#aurelien tchouameni fanfic

[iamquiantrelle]

SO INTO YOU ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕) # wc: 5.9k

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

You were never drinking tequila again. Ever.

The tequila bottle sat empty on your coffee table like evidence from a crime scene, mocking you with memories of last night's social media bravery. Your Grammy awards caught the morning light, their gold surfaces throwing judgmental sparkles across your living room walls. You'd really done it this time - slid into Aurélien Tchouaméni's DMs like your verified check mark gave you the right to disturb his peace at 2 AM.

Your manager Carmen sat in the armchair across from you, tablet in hand as she went through tomorrow's flight details to Madrid. But your attention kept drifting to your phone, to that cursed Instagram conversation where you'd actually typed out "hey, random question but would you maybe want to be in my music video? no pressure lol" - asking him to star in your video for "So Into You," a song that lived in that dangerous space between confession and plausible deniability.

“Earth to lovergirl,” Carmen's professional tone carried just a hint of amusement. “You good? Or still having flashbacks to drunk-texting one of football's finest?”

His response still sat there in your DMs, casual as anything: “The song that's breaking records? I'd be down. Though I have to ask - any particular reason you thought of me? 😉”

You'd screamed into three different pillows after reading that.

“I still can't believe he said yes,” you mumbled, sinking deeper into the couch as Carmen scrolled through your embarrassing Instagram activity history with restrained glee. The evidence was damning: every single post liked within seconds, story reactions that probably made you look unhinged, the way you'd set notifications for his account months ago after that first video blessed your FYP.

It had been innocent enough at first - a clip of him in a post-match interview, fresh taper fade catching the stadium lights. Something about the way he carried himself, that quiet confidence wrapped in genuine humility, had you hitting that follow button before the video even finished. The way he'd laugh with his whole chest in interviews, how he could switch from intense focus on the field to the sweetest smile off it - you were gone before you even realized you were falling.

Your best friend had watched your descent with barely contained amusement. “Not you making a whole Tumblr shrine," she'd cackled one wine night, scrolling through @tchouamenithoughts. “Day 43 of manifesting Aurélien Tchouaméni to ruin my life’? Girl...”

“Listen,” you groaned now, watching Carmen pull up the same account on her phone, “we all cope differently.”

“Cope? You wrote a whole chart-topping song about how he 'controls the game like he could control your heart.' That's not coping, that's down catastrophic,” she said, maintaining her composure even as her eyes danced with mirth.

She wasn't wrong. You'd lost hours to The Bridge episodes, team interviews, even compilation videos of his best plays. You'd lost count of how many times you'd woken up hot and bothered from dreams featuring that TCHM chain of his dangling above you, his knowing smile as he– nope. Not going there. Not when you were about to meet him in person.

Your phone lit up with a text from an unknown Spanish number:

“Looking forward to finally meeting tomorrow. Been keeping those 2AM DMs for motivation during training 😊 - AT”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, showing Carmen the screen. “He saved the messages.”

“Of course he did,” she said, checking something on her tablet. “You really think he didn't notice how you watch every single one of his Instagram lives? Even the 3 AM ones after matches where he's just vibing to Afrobeats in his gym? Those thirst traps?”

The way he moved to those beats had no business living rent-free in your head like it did. Neither did the way his eyes got soft when he talked about his family in interviews, or how that dangerous half-smirk would appear after a particularly clean tackle. You'd documented it all on your Tumblr, built whole theories around his personality based on how he interacted with teammates, analyzed every public appearance like it was your job.

“What if he found it?" The thought hit you suddenly. “The Tumblr account?”

Carmen's composed expression cracked slightly with a knowing smile. “Girl, if he has, he still said yes to the video. What does that tell you?”

You didn't want to think about what that might mean. Couldn't let yourself hope that maybe he'd noticed you too, that perhaps those quick likes on your Instagram stories weren't just courtesy, that the way he'd immediately responded to your drunk DM meant something.

Tomorrow you'd be in Madrid. Tomorrow you'd see if that confidence you'd analyzed in countless videos translated in person, if his smile was really as dangerous as it seemed through a screen.

“Make sure you pack some lingerie,” Carmen said as she gathered her things, a slight smirk playing at her lips. “Just in case those Tumblr manifestations worked.”

You buried your face in a throw pillow, but your heart was already racing at the possibility.

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

The Madrid morning sun painted the makeup room in ethereal hues, casting everything in a dreamlike glow that did nothing to settle your nerves. You sat still as the artist perfected your look - soft glam that highlighted your warm brown skin, each baby hair laid with precision, curls falling in a carefully crafted cascade. The "effortlessly gorgeous" aesthetic you'd aimed for had, ironically, required a 5 AM start.

“He's here,” your assistant's voice cut through your reverie, and your heart performed a gymnastics routine worthy of Olympic qualification.

Here's the thing about Aurélien Tchouaméni - all the 4K footage in the world, every professional photograph, every high-definition broadcast couldn't capture what he was in person. The way he commanded space wasn't something a camera could translate.

He had to duck slightly entering the room (had he always been that tall?), the morning light catching him like it knew exactly what it was doing. The fitted white tee and designer jeans he wore were deceptively simple, the kind of casual that required serious thought. That signature "TCHM" pendant caught the light as he moved, the diamond Cuban link chain you'd written dissertations about on Tumblr proving worthy of every analysis. You'd watched enough matches to know his height, studied enough footage to know his build, but something about him actually being there, all 6'2" of him absolutely dominating the space, had your carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble.

“So," he said, that dangerous half-smile playing at his lips as he approached, “you're the one who slid in my DMs at 2 AM?”

The ground could swallow you whole any minute now. His French accent in person was a weapon that should be classified as illegal. “Listen, about that–“

“Nah, don't apologize," he laughed, the sound rich enough to drown in. "It was cute. Especially that part about my ball control being 'unfairly hot.'”

"Please tell me you're joking," you groaned, but you couldn't help smiling. His presence was magnetic - that quiet confidence you'd analyzed through screens somehow even more potent in the flesh.

"Three fire emojis and everything," he grinned, and you noticed his taper fade was fresh, clearly done for the shoot. The chain caught the light again as he leaned slightly closer, shortening the considerable distance between you. "But for what it's worth? Your voice is unfairly hot too.”

Your cognitive functions ceased entirely. The proximity brought his cologne into focus - something expensive and intoxicating that absolutely wasn't helping your ability to form coherent thoughts. The height difference hit differently in person, requiring you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“Five minutes to places!” the director's call pierced through your haze, saving you from having to remember basic language skills.

The shoot itself was a study in sweet torture. For the first time in your career, you found yourself flubbing takes - missing cues, getting lost in moments. You, who prided yourself on one-take perfection, needed multiple runs at the simplest scenes. But how could you focus when he kept looking at you like that? The way his eyes would drift slowly down your body between setups, how his hands would rub together - a tell you'd seen in dozens of post-match interviews when something particularly caught his interest. But then again, Aurélien was known for giving everything his complete attention. You'd watched enough footage to know that.

He played his role perfectly - too perfectly, really. Each take had him hitting his marks with the same precision he showed on the field, but there was something else there. Something in the way his hand would linger just a moment too long when helping you up, how his eyes would catch yours in the monitor playback.

“Last setup!” the director announced, and you silently thanked whatever higher power was listening. Your heart could only take so much.

“So," Aurélien said during the lighting adjustment, his voice dropping to a register that did dangerous things to your pussy. “Since you're such a football fan now... maybe you'd want to come to my match this weekend? VIP seats?”

Your heart stuttered. “Yeah? What if someone recognizes me?”

"Let them," he smiled, and that chain glinted again as he shifted closer. "Maybe I want people to know, especially about that DM.”

You couldn't help laughing despite your burning cheeks. "You're never letting that go, are you?”

"Never," he agreed, then added more softly: "But I'm glad you sent it. Been trying to figure out how to slide in your DMs too, especially after seeing all those likes on my gym posts.”

You looked up at him (way up - seriously, the height difference was doing things to you), catching that dangerous glint in his eye. “Oh….”

"Front row seats," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Right behind the bench. That way I'll know exactly where to look after I score.”

Your heart did another full gymnastic routine. “Pretty confident about that goal, huh?”

"I'm confident about a lot of things," he smiled, and that chain caught the light once more as he leaned down slightly. “Like how good those likes looked on my notifications.”

You were going to pass away on the spot. But then his hand found yours, and that smile softened into something more private, more real. “Sure I’ll go.”

Maybe drunk you had known exactly what she was doing after all.

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

Thank god for these VIP seats because the view? Immaculate.

Grandpa Ancelotti finally put Aurélien in his rightful position and oh my god, watching him command the midfield in person hit so different. TV did not prepare you for this. At all.

The way his orange kit stretched across those shoulders when he'd gesture to teammates? Criminal. And those calves? You'd seen them in videos but in person they were actually unreal. The entire package was just unfair - whoever said football kits weren't flattering had never seen Aurélien Tchouaméni in one. His body was sculptural, all lean muscle and perfect proportions, like god really sat down and took extra time crafting him specifically to ruin your life.

You watched him talk tactics with Jude, all authority and focused energy, and the way he carried himself on the field had you feeling some type of way. His whole demeanor shifted during matches - all business and pure power. The intensity in his eyes when he'd call out positions? Yeah, you were definitely going to need a glass of water.

When he made that assist - a perfect pass that had the crowd screaming - you jumped up cheering before remembering you were supposed to be playing it cool. But how could you when he glanced your way during the celebration with that smile?

Every time he'd body someone off the ball, the way his muscles flexed with the effort... Lord have mercy. You'd really thought writing a song about him was peak down bad but watching him work in person? Your brain was absolutely short-circuiting.

During a water break, he caught your eye and adjusted his shirt - a move you'd seen in countless matches but this time it felt deliberate, just for you. The stadium lights hit his dark skin just right, making him look like he was literally glowing. And that jawline? Sharp enough to cut glass.

The final whistle had you watching his post-match routine like you hadn't already memorized it from videos - the handshakes, the quick interviews, the way he'd run his hand over his fresh fade when downplaying how good he was. But then he looked up at your spot again with that private little smile and yeah... you were absolutely screwed.

Because watching Aurélien Tchouaméni absolutely own the soccer pitch? That wasn't just attraction anymore. That was straight up ruination.

You made it to the designated area and only had to wait around 30 minutes before Aurélien showed up, fresh from the shower, dressed casually but still somehow managing to look like a walking problem. A clean black tee stretched across his chest, showing off the definition of his arms, paired with dark jeans that sat just right on his waist. And the way his chain rested against his collarbone? Yeah, this was dangerous.

“You waited long?” he asked, a lazy smile on his lips as he approached, exuding the kind of confidence that came naturally to him.

“Not really,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

His eyes dragged over you in a way that felt intentional, like he was cataloging every detail. “Good. Would’ve hated to keep you waiting.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could overthink it, he tilted his head. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “Yeah.”

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he said, nodding toward the exit.

You followed him out, keeping pace as he led you to his car — his matte black Lamborghini Urus. Of course. He opened the passenger door for you, stepping back just enough to give you space but still managing to be close, like his presence was a gravitational pull.

“You good?” he asked, one brow lifting as you hesitated before getting in.

You nodded quickly, sliding into the plush seat, inhaling the faint scent of leather and his cologne —clean, expensive, and entirely him. He shut the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side, settling in smoothly before starting the engine. The deep purr of the car filled the quiet, and when he rested one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, your eyes traced the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers flexed slightly.

Yeah, this was setting you off.

Aurélien drove with an effortless confidence, maneuvering through Madrid’s streets like he’d done it a million times — which, of course, he had. As he looped around the Bernabéu, he nodded toward the stadium. “You should come back for a tour.”

Your head turned sharply toward him. “What?”

He glanced at you, amused by your surprise. “You liked watching me play, right?”

Like was an understatement. Watching him on the pitch, commanding the game with precision and strength, was one thing. But now, seeing him here, driving through the city with that same quiet control, his jaw flexing as he focused on the road, his fingers tapping against the wheel — it was too much.

You were obsessed. Fully.

Your crush was sitting mere inches away, effortlessly charming, looking stupid good behind the wheel, and here you were, acting all timid. No. You needed to snap out of it. Because if you didn’t make a move now, when would you?

“You like tacos?” His voice cut through your thoughts as he stopped at a red light, glancing at you with a knowing smirk.

Of course, you liked tacos. But right now? Food was the last thing on your mind.

Because tomorrow night, you’d be on a flight back to LA. Who knew when you’d see him again? Your lives were on different continents. And after everything —after DMing him, after him actually showing up for your video — didn’t you deserve this one night?

Your heart pounded as you turned toward him fully, a slow smile curving your lips. “Tacos can wait.”

Aurélien’s lips curved into a smirk, the kind that sent heat rushing through you. He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Oh? And what are you in the mood for?”

The way his voice dipped on the last word made your breath hitch. He knew exactly what you meant. And judging by the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, he liked where this was going.

“Maybe we can go back to your place?” you suggested, trying to sound casual despite the thrum of anticipation running through you.

He hummed, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip like he was weighing his options. “For something to eat…or?”

“Definitely or,” you giggled, the boldness surprising even yourself.

Aurélien let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he turned onto a quieter road. “Alright. So, UberEats later. Sounds good.”

Your stomach flipped at the ease in his tone, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Then his eyes flicked to you, warm and dark with something unreadable, and he bit his lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment was soft, unprompted, and it caught you off guard. Your chest tightened, heat creeping up your neck. “Thank you.”

He didn’t rush the drive, taking his time maneuvering through the streets, letting conversation flow easily between you. He asked about your time in Madrid, what you’d done so far, if you liked the city. And the whole time, his voice had that smooth, rich quality that made every word feel like it was meant just for you.

When he finally pulled up to his house — a sleek, modern place with clean lines and warm lighting —you barely had time to take it in before a low bark caught your attention.

Ocho.

The Belgian Malinois trotted toward the door as soon as you stepped inside, his dark eyes locked onto you with curiosity. Aurélien placed a reassuring hand on your lower back, his touch warm and grounding. “Let him sniff you first,” he murmured.

You extended your hand slightly, letting Ocho inspect you. The dog’s ears twitched before he gave a small huff, seemingly satisfied.

Aurélien grinned. “Good boy.” Then, switching to French, he said, “Va dans ta chambre.” (Go to your room.)

Ocho obeyed immediately, padding off toward what you assumed was his designated space.

“He’s well-trained,” you noted, impressed.

Aurélien shrugged, closing the door behind him. “Had to be. He’s my best boy.” Then he turned to you, his gaze softer now. “You want anything to drink?”

The fact that he even asked — so polite, so sweet —made your heart squeeze a little.

You shook your head. “I’m good.”

Still, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and a water anyway, tucking them under his arm before reaching for you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Come on.”

As he guided you upstairs, his lips found the side of your neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses against your skin as you walked. His goatee tickled, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

By the time you made it to his bedroom, you were already gripping his arm, steadying yourself against the dizzying effect of his touch.

Aurélien smirked as he nudged the door shut behind you. “Still thinking about tacos?”

Not even a little bit. “No.”

He placed the Gatorade and water bottle on the bedside table then Aurélien’s hands were warm against your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulled you in. His lips found yours, soft at first, tasting, teasing, savoring. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, his lips moving against yours in a way that had your heart thudding in your chest.

But then his hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your hips, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, turning hotter, messier — needy. His tongue met yours, stroking, claiming, pulling soft moans from your lips that he swallowed greedily.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of your mouths working against each other, the wet slide of tongues, the occasional breathless sighs escaping between kisses. His fingers trailed up your back, making you arch into him, pressing your body flush against his. The heat between you was dizzying, his scent — fresh, clean, and something uniquely him —wrapping around you like a drug.

Your hands roamed, exploring the hard planes of his back, the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. He groaned into your mouth when your nails scratched lightly at his nape, the sound vibrating through you and making your thighs clench.

His hands moved with purpose now, sliding under the hem of your top, pushing it up, breaking the kiss only long enough to strip it from you. Then he went for your bottoms, peeling them away, leaving you in just your underwear. His dark eyes roved over you, taking you in, heat flickering in his gaze.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands were back on you, caressing, exploring, like he needed to feel every inch of your skin.

You didn’t hesitate, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He let you pull it over his head, and your breath hitched when you got a full view of him — his abs looked even better in person, all taut muscle and definition, a masterpiece carved in 4D.

Your fingers traced along the ridges, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

Aurélien groaned, low and deep, his head tipping back slightly. “You’re really testing my patience, bébé.”

You smiled, dragging your fingertips lower, teasing along the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers worked at the button, then the zipper, easing the denim down his hips. He helped, pushing them the rest of the way until they pooled at his feet, leaving him in just his Aime boxers.

Your breath caught.

He was hard.

The thick outline of his length strained against the fabric, the sight making heat pool low in your belly.

Your hands ghosted over his erection, barely grazing him, but it was enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hips jerking slightly at the contact.

