mean, facts, but damn, Yolanda, say it with your chest."

"She already did," Tasha quipps. "And she’s not wrong. Leila, you’ve got two literal snacks fighting over you. One’s sweet, one’s spicy. You’ve gotta at least taste one."

Leila groans, her face in her hands again. "Y’all are insufferable."

"But you love us," Kenzi says, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "And we love you. We just want you to live your best life. With both of them, if that’s what it takes."

"Big facts," Yolanda says, raising her glass. "To Leila living her best life, with Aurélien, William, and whoever else makes her kitty purr."

Leila couldn’t help but laugh, raising her own glass in surrender. "Y’all are ridiculous."

"Ridiculously right," Tasha says with a wink. "Now, tell us more about that kiss. Did he grab your waist? Your face? Both?"

And just like that, the teasing continued, leaving Leila both mortified and comforted. If nothing else, her girls always had her back, even if it meant roasting her into oblivion in the process.

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

Leila was halfway through her third slice of pizza at Slim & Husky’s when her phone buzzed on the table. The low hum of conversation and the warm scent of garlic and cheese filled the space, but the message on her screen stole her focus.

Wilo: Can you come to London next weekend? I miss you.

She stared at the words, her stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the food. Her friends were busy splitting a cinnamon roll flight, oblivious to the sudden weight in her chest.

"You good?" Kenzi asks, nudging her shoulder.

Leila blinks, quickly locking her phone. "Yeah. Just Wilo being… Wilo."

"Oh, what’s he saying now?" Yolanda leans in, her curiosity obvious.

"Nothing important," Leila mutters, waving them off.

Her friends gave her knowing looks but didn’t press further. Leila took another bite of pizza, forcing herself to focus on the moment, the laughter, the easy camaraderie. But her phone felt heavier in her pocket now, like it was daring her to check it again.

Later that night, back at home, the scent of fried chicken and collard greens still lingered in the air from dinner. Leila leans against the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long gone lukewarm. The hum of the dishwasher filled the kitchen as her mama wiped down the table, and her daddy sat at the head, finishing the last of his sweet tea with a satisfied sigh.

"That hit the spot, baby," he says, patting his belly. His trucker hat was tipped back on his head, a little smudge of grease still on his hands from unloading earlier.

Her mama smiles, but the look she gave him was clear: We need some girl time.

He caught the silent signal and grins, pushing back his chair. "Alright, I know when I’m not needed. Leila, you make sure your mama doesn’t go pulling out another project this late. I’m gonna grab a shower."

"Yes, sir," Leila says with a small smile, watching him leave the room.

Her mama waited until the sound of the shower started before she finally spoke.

"You got something on your mind, girl?" her mama asks, setting down the dishcloth.

Leila hesitates. "No. Just tired."

Her mama raised a brow but didn’t push. Instead, she grabbed a glass of water and leaned on the counter across from Leila.

"You get my text about Aurélien calling me today?" she asks, her tone deceptively casual.

"Yeah."

"Wanted to check on you. Asked how you’ve been," her mama says, sipping her water.

Leila frowns. "What did you tell him?"

"Told him you’re grown, handling your business," her mama replies easily. "But he sounded worried. Said he missed you.”

Leila’s chest tightens, but she kept her expression cool. "He didn’t say that to me."

"Maybe he’s scared to," her mama says, fixing her with that all-knowing look. "Men don’t always say what they mean, but they show it in other ways."

Leila snorts, shaking her head. "He’s all talk, Mama. If he cared, he’d show up. William’s the one actually trying."

Her mama’s lips quirks up in a small smile. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re just scared of what it would mean if Aurélien came through. Scared to let him in."

Leila looks away, her throat tight. "I’m not scared."

"Sure you’re not," her mama says lightly, pushing off the counter. She paused to kiss the top of Leila’s head. "Just don’t be so busy keeping your options open that you miss out on what you really want."

As her mama walked out of the kitchen, Leila’s phone buzz again.

Wilo: Please, Leila. I just want to see you.

Her thumb hovers over the screen, but her mind isn’t on Wilo. It was on Aurélien and the way his name had sounded coming from her mama’s lips. The way her heart had skipped just a little at the thought of him calling to check on her.

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

Leila only has a few more days at home, and it’s messing with her head. She thought coming back to Atlanta would give her clarity, but instead, it feels like everything is weighing on her even more. The whole thing with Aurélien and Wilo — it’s making everything harder.

Should she quit being Aurélien’s PA to be with Wilo? Or just quit being a PA altogether and finally figure herself out? But if she does quit, she’s not going back to corporate. Hell no. That life nearly drained her dry the first time around, and she’s not making that mistake again.

Still, the idea of starting fresh sounds good — better than being stuck in the middle of whatever this is. But then Wilo texts her again, and curiosity gets the better of her. What could this thing with him really be? Would it work if she gave it a real shot?

It’s late, but she picks up her phone and finally replies.

Leila: I’ll come see you this week.

His response comes almost immediately.

Wilo: This week? You sure?

Leila: Yeah. I’ll let you know when I land.

She doesn’t give herself time to overthink it. By morning, her ticket to London is booked, and by the afternoon, she’s already on her way to the airport. Her mama gives her one of those tight hugs that says, I know you’re up to something, but I’ll let you figure it out. Her daddy tells her to be safe, his attention mostly on the game playing on the living room TV.

The flight is smooth, and she spends most of it bouncing between nervous excitement and second-guessing herself. By the time she lands, her resolve is still intact, but she’s made one decision for sure— she’s not staying at Wilo’s house. That’s too much temptation, and she needs to be as clear-headed as possible.

Her hotel is chic but understated, the kind of place that feels luxurious without screaming it. She texts Wilo her room number once she’s checked in, her pulse kicking up as she sends it.

Not even twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

When she opens it, Wilo is standing there, dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, but somehow still looking like he just stepped out of a GQ spread. He’s holding a bouquet of white roses and grinning like he’s relieved she actually showed up.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice low and warm.

"Hey," she replies, stepping aside to let him in.

The air between them feels heavy but not uncomfortable. He hands her the flowers, his fingers brushing hers in a way that sends a jolt straight through her.

"I wasn’t sure if you were serious," he admits, watching her as she sets the flowers on the desk near the window.

"I was," she says, turning to face him. "I just… needed to make sure I was doing this for the right reasons."

"And?"

"And I’m here," she says simply, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Wilo steps closer, his gaze steady and unflinching. "I’m glad you are."

Leila feels her heart skip, but she keeps her cool, determined to stay clear-headed and focused. She’s not here to get swept away — at least, that’s what she tells herself.

"So," she says, breaking the moment before it gets too intense. "What’s the plan?"

He grins, his dimples making an appearance. "I thought we’d just wing it. Unless you’ve got something in mind?"

"Wing it works," she says, grabbing her jacket.

As they head out, she can’t help but wonder if she’s walking into something that will make everything even more complicated — or if, for once, it might actually lead to something real.

Leila and Wilo keep it low-key, staying under the radar as much as possible. No fancy dinners or crowded hotspots — just little moments that feel easy. They grab coffee at a quiet café tucked into a side street, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and a barista who doesn’t even blink at Wilo’s recognizable face.

Later, they wander through a park, laughing about something stupid Wilo said. It’s simple, and it feels good — so good that Leila starts to think this could actually work.

At one point, they find themselves in a small record store. Wilo flips through vinyls, holding one up every now and then with a smug grin. "You’d love this," he says, handing her a Prince album.

Leila rolls her eyes but takes it anyway, her fingers brushing against his for a second too long. It’s moments like this that make her question everything she thought she wanted or didn’t want.

As they sit down for a late lunch at a quiet bistro, she sneaks a photo of Wilo, mid-laugh, the light catching just right on his face. She uploads it to her Close Friends story, tagging it with a coy little caption: London’s treating me well.

Her Close Friends list is carefully curated. Aurélien isn’t on it — he never has been — but Jules and Cama are. And if she knows anything about them, they’re definitely going to report back.

And she doesn’t care.

Part of her wants them to. She wants Aurélien to see the photo, to know she’s here, to feel something. Everyone keeps saying he has feelings for her, but he’s never done anything to prove it. No grand gesture, no confession, not even a drunken text. If he has feelings, he hides them well, and Leila’s tired of guessing.

As the day goes on, though, her phone stays silent. No text, no DM, nothing. She tries to push it out of her mind, focusing on Wilo instead. He’s attentive, sweet, and clearly into her, and she knows she should be grateful for that.

But as much as she tries to stay present, Aurélien lingers in the back of her mind.

When she gets back to her hotel that evening, Wilo walks her to her door, his hand lingering at her lower back. He leans in to kiss her, but she stops him with a soft smile.