You muttered an apology, but he just shook his head, eyes dark with heat. “It’s okay, bébé.”

Then his lips were on yours again, stealing the breath from your lungs, guiding you toward the bed. You barely registered the feel of the mattress beneath you before he was pressing you down, his body hovering over yours, his heat surrounding you.

And from the way he looked at you — like he was about to ruin you — you knew you were in for it.

His hands skimmed down your body to unclasp your bra then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your legs with agonizing slowness. His gaze roved over you, hungry and heated, before he lowered himself between your thighs.

His mouth found your skin, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your navel downward, making you shiver in anticipation.

And then — oh.

Aurélien’s lips, his tongue, the warmth of his breath against your pussy had you gasping, your fingers tangling in his curls as he worked you over with a skill that had your thighs trembling.

He was deliberate but messy, completely focused on you, his lips wrapping around your clit while his tongue moved in slow, devastating circles. When he slipped two fingers inside, curling them just right, a strangled moan escaped your lips.

“Tu prends si bien, bébé,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice making you whimper. His fingers stroked inside you, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and your hips bucked instinctively. He just chuckled, holding you in place as he kept going, kept building you higher, until—

And then he pulled away.

A whimper of protest left your lips before you could stop it, and he smirked at your pout, his thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth like he was savoring the taste of you.

“Be right back,” he said, pressing a final kiss to your inner thigh before moving toward his dresser.

You pushed up on your elbows, watching as he pulled out a condom, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down. Your breath hitched at the sight of him — thick, long, and impossibly hard.

Aurélien caught you staring and smirked. “Like what you see?”

You swallowed, your cheeks heating. “Obviously.”

That made him chuckle as he rolled the condom on, then returned to the bed, his hands guiding your legs further apart as he settled between them. One arm reached behind you, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under your lower back, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with arousal.

His lips found your neck as he nudged himself against your entrance, teasing you with shallow strokes, making your body crave him even more.

And as he finally, finally pushed inside, a deep moan left your lips, because — oh. Oh.

This was happening. Your crush, your fantasy, your dream — was now your reality.

His thrusts were slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you, filling you, but it didn’t take long before the teasing gave way to something deeper, more urgent. He kissed you through it, all tongue and heat, swallowing your moans as his hips found a steady rhythm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with pleasure. “So wet for me.”

The chain around his neck swung forward with every movement, the cool metal brushing against your skin, dangling just above your face, and god, he looked beautiful like this — face twisted in pleasure, jaw clenched, brows furrowed, dark eyes locked on yours like he never wanted to look away.

“Tu es si belle,” he groaned, dropping his head to your neck, dragging open-mouthed kisses along your throat before moving lower. His tongue flicked over your nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your back arched off the bed, hands tangling in his curls as you whimpered his name.

Aurélien pulled back slightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he released you with a wet pop. His eyes met yours, dark and full of intent.

“Turn over for me,” he said, voice like gravel, thick with desire.

You swallowed, your body already obeying before your mind could catch up. He sat back, watching you get on all fours, his large hands smoothing over the curve of your ass, squeezing each cheek once before dragging up your spine. The way he looked at you, eyes burning with hunger, sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then he ran a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply before gripping your hips and lining himself up again.

And when he pushed back inside, deeper than before, a broken moan fell from your lips.

“That’s it, bébé,” he murmured, his fingers digging into your skin as he started to move, slow at first, teasing. “Taking me so well.”

His pace quickened, the sound of skin on skin filling the air, along with the low, guttural groans spilling from his lips. His chain swung again, the rhythmic clink of metal adding to the mix of sensations that had you spiraling.

“Feel me?” he rasped, dragging a hand up your spine to fist your hair gently, pulling just enough to make you arch. “So deep inside you. Fuck.”

You whimpered, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe with how good he felt, how he filled every inch of you like he was made for this.

“Talk to me,” he urged, voice raw. “Let me hear you.”

“I’m—” Your words broke off into a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“Yeah?” he taunted, a smirk in his voice. “Right there, huh?”

You could only nod frantically, your body trembling as he picked up the pace, chasing both of your releases. His angled his hips once more and that made you let out something primal.

“Damn, yes fuck me back,” he crooned just before you felt his lips touch the middle of spine. You shivered at the sensation, moaning out his name like a prayer.

“Aurélien….”

He rocked into you harder, faster and it made your toes curl. He was relentless and you loved every second of it. The sounds you both were making was the perfect lullaby of lust and pleasure.

“Mm…shit….Aurélien.” You couldn’t stop from moaning his name and judging by the way his hands gripped your hips each time, you could tell that he liked it.

Soon, you both were pushed over that edge, moaning as your orgasm overwhelmed your entire body. After awhile, you felt him slip out of you and then the bed shifted as he moved to throw out the condom.

Your body still hummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, limbs heavy, breath slowly evening out. You were probably a mess — hair wild, lips swollen, body still flushed with heat — but Aurélien? He looked unfairly good.

He was leaning back against the headboard, his chest still rising and falling steadily, dark skin glowing under the dim light. The chain that had been dangling in your face minutes ago now rested against his collarbones, catching the light with each small movement. He reached over to grab his Gatorade, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip before setting it on the bedside table.

Then, he turned to you, dark eyes scanning your face, something soft in his expression. “You want some?”

You shook your head, not because you weren’t thirsty, but because you couldn’t stop staring at him.

His lips quirked slightly. “You must really like me.”

The way he said it wasn’t cocky or teasing — it was knowing, like he’d been piecing it together all night. And maybe he was right, because you couldn’t help the dopey-ass smile that spread across your face.

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head before exhaling through his nose. “I like you too. Wish you didn’t beat me to sliding in the DMs first, though.”

You lifted a brow. “You really mad about that?”

He made a little face, scrunching his nose slightly, which was unfairly adorable for someone who had just rearranged your insides. “Not that much,” he admitted. “But I would’ve liked the chase.”

You scoffed, rolling onto your side to face him. “The chase? What are you, a lion?”

That made him smile, a real one, warm and lazy, like he was letting his guard down completely. “When a guy likes a girl, he usually asks her out first,” he said simply. “You were in my likes, I was in yours… I was about to slide through, but yeah, you beat me to it.”

Your stomach did a little flip.

He reached out then, running a hand down your arm before linking his fingers loosely with yours. “But I’m gonna do the rest, okay?”

Your breath caught, your heart stumbling in your chest. This was Aurélien Tchouaméni, your crush, your dream, and now, here he was — holding your hand, looking at you like this wasn’t just some one-night thing.

“Okay,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers lightly.

His smile widened, and then he tugged you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before settling beside you, keeping your hand in his like he wasn’t planning to let go anytime soon.

You couldn’t help but stare at him — at the strong lines of his face, the sharp jaw softened by the faintest hint of stubble, the fullness of his lips, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks when he blinked. He was so beautiful.

“What?” he murmured, catching you staring.

You shrugged, biting your lip. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

How crazy it was that you were here. That this wasn’t a dream. That your crush — the man who dominated the midfield with an effortless cool, the one you’d written lyrics about, the one you’d been too shy to DM for the longest time — was lying next to you, holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“About how wild this is,” you admitted.

Aurélien chuckled, his dimples flashing as he turned onto his side, propping his head up with his free hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I mean, this time yesterday, I was just hoping you’d even notice me at the game. Now I’m in your bed.”

That smirk made a reappearance, but his voice was soft when he said, “I noticed you way before the game, bébé.”

Your stomach flipped. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he said easily. “You think I wasn’t watching whenever you posted on Instagram? When you DM’d me?”

Your face warmed. “You didn’t answer right away.”

He grinned, teasing. “Had to make you sweat a little.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Wow, so you really are a lion.”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” he mused. Then, more seriously, “But I was always gonna answer.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart squeeze. Like he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel good. Like, in some way, he’d been waiting for this too.

You swallowed. “And now that I’m here?”

Aurélien’s eyes darkened slightly, but there was something tender in his gaze as he squeezed your fingers. “Now,” he murmured, shifting closer, “I’m making sure you come back.”

Your breath caught, and before you could think of a response, he kissed you.

It was slow this time, unhurried, like he wanted to take his time tasting you. His lips moved against yours with an intoxicating rhythm, deepening the kiss little by little until you were completely lost in it. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did. Maybe this wasn’t just for tonight.

Maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

Aurélien pulled back just enough to search your face, his lips still brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm as he studied you with that knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

“That song,” he murmured. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

Your heart stuttered.

For a second, you thought about playing coy, maybe teasing him a little, but what was the point? He already knew. You could see it in the glint of amusement in his eyes, the confidence in his voice.

You sighed, defeated but grinning. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “It’s about you.”

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head like he’d known it all along. “I knew it,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “You should write another one.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Another song?”

“Mm-hmm.” His fingers brushed down your back, tracing the curve of your spine. “One about tonight.”

Your breath hitched at the implication, at the way his voice had dipped lower, rougher.

You bit your lip. “Might have to.”

Aurélien grinned. “Good,” he murmured, kissing you again. “Make it a love song.”

[snowseasonmademe]

Dance for you

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 7,011

paring: aurelien x black female reader

summary: after months and months of your man asking you to give him a lap dance, you decide his birthday was the perfect time to show him your appreciation

note: when i tell yall i had to take SEVERAL break to breath when i was writing this. it was an intense writing process but i made it out alive. with that being said prepare yourselves. if your ovulating im sorry and you’re welcome. as always enjoy and tell me what you think❤️‍🔥!!!

The night had been electric from the moment he walked through the door. The sound of his keys jingling in the lock made your heart race, but nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him when he stepped inside. His tall, broad frame filled the doorway, his fitted black shirt straining slightly against his shoulders and arms, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You almost lost yours. The way his big arms flexed as he shrugged off his jacket, the sharp line of his jaw, and the way his dark eyes immediately locked onto you—it all made your mouth water. You felt arousal building already as you took him in, your fingers clenching at your sides to stop yourself from running to him.

“Happy birthday baby” you greeted, stepping closer, your voice a little breathless. You tilted your head up, your lips curving into a sultry smile as you placed a slow, lingering kiss on his cheek, your mouth brushing the corner of his lips ever so slightly. His eyes flickered down to you, drinking in the way your navy blue satin slip dress hugged your curves, and you saw the telltale twitch of his jaw.

“Merci ma belle” he murmured, his voice deep and smooth, laced with something that made your pulse skip. His large hand settled on your waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of your dress. “I think this might be the best part of my day already.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him toward the table, where the soft glow of candlelight and the scent of the dinner you’d prepared created an intimate atmosphere. He pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat across from you, the weight of his gaze making you feel like you were the only thing in the room.

As you ate, the tension grew thicker with every passing moment. His hand, strong and warm, found its way to your knee under the table, squeezing gently as his thumb traced circles on your skin. Each touch sent little sparks through your body, your skin tingling where his fingers lingered.

You decided to push him just a little further, teasingly sucking on your fork as you finished your bite of food, your lips wrapping around the tines a bit too slowly, a bit too purposefully. His hand tightened on your knee, his grip just shy of bruising. When you glanced up at him through your lashes, you saw the fire in his eyes, his gaze fixed on your lips.

“Tu fais exprès” (You’re doing this on purpose) he growled lowly, shaking his head slightly, though the corners of his lips twitched like he couldn’t help but find your antics amusing.

You tilted your head and smiled innocently, running your fingers over the rim of your wine glass. But the truth was, you weren’t just teasing him for fun. As you watched him lick his lips and drag his gaze over your chest, lingering on your cleavage, one thought burned in your mind: I want to treat him like how I’m treating this fork. The idea sent a thrill through you, and you shifted slightly in your chair, the tension between your legs growing unbearable.

When you stood to take Zeus to his room, you caught the way his eyes followed you, burning into the hem of your dress. You bent over to scoop the dog up into your arms, the movement making your dress ride up slightly, exposing a peek of the lace lingerie you’d picked out for the night. Aurelien’s sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed, and when you straightened up and glanced back, you caught him licking his lips, his dark gaze glued to you like he was imagining tearing that dress off you.

By the time you came back, expecting him to still be at the table, you found his chair empty. Confused, you turned toward the living room and found him there instead, stretched out on the couch, his legs spread wide, his head resting lazily on his hand. His shirt was unbuttoned a little more now, exposing the lines of his collarbone and a hint of his chest. The look in his eyes when he saw you was enough to make your knees weak—pure heat, pure want.

“Come here baby” he said, his voice soft but commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

You hesitated for a second, unsure if you could handle what was radiating off him, but then he held out a hand, his lips curling into a slow, wicked grin. “I said come here”

You stepped toward him, your bare feet sinking into the carpet, your breath hitching as his hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you closer. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I got back home” he murmured, his deep voice like a growl as he pulled you down to straddle his lap. His hands found your waist, sliding over the silk of your dress, squeezing as he guided you closer.

“You like it when I tease you, hm?” you asked softly, your voice a breathy whisper as you leaned in, your lips hovering over his.

“I like it when you give me what I want” he replied, his tone dark, his grip on your hips tightening as he ground you against him. His eyes locked with yours, burning with an intensity that made your head spin. “And right now, I want you to finish what you started.”

Your lips curved into a smirk as you leaned down, brushing your mouth against his ear. “Oh, I plan to” you whispered, and from the way his hands flexed on your body, you knew the rest of the night was going to be unforgettable.

Aurelien had been asking for months, his requests slipping into conversations with that teasing grin and low, coaxing voice. “When are you going to give me a lap dance bébé?” he’d ask, his hands running up and down your thighs as you sat on his lap, his tone playful yet loaded with heat. You’d always laugh it off, playfully rolling your eyes or brushing him off with a quick, “Maybe one day, if you’re lucky.” But it wasn’t because you didn’t want to—oh, you absolutely did. The thought of his big hands on you, his dark eyes drinking you in, had crossed your mind far too often.

Still, you made him wait, teasing him just enough to keep that fire alive, wanting the moment to be perfect. Tonight, with the intimacy of his birthday dinner, the tension hanging heavy in the air, and the way he couldn’t keep his hands off you or his eyes away, you knew it was finally time.

When he pulled you onto his lap earlier and whispered, to you that you knew what he wanted, it had only made your feelings stronger. He didn’t know it yet, but you were about to give him exactly what he’d been asking for—and more. The idea of surprising him, of finally breaking that anticipation, had your pulse racing and your skin tingling with nerves and excitement.

You slipped off his lap and took a few steps toward the counter on the far side of the room. Aurelien’s gaze followed you immediately, his expression a mix of curiosity and intensity. He leaned back further on the couch, his shirt now even more undone, exposing more of his chest and the defined lines of his collarbone. His legs were spread wide, taking up space, and his arms stretched lazily across the back of the couch, exuding confidence and control. He looked utterly relaxed, yet his dark eyes stayed locked on you with a heat that made your stomach flip.

The satisfied but dominant tilt of his smile made you bite your lip as you reached for your phone and connected it to the nearby speaker. The first sultry notes of Beyoncé’s “Dance for You” poured into the room, low and seductive, filling the space between you with a simmering tension that matched the fire in his gaze.

His smirk deepened, his eyes flickering with recognition as he shifted slightly on the couch, his fingers tapping against the cushion like he couldn’t wait another second. “Je savais que tu finirais par céder” (I knew you’d give in eventually) he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though there was an edge of anticipation in his tone.

You turned to face him, the soft light of the room highlighting the satin of your dress as it clung to your curves. You were nervous—your heart raced in your chest, and your palms were damp with excitement and a little fear—but you were also confident. Confident in the way his eyes raked over you like he couldn’t look away, in the way his body tensed, his muscles taut as though he were holding himself back.

The lights in the living room were dim, the air thick with the scent of vanilla and amber from the candles you had lit earlier. The soft glow cast shadows across the space, flickering over the deep brown leather of the couch, the sleek wooden floors, and the expensive glass of whiskey resting on the table beside Aurelien’s hand.

The only sound in the room was the steady bass of the music playing from the speakers, a sultry, hypnotic beat that filled the air like smoke. Beyoncé’s voice crooned through the space, velvet and honey, setting the mood as you stood in front of him, barefoot, feeling completely vulnerable.

Aurelien sat comfortably on the couch, his long legs spread wide, his back sinking into the plush cushions. His shirt was revealing the golden brown of his skin, his muscular chest rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths. His dark eyes were locked onto you, intense, expectant, drinking you in like a man ready to devour.

He brought the whiskey glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down, his tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of amber liquid. He tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he dragged his gaze over your body.

“Go ahead chérie” he murmured, voice low, thick with anticipation. “Show me”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but there was no hesitation in your movements. You wanted this. Wanted him watching you, wanted him starving for you. The way he looked at you alone sent heat pooling between your thighs.

Slowly, you let your hands glide over the smooth satin of your dress, fingertips trailing down your waist as you felt his eyes burning into you. The navy blue fabric shimmered softly under the candlelight, clinging to your body like it had been made just for you. The plunging neckline framed your chest perfectly, and the high slit on one side revealed teasing flashes of your thighs as you shifted your weight.

With calculated movements, you reached for the thin straps on your shoulders, sliding one down slowly, then the other, letting the tension build. The dress loosened, slipping down your body inch by inch, the cool air brushing over your skin as more of it became exposed. The satin slid over your curves like a whisper before pooling at your feet, leaving you standing before him in nothing but a delicate navy blue lace thong.

The room seemed to go silent, except for the soft sound of the music in the background. His eyes raked over you, dark and full of heat, lingering on every inch of bare skin you had revealed. His jaw tensed, and his lips parted slightly, as though he were about to say something but couldn’t find the words. The hunger in his gaze made your skin tingle, your confidence growing with every second of his silence.

The soft lace sat low on your hips, the intricate design accentuating the curve of your body. The dim light played off your skin, illuminating every subtle dip and line. You stood tall, nerves simmering beneath the surface, but your confidence unwavering as you let him take in the sight of you. His chest rose and fell a little faster now, his grip on the back of the couch tightening as if he needed to ground himself. The dominance he exuded earlier was still there, but now it was mixed with something deeper, something raw and unfiltered.

You walked to him and sat right on his lap, grabbing his face to make him look into your eyes. Aurelien exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers flexing where they rested on his thighs. His eyes darkened, heavy-lidded with lust as he took you in—the smooth curve of your hips, the soft swell of your breasts, the way your skin glowed under the dim light.

You turned around slowly, giving him the full view of your backside, your hips swaying to the slow rhythm of the song. His breath hitched slightly, barely audible over the music, but you caught it.

And it made you bolder.

You placed your hands on your thighs, bending slightly as you rolled your hips in slow, fluid circles. The lace of your thong barely covered anything, the movement only making it more obvious how much you wanted him, how wet you were already.

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you reached back to drag your hands up the length of your body, over your ass, your waist, your breasts. Aurelien’s lips parted, his tongue swiping across the bottom one, his expression hungry.

He wanted to touch. You could see it in the way his fingers twitched, in the way his knuckles flexed. But he stayed still, watching, waiting, letting you tease him.

You turned back around, your steps sensual. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders, straddling his lap, settling yourself over the hard length pressing against his slacks.

Aurelien exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging into his thighs as he fought the urge to grab you. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as you rolled your hips against him, dragging yourself over his dick through the fabric of his pants.

“You like that baby?” you purred, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you rocked against him.

His jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the couch, his self-control hanging by a thread. “You know I do” he rasped.

You leaned back slightly, giving him a perfect view of your body as you moved, your hips undulating in slow, mesmerizing circles. The friction was intoxicating, the feel of him, hard beneath you making you ache, making your clit throb with need.

Aurelien’s breathing was uneven now, his pupils blown wide as he watched you, his hands still clenched at his sides. He wanted to touch—God, he wanted to touch—but he was letting you have control, letting you drive him to the brink.

You reached between your bodies, palming him through his slacks, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath your fingers. His body jerked slightly at the contact, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“You’re so hard for me” you murmured, your fingers tracing the outline of his dick through the fabric, your other hand reaching for the button of his pants. “Let me take care of you.”

Aurelien exhaled harshly, his restraint snapping as he grabbed your wrists, stopping your movements. His grip was firm but not rough, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.

“Not yet” he said, voice thick with need. “I want to watch you a little longer”

A slow, wicked smile spread across your lips. You leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“Then watch me”

You slid off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs, your hands running up the inside of his thighs, your nails dragging lightly over the fabric. His breath hitched, his eyes following your every movement, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

You undid his belt slowly, teasingly, before unzipping his pants and freeing him. His dick sprang free, thick, heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips, your mouth watering at the sight of him.

Aurelien’s fingers tangled in your hair as you leaned in, your breath warm against his skin. You pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his tip, flicking your tongue over him just enough to tease.

His grip on your hair tightened, a low, guttural groan spilling from his lips.

Your lips hovered over his thick length, and for a moment, you just stared, letting the anticipation build. The heat radiating off his body made your thighs press together, trying to contain the arousal dripping down your skin. Slowly, you leaned forward, dragging your lips and tongue over the strong muscles of his thighs. You bit down lightly, the sharpness of your teeth making him hiss, his hips jerking slightly in response.

“Bébé…” he warned, his voice a deep, gravelly sound that only spurred you on. You smirked, placing one more teasing bite higher up, just shy of where he needed you most.

Finally, you wrapped your hand around his dick, marveling at how hard and heavy he felt in your grip. Your fingers barely closed around his girth, and the veins that ran along his length pulsed under your touch. He twitched in your hand as you gave a few slow and the way his pre-cum beaded at the tip made your mouth water.

You leaned in, your tongue darting out to taste him, swirling around the head. The slightly salty, musky taste of him filled your senses, and a quiet moan escaped your lips as you licked down his length, savoring every ridge and vein. Your hands gripped the base firmly as you slid your tongue along the underside, your saliva mixing with the slickness of his arousal, making him glisten in the dim light.

As you finally took him into your mouth, his breath hitched audibly. You worked him slowly, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way his dick stretched your lips. The veins pressed against your tongue with every stroke, every bob of your head, and his taste coated your mouth, intoxicating you.

You glanced up at him, wanting to see his reaction, but his head was thrown back against the couch, his lips parted in a low, guttural moan. His hands rested gently on your braids, his fingers flexing every so often as though he were trying to keep his composure. The sight of him like that—completely undone, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths—only made you want to please him more.

Your pace quickened, and the wet sounds of your mouth filled the room, mingling with the soft groans spilling from his lips. His thighs tensed beneath your hands as you dug your nails into his skin, steadying yourself. His dick throbbed on your tongue, and every groan, every twitch of his hips only made the ache between your own legs more unbearable. You could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, pooling beneath you as your own need grew with every second.

The muscles in his abdomen tightened, and his fingers gripped your hair a little more firmly, guiding you, though still letting you lead. His restraint was slipping, and you could feel how much he wanted to lose himself in you. When you pulled back slightly, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him deep again, a strained “Fuck” fell from his lips, his hips bucking involuntarily.

This was where you wanted him—completely at your mercy, unable to control the raw need coursing through his body. And yet, as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, you couldn’t ignore how much it turned you on to see him like this. Pleasing him, feeling his pleasure in every tense muscle and low groan, made the fire in your own body burn hotter, consuming you from the inside out.

“Shit” he growled, his fingers flexing. “You feel so fucking good”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath. His hips twitched, his restraint slipping, his need to fuck your mouth growing stronger.

But just as he was about to lose himself, you pulled off him with a wicked smirk, licking your lips as you met his dazed, lust-filled gaze.

“I think I teased you long enough” you purred, climbing back onto his lap, your hips brushing against his. You leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear as your fingers trailed up his chest. “Are you ready for me baby?”

Aurelien’s eyes darkened instantly, his grip on your hips tightening with a bruising force. He tilted his head back just slightly, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face. His deep voice rumbled in your ear, low and dripping with dominance.

“Ready for you?” he rasped, his tone sharp and commanding as his hands slid down to grip the curve of your ass. “No bébé. The real question is, are you ready for me?”

Before you could respond, he moved with the kind of power and control that always left you breathless. In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, spreading them apart as he hovered over you, his gaze searing into yours.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower as he ran his hand along the inside of your thigh, brushing against your soaked lace. You couldn’t speak. All that confidence you just had flew out the window. All you could do is moan in response.

His lips crashed against yours, possessive and demanding, as he pressed his body into yours. The real game had just begun, and it was clear he intended to leave you completely at his mercy.

Aurélien’s lips crashed yours, hungry and demanding, his hands gripping your waist. The memory of you as you moved in sync with the slow, sensual beat of the music. The way you rocked your hips against his clothed hardness, your body pressing against him with each grind, had him barely holding on to control. His dark eyes were locked onto your body—your breasts swaying in front of his face, your skin glowing under the dim lights—making him harder than he thought possible.

His fingers trailed down between your thighs, pushing your panties aside, and the moment his fingers slid against your drenched folds, he groaned, deep and primal. “Fuck,” he murmured against your neck, his voice thick with need. “You’re so wet for me.”

A needy whimper escaped your lips as you clutched at his shoulders. “Mm, yes… please, touch me” you pleaded, voice breathless, body trembling with anticipation.

Aurélien smirked against your skin, spreading your slick over your clit and down your folds, teasing you with almost effortless strokes. His lips never left your body, kissing and biting his way down your neck and chest, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Open-mouthed kisses, sharp nips, his tongue tracing patterns on your skin—he worshiped you with his mouth, making sure no inch was left untouched.

But patience was never his strong suit. With a growl, he sat up, yanking his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted torso, muscles tensed with restraint. His hand wrapped around his thick, pulsing length, stroking himself slowly as he pushed your knees toward your chest with his other, spreading you wide open for him.

“Look at you” he murmured, dragging his tip along your soaked, soft slit, teasing, taunting. He took his time, watching you squirm beneath him, your body begging to be filled. His gaze locked with yours, dark and intense, and finally—finally—he pushed in, the stretch making your breath hitch.

Aurélien usually started slow, knowing you needed time to adjust to his size, but tonight? He couldn’t hold back. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he began moving, his strokes steady but urgent, each thrust sending shivers through your body. His grip on your legs tightened, pushing your knees further back as he drove deeper.

“Tu me prends toujours si bien, putain” (You always take me so well, fuck) he rasped. His hands roamed your body, gripping, claiming, dominating. His lips crashed into yours again, swallowing your moans as he fucked you with unrelenting intensity, your bodies lost in the rhythm of desire.

Both of his strong hands gripped your knees, spreading you open as he thrust into you with a smooth, effortless rhythm. The way your body welcomed him, soft and dripping around his thick length, made his jaw clench, his control slipping with each deep stroke.

Slowly, he lifted your legs, guiding your ankles onto his broad shoulders. His fingers dug into your shins, holding you firmly in place as he drove deeper, filling you completely. His breath was hot against your skin as he pressed his lips to your ankle, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin, never breaking eye contact. His tongue flicked out, teasing, tasting you, before he bit down just enough to make you gasp.

Even as his pace quickened, his movements rough and precise, he never looked away from your eyes. His gaze burned into yours—intense, possessive—watching every reaction, every tremor of pleasure that coursed through you. “You feel- so- fucking good inside- me” you murmured, your voice thick with lust, the deep strokes making your body arch beneath him.

Your moans only spurred him on, his grip tightening as he claimed you completely, his dominance unmistakable in the way he controlled every movement, every sensation, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands rested on his sculpted abdomen, feeling the tension in his muscles as his body pressed into yours, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. But just as you were getting lost in the rhythm, he suddenly slowed, teasing you with deep, languid strokes before coming to a complete stop. A desperate whimper escaped your lips as he pulled out, the wet squelch of your bodies disconnecting making you shiver. You bit your lip, already missing the way he filled you.

Before you could protest, Aurélien grabbed you effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He bent you over the arm of the couch, his hands spreading your legs apart, his presence towering behind you. Turning your head, you caught the way he was staring—his dark eyes filled with hunger, lips parted as he ran his large, warm hands over your soft ass. He groaned lowly, kneading the flesh, his fingers digging in possessively before he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to each cheek. The sensation sent tingles down your spine.

Then—slap!

His palm came down hard against your ass, the sharp sting making you jolt forward, but the pleasure outweighed the pain, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. A wicked smirk played on his lips as he did it again, watching your body tremble beneath him.

“You like that bébé?” he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Before you could answer, he slid back into you in one swift motion, filling you to the hilt. This time, there was no teasing—his strokes were fast, deep, relentless. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, a filthy mix of wet, desperate moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. You were a mess beneath him, gripping the couch for dear life, pleasure coursing through you like fire.

Then, his fingers tangled into your braids, gripping them firmly at the root as he yanked your head back, forcing you to arch your back. The dominant act made you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him in response.

“Do you love this dick bébé?” he growled through gritted teeth, trying to maintain control, but his own release was dangerously close.

“Fuck yesss, I fucking love this dick baby!!” you screamed without hesitation, your voice shaking from the intensity of his thrusts.

But when the pleasure became too much, your body instinctively tried to escape, your hands pushing against the couch as you attempted to pull forward.

Big mistake.

As if on reflex, Aurélien yanked you right back onto his dick with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp left your lips as he gripped your hips so tight you knew you’d have bruises the next day.

“Don’t run from me Y/N” he growled, his tone dripping with dominance. “Take it. I know you want it”

And you did. You surrendered completely, your body melting under his control as he fucked you mercilessly, each deep stroke dragging you closer to your breaking point.

His pace quickened, the intensity overwhelming as your walls tightened around him, your body on the brink of release.

“Fuck Aurélien—I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum” you moaned, voice high and needy.

He hummed in response, the deep vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Mmhmm” was all he said before delivering two more stinging slaps to your ass, the impact sending you over the edge.

Your body convulsed beneath him as your orgasm tore through you, a cry of ecstasy ripping from your throat. You shook uncontrollably, your arousal spilling out, coating his thick length and dripping down onto his thighs.

Aurélien groaned at the sight, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his own release, ready to fill you up completely.

“There you go baby… fuck, you feel so good” Aurélien groaned, his strokes slow as your body trembled beneath him. You were still pulsing around him, shaking uncontrollably from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body completely at his mercy.

“Fuck” you whispered, your voice barely audible, lost somewhere between exhaustion and overwhelming pleasure. You felt everything and nothing all at once, floating in a haze of bliss.

He stilled inside you for a moment, letting you catch your breath before he finally pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Without hesitation, he scooped you up effortlessly, his strong arms holding you close as he carried you across the house to his bedroom. The heat of his skin against yours, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath—it was intoxicating.

Gently, he laid you down on the bed, climbing over you, settling perfectly between your thighs. His body pressed into yours, warm and solid, grounding you.

His lips found yours again, slow and tender this time. His soft, plump lips moved against yours, his tongue teasing, tasting, savoring. His hands roamed your body, caressing your waist, tracing the curve of your hips, his touch both possessive and gentle. Your fingers dug into his biceps, feeling the strength in them as he hovered above you, completely wrapped up in you.

You broke the kiss first, catching your breath as a lazy, satisfied smile played on your lips. “Where did you learn how to fuck like that?” you murmured, half-joking but also completely serious.

Aurélien let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You taught me how you like it… and now you’re surprised when I fuck you exactly how you want?” His smirk was pure arrogance, but you couldn’t even be mad.

“I’m never leaving you” you whispered between kisses, your fingers running over the ridges of his back.

His gaze darkened, something unreadable flashing across his features before he leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. “You don’t have to tell me that bébé” he murmured, voice thick with certainty. “I know.”

The moment felt almost sacred—intimate, intense, like nothing else existed outside of this bed, outside of him.

And then, taking full advantage of your closeness, he guided himself back inside you, pushing in slowly, savoring every inch of your tight, warm heat. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he filled you to the hilt, but this time, he didn’t move. He just stayed there, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against yours, breathing in sync with you. He wanted to feel you—every pulse, every flutter of your walls around him, the way your body molded perfectly to his.

“Ughh, you’re so deep” you whispered into his ear, your legs wrapping around his waist, keeping him locked in place.

“Mmmm” he hummed, not being able to speak. He was to consumed by the feeling of you. His lips brushing against your shoulder before his teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine.

The tension built between you like an electric current, and then, finally, he began to move—slow at first, his strokes deep and precise, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Fuck me harder, Aurélien, please” you whined into his ear, your voice needy, desperate. “I need it”

His jaw clenched, and without hesitation, he did exactly what you begged for.

“Whatever you want bébé” he muttered, and then his pace quickened—his hips snapping into yours with raw, unrelenting force. Your moans turned into near-screams, your body arching beneath him as he fucked you like he was trying to break you apart and put you back together at the same time.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, angling himself even deeper, hitting that perfect spot that almost made you pass out. The pressure was overwhelming, consuming, and just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit with slow, teasing circles, the contrast driving you insane.

“Oh my God—fuck! I’m cumming again” you gasped, your voice breaking as your entire body tensed, your walls clamping down on him with a vice-like grip.

Aurélien groaned, the way you squeezed around him making it nearly impossible to hold back. He wanted to last longer—needed to—but the way you felt, the way you came undone beneath him, nearly shattered his control.

Somehow, he held on. Barely.

His finger nails dug into your thigh, his breath ragged against your neck as he kept fucking you through it, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from you.

But he didn’t slow down—not even a little.

Aurélien kept up his brutal, relentless pace, fucking you like he was trying to put you straight through the earth’s core. The force of his thrusts had you screaming in pleasure, your body caught between the sharp edge of overstimulation and pure ecstasy.

His grip tightened. One hand wrapped firmly around your throat, his fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch, while the other grabbed your waist, holding you still so you had no choice but to take everything he gave you.

“Oh fuck I love it when you fuck me like this” you gasped, biting your lip as your hazy, lust-filled eyes locked onto his.