"Not tonight," she says, her voice gentle but firm.

Wilo steps back, nodding. "I get it," he says, his tone understanding. "Goodnight, Leila."

"Goodnight," she replies, watching him walk away before stepping into her room.

As she sits on the edge of the bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, she starts to wonder if it’s time to cut her losses entirely. Maybe Aurélien’s silence is her answer. Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

She exhales sharply, tossing her phone onto the nightstand. Whatever happens next, she knows one thing for sure: she’s done chasing after a man who won’t meet her halfway.

Leila wakes up to the soft hum of her phone vibrating against the nightstand. She groggily grabs it, squinting at the screen. A text from Wilo.

Wilo: Training’s at nine. Match starts at six. Rest up so you don’t fall asleep in the stands.

She rolls her eyes but smiles, setting the phone down. Today is her last full day in London, and as much as she’s enjoyed the ease of her time with Wilo, the reality of going back to Madrid looms like a cloud over her.

By the time she’s up and moving, Wilo’s already at the training ground, leaving her with a slow morning to herself. She takes her time getting ready, picking out a sleek but casual outfit for the game: a fitted cream sweater tucked into high-waisted jeans and ankle boots. Makeup just this side of "I woke up like this" but definitely intentional and finally using her contact lenses (bout goddamn time).

As the day creeps toward evening, she grabs an Uber to the stadium. She’s buzzed into the VIP entrance, her name already on the list, and escorted to her seat in the family section. The energy inside the stadium is electric, fans chanting and waving scarves as the teams warm up. She watches Wilo out on the pitch, his warmup jacket zipped up to his chin as he jogs and stretches. He looks calm, focused, and seeing him like this — so in his element — makes her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t expecting.

The match kicks off, and it’s tense from the start. Liverpool presses hard, their attacks relentless, but Arsenal holds their own. Wilo is sharp on the ball, threading passes with precision and orchestrating plays like he was born to do it. Leila watches, captivated, her hands gripping the edge of her seat every time he makes a dangerous run or intercepts a pass.

At halftime, the score is still 0-0, and the tension in the stadium is palpable. Leila scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself, but her notifications are quiet. She had half-expected a message from Jules or Cama, but apparently, they’ve decided to keep their mouths shut or maybe Aurélien just doesn’t care.

The second half is even more intense. Liverpool finally scores, and the stadium goes silent except for the away fans celebrating. But Arsenal fights back, and in the 50th minute, Wilo delivers a stunning assist that leads to an equalizer. The crowd erupts, and Leila finds herself on her feet, cheering and clapping like she’s been an Arsenal fan her whole life.

When the final whistle blows, the game ends in a 2-2 draw. It’s not a win, but it’s a hard-fought point, and the energy in the stadium reflects that.

After the match, she’s escorted to the family area. She spots Bukayo Saka almost immediately, his bright smile unmistakable as he chats with a group of people. He notices her standing off to the side and makes his way over.

"Hey, you’re Wilo’s friend, right?" Bukayo asks, extending a hand.

Leila shakes it, her lips curving into a polite smile. "Yeah, Leila. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. He’s been talking about you all week."

Her cheeks warm at that, but she keeps her composure. "Hopefully, only good things."

Bukayo laughs. "Yeah, don’t worry. All good things."

They chat for a bit, Bukayo’s easygoing nature making the conversation flow effortlessly. He’s mid-sentence when someone else calls out to him, and he waves before excusing himself. Leila glances around the room, her eyes landing on a familiar figure — Ibou Konaté.

Ibou catches her gaze and raises an eyebrow. "So. You and Wilo, it's serious, huh?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't start."

He chuckles, those famous dimples appearing. "Brussels was interesting. Aurélien wasn't exactly subtle about his mood."

Leila freezes. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on," Ibou says, leaning in. "You think Les Bleus don't talk? After those Israel and Belgium matches? Aure looked like he was one bad pass away from committing murder every time Wilo was mentioned." His tone is knowing, just this side of teasing. "He's not gonna like this. Not one bit."

"Ibou—" she starts, a warning in her voice.

He holds up his hands. "Just saying. Some captains get… particular about things." The way he says it makes it clear he's talking about Aurélien specifically. "Wilo's a good guy. But Aure? Man's complicated."

Leila can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Tell me about it."

She chats with Ibou for a few more minutes then he gave her a hug before he left. Her phone then buzzes. A text from Wilo.