That look—so raw, so desperate—almost broke him. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening. He was close, so fucking close, but he wasn’t done with you yet.

He suddenly shifted, his hand moving from your throat to the back of your head, forcing you to look down at where your bodies connected.

“Look at that” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Look how good I’m fucking you”

Your eyes dropped, and the sight nearly made you cum again.

His thick, glistening dick was sliding in and out of you, stretching you in ways no one else ever could. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy echoed through the room, the slick mess between your thighs dripping down to where he was still buried deep inside you.

“Fuck… it looks so good” you whispered, completely mesmerized by the way he disappeared into you over and over again.

And then—without warning—he let go of your head, grabbed your neck once more, and started drilling into you even harder.

“OH FUCK, FUCK YES!” you screamed, your voice blending with his deep, guttural moans.

“Yeah?” he gritted out through his teeth, his thrusts growing rougher, more erratic. “Tu veux que je jouisse dans cette chatte, n'est-ce pas ?” (You want me to cum inside this pussy don’t you?)

“Yes please, baby—cum inside me” you begged, your voice breaking, your nails clawing into his shoulders.

Aurélien groaned, his control hanging by a thread. His hand slipped down between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing harsh circles. The moment he touched you, your entire body shattered.

Your third orgasm of the night hit you with devastating force, a scream tearing from your throat as your walls clenched around him, milking his dick for everything he had. The sensation was too much—too tight, too wet, too perfect.

And then he came.

And when he did—when he finally let go—it was with your name spilling from his lips in a broken, desperate moan. His entire body trembled as he buried himself deep, filling you completely, his warm release spilling into you in thick, hot waves.

“Ahhh—fuck, fuck—” he groaned loudly through the room, his voice raw, his hips twitching as he emptied himself inside you.

He collapsed onto you, his weight heavy and grounding, his breath hot against your skin. The heat between your bodies was overwhelming, sweat slicking your skin, the room thick with the scent of sex.

“I have never cum so hard in my life” you laughed breathlessly, still trembling beneath him.

Aurélien lifted his head from the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your cheek as he chuckled, his voice deep and satisfied. “I was gonna say the same thing”

He kissed you—slow and lazy this time, as if he wanted to savor every last second of this moment. And even as his dick softened inside you, he didn’t pull out, keeping you full, his cum already dripping from where you were still connected.

But you weren’t done with him yet.

Somehow, with the last bit of strength left in your body, you flipped the two of you over, straddling him. His hands immediately found your ass, squeezing, massaging, as you settled over his face, his half-hard dick resting between your thighs.

Then, without a word, you turned around to face his still half-hard dick, you leaned down and took him into your mouth, licking and sucking him clean—lapping up every last drop of his release mixed with your own arousal.

Aurélien groaned, his head falling back against the pillows, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes as you worked your tongue over his sensitive length. His grip on your ass tightened as he watched the excess cum drip from your still-throbbing pussy, trailing down onto his abdomen and the sheets below.

“Fuck bébé” he rasped, his voice wrecked, completely undone.

Aurélien’s legs tensed beneath you, his breath hitching as you sucked harshly on his still-sensitive dick. His fingers dug into your hips, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths as he tried to regain control of himself.

“You’re such a nasty girl for me” he murmured, his voice quiet but full of heat. The words shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench around nothing, the ache between your thighs still lingering.

When he finally softened in your mouth, you released him with one last teasing lick, swallowing every drop before turning around to face him again. You leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, making him taste the mixture of both your juices.

His hands instinctively gripped your waist, pulling you closer, but you pulled away with a soft giggle, slipping off the bed. “I’ll be right back” you murmured, heading to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

When you returned, fresh and glowing, Aurélien was exactly where you left him—laid back against the pillows, hands tucked behind his head, watching you with a soft, knowing smile.

But it was the way he looked at you that made you pause.

His gaze roamed your body, admiring every curve, every dimple, every stretch mark and scar as if they were works of art. It made your skin warm under his scrutiny, a small flicker of nervousness sparking in your chest—but there was no judgment in his eyes. Only love.

“What are you looking at?” you teased, trying to mask your flustered state with a witty tone.

Aurélien exhaled deeply, shaking his head slightly as his eyes locked with yours. “I think I just fell in love with you all over again” he said softly, his voice filled with something so tender, so sincere, it made your heart stutter.

You swallowed, your chest tightening in the best way as you climbed back into bed, curling into his side, burying yourself against his warmth under the covers. His arm wrapped around you immediately, holding you close, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your skin.

Tilting your head up, you looked at him, taking in the post-orgasm bliss still etched onto his face. He was beautiful—so effortlessly perfect in this moment. Smiling shyly, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I love you” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “So much.”

Aurélien’s grip on you tightened, his lips brushing the top of your head in silent response.

You paused, your smile growing softer as you nuzzled into his chest. “And… happy birthday,” you murmured, closing your eyes, completely at peace in his embrace.

He let out a quiet, content sigh, his own eyes fluttering shut.

As sleep began to take him, he silently thanked God—not just for this moment, but for you. For the way you loved him, for the way you made him feel wanted, desired, cherished. For the way you were his, in every way that mattered.

And even through the hard times, he knew—especially through the hard times—he would always choose you.

With one last lingering kiss pressed to your forehead, he drifted off, hoping that whatever dreams came to him would be even half as good as the reality of having you in his arms.

[rmadridcore]

Under the Storm

Pairing: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Reader

Summary: On a rainy day, you and Aurélien share a moment of intense passion and intimacy, wrapped in each other completely.

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)

Author’s note: okayy, i’ve been wanting to write for Tchou for a while but i couldn’t find proper inspo. apparently a tiktok edit i saw the other was all i needed 😭 here it is, hope you guys like it! tell me your opinions and also whether i should write for him more 🤍

The rain drummed gently against the windows, a soothing rhythm that filled the room with a sense of calm. The world outside was washed in shades of gray, the kind of weather that begged for blankets and whispered conversations. From the moment you opened your eyes that morning, the gloomy weather made you groan, casting a darker shadow over your mood. Starting the day with such horrific weather was never ideal, but your spirits lifted the moment you realized both you and your boyfriend had a day off. This dreadful rainy day could be transformed into a cozy, intimate one — filled with nothing but lounging around the house and basking in the warmth of your love.

Simple days with Aurélien always felt extra special. He had a way of making even the most mundane activities feel like extraordinary moments. It was his magic, his superpower: the ability to make you feel loved and excited at all times. His presence, his scent, his jokes, his face — everything about him was enough to bring you joy, contentment, and comfort, no matter the setting.

Especially now, as the two of you were sprawled on the couch in your shared home, limbs tangled together, your head resting on his firm chest. His hand moved softly through your hair in slow, soothing strokes. The faint, familiar scent of him filled your senses, intoxicating and comforting all at once. You fell asleep and woke up next to him every day, but his scent never failed to make you dizzy. That fresh, woody aroma, it was the smell of home.

Aurélien’s fingers threaded through your hair in a slow, rhythmic motion, while his lips left occasional, tender kisses on your head. The two of you were half-watching a silly movie, but when it ended, neither of you bothered to put on something else. The quiet, comfortable intimacy of the moment was far more captivating.

“You smell so nice,” you murmured, voicing the thought that had been swirling in your mind for a good twenty minutes.

He chuckled softly. “You tell me that almost every day.” His voice held a smile.

“That’s because you smell nice every day,” you replied, nuzzling closer into his chest. He responded with another soft kiss to your head.

“Stay here forever,” he murmured after a moment of silence, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers lazily massaged your scalp.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I actually live here,” you teased, a playful lilt in your tone.

“No, like… forever. Right here. With me,” he said, his voice warm but serious, as though he were pouring his soul into those words.

Your heart melted at his sincerity. “Baby,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, ever.” You kissed him again, this time on the lips, a quick, tender peck before resting your head back on his chest.

“Keep stroking my hair, or I’m outta here this second,” you warned playfully when he paused for a moment. His soft laugh vibrated against your cheek as he resumed his gentle strokes.

You began placing soft kisses along his jawline, intending to keep things innocent and savor the simplicity of just being close to him. But those soft kisses soon deepened into open-mouthed ones. You tried to stop yourself, wanting to hold onto the moment’s pure comfort a little longer, but the feel of his smooth skin, his intoxicating scent, and the soft, shallow breaths he let out when your lips met his skin made it impossible to pull away.

His hand slid from your hair to your waist, pulling you even closer as his lips sought yours. The rain continued its soothing rhythm against the windows, but inside, the room was filled with warmth — the kind of heat that chased away the chill of any gray day.

With his lips finding yours and your hand cupping his gorgeous face, Aurélien slipped his tongue into your mouth, not letting you catch your breath. Your lips moved in perfect sync, an unspoken understanding passing between you both with every kiss. His kisses were always special — warm, consuming, and utterly mesmerizing. The moment his mouth met yours, it was like the world beyond the two of you ceased to exist.

Without warning, he gently laid you back on the couch, his lips never leaving yours. His movements were deliberate but tender, a balance of passion and care that left you breathless. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as though he were committing every inch of your skin to memory. Slowly, he trailed his lips down to your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers coursing through your body. When his mouth reached your collarbone, a soft hum escaped your lips, and he paused to glance at you, his gaze dark and smoldering.

Sliding to his knees in front of the couch, his hand moved to the button of your pants. His fingers worked the fabric open with a deliberate slowness that sent your pulse racing. He lowered the fabric down your legs, his touch lingering, as though savoring the feel of your skin beneath his hands.

“I want to make you feel good, angel,” he whispered, his voice sultry and smooth, wrapping around you like silk. Your chest rose and fell quickly, anticipation coiling tightly in your core as you nodded in acknowledgment, unable to find your voice.

Aurélien lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder, his lips brushing feather-light kisses along the other leg until he reached your inner thigh. Each kiss was tender, yet it left a trail of heat in its wake. You couldn’t resist the urge to tug off your top, revealing the delicate lace of your bra. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, his lips curling into a cheeky smile before resuming his path.

He kissed the inside of your thighs with a deliberate intent, sucking gently until tiny purple marks bloomed against your skin. The teasing was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t help the soft whine that escaped your lips.

“Please, Aurélien,” you pleaded, your voice laced with impatience and longing.

His eyes met yours, a playful glint sparking in them. “What do you need, sweet thing?”

“Everything. Your tongue. Your fingers. Please...please.” The words tumbled from your lips, your need overwhelming your usual composure.

“Patience, baby,” he teased, his lips grazing tantalizingly close to where you craved him most. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk at your frustrated sigh.

Finally, his hands hooked around the waistband of your underwear, easing it down and leaving you exposed to him. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips against your clit, his tongue curling expertly around the sensitive nub. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your hips bucked instinctively, but his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you firmly in place. One hand slid up to your stomach, splaying against your skin to steady you as he flattened his tongue against your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure.

“You’re so beautiful. So wet. Is this all for me?” he murmured between strokes, his voice dripping with admiration. You nodded hastily, your breath coming in short gasps as his tongue continued its relentless assault.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as his mouth and fingers worked in perfect harmony. He glanced up briefly, his dark eyes locking onto your flushed face before increasing the pace of his fingers. They moved inside you with precision, curling just right to hit the spot that made your back arch and your moans grow louder.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. His words sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, amplifying the intensity of your pleasure. He squeezed your hand gently, the reassurance grounding you even as your orgasm built to a peak.

Your body trembled, a shudder rippling through you as your climax overtook you. A deep moan escaped your throat, your head falling back against the couch as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Aurélien stayed with you through every moment, his touch steady and comforting as he helped you ride out your high.

When your breathing finally began to slow, he climbed back up to you, his movements unhurried and tender. He brushed your hair away from your face, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, nose, and cheeks. “It’s okay,” he cooed, his voice gentle and soothing. Your eyes remained closed as you basked in the warmth of his embrace, your heart still racing but your soul utterly at peace.

You mindlessly pulled him closer, burying your face in his neck. The aftermath of your powerful climax left you craving his warmth and gentle reassurances. “Take me upstairs,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but full of longing. You kissed his neck softly, your hand trailing down his abdomen with deliberate intent.

“Okay, baby. Let’s go upstairs,” Aurélien replied, his tone filled with both tenderness and mischief.

Without wasting a second, you grabbed his hand and stood, leading him eagerly toward the staircase. “Eager girl,” he teased, his smirk evident in his voice as he followed your hurried steps.

“Need you to catch up,” you shot back playfully, glancing over your shoulder as you reached his room. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you silenced him by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another kiss. It was deep and consuming, leaving no room for argument. Together, your hands found the hem of his sweater, tugging it over his head in one smooth motion. You couldn’t help but admire his sculpted frame, your fingers instinctively trailing down his chest and over his toned abs.

The back of your legs bumped against the bed, and you sank onto it, never breaking contact. Your hands roamed down his body, tugging his sweats and underwear down as he helped you slide them off completely. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, an unspoken urgency shared between you both.

Without hesitation, he joined you on the bed, his lips capturing yours again in a kiss so deep it stole your breath. Your body responded instinctively, every nerve alive under his touch. Your hands clung to his biceps, their strength grounding you, as his body aligned perfectly with yours.

When he shifted slightly, the unmistakable hardness of him brushed against your thigh, sending a shiver of anticipation through you. His lips never left yours as he entered you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. The sensation drew a moan from deep within you — a sound so raw and vulnerable it felt like you had been holding it in forever.

Aurélien froze for a moment, his dark eyes searching yours. “You’re okay?” he murmured, his voice laced with both concern and desire.

“More than okay,” you whispered, tightening your legs around his waist in response.

Your body instinctively clenched around him, and his reaction was immediate, a low grunt that vibrated through his chest. His fingers gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to move. His thrusts were slow and deliberate, each one drawing out a new wave of pleasure.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your temple. “So perfect.”

Every word, every motion, sent you spiraling higher. Your nails dug into his back, desperate to ground yourself as the intensity built. “Aurélien,” you cried out, your voice shaky. “It’s so good. Please, faster.”

He pulled back slightly, his movements quickening as he adjusted the angle. The change sent a new wave of sensation crashing through you, pulling moans from your lips that left him in awe.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as his lips trailed along your neck. “Anything, you only have to ask.”

You hesitated briefly, the vulnerability of the moment making you shy. But the intensity of his gaze gave you the courage to meet his eyes. “Don’t hold back,” you whispered, your hand resting against the nape of his neck. “I want all of you.”

You shifted, lifting yourself slightly, and Aurélien immediately mirrored your movement, his hands steadying you as you turned to face the headboard. Your back arched instinctively, presenting yourself to him. You heard him suck in a deep breath, the sound full of restraint as if he were forcing himself to keep control.

His hands settled on your hips, his thumbs brushing soothingly across your skin in a motion that reassured and electrified you all at once. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. Then, with deliberate care, he guided himself back into you, every inch of him sending shivers through your body as you adjusted to his size. He paused, giving you the time you needed, his fingers tightening just enough on your hips to anchor you.

“Take your time,” he whispered, his tone as soft as his grip was firm.

Your body responded instinctively, stretching and molding to him, until the tension eased and the pleasure began to bloom. He started to move, slow and steady at first, his rhythm purposeful. Each thrust built on the last, filling the room with the intoxicating symphony of your heavy breathing, whispered moans, and the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin. His grip on your hips tightened, not with restraint but with a passion so palpable it made your breath hitch.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. The way your body responded to him was a constant encouragement, each moan spurring him on. “Such a perfect pussy, made for me.”

The heat of his words sent a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you, and you couldn’t hold back your response. “I love you,” you moaned, your voice shaky and raw.

His chuckle was dark and teasing, yet full of warmth. “Yeah? How much?” he asked, his voice husky as his hips snapped forward, driving deeper.

“So, so much,” you managed to breathe out, your voice trembling as the coil in your lower belly tightened with each of his perfectly angled thrusts. Your walls fluttered around him, your body responding to him in ways that felt completely out of your control.

Aurélien groaned at the sensation, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

You felt yourself spiraling, the tension inside you reaching its breaking point. “Gonna cum,” you gasped, your words barely audible as your chest heaved with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his hand slipping down between your legs. His fingers found your clit, circling it with a pressure that sent you hurtling toward release. The combination of his thrusts and the expert movement of his fingers unraveled you completely. Your legs began to tremble uncontrollably, your body shaking as the most euphoric sensation tore through you.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice soft but commanding as he lowered himself over you. His lips brushed your ear, and he murmured, “Shhh, that’s it, let it happen. Let me take care of you.”

Your moans dissolved into soft whimpers as the waves of your climax crashed over you. Aurélien slowed his movements, drawing out every ounce of your pleasure as his hands slid soothingly over your back. You felt his rhythm falter, his hips pressing deep one last time as he groaned your name. Heat flooded your core, his release a hot pulse that seemed to blend with your own pleasure, leaving you both utterly spent.

He stayed still for a moment, his breathing uneven as he rested his forehead against your shoulder. Then, with infinite tenderness, he withdrew from you and carefully helped you onto your back. His hands never left you, guiding you gently as though you were made of glass.