Wilo: Where you at?

She types a quick response: Family area. Waiting on you.

A few minutes later, he appears, freshly showered and dressed in casual streetwear. His eyes find hers instantly, and he makes his way over, his lips curving into a soft smile.

"Tired?" he asks, sitting down beside her.

"Not really," she lies. In truth, the emotional weight of the day — of the entire trip — is starting to catch up with her.

"Good," he says. "I want to take you out for one last drink before you leave."

She hesitates, but only for a second. "Okay," she says, her voice steady.

They leave the stadium together, slipping out a side exit to avoid the lingering fans and media. The bar he takes her to is quiet and intimate, tucked away in a corner of the city she doesn’t recognize. They sit in a cozy booth, nursing their drinks and talking about everything and nothing.

For a moment, it feels easy — like they’re just two people enjoying each other’s company without the weight of the world pressing down on them.

But as the night winds down, the reality of her impending departure settles heavily between them.

"Thanks for today," she says as they stand outside the bar, the cool night air nipping at her skin.

"Anytime," he says, his eyes searching hers.

She knows she should say more — explain how much she’s appreciated his kindness, his patience, his effort — but the words catch in her throat.

Wilo steps closer, his hands finding her waist in a way that feels both casual and deliberate. "Can I take you back?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

She nods, and just like that, they’re walking back to her hotel. The streets are quieter now, the city winding down around them. Leila keeps her hands in her pockets, but Wilo’s presence beside her feels grounding, a steady reminder that for tonight, she doesn’t have to figure everything out.

At the hotel entrance, she pauses, not quite ready to say goodbye. "You don’t have to walk me all the way up," she says softly.

"Didn’t plan to," he teases, though his smile is gentle.

Still, he lingers. He tilts her chin up with a finger, his touch light, testing. When she doesn’t pull away, he leans down and kisses her. It’s soft at first, a question she answers without hesitation, leaning into him like she’s been waiting for this all night.

His hands slide to her hips, pulling her closer, and for a moment, she forgets everything — Aurélien, the uncertainty, the nagging voice in her head telling her this is a bad idea. All she knows is the warmth of Wilo’s lips against hers, the way he tastes like the pint he ordered earlier, the way he makes her feel wanted.

When they break apart, she’s breathless, her heart pounding. "I should…" she starts, but the rest of the sentence never comes.

"You should," he agrees, though there’s a glint in his eye that says he knows she won’t.

Panic creep into her thoughts, uninvited but impossible to ignore. Wilo is right here, and he’s been nothing but good to her. Why is she still holding back?

"Do you want to come up?" The question slips out before she can stop it, her voice quieter than she intended.

Wilo studies her for a beat, searching her face for something —hesitation, regret, a reason to say no. Whatever he finds seems to satisfy him, because he nods. "Yeah," he says simply.

The elevator ride to her floor is silent, the air between them charged. By the time they reach her room, her nerves are buzzing, though she doesn’t quite know if it’s anticipation or anxiety.

Inside, she tosses her bag onto the chair and turns to face him. He’s already close, closing the distance between them in two strides. This time, his kiss isn’t soft or questioning - it’s confident, urgent, like he’s been waiting for her permission all night.

Her hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, sliding under the fabric of his shirt. His skin is warm, his muscles taut under her touch. He groans softly against her lips, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

"Leila," he murmurs, his voice rough. It’s not a question, but it feels like one, like he’s giving her a chance to stop this before it goes too far.

But she doesn’t want to stop. Not tonight. Not when everything feels this good, this right.

"Don’t think," she whispers, her words muffled against his lips, feeling a pull to give in even though her mind is screaming at her to stop.

It feels too good — his mouth on hers, his hands now sliding under the hem of her sweater, fingertips brushing her skin in a way that sends a bolt of heat straight through to her kitty. For a second, she can forget everything. Forget the uncertainty, the guilt. Forget Aurélien and the pressure of what she’s supposed to want, what she’s supposed to feel.

Her heart beats faster, and the only thing that matters is the way Wilo’s kiss deepens, pulling her closer as if they’re both drowning in each other, but even as she gets lost in the sensation, the thought of what this means for later creeps up, a whisper in her mind.

Stop before you do something you’ll regret, her inner voice warns, and it’s almost a shout against the moment. She should pull away, tell him this is a mistake, that she’s not ready to complicate things more than they already are.