“Are you okay, my love?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your temple, then your nose, and finally your lips. His touch was feather-light. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips as he peppered soft kisses along your knuckles and the back of your hand, his eyes twinkling with affection.

The tender gesture made you giggle, the sound light and airy, breaking the charged atmosphere with an intimacy that was uniquely yours. “What’s so funny?” he asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Nothing,” you said through another laugh. “Just…you’re too sweet.”

He grinned, leaning down to press one last lingering kiss to your lips. “Only for you,” he murmured, his voice soft and genuine.

He gathered you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. His warmth surrounded you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing as your breathing slowed. As the night stretched on, you felt yourself drifting off, the safety and love in his arms lulling you into peaceful slumber.

[starlitmelanin]

ᡣ𐭩ྀི never be like you; a.tchouaméni

pairing - aurélien x black!fem!reader

word count - 1.1k

warnings - language

summary - aurélien takes some pleasure in reminding you that your new man will never measure up. you hate that he's right.

you've been doing a good job, you think.

a good job of pretending you're over him, that you've moved on, that he's just another chapter in your past. you've convinced your friends, your family—even convinced yourself on your good days.

the new guy's nice. safe. predictable. the kind of man who buys you flowers on fridays, texts back within minutes, never makes you guess.

but that's the problem, isn't it? he's nothing like aurélien.

and maybe that's why you're standing here in front of aurélien's apartment, three knocks away from a mistake you've been telling yourself you're done making.

he opens the door like he was expecting you, that same smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he's wearing those grey sweatpants—the ones you once claimed made him look too good for his own damn good. it's like he knows exactly what he's doing, standing there with that easy confidence, like he's already won.

"figured you'd show up sooner or later," he says, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. "you always do."

you roll your eyes because of course he starts with that. "don't flatter yourself," you snap, even though you know it won't faze him. nothing ever does.

"too late for that, isn't it?" he steps aside, letting you in, and you hate how easy it is for your feet to move, for your body to follow him like it always has. the door clicks shut behind you, and it feels like all the defences you've built crumble with that sound.

"trouble in paradise?" he asks, turning to face you with that cocky smirk still playing on his lips, because, somehow, you always find yourself at his door when something happens with your man. "what is it this time? he forget your favourite colour already?"

"you're an ass," you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

"yeah, but you didn't come here to tell me that," he says, stepping closer, and you hate how your heart races when he does. "you came here because you know it, don't you?"

you hate this. hate him. hate the way he's always so sure of himself, so damn certain about where he stands in your life. "know what?" you grumble, trying to keep your voice steady.

"that he'll never be like me," aurélien says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "none of them ever will."

"you're so full of yourself," you shoot back, even though the words feel hollow, even though you know there's truth in what he's saying.

"am i?" he challenges, his voice dropping lower, that dangerous edge creeping in. "because every time you're with him, every time he holds you, you're thinking about me, aren't you?"

"no," you lie, and you know he can tell because he laughs—a low, mocking sound that makes your skin prickle.

"you're a terrible liar, y/n," he says, reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "and you know what's funny? you could've picked anyone. anyone in the world, and you chose him. him." he says the word like it's poison on his tongue. "like he could ever come close to what we had."

"you don't get to do this," you huff annoyedly. "you don't get to stand here and act like you're some gold standard.”

he leans in closer, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, the air between you charged with all the things you can't—won't—say out loud. "but i am," he murmurs, his eyes boring into yours. "and you know it. you hate that you know it."

"stop," you manage, but it's weak, half-hearted, because even now, even after everything, you want him. and he clearly knows that too.

"tell me," he presses, and there's something darker, more desperate in his tone now. "tell me he makes you feel the way i did. tell me you don't miss the way i used to touch you, the way i made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world."

you swallow hard, your throat tightening. "aurélien—"

"tell me," he repeats, and you can see it in his eyes—this need to be right, to be the one thing you can't let go of. it's twisted, really, the way he needs this validation, this proof that no one else could ever take his place.

"he's good to me," you say instead, voice barely above a whisper. "he's kind. he cares."

aurélien's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you see something flicker across his face—something that almost looks like pain. but then it's gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "kind," he repeats, like the word's some kind of joke. "you really think 'kind' is gonna be enough to keep you warm at night?"

"maybe it is," you snap back, desperate to cling to some sense of dignity, some shred of control. "maybe i don't need you."

"you do," he says, so sure, so certain, it almost breaks you. "you'll always need me."

"you're wrong," you say, but the words catch in your throat, betraying you.

he steps closer, his hands finding your waist, and it's like every nerve in your body comes alive at his touch. you hate how familiar it feels, how right it feels. "look me in the eyes," he says, voice low, rough, "and tell me he makes you feel the way i do. go on. say it."

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out, because how can you? how can you lie when he's standing here, looking at you like he's the only one who's ever known you, who's ever seen you? and maybe that's the worst part—the fact that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you tell yourself you're over him, he's still there, in every corner of your mind, every beat of your heart.

"that's what i thought," and there's that smug look again, that knowing, infuriating smile that makes you want to slap him and kiss him all at once. "he'll never be me, y/n. and you know it."

"i hate you," you say, but it comes out weak, choked, and he just laughs, pulling you closer until there's nothing between you but the truth you've been running from.

"no, you don't," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "you hate that i'm right. that's what you hate."

and as much as you want to fight it, as much as you want to prove him wrong, you can't. because in this moment, with his hands on your skin and his breath on your lips, you know that he's right. that no matter how many times you try to move on, no matter how many men you let into your life, none of them will ever be him.

and maybe that's your curse. or maybe... maybe it's your truth.

[dexastres]

lovestruck

aurélien tchouaméni x black reader

summary : elora’s final year at university was a rollercoaster of emotions, with stress and anxiety becoming her best friends. despite the love and support of her boyfriend during this chaotic time, she couldn’t shake off these persistent feelings until she submitted her final assignment.

wc : 458

note : i'm dropping this, then i'm out✌🏽

Elora read her text one last time before submitting it, then closed her laptop. She was so relieved to know that her time at university ended, as the past few months had drained her completely, and she didn’t want to go through that again. She wanted to forget about this last chapter of her life, despite all the good memories she made along the way.

The young woman reached for her phone, and her fingers trembled against the screen, still processing the excitement and relief. She opened her conversation with her boyfriend. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she read all the sweet messages he sent her throughout the day.

Elora checked the time and decided to call him on FaceTime. With their busy schedules, they rarely saw each other, and she missed him a lot. Now that she finished school, she could attend more of his games and offer Aurélien the same support he gave her during this chaotic period.

Elora tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. She figured that he might be sleeping or hanging out with his friends, so she sent him a message before curling up in her bed, as fatigue slowly took over her body.

"I'm done with school. Wanna come over when you're free? I miss you."

Later that night...

Aurélien’s eyes widened when he saw the missed FaceTime call and message from Elora. He jumped out of bed, changed into more comfortable clothes, grabbed his keys and the gift basket he bought for his girlfriend and headed to her place.

Despite the late hour, the young man needed to see Elora. A simple FaceTime call wasn’t enough anymore; Aurélien needed to feel her body pressed against his. He couldn't stand another second apart from his girlfriend, or else he would go crazy. He wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her.

The Frenchman arrived at her place about fifteen minutes later. His heart was pounding as he pulled out his phone out of his pocket to call Elora. Luckily for him, she was a light sleeper and woke up easily.

Still half asleep, she grabbed her phone without checking the caller ID. Her voice sounded groggy when she answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, I’m outside. Can you let me in, please?” His voice was soft and needy.

Elora knew where this night was leading to, and she felt her arousal grow with each passing second. She didn’t respond to Aurélien and hung up. She got out of bed, smiling, and went downstairs.

Elora opened the front door, and before she could speak. Aurélien pulled her into a kiss that mirrored the longing in his voice during their brief phone call. 

[judes-hoe]

My winner ~ JB5

Parrings ~ Jude Bellingham x reader

Summary ~ you and Jude have been dating since his Birmingham days and he finally got the two things he’s dreamed of.

Warnings ~ super fluffy in the beginning, then… p in v(unprotected don’t do this!), creampie(2), praise, a little subby Jude, pet names.

A/N ~ enjoy☺️!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jude have been dating since his Birmingham days. You had moved into his neighborhood when you were 6-7 and you and Jude quickly became friends. You went to every match you could. Once you got older you and Jude confessed your feelings to each other.

That’s when things got serious, you convinced your parents to move to Germany with him, the only reason they said yes was because Denise, Jude’s mom, would be with you guys.

You were with him the whole time at Germany, going through the bad and good times with that club.

Then he moved to Madrid, you knew that was his dream and when he had made the deal with them. He was in tears and hugging you and you couldn’t stop telling him how happy you were of him.

The move to Madrid was easy, the only hard part being not understanding people. But you and Jude took lessons together.

You were happy watching his achievements in the LaLiga, and the Champions League. Getting man of the match, and player of the month.

Now sat with his family watching the Champions League final. You were sat next to Jobe; squeezing his hand when Jude would fall to the ground, or when Madrid had a chance to score but missed.

When Madrid got the first goal you jumped out of your seat cheering, the hugging Jobe tightly. Then a few minutes later, Jude assisted Vini. You watched as Jude fell to his knees, he knew they won it.

The Jude got subbed off and you couldn’t stop bouncing your leg in the final minutes. When Dortmund had scored, you accidentally squeezed Jobe’s hand to tight and he winced in pain. “Sorry.” You mumbled to him and he just nodded his head rubbing his hand to sooth it.

But the goal was offsides and Jobe gave you a massive side eye. When that final whistle blew you were so happy and proud. Hugging Jobe tight and rocking side to side. Then hugging Mark and Denise.

You watched as he got his medal, and lifted the trophy. Celebrating with his teammates. He whispered something to one of the coaches, who then smiled at him and left. Jude coming over to you and his family. You stood back wanting him to have a moment with his family first.

He then walked over to you waiting by the barrier. He smiled at you and lifted you over the barrier placing you on the other side with him. He then kissed you deeply earning some cheers from the Madrid crowd that was still there. He pulled you with him to walk.

“Jude I’m so incredibly proud of you, I know this is your dream and you e finally accomplished it.” You spoke and stopped walking turning to him and grabbing his face to look at him. “Your family is definitely proud of you more than me.” You said thumb stroking his cheek. “I’m just happy you’re here and I wouldn’t want any other girl to celebrate this, you’re my girl and only my girl.” He spoke with a smile on his face looking at you with his brown eyes that were just full of love.

You and Jude walk to some of his teammates, while you talk to some of his teammates. Cama and Tchouameni you haven’t even noticed Jude disappear and come back. All you remember was the two men in front of you smirking but you didn’t think much of it.

“Come with me.” Jude said holding out his hand. You gladly take it and he walks you to the middle of the pitch. “What-.” You say but Jude’s stops you. “Just listen.” He says and takes a deep breath.

“You’ve been with me my whole life practically, you’ve watched me from academy, to Birmingham, to Dortmund, to now in Madrid, you’ve been with me through my highs and lows, you’ve been there to comfort me after a bad match, you’ve been my shoulder to cry on, I truly can’t see myself with anyone else but you.” He spoke with love and sincere.

You watched him as he gets on one knee and pull out a black box. “So will you marry me.” He asked opening the box but fumbles a little from nerves. You stare at him with tears in your eyes. “Yes Jude, I’ll marry you.” You said with a sob. He quickly puts the ring on your finger and stands up pulling you into a loving kiss. Cheers erupting from behind you, from his family, and his teammates.

You blush deeply as Jude pulls away and leans his head on your forehead. “I love you.” He whispers. “I love you too.” You say back.

You and Jude turn to walk back to his teammates and you walk over to his family. His teammates giving him little pats on the back and praise. “It’s beautiful.” Denise said holding your hand looking at the ring. “I’m so happy for you both, I always knew you’d both last forever.” She said pulling you into a hug. Mark and Jobe joining.

Jude comes over and joins the hug also planting a kiss on your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jude are back at the hotel you’ve been staying at the past couple of days. He immediately pushes you to the bed kissing you and not pulling away. “Let me give you my proper celebration first.” You said pulling away. “Ok baby, but then it’s my turn.” He said flipping over so he’s laying on the bed. You smirk and start taking all his clothes off.

Once he’s got all his clothes off, you take all of yours off. You climb onto of him, jerking his cock off and spread the pre cum around his tip. You line him up and sink down onto him in one go. You let out a soft moan and he lets out a groan gripping your hips.

You start rocking your hips slowly to get used to him a little more. “Please baby faster.” Jude begs and the grip on your hips tighten. “Anything for my winner.” You said speeding up you movements and adding a little bounce. You smirk as an idea comes to mind.

You grab the medal around his neck and tug it slightly. Jude letting out a small groan. His cock twitching a little inside you.

You smirk and do it again. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” He moans out thrusting his hips into you. “Cum for me, cum inside me Jude, I’m right with you.” You bend down and whisper into his ear with a moan. He cock twitches before his cum paints your inside. The feeling of it making you cum right behind him.

Taking a little breather, he pulls out and can feel both your cum dripping out. He flips you both over so he’s on top. Thrusting back into you. “Fuck Jude!” You moan out. He goes fast, skin clapping filling the room. “Such a good girl for me.” He mumbles looking down where he’s going in and out.

You tug on his medal again and pull it for him to come down and pull him for a kiss. “Jude, Jude im gonna cum again.” You moan into the kiss. “Cum for me darling.” He said pulling away and taking a hand to rub your clit. That sends you over the edge and you cum around him your pussy clenching around him. “Fuck I’m cumming!” He said doing one final thrust and cums inside again.

You both breathing heavily. He pulls out and kisses you softly before going to the bathroom and getting a warm cloth cleaning you up. Then grabbing you pajamas to put on, helping you but then on. He just throws on a pair of boxers and basketball shorts.

“Goodnight my soon to be wife.” He whispered pulling you to his chest kissing your head. “Goodnight my soon to be husband.” You say back with a whisper and kiss his bare chest.

[ts1m1kas]

Football Masterlist:

requests are open !!

FC BARCELONA:

Pablo Gavi:

Jealous Gavi

Gavi x Shy!Reader

Gavi Angst

Sergio's Niece

Comforting Gavi

Barcelona's Intern

Pedri Gonzales:

Jealous Pedri

REAL MADRID:

Jude Bellingham:

Childhood friends to Lovers

Real Madrid Women's

Jude Angst to fluff

Christmas Proposal

Dedicated Goal

Messi's Daughter

Gavi’s Twin Sister

Club Drama

Proposal of Business

Love in the Right Places

Protective!Jude

Fiancée and Footballer

Behind Closed Doors

Family Introductions (coming soon !)

Aurelien Tchouameni:

Quiet

PARIS SAINT GERMAIN:

Kylian Mbappe:

Jealous Kylian

BAYERN MUNICH:

Jamal Musiala:

Unjustified Anger

Brother's Best Friend

Musical Genius

Comfort

Just Colleagues

Musical Romance

Work Day Nightmare

Hidden Feelings

Lazy Day

Unprofessional Interviews

Bali Daydream

The Art of Proposing

League Celebrations

Post-Pregnancy Blues (coming soon !)

EINTRACHT FRANKFURT:

Robin Koch:

Euro Separation

Euro Separation Part 2

RB LEIPZIG:

Xavi Simons:

First Game Nerves

LIVERPOOL FOOTBALL CLUB:

Virgil Van Dijk:

Virgil Fluff

Kostas Tsimikas:

Kostas' Birthday

Photographer!Reader x Kostas

Secret Wife

Hometown Romance

Andrew Robertson:

Andrew's Injury

Milner's Matchmaking

Ultrasounds of Love

Trent Alexander-Arnold:

Trent Angst to Fluff

Trent Sickfic

Dominik Szoboszlai:

Honeymoon Stage

Blind Date

Alisson Becker:

Difficult Parents

MANCHESTER CITY FOOTBALL CLUB:

Erling Haaland:

Clingy Erling

International Break & It's consequences

Erling's busy schedule

Post Match Glory

Norwegian Mornings

MANCHESTER UNITED FOOTBALL CLUB:

Mason Mount:

Long Lost Lovers

[misamoresanfield]

Only you🤍 - Aurélien Tchouaméni

Summary: You and Aurelien have been talking for a while and feelings have developed between you two. One day, you feel a bit jealous but he's quick to reassure you and ask you the question you've been waiting for.

Warnings: None

-

Spending your days with him was like laying on the softest bed, it filled you with comfort. The more you were around him the more you were convinced that he liked you back, which he had told you. He was gentle with you and always had to make sure you were okay. He would send you 'good morning' texts and when it came to night time, you more often then not, fell asleep on the phone together. Aurelien was someone who gave you butterflies when ever he looked at you and showed his tender side. He would invite you to games, he didn't go to a lot of parties but when he did, he would invite you too. Going on dates with him brought you joy aswell because you could talk to him about whatever. He was really perfect. The only thing that bothered you was the fact that he hadn't made you his girlfriend. Yes, he was a busy man but he always made time for you and it was clear that you guys were couple material. Maybe he would ask you soon.

Today, he had taken you on a shopping spree because he adored buying things for you. You made sure to look extra cute for him as always, getting ready longer than you had intended to. He didn't mind though, giving you your time and waiting for you patiently. Another reason you took your time was because he had told you that he was taking you on a date after. Walking around the expensive shops made you feel like you were slightly out of place. It's not as if you didn't like when he would spend money on you, it's that you didn't want him to spending too much money, especially considering that you guys weren't even in a relationship. You had often told him that he didn't have to buy you anything but he didn't listen. You had finally reached the clothing store he wanted to take you too because he had seen you checking out some dresses in there. There was also a men's section which he wanted to look at as the clothes there were amazing and brilliantly made.

"Oh, this is cute." You spoke as a gorgeous baby pink dress caught your eye. The lace around it added to it's appearance, bringing out the main colour, your favourite.

"You want it?" He asked gently, wanting to buy it for you. He thought it would look unreal on you, but you would look good in anything.

"I would have to try it on first Aure." You chuckled a little at his determination. He was so sweet. You wanted to buy something for him too but you couldn't think of anything. "I like this one aswell." Seeing a green dress this time.

You decided you were going to try on both of the dresses, making your way to the fitting rooms so that you could do so. The pink dress fit you very well whilst the green one was a bit too big and they didn't have your actual size. Actually seeing the dress on yourself made you realise that you weren't too fond of the cut and so you decided to stick with the pink dress about ten minutes later. Aurelien had told you that he was going to be in the men's section so you immediately went there after kindly giving the worker the green dress back, thanking them after. As you approached the section, you saw him and talking to another woman. She was giggling way too much for your liking. Deciding to observe the conversation before interrupting, you could see that he wasn't showing her any interest back, only being nice to her. You wanted to go and drag him away, but you were a classy woman and would act like it. What frustrated you even more was the fact that even though he seemed to not enjoy the conversation, he hadn't walked away, being kind to her. Maybe you were just overthinking it and it really wasn't that deep. The woman continued to chuckle and chuckle acting as if Aurelien was the funniest man in the whole wide world. He wasn't even smiling but once he saw you, he did. He found it adorable how hard you were pretending not to be bothered by what was going on. Knowing that you liked him was making this whole thing funnier. You eventually came over and wrapped your arms around him in a territorial embrace as the woman's annoyed facial expression came out. He knew why you were doing it and went along with it, calling you 'babe' so that she would walk away, which she did after a minute.

"Look at you being all jealous." He began teasing you when you two were finally alone. He could see how shy you were getting through your actions and defensiveness.

"I wasn't jealous." You shot back, knowing damn well that was a lie. You were never going to admit it to him because you knew it would boost his ego. He was an incredibly kind person but you weren't going to let him get the satisfaction.

"Yeah, sure." He let out a soft little chuckle. It made him feel kind of relieved in a way that you were jealous because he could see that you really liked him. You had told him, of course, but it was cute to see you like this. "Come on, let me buy you your dress."

You followed him to the till where he also brought himself a cap and a pair of sunglasses along with your dress. The store gathered the attention of mostly rich people and so it wasn't shocking that everything was so expensive. It was so generous of him to want to spend money on you even if he didn't have to. It showed how much he wanted you. You were nothing more than delighted and grateful for everything he had done for you. When the items had been purchased, you two left the store, enjoying each other's presence. He meant so much to you and you meant so much to him. He was the cutest ever.

"Thank you for the dress." You began in a soft tone. The way he would spoil you was more than any man had ever done for you.

"You know you're the only girl I want?" Aurelien spoke, placing his arm around you in a gentle manner. Butterflies erupted in you stomach immediately. Why was he so sexy?

"And you're the only boy I want." You voiced back, slightly looking up at him. He couldn't help but let out an adorable smile as you confirmed what he wanted to hear.

"Good." When he moved his arm off of you and back to his side, you decided to take his hand in yours which he let you do. It had become something you would normally do when you hung out together. "You love holding my hand, don't you?" He continued grinning.

"Yeah, what about it?" You answered him truthfully but jokingly. You knew he liked it too so you were going to keep doing it.

"Nothing. It's cute." He chuckled a little at your comment, looking down at you with those pearly brown eyes.

"That's what I thought." He continued giggling hearing you teasing him. He found everything you did alluring and enchanting. "You probably thought that worker was cute aswell."

"I think it's cute that you were jealous." He was such a gorgeous man and so it was difficult not to blush at every thing he said.

"I wasn't jealous Aure." You stated again which he wasn't going to believe at all. You knew how he acted with you was genuine and that he wouldn't do anything to hurt you. He was an honest man.

"That's why you were annoyed? And that's why you came and hugged me in front of her?" He chuckled as he could see right through you, no matter how many times you denied it.

"Shut up." You retorted, causing him to laugh even more. That man was head over heels for you and you were head over heels for him.

"Well, as I said before, you're the only woman I want. I can promise you that." He reassured you again. He was being very serious. "Most of the girls that look at me and whatever, they only want my money and my fame. You're genuine and my feelings for you are strong. You're so beautiful." You blushed and beamed from ear to ear.

During the rest of the afternoon, you guys just hung out and went to visit other stores, looking at watches, books and interesting objects. You even went to visit a museum, appreciating each other and being content with your feelings. It was a beautiful day with the sun radiating it's happiness in the sky. This was the perfect day for you. When you both got hungry, he took you to a restaurant you had never heard of before. It was going to be something new. He didn't even ask you where you wanted to eat because he knew that you wouldn't be able to answer. Unbeknownst to you, he had planned out the entire day. You arrived at the restaurant around 7pm with. The sun had gone away and the evening was apparent. You both were immediately taken to your table as it was empty. You could tell by the designs that it was a very expensive place. A few minutes later, you ordered your drinks and started talking about life in general. He listened to you so attentively, paying attention to every word. When he would speak you would do the same. You were given your starters shortly after, which were delicious, you could've just eaten that for the rest of your life. Aurelien really knew how to pick a restaurant. Eventually you were given your main meal which you were stunned by. It was amazingly cooked and tasted better than anything you had ever tasted before, except your mother's food because who didn't love their mothers cooking? Everything was flawless. He loved that you were so comfortable around him and vice versa. It highlighted how well you two went together. After about thirty minutes, you had finished eating but wished you hadn't. He proposed the idea of dessert which you obviously were not going to refuse. Before you could order however, the waiter brought a big beautiful bouquet of pink roses. It was clear that Aurelien had organised this whole thing.

"Thank you so much Aure." You would've thought your cheeks were as pink as those rose and to be honest, it was a far fetched comparison, covering your face with the hand that wasn't holding them.

"My pleasure beautiful. You deserve them." He returned to you. Why was he such a gentleman? This was like the sixth time you had asked that question to yourself just today.

You guys ordered your desserts and ate in complete peace. It was brilliant, just like the rest of the food you had been served with this evening. There was no way that you weren't going to be returning to this restaurant again. You were blown away but what Aurelien had done and how good the service was. You didn't want to leave the restaurant but when you had finished and after he had paid, it was time to return back to your hotel. The drive back was extraordinary as you looked at view and attractions of the city. You hadn't been around these parts often, it was moments like these that emphasised that feelings you had for him. As soon as you arrived back at your hotel, you rushed to your room, feeling exhausted from the day you had, though you weren't going to get much sleep. Walking in, you instantly gasped by what you saw as Aurelien smiled behind you. Ballons hung, reading out 'will you be my girlfriend?', some were heart shaped and the others were grey and baby pink. He was the best ever. He was so thoughtful and very sweet. Candles had been set up on the floor as a path towards the bed which you were definitely going to use and a gift sat atop it, with pink flowers around it.

"Yess Aurelien." You squealed, hugging him immensely before he gently pulled your face down to peck your lips. Your dream man was now your boyfriend. "Thank you so much."

"Anything for my girl." He kissed you again, sending sparks flying through the roof. This was better than you could have imagined.

The rest of the night you spent together, making out on your hotel bed and eventually doing the deed. He deserved some. He was your boyfriend and you couldn't ask for a better one. You were going to be the best girlfriend you could be to him, knowing that he would treat you right and take care of you always.

-

I hope you guys enjoyed🤍 I hope the language wasn't to repetitive, I was in a rush x

Another Trent one coming soon🤍

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 2) ────── iamquaintrelle

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

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and everyday 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.

It's been three days since The Comment™️, and Leila's standing in front of her bathroom mirror trying to make her box braids cooperate while simultaneously giving herself a pep talk about professional boundaries. The Madrid morning sun is streaming through her apartment window, making the gold threads in her hair shimmer like they're trying to show off.

"Just another day at the office," she mutters to her reflection. "A very expensive office with a very beautiful boss who thinks you're just okay."

Her phone buzzes – probably Yolanda's daily check-in. Her best friend had been skeptical from day one about this whole situation.

"Girl, you know how them African men be," Yolanda had said when Leila first got the job, and Leila had immediately jumped to defend against the stereotype because hello? It's 2024 and we're really still doing this?

But now? Standing here in her Madrid apartment getting ready to face another day of Aurélien's casual touches and unconscious flirting that apparently meant nothing? Maybe Yolanda had a point. Not about African men in general – that's still a trash take – but about Aurélien specifically.

Because yeah, he's French on paper, but his blood is pure Cameroonian and she's been around him long enough to see it clear as day. The way he'd shown off during that Bridge show with Samuel Eto'o and Francis Ngannou, like he was just kickin' it with his cousins. How he switches between French and that specific Cameroonian-French dialect when he's on the phone with his family. The way his whole demeanor shifts when his mama's cooking pondu.

She reaches for her most professional blazer – the one that says "I'm here to work, not to pine over you like a teenager." No more of those oversized sweaters he likes to cuddle into during morning meetings. No more letting him play with her braids while they review his schedule. No more melting when he calls her "ma puce" in that rough morning voice.

Her phone buzzes again. This time it's a text from the man himself:

Boss Man AT: Can you bring breakfast today? Missing your biscuits...

Three days ago, that message would've had her rushing to the kitchen to whip up his favorites. Now? She types back a crisp: You have a fully stocked kitchen and a recipe book. I'll see you at 9 for the Nike meeting.

She can almost see his confused face, probably wondering why his reliable source of Southern comfort food is suddenly acting brand new. But that's what he wanted, right? Just okay means just business.

"Keep that same energy," she tells her reflection, adjusting her blazer one last time. No more of this Georgia peach sweetness. If he wants okay, she can give him okay. Professional okay. Efficient okay. The kind of okay that doesn't make him honey brown sugar wings or laugh at his bad jokes or pretend not to notice when he falls asleep on her shoulder during long flights.

The kind of okay that doesn't catch feelings for men who see her as nothing more than a convenient source of soul food and schedule management.

Another text from him: Are you mad at me?

She stares at it for a long moment. Types and deletes three different responses before settling on: I'll have your schedule ready when I arrive.

Because what's she supposed to say? "Yes, I'm mad because you called me okay while I've been over here catching feelings like a whole idiot"? "No, I'm not mad, I'm just heartbroken because I let myself forget that I'm just the help"?

Her mama didn't raise no fool, even if her heart's been acting like one lately. Time to remember that this is just a job. A really good job with excellent benefits and a boss who's unfairly gorgeous and who probably has half the models in Europe on speed dial.

"Just another day at the office," she repeats, grabbing her keys and her emotional support water bottle. Just another day of pretending her heart doesn't do backflips every time he smiles.

But this time? This time she's keeping those backflips strictly professional.

Even if it kills her.

The drive to Aurélien's place feels different when you're trying to maintain professional boundaries. No more stopping at that little café he loves for pain au chocolat. No more singing along to his playlist that she definitely hasn't downloaded (okay, she has, but she's not playing it today). Just straight business, straight roads, straight to the point.

When she pulls up to his gate, she hesitates before punching in the code. Three days ago, she'd have walked right in, probably already planning what to cook for his breakfast. Now she hits the intercom instead.

"Yes?" His voice crackles through the speaker, sounding confused because she never uses this thing.

"It's Leila. Here for the Nike meeting prep."

A pause. Long enough that she almost thinks he's not going to buzz her in. Then: "Since when do you use the intercom, ma puce?"

"Since it's the professional thing to do," she answers, proud that her voice stays steady even though that pet name still hits her right in the chest. "Can you let me in? We're on a schedule."

Another pause, then the gate swings open. She drives up the familiar path, noticing Ocho already at the front door, tail wagging like he's personally offended she hasn't been properly spoiling him these past few days.

Aurélien opens the door before she can knock (because yeah, she was going to knock too – new professional Leila is committed). He's standing there in just his training shorts, hair still wet from the shower, looking like some kind of trap God had specifically designed to test her resolve.

"You're really gonna knock?" he asks, that little furrow between his brows that usually means he's trying to figure out a tactical problem on the field. "At your own house?"

"This isn't my house," she corrects him, sliding past without their usual hug even though Ocho is doing his best to trip her up for pets. "It's your house. I'm your PA."

She sets up her laptop at the kitchen island – not the couch where they usually do morning meetings, because that's too comfortable, too familiar, too many memories of him playing with her braids while they go over his schedule.

"Leila."

"The Nike people want to go over the new contract clauses," she says, pulling up her notes without looking at him. "And then you have that photoshoot for–"

"Leila." His voice is closer now, right behind her chair. "Look at me."

"We don't have time–"

"Since when?"

She finally turns, finds him looking at her with an expression she can't quite read. "Since when what?"

"Since when don't we have time? Since when do you use the intercom? Since when do you not make breakfast? Since when are you not you?"

And that? That actually makes her mad. Because who is he to question who she is when he's the one who reduced her entire existence to "okay"?

"Since I remembered what my job actually is," she says, turning back to her laptop. "Now can we focus? The Nike meeting is at nine and you still need to get dressed. Something professional please, not those ripped jeans you love."

"Ma puce–"

"And stop calling me that." The words come out sharper than she intended. "I'm your PA, not your–"

She cuts herself off because what was she going to say? Not your friend? Not your cook? Not your emotional support Black girl who's been stupid enough to catch feelings?

"Not my what?" Now he sounds almost angry, which is rich coming from someone who's the actual cause of this whole situation.

"Not important," she finishes, pulling up his calendar. "Now about the Nike meeting–"

"Who said you're not important?"

The genuine confusion in his voice almost breaks her. Almost makes her want to look at him. Almost makes her want to explain everything.

Almost.

"Your schedule is updated for the week," she says instead. "I've coordinated with Jules about that charity event, and your mother called about dinner on–"

His hand appears in her field of vision, closing her laptop. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I'm just doing my job. The job you pay me for. Now can you please get dressed? We have a meeting to prepare for and you're..." she waves vaguely at his general shirtless situation, "...distracting."

That last word slips out before she can catch it, and she sees the way his expression shifts, like he's just caught the scent of something interesting on the field.

"Distracting?"

"Unprofessional," she corrects quickly. "You're being unprofessional. Shirt. Now. Please."

He doesn't move, just keeps looking at her like she's a puzzle he's trying to solve. "Did I do something?"

Yes. No. Maybe. You made me fall in love with you and then called me okay and I don't know how to handle any of this.

"You did nothing," she says, and at least that part is true. He did nothing because she means nothing. She's just okay. "But we're going to be late if you don't get dressed."

He stays there for another moment, like he's waiting for something. Then finally: "D'accord. But this conversation isn't over."

"The only conversation we need to have is about the Nike contract," she calls after him as he heads upstairs. "And please wear the blue suit! The grey one needs pressing!"

She waits until she hears his bedroom door close before letting out the breath she's been holding. Just another day at the office. Just another day of pretending her heart isn't breaking.

She can do this.

She absolutely cannot do this.

The Nike headquarters in Madrid is all glass and chrome and people who look like they just stepped out of a lifestyle blog. Leila follows Aurélien into the conference room, tablet in hand, trying to maintain that professional distance even though he keeps finding reasons to touch her lower back as they walk. Old habits die hard, apparently.

She's setting up her notes when she feels it – that distinct sensation of being watched. She glances up to find one of the Nike interns looking at her like she's a whole snack, and not in that lowkey way she's used to dealing with. Man is straight up LOOKING looking.

He's cute, objectively speaking. Marco, according to his badge. All honey-toned skin and warm brown eyes, perfectly styled dark hair and a smile that probably works wonders on dating apps. Not usually her type – she tends to gravitate toward men built like NBA players, dark skin, the kind of smile that lights up rooms (she's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT) – but maybe Yolanda's right. Maybe she needs to expand her horizons.

The meeting starts, and she's trying to focus on contract clauses and marketing strategies, but she keeps catching Marco's eyes across the table. He's definitely interested, shooting her these little smiles that make her feel seen in a way she hasn't since... well. Since that comment.