Yet then, the conversation with her girls back in Atlanta echoes in her mind. Because why should she keep hanging on to something that wasn’t even clear? Wilo is here, and he’s been nothing but good to her. He’s showing her attention — something she craves, something that’s been missing for too long.

She breathes in, pulling away just enough to look at him, her hands resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palms. Her voice is barely a whisper, but it carries a weight. "I’m not... I’m not gonna go all the way," she says, almost like a promise, though part of her wishes she could just let go.

Wilo doesn’t pull away, his eyes searching hers, gauging her intentions. "Just a taste, then?" he murmurs, the question laced with a little teasing but also an understanding. He isn’t pushing her. He’s letting her make the call.

A part of her wants to shake her head, to step back and stop this before it goes too far. She knows better, knows she shouldn’t be using him to fill a gap that Aurélien has left wide open. However, Wilo’s not asking for anything more than what she’s willing to give him right now — and, hell, maybe she needs it. Plus, he got her panties wetter than a Slip N' Slide.

She smiles a little, though it’s hesitant, her mind still conflicted. "Yeah," she says softly, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "Just a taste."

And in that moment, it feels like a decision.

His lips are back on hers instantly, and the kiss deepens with an urgency that’s different now, like they both know the boundaries but are still curious enough to see how far they can go. His hands are sliding back to her waist, tugging her closer until she can feel the heat of him through their clothes.

Wilo’s hands are warm, exploring, but careful. He’s taking his time, sensing her hesitation, allowing her the space to pull back if she needs it. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lets herself go, leaning into the moment as his lips travel to her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Every kiss feels like a promise she isn’t sure she’s ready to make, but she’s here, and she’s going to live in the now. She’s not sure how much longer she can keep pretending she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him.

Leila can feel her pulse quicken as Wilo’s hands slide down her arms, gently tugging at the fabric of her sweater. The air between them crackles with the same electricity that had been building ever since her first day in London.

With a soft tug, he pulls the sweater over her head, leaving her in just a bra. She can feel the cool air of the hotel room against her skin and Wilo’s eyes don’t leave hers as he strips off his own shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. She feels her breath hitch, the sight of him sending a wave of heat through her.

He notices her reaction, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and teasing.

Ho-ly shit. Leila nods, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yeah," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just… wasn’t expecting all of that."

He chuckles softly and gets closer, his hands resting gently on her hips before his lips find hers. Leila kisses him back, feeling the pull of desire stir within her.

They stumble backward onto the bed, their lips still tangled in a kiss, the heat between them intensifying. She can’t help but enjoy the feel of his hands on her body, the way his fingers move with intention, his touch confident yet tender. When his hands wander, brushing along her sides and up her back before copping a feel on her titties, his dick pressing against her thigh; she arches into him instinctively. His touch makes her feel seen, cherished, in a way she hasn't felt in a long time.

Leila wonders what would happen if she let go entirely. What if she just let herself be free of all the things that tie her down?

Even in the heat of it all, a small part of her pulls back. She remembers the life she’s built — the career she’s worked for — and wonders if she’s willing to risk it all for something that might be temporary.

Her phone starts vibrating. Once. Twice.

One of Wilo's hands is tracing lazy circles along her lower back. "Ignore it," he murmurs, his lips still brushing the shell of her ear.

She does — until the phone goes nuclear. Ping. Ping. Ping-ping-ping. A digital storm that practically rattles the walls.

Wilo raises an eyebrow, pulling back just enough to glance at her phone. "Damn," he mutters under his breath.

Her screen is chaos. Four missed calls. Multiple texts. And, of course, a voice note from Aurélien.

The timing? Almost comical. Almost.

Leila swipes open the messages. They’re an avalanche — each one more urgent than the last. Her thumb hovers over the voice note, hesitant but not enough to stop her. A ticking time bomb of potential drama.

She looks at Wilo, a flicker of guilt passing through her, before her eyes drift back to the phone. Wilo doesn’t move, just watches her, unreadable.

"Give me a sec," she mutters, pulling away from him and sliding off the bed. The space between them feels too wide now, too obvious, but she ignores it, heading for the bathroom.

Door closed. Her back pressed against it, she lifts the phone to her ear.

Aurélien's voice hits her like a slap. Broken. Fragmented. Each word jagged, like he's stumbling through a maze of his own making.