She's so focused on not focusing on Marco that she almost misses the shift in Aurélien's energy. Almost, but not quite. Because she knows this man's moods like she knows her mama's recipes, and right now? He's got that same energy he gets when someone makes a bad tackle in training.

"As I was saying," Marco's speaking now, something about social media integration, but Aurélien cuts him off.

"My PA handles all my social media coordination," he says, voice carrying that edge she usually only hears when journalists ask stupid questions. "Leila has final say on everything."

She blinks because that's... not true? Like, she helps with his social media but she definitely doesn't have "final say" on anything. She's about to correct him when she feels his hand on her knee under the table, a touch that would've made her melt three days ago but now just confuses her.

The meeting wraps up, all handshakes and professional smiles, and she's gathering her things when Marco approaches her desk.

"Hey," he smiles, and yeah, okay, maybe she could get used to this type that isn't her type. "I was thinking, you know, for coordination purposes..."

He slides his business card across the table, and she doesn't need to flip it over to know his personal number is on the back. This isn't her first rodeo with smooth corporate boys.

"For coordination," she repeats, trying not to smile too obviously. Behind her, she swears she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight.

"Purely professional," Marco grins, but his eyes say something entirely different. "Although if you wanted to discuss strategy over dinner sometime..."

"Leila." Aurélien's voice cuts through whatever smoothness Marco was about to deploy. "We have that thing."

"What thing?" she asks, because they absolutely do not have a thing.

"That thing," he insists, and now his hand is back on her lower back, more possessive than guiding. "You know, the important one."

Marco looks between them, something knowing in his expression that makes Leila want to explain that it's not like that, that she's just "okay" actually, that her boss just has boundary issues.

Instead, she takes the card, making sure her fingers brush against Marco's just because she can. Just because maybe she needs to remind herself that she's not completely invisible to the male population. Just because maybe she needs Aurélien to see that she can be more than okay to someone else.

"I'll call if we need to... coordinate," she says, and Marco's answering smile is bright enough to light up the room.

She feels Aurélien's fingers flex against her back.

"Great meeting," he says, but his voice suggests it was anything but. "We should go. For the thing."

"Right," she sighs, gathering her tablet. "The very important thing that definitely exists."

She lets him guide her out, very aware of Marco's eyes following them, even more aware of how Aurélien's hand hasn't left her back. The card feels like it's burning a hole in her pocket, a tiny rebellion against... what exactly? Her type? Her feelings? The man currently trying to speed-walk her to the elevator like she might sprint back to that conference room if he moves too slow?

"So," she says once they're alone in the elevator. "What's this very important thing we're apparently late for?"

"Lunch," he says shortly. "With my mother."

"Your mother is in Paris."

"Then I guess we'll have to FaceTime her."

She looks at him then, really looks at him for the first time in three days. He's got that jaw clench going on, the one that usually means he's stressed about a big match. But they don't have any games this week, so...

"You're really going to pretend we have lunch plans just because that intern was trying to–"

"He wasn't trying to coordinate anything," Aurélien cuts her off, stabbing the lobby button like it personally offended him. "He was trying to–"

"To what?" She's actually curious now. "To ask out your 'okay' PA?"

His head snaps toward her so fast she's worried about whiplash. "What did you just say?"

But the elevator doors are opening and she's already moving, putting that professional distance back between them. She's got Marco's card in her pocket and a whole new perspective on her "type" and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of her power back.

She feels his eyes on her all the way to his car, and she's not thinking about what that means.

She's not. She absolutely is.

The drive to wherever they're going is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Leila's pressed against the passenger door of his Urus like she's trying to become one with it, while Aurélien's got both hands on the wheel (for once) and is chewing on his bottom lip like it personally offended him. Every now and then he mumbles something in that mix of French and Cameroonian dialect that she's pretty sure isn't appropriate for polite company.

She pretends to be very interested in her phone, definitely not stealing glances at how his jaw is doing that clenching thing or how his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

They end up at this little place in the heart of Madrid that she knows for a fact isn't on his approved restaurant list (his nutritionist is going to have WORDS), but she's not about to remind him. Not when he's radiating this energy that's somewhere between "post-loss press conference" and "that time Jude ate his last protein bar."

They're barely settled into their seats when his phone starts ringing, his mama's face lighting up the screen.

"Maman," he answers, immediately softening like he always does for her. "Oui, je suis avec Leila."

"My baby!" His mother's voice carries through the speaker. "Why haven't you been feeding my son, chérie? He's looking thin."

Leila can't help but smile because trust Josette Tchouaméni to get straight to the point. "He has a fully stocked kitchen and knows how to use it."

"Ah, so that's why he's pouting? No more of your cooking?"

"Maman," Aurélien protests, but his mother waves him off.

"Don't 'maman' me. What did you do to make her stop cooking for you? You know Leila only cooks for people she l–"

"How's Papa?" Aurélien cuts in quickly, and Leila pretends not to notice the nervous tick in his neck. "Is his back better?"

They chat for a few more minutes, his mother expertly guilting them both about not visiting enough, before hanging up. The waiter brings their food – definitely not nutritionist approved – and they eat in silence for a moment before:

"I'm headed to Clairefontaine on Thursday."

"Yeah, I know," she doesn't look up from her plate. "I manage your schedule, remember?"

"You should come."

She squints at him across the table. She's only been to Clairefontaine once, before the Euros last summer. It wasn't awful – actually kind of nice, if you ignore how she spent half the time trying not to openly stare at what was essentially a collection of the finest Black men French football had to offer. But still.

"I have a hair appointment that day."

His lips curl into that smirk that usually means trouble. "So catch a flight after. Your girl doesn't close until seven anyway."

She narrows her eyes because how does he know her stylist's hours? "Why do I need to come to Clairefontaine?"

"Because..." he takes a deliberately slow bite of his food, "it's your job, ma puce."

The way he says 'job' makes it sound like something else entirely. She watches him continue eating like he hasn't just completely disrupted her plans for a peaceful Thursday of getting her hair done and definitely not thinking about him.

"My job is to manage your schedule, not babysit you at national team camp."

"Mhm," he hums around another bite. "And since my schedule includes Clairefontaine..."

"I can manage your schedule from Madrid."

"You could," he agrees, finally looking up at her. "But then who's going to make sure I eat properly?"

"The team has nutritionists."

"Who's going to organize my recovery sessions?"

"The physios."

"Who's going to keep me company when I can't sleep before matches?"

"I'm sure one of your many model friends would be happy to–"

She stops herself but it's too late. His eyes sharpen with interest.

"Is that what this is about? The models?"

"This is about maintaining professional boundaries," she says primly, stabbing at her salad. "Something you seem to have trouble with."

"Says the woman who just gave her number to a Nike intern."

"I did not give him my number. He gave me his card. For coordination purposes."

Aurélien actually snorts. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

"You know what?" She pushes her plate away. "I don't actually have to explain myself to you. You're my boss, remember? Just my okay boss with his okay PA who–"

"What did you just say?"

But she's already standing, gathering her things. "I'll book your usual room at Clairefontaine."

She's halfway to the door when his voice stops her:

"It has a spa. For after your hair appointment."

She doesn't turn around, but she doesn't keep walking either.

"And Marcus will be there. You know he loves your cornbread."

Now that's just playing dirty. Marcus Thuram makes actual puppy eyes when she cooks.

"And Ibou's been asking about you."

"Stop trying to bribe me."

"Is it working?"

She finally turns to find him watching her with that look that usually means he's about to score a goal. Like he already knows he's won but he's going to enjoy the game anyway.

"I'll think about it."

His smile is immediate and bright. "I'll have the jet ready after your appointment."

"I didn't say yes!"

But he's already back to eating, that satisfied smirk still playing on his lips. "Whatever you say, ma puce. Whatever you say."

She leaves the restaurant knowing two things:

1. She's definitely going to Clairefontaine

2. She's absolutely screwed

The drizzle at Clairefontaine is doing absolutely criminal things to Leila's press and curl while she stands next to Didier Deschamps, holding an umbrella and questioning all her life choices. Primarily the choice to listen to Theresa about "giving her hair a break from braids" without checking the weather app first, because now she's stuck in three days of rain before they head to Budapest for their match against IsNotReal (and really, of ALL the teams they could've drawn...).

But it's hard to be too mad about anything when she's got what might be the finest collection of Black men outside of Essence Fest running laps in front of her. Because listen. LISTEN. Nobody prepared her for this part of the PA job – standing here getting a whole panoramic view of what happens when God decides to show all the way out.

The French national team lineup has literally a flavor for every girl's type of man, and somebody needs to preserve this in the Louvre immediately because it's giving museum quality. You want light skins with braids? They got that. Light skins with locs? Present. Light skins with fades? Check. Tall dark skin thicker than a Snickers with fades that look like they could bench press a car? Baby, they got that too. Tall dark skin sprinter built with fades that look like they could outrun your commitment issues? Absolutely. Tall basketball player types with perfect taper fades? (She's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT.) Brown skins that look like they walked straight out of your prayers? Every single shade in the Fenty foundation range is represented and they're all just... running around like this is normal.

Her eyes might be doing a little too much as they jog past, that subtle up-down-up scanning that would have her mama reaching for a switch if she could see her now. But honestly? She's just doing what any person with working eyes would do – appreciating art. Very fine, very athletic art that's currently glistening in the rain like they're being professionally lit by God's personal lighting crew.

And speaking of divine lighting – here comes Aurélien jogging past with Cama and Jules, looking like every single one of her inappropriate thoughts decided to take human form. His curls are getting damp from the rain, skin gleaming, and this man has the absolute AUDACITY to throw her a wink as he passes. Like he didn't just catch her mentally drafting half the national team like it was fantasy football but make it fine as hell.

She rolls her eyes at him because she refuses to give him the satisfaction, but who is she kidding? That smirk he sends back is doing things to her blood pressure that should probably be illegal in at least twelve countries.

"Everything okay?" Didier asks in his heavily accented voice, and she realizes she might have sighed a little too loudly.

"Just thinking about the rain," she lies smoothly, definitely not thinking about how Aur��lien's training shorts are a personal attack at this point. "And my hair."

Didier chuckles like he knows exactly what she's actually thinking about, which is mortifying because here she is thirsting over his players like she's running a whole scouting combine.

Another lap, another parade of fine men, and this time Aurélien breaks formation just to jog backward in front of her, showing off because apparently being a whole football god isn't enough – he has to be extra about it too.

"Hair looks nice, ma puce," he calls out, and she contemplates whether hitting him with her umbrella would violate her contract.

"Yeux devant, Tchouaméni," Didier calls, but she can hear the amusement in his voice.

Aurélien rejoins the group, but not before shooting her another one of those looks that makes her want to call his mama and apologize in advance for all the unholy thoughts she's having about her son.

The rain picks up and she can feel her press and curl starting to revert. Theresa really gonna have to catch her hands when she gets back to Madrid because this is just disrespectful. But then the team comes around for another lap, looking like a whole Nike commercial directed by God himself, and maybe... maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.

She's just here doing her job, really. Managing schedules. Taking notes. Definitely not ranking every player by fine-ness while pretending to pay attention to Didier's tactical discussion.

But she's absolutely getting braids next time.

And probably need to schedule a confession.

Because the thoughts she's having about Aurélien in those shorts are absolutely not suitable for public consumption.

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

Walking into the Clairefontaine cafeteria with her dinner tray feels like high school all over again, except this time instead of mean girls and math nerds, she's surrounded by some of the finest specimens of manhood France has ever produced. The air is thick with rapid-fire French conversations coming from every direction, and listen – Leila's trying her best out here but her Duolingo streak is only two weeks old. All she's got to work with is what Aurélien's taught her, which is mostly just curse words for traffic situations and terms of endearment that make her heart do stupid things.

She's scanning for a quiet corner to recalibrate after spending all afternoon trying not to obviously thirst over the practice session (and maybe say a prayer for her hair which is somehow still holding on), when–

"Mon chérie amour!"

That deep voice could only belong to one person. Her eyes find Marcus Thuram, all 6'4" of him, looking like he walked off a GQ cover. He's waving her over like an excited puppy, except he's built like a whole defensive line and honestly? It should be illegal to be that fine and that adorable at the same time.

Michael Olise scoots over to make room for her, and suddenly she's surrounded by what might actually be the most attractive table in all of France. There's Ibou with his model face, Ousmane with those big doe eyes of his, Khephren (who definitely got the same genes as his brother), Mike Maignan looking like Black Panther's M'Baku's fine ass cousin (which is exactly why she calls him that in her head), and William Saliba who's just... respectfully fine as hell.

And because the universe has a sense of humor, literally a foot away are Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – who's currently looking at Marcus like he personally offended his entire ancestral line. What is his problem?

"You have to cook for us tomorrow," Marcus is saying, fixing her with those puppy eyes that should come with a warning label. "Please?"

"The nutritionists will murder me," she protests, but Marcus's pout could probably end wars. Actually end them.

Khephren says something in French that makes Marcus flip him off, and she catches just enough to know he's teasing his brother about the puppy eyes.

"Maybe I can make something before we leave..."

"Why does he get special treatment?" Mike cuts in, looking absolutely offended. "What about me?"

And suddenly it's like she's unleashed chaos because they're all talking at once in French, each making their case for why they deserve her cooking, and her head is SPINNING.

"Tranquille!" she yells in French, one of the few words she actually knows how to use properly, and they all freeze mid-argument, looking at her with varying degrees of surprise.

"I'll cook for everyone, okay?" She can't help but smirk at their hopeful faces. "Rice and beans..."

"Yes!" Mike's practically bouncing in his seat.

"Macaroni and cheese, fried chicken..."

The way these men start rubbing their hands together like cartoon villains is sending her.

"And," she pauses because she knows what's coming, "the pièce de résistance... collard greens cooked with smoked turkey necks."

"Oh mon dieu!" William actually looks skyward, prayer hands and all, like she just announced the second coming.

"Wait," Jules pipes up, "no cornbread?"

And then they're ALL looking at her like she just canceled Christmas, a whole table of professional athletes about to riot over the possibility of no cornbread.

"Yes," she groans, but she's fighting a smile. "There will always be cornbread."

Marcus grabs her hand and actually kisses it like she just promised him the keys to heaven instead of some soul food, and she catches Aurélien's fork bending slightly in his grip.

"You're an angel," Marcus declares, still holding her hand. "A Black American angel sent to save us from protein shakes and steamed chicken."

"Si tu ne laisses pas sa main," Aurélien's voice carries over, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, "Vous ne pourrez pas tenir une fourchette pour en manger."

But Marcus just grins wider, because apparently he has a death wish. "Shut up."

Leila looks between them, trying to figure out what's happening, but then Ibou starts listing all his favorite soul food dishes in his accented English, and she's pulled back into what's becoming an impromptu menu planning session with some of the most attractive men in Europe.

Just another day at the office, right?

"The mac and cheese," Mike is saying with the seriousness of someone discussing world peace, "it will have the crust on top, non?"

"Boy, who you think raised me?" Leila puts a hand to her chest, offended. "Of course it has the crust. What kind of woman you think I am?"

"The best kind," Marcus grins, and she swears she hears something snap at Aurélien's table. Probably another fork. RIP to Clairefontaine's cutlery budget.

Khephren leans forward, all earnest eyes and ridiculous cheekbones. "The last time you cooked, Aure brought leftovers to training and wouldn't share."

"Because it wasn't for y'all," Aurélien cuts in, and when did he get close enough to join the conversation? "She made that for me specifically."

"Technically," Jules pipes up because he lives for chaos apparently, "she made it for movie night but you claimed the whole container."

"Speaking of claiming things," William says with a smile that means trouble, "Leila, you free Saturday? There's this nice restaurant in Paris–"

"She's busy." Aurélien doesn't even let him finish.

"I don't remember asking you," William shoots back, still smiling. "Unless you're her secretary now too?"

"I'm her–" Aurélien starts, then stops, jaw working like he's trying to find the right words.

"Her what?" Marcus asks innocently, but his eyes are dancing with mischief. "Her boss who thinks she's just okay?"

The whole table goes quiet and Leila nearly chokes on her water because how did he– she looks at Jules who suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting.

"That's not," Aurélien's actually flustered now, "I didn't mean–"

"Because if she's just okay," Ibou joins in because apparently it's National Roast Aurélien Day, "then you won't mind if she comes to Liverpool next weekend? My mama's been asking about her cooking."

"Your mama hasn't even met her!"

"But she will when Leila comes to visit."

"She's not going to Liverpool." Aurelien said flatly.

"Again," William’s grin is wicked now, "pretty sure that's not your decision, mon ami."

Leila watches this tennis match of tension with growing fascination.

"I'm right here," she reminds them. "And I can decide for myself where I–"

"You should come to Monaco," Khephren cuts in smoothly. "Much nicer than Liverpool. Better weather."

"Excuse me?" Ibou looks personally offended.

"The disrespect," William shakes his head. "Everyone knows London is better than both."

"London?" Mike scoffs. "Milan clears."

And suddenly they're all arguing about whose city is better, each making their case for why she should visit them, and she's sitting there wondering how this dinner turned into The Bachelorette: European Footballer Edition.

"I have an idea," Marcus says loud enough to cut through the chaos. "Why doesn't Leila decide where she wants to go?"

They all turn to look at her expectantly, even Aurélien who's looking like he's one suggestion away from tackling somebody.

"I..." she looks around at all these ridiculous, beautiful men and can't help but laugh. "I haven't even cooked for y'all yet and you're already planning my European tour?"

"The cooking is just a bonus," William winks. "It's your company I want."

"Isn't that right, Auré?" Jules adds with fake innocence.

Aurélien stands up so abruptly his chair scrapes against the floor. "We have an early training session tomorrow. Leila, we should go over the schedule."

"The schedule that's already printed and distributed to everyone?" she asks sweetly.

"Yes. That one. Now."

"But we haven't even gotten to dessert," Marcus protests. "She hasn't told us if she's making sweet potato pie."

"Or banana pudding," Mike adds hopefully.

"Or–"

"Now, Leila."

She looks at his face – jaw clenched, eyes intense – and sighs. "Fine. But y'all better not change any of these dinner requests while I'm gone. My grocery list is already looking like I'm feeding a small army."

"An army of fine men who appreciate you," Marcus says just loud enough for Aurélien to hear, and she's pretty sure she sees a vein pulse in his forehead.

"Five minutes," Aurélien grits out. "I'll be in the conference room."

He stalks off like a man on a mission, and Jules is trying so hard not to laugh he's actually shaking with it.

"So," William grins once Aurélien's out of earshot, "about that dinner in Paris..."

"Don't push it," Jules warns, but he's smiling. "Let him suffer a little longer first."

"Let who suffer?" Leila asks, but they all just share knowing looks that make her feel like she's missing something obvious.

"Just remember," Marcus calls as she gets up to follow Aurélien, "I asked for your cooking first!"

"But I appreciated it more!" Mike argues.

"Shut up," Ibou cuts in, "I offered a whole trip to Liverpool!"

She leaves them bickering, shaking her head but smiling. These men are ridiculous and fine and absolutely too much.

But mostly? She's wondering why Aurélien looked ready to commit multiple homicides over some dinner plans.

The conference room feels too small with just the two of them in it, Aurélien pacing like a caged lion while Leila stands by the door wondering what kind of alternate universe she's stepped into. The "okay" comment is hanging in the air between them like an uninvited guest, but he's apparently choosing to ignore it completely.

"You can't date the team," he says abruptly, stopping his pacing to look at her.

She actually chokes on air because WHAT? "I'm sorry?"

"The team. You can't date them."

"I wasn't–" she sputters, trying to make sense of this conversation. "I wasn't planning to?"

"Good." His jaw is doing that thing it does before big matches, all tense and sharp enough to cut glass. "I'll handle them."

"Handle them?" She's really trying to follow his logic here. "Handle what exactly? They were just asking about food–"

"William asked you to dinner."

"As a joke!"

"Marcus kissed your hand."

"Because I promised him cornbread! Are you hearing yourself right now?"

But he's already heading for the door, radiating big "I'm going to fight everyone" energy. "I'll handle it," he repeats.

"Aurélien–"

"Just... no dating the team." He pauses at the door, not quite looking at her. "It's not professional."

And then he's gone, stalking down the hallway, leaving her standing there wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

Because that wasn't about professionalism. That wasn't about team dynamics. That was...

"What the fuck was that about?" she asks the empty conference room, but the conference room, unhelpfully, doesn't answer.

And she's definitely not thinking about how his eyes looked when Marcus kissed her hand. Or how his voice got all low and dangerous when William mentioned dinner. Or how this whole thing feels a lot like...

Nope. Not going there.

She's absolutely going there, but first, she needs to figure out how to keep him from murdering half the French national team over some cornbread.

Being the only PA at Clairefontaine isn't supposed to feel like a big deal, but it absolutely is. Leila's trying not to think too hard about how many strings Aurélien must've pulled to get her here – because thinking about that means thinking about why, and she's not ready to unpack all that before breakfast.

She's good at her job, sure. Got Didier wrapped around her finger from day one. And yeah, okay, maybe she's particularly good at handling high-maintenance footballers thanks to her natural sociability and endless patience.

But still. This is the French national team. These things don't just happen.

Kind of like how it didn't just happen that she spent three whole days before meeting Aurélien practicing his name, saying it over and over. The way his whole face had lit up when she got it right that first time, like she'd given him a gift instead of just basic pronunciation courtesy.

And maybe that was the beginning of how seamlessly she fit into his life, like there'd been a Leila-shaped space just waiting for her to fill it. Like they were made to–

Nope. Absolutely not. We are NOT doing this today.

She pulls on her wide-leg navy sweats and the national team long sleeve she sweet-talked out of the kit manager last night (her smile works wonders on everyone except apparently the one person she actually wants it to work on). Her silk press is still miraculously holding on, pulled up in a ponytail that Theresa would probably yell at her for, but whatever. She's got bigger problems right now.

The cafeteria is already buzzing when she walks in, full of sleepy footballers trying to fuel up before morning training. She spots her usual suspects – Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – at their regular table, and takes a deep breath before heading over.

"Morning sunshine," Cama greets her in English, because he's actually an angel who notices when people are struggling with rapid-fire French at seven in the morning. "Sleep well?"

"As well as anyone can sleep knowing they have to cook for twenty professional athletes in Sunday," she replies, sliding into her seat.

Jules snorts into his protein shake. "More like thirty. Pretty sure half the staff want in on this soul food situation too."

Aurélien doesn't say anything, just watches her over his coffee cup with those eyes that are entirely too intense for this early in the morning. His voice, when he finally speaks, is still rough with sleep and she hates that it still affects her like this.

"You don't have to cook for everyone," he says, and there's that edge again from yesterday. "They can't just expect–"

"Pretty sure she can decide what she wants to do," Jules cuts in smoothly. "Right, Lei?"

There's that weird tension again, crackling in the air between them like static electricity. Cama looks between them all with raised eyebrows.

"Did I miss something?" he asks. "Because the vibes are really off."

"Nothing to miss," Leila says quickly, focusing on her breakfast. "Everything's fine."

"Mhm," Cama hums, unconvinced. "That's why Aure looks like that?"

Before anyone can respond, Didier's voice cuts through the cafeteria: "Allez, allons-y! La formation commence dans quinze!"

The scramble of twenty-something men trying to finish their breakfast at once would be funny if Leila wasn't hyperaware of Aurélien's eyes still on her. She busies herself with her phone, pretending to check his schedule like she hasn't had it memorized for weeks.

"Don't forget your jacket," he says quietly as he stands. "It's supposed to rain again."

She looks up, caught off guard by the softness in his voice, but he's already walking away. Jules and Cama share a look that she pretends not to see.

"So," Cama grins, "about this tension..."

"Don't you have training to get to?"

"Just saying, if this was a show, I'd definitely binge watch it."

"Go. Run. Now."

His laugh follows him out, leaving her sitting there wondering how this became her life – being the only PA at Clairefontaine, planning soul food feasts for the French national team, and trying very hard not to notice how Aurélien still looks back at her before he exits the cafeteria.

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

The water break comes right as the sun decides to make a guest appearance, and Leila's trying not to obviously appreciate how everyone's training tops are clinging in all the right places. She's professional. She's composed. She's–

"Hey gorgeous."

She turns to find William jogging up to her, all six-foot-whatever of him with that smile that probably has half of London in their feelings. She returns his smile because listen – she might be going through it, but she's not BLIND.

"Need something?" she asks, already reaching for an extra water bottle because she's good at her job like that.

"Actually, yeah." He takes the water but doesn't step back, instead leaning slightly closer. "I was serious about Saturday. Dinner?"

"Oh!" The sound escapes before she can catch it. Her eyes automatically drift to where Aurélien is standing with Mike and Jules, looking like he's trying to murder someone with his mind.

William deliberately steps into her line of sight, blocking her view. "You don't have to ask permission, do you?" It comes out like half joke, half question, but his eyes are kind. He gets it, even if she wishes he didn't.

And you know what? He's right.

Because here's the thing: Aurélien really out here talking about "unprofessional" when this man has used her as a human pillow during team flights. Has played with her hair during meetings like it's his personal stress ball. Has straight up demanded morning cuddles before reviewing his schedule because apparently personal space isn't in his vocabulary.

But she's supposed to maintain "professional boundaries"?

Nah.

"Nope," she says, straightening her spine. "No permission needed."

Because she's grown. Because she needs to get over this embarrassing crush on her boss who thinks she's just okay. Because William Saliba is standing here looking like a whole meal, asking her to dinner with that accent that makes everything sound like poetry, and she deserves nice things.

"Saturday works perfectly," she adds, and his answering smile could power half of Madrid.

"Parfait," he says, and even that one word has her feeling some type of way. "I'll text you the details?"

"Looking forward to it."

He jogs back to practice looking mighty pleased with himself, and she very deliberately doesn't look in Aurélien's direction. She doesn't need to – she can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of her head.

And you know what? Good.

Let him see what it feels like to watch someone you... to watch someone else get attention. Let him deal with whatever this energy is that has him acting brand new. Let him–

"Cinq minutes!" Didier calls out, and she watches William flash her one more smile before joining the group.

Her phone buzzes almost immediately:

Jules: you really woke up and chose violence huh

Leila: I chose dinner actually

Jules: with Wilo though?? 👀

Leila: what's wrong with Wilo?

Jules: nothing if you're trying to send someone to an early grave

Leila: not my problem

Jules: the violence of it all 😭

She puts her phone away, ignoring the way she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight. Because this is good. This is healthy. This is her moving on from whatever fantasy she'd built up in her head about her boss who clearly doesn't–

"Les yeux sur la balle, Saliba!" Aurélien's voice carries across the field, sharp enough to cut.

William just grins wider. "Oh, ils sont."

And maybe... this is exactly what she needs. A date with a fine man who actually sees her. Who isn't her boss. Who thinks she's more than just okay.

There's something particularly violent about the way Leila's critiquing herself in the mirror right now, turning this way and that like her reflection might suddenly give her different answers. The black sweater dress is doing everything it's supposed to do – hugging every curve, every soft roll, every thick thigh that matches its partner. Her body's built like a direct response to gravity, all hips and breasts with a waist that's not exactly snatched but works with what God gave her.

"It's just dinner," she tells her reflection, but dinner with a whole professional footballer is different than those struggle Tinder dates she's been on. Those guys didn't come with paparazzi risks and teammate drama and a very specific boss who's probably planning murders right about now.

Not that I care what Aurélien thinks.

Her hair's falling just below her collarbone in that middle part that took twenty minutes to get right, makeup subtle enough to look effortless (it wasn't), and she's wearing this new perfume that smells expensive enough to make her feel like she belongs in whatever fancy restaurant William's picked out.

The thought of William has her breaking out in a nervous sweat because listen – the man is fine fine, but she's still very much a virgin and very much not ready to explain that to someone who probably has models in his DMs. What if he expects... what if he wants... what if–

"Get it together," she mutters, grabbing her clutch. "It's just dinner."

The elevator ride down to the main entry hall feels like it takes seventeen years, her heart doing backflips the whole way. She's rehearsing possible conversation topics in her head (please lord don't let her ramble about football statistics) when the doors open and–

"Oh for fuck's sake."

Because there's William looking like a whole meal in his white shirt, jeans, and leather jacket (that gold chain should be illegal honestly), but he's not alone. No, because that would be too easy. Instead, he's surrounded by Mike, Marcus, Ibou, and Jules the Professional Gossip, all of them looking way too pleased with themselves.

She makes her way over, trying to ignore the chorus of French catcalls and whistles (she catches "magnifique" and "sublime" and definitely some words that would make their mothers wash their mouths out with soap).

"Damn, Lei!" Ibou's grin is wicked. "You trying to kill our boy Wilo before the match?"

"The dress is doing God's work," Marcus adds with an appreciative whistle.

"I think you mean doing the devil's work," Mike corrects, fanning himself dramatically.

William rolls his eyes at all of them, but he's smiling as he takes her hand. "Ready?"

She's about to answer when she feels it – that familiar weight of attention that can only mean one thing. She looks back to find Aurélien has joined the group, and the look on his face...

Listen. She's seen this man angry before. Has seen him after bad losses, after red cards, after journalists say stupid things about him and his family. But this? This is different. This is something darker, something that makes her skin prickle even from across the room.

William must feel her tense because he squeezes her hand gently. "You good?"

She turns back to him, forcing herself to focus on this moment, on this very fine man who actually wants to take her to dinner. "Perfect."

He opens an umbrella as they step outside (because of course it's raining again), holding it over her like the gentleman he is. Behind them, she can hear the boys still carrying on:

"Vingt euros disent qu’ils s’embrassent avant le dessert!"

"Cinquante disent qu’Auro casse quelque chose avant qu’ils ne reviennent!"

"Une centaine dit–"

The door closes, cutting off their chaos, leaving just the sound of rain and their footsteps and her heart doing its best to escape her chest.

"They're ridiculous," William says softly, but he's smiling.

"That's one word for it."

They reach his car – another ridiculously expensive SUV because apparently that's issued with the France call-up – and he opens her door for her.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says it simply, like it's just a fact. Not 'okay'. Not qualified. Just beautiful.

And maybe... maybe this is exactly what she needs.

Even if her traitorous heart still skips when she catches Aurélien watching them drive away in her side mirror.

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

The media room at Clairefontaine is thick with tension and the sound of FIFA, Aurélien absolutely demolishing the controller like it personally set up his PA's date with William. Jules and Cama keep sharing these looks that say more than words ever could.

"Je n'arrive pas à croire que Wilo ait fait ça. C'est censé être mon pote." ("I can't believe Wilo did this. He's supposed to be my boy.") Aurélien's voice is tight with something darker than just regular gaming frustration.

"Fait quoi exactement?" ("Did what exactly?") Jules asks, careful and measured like he's defusing a bomb. "Inviter une femme célibataire à dîner?" ("Asked out a single woman to dinner?")

"Elle n'est pas juste une femme célibataire, c'est ma puce!" ("She's not just any single woman, she's my dear!") The words explode out of him before he can catch them, and the room goes deadly quiet except for the game music.

Cama pauses the game. "Ta puce?" ("Your dear?")

"Ma PA," ("My PA,") Aurélien corrects quickly, but it's too late. "Je lui ai dit que c'était pas professionnel de sortir avec l'équipe." ("I told her it wasn't professional to date the team.")

"Et c'est professionnel de la câliner pendant les réunions?" ("And it's professional to cuddle her during meetings?") Jules' voice drips with sarcasm. "De jouer avec ses tresses? De l'appeler 'ma puce'?" ("To play with her braids? To call her 'my dear'?")

"C'est différent." ("That's different.")

"Comment?" ("How?")

Aurélien just grunts, going back to destroying everyone in FIFA. But Jules isn't done.

"Tu sais qu'elle t'a entendu la traiter de 'okay' à la piscine?" ("You know she heard you call her 'okay' at the pool party?")

"Mais elle l'est!" ("But she is!") Aurélien protests, then at Jules' murderous look adds quickly, "Dans le bon sens!" ("In a good way!")

"T'es vraiment con, mon frère." ("You're so fucking stupid, bro.") Jules throws his controller down. "Elle est plus que 'okay' et tu le sais." ("She's more than 'okay' and you know it.")

"Je peux pas..." ("I can't...") Aurélien runs a hand through his curls in frustration. "Je peux pas l'aimer comme ça." ("I can't like her like that.")

"Pourquoi pas?" ("Why not?") Cama asks quietly.

"Parce que... parce qu'elle est ma PA!" ("Because... because she's my PA!")

"Des excuses, toujours des excuses," ("Excuses, excuses,") Jules sighs. "On n'est plus des gosses, AT. On est des hommes maintenant. Si tu ressens quelque chose pour quelqu'un, tu dois le dire." ("We're not kids anymore, AT. We're men now. If you're feeling someone, you have to communicate it.")

Aurélien lets out a laugh that sounds more pained than amused. "C'est différent. Je ne l'aime pas comme ça. C'est ma PA. C'est comme ça qu'on se fait poursuivre en justice." ("This is different. I don't like her like that. She's my PA. That's how people get sued.")

"Et si elle ressentait la même chose?" ("What if she's feeling you too?") Jules asks carefully.

"Leila? Avoir des sentiments pour moi?" ("Leila? Having feelings for me?") Aurélien scoffs. "C'est drôle." ("That's funny.")

The silence that follows is heavy with meaning. Jules and Cama exchange another look that speaks volumes.

"Quoi?" ("What?") Aurélien demands, finally catching their expressions.

But neither of them answer, just watch him with this mix of pity and exasperation that makes him want to throw something.

"Elle portait cette robe ce soir..." ("She was wearing