"Leila, I—" His breath hitches. "I can't—" The silence is thick, filled with the things he's too scared to say. "Je suis—"

Her heart, traitorous as ever, speeds up. She presses the phone tighter to her ear, her own breath shaky in response to his.

Another ping. A text. She opens it without thinking.

First, a video. Aurélien's hands. His long fingers dancing over the piano keys in that way she knows too well. The melody — raw, unfinished. Like he’s trying to patch a hole in the air between them.

Then, a screenshot. A letter. A confession. Handwritten, messy, vulnerable. It’s almost too much to take.

Her breath catches.

The world outside the bathroom door feels distant. Almost unreal. Her mind pulls her back, urging her to breathe, to think. But the words on the screen? They’re the kind that push all logic aside.

Her finger hovers over the phone, but she can’t bring herself to delete the message. She opens it again.

The letter fills the screen, and it makes her chest tighten as she reads.

"I don’t know how to say it — words always fail me when it matters most. I’ve tried so many times, but each time, the words slip away like sand between my fingers. So this time, I’m writing it down. Maybe that’s all I can do. Maybe it’s enough to be honest.

You’ve become the quiet in my chaos. The calm in my storm. You’re the one I think about when I’m too tired to think about anything else. The one I reach for when I feel like I’m losing myself. But I never said it. And I should have. I should have said it, Leila. I should have been better at telling you that you matter, that you're my rock, more than just okay.

Maybe it’s too late now. But please know, it’s never been anyone else but you.

I’m sorry for not being brave enough before. But I’m here now. I’m ready to fight for this, if you are.

Aurelien."

She gasps as she finishes reading. His words, they hit different than before. She’s used to his confidence, his charm, his ability to make everything feel effortless. But this? This is him. Vulnerable. Honest. The rawness of it leaves her heart aching in places she didn't even know were sore.

It’s a love letter in its truest sense — one that doesn’t gloss over the mistakes, but lays them bare. The kind that you don’t often hear. And for the first time, she feels it. He’s finally saying the things he should have said long ago.

But is it too late?

The question sits heavy on her chest, and she hates that she even has to ask. She wants to be angry. She wants to throw his words back at him and walk away. But she can’t. She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s been holding on to him, or because she’s scared of what this newfound honesty means. All she knows is that his words have shattered the wall she’s been building around her heart.

Aurelien’s been her whole world for so long. Maybe she’s been waiting for him to catch up, to finally see her the way she’s always seen him. But she’s not sure she has the strength to wait any longer.

She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to clear her mind. The cool air in the bathroom doesn’t help. Neither does the soft knock on the door.

"Everything alright?" Wilo’s voice is low, gentle, and when she doesn’t answer immediately, he pushes it open just a fraction.

Her heart skips at the sight of him. He’s standing there. He doesn’t need words to understand what’s going on. He can see it in her face, in the way her hands are trembling slightly as she holds the phone.

"I’ll be fine," she says, her voice a little too sharp. It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.

Wilo doesn’t press. He just steps into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze steady, like he’s giving her the space to breathe and figure it out for herself.

She stares at the phone again, knowing she can’t keep going back to the message. But it’s impossible to look away from it now. His words are etched in her mind, replaying over and over again. She thought she was over him. That she could move on, that the pieces would fall into place. Yet now?

She’s not sure.

Finally, she slides the phone back into her pocket, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"I don’t know what to do," she whispers, more to herself than to Wilo, but he hears her. He always does.

"You don’t have to decide right now," he says softly, but there’s a certain weight to his words. "You’re allowed to take your time, Leila."

Her chest tightens at the gentleness in his voice. He’s not pushing her. Not demanding answers. This isn’t about picking between him and Aurelien. It’s about what she wants, what she’s willing to fight for.

And the truth is, she’s tired. Tired of waiting, tired of not being seen, tired of trying to make things fit where they don’t.

But the letter… the letter is the first time he’s shown up for her, even if it’s a little too late. She doesn’t know if it’s enough to make up for everything, but it’s a start.

Leila takes a deep breath meeting Wilo’s gaze for the first time, really looking at him. He’s patient, understanding. And in his eyes, she doesn’t see the same questions that have been haunting her.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "For being here."

Wilo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he pulls her gently back into his arms, and for a moment, she lets herself feel the warmth of his presence, the steadiness of him.

But in the back of her mind, Aurelien’s words linger.

It’s never been anyone else but you.

Is it too late to believe him?

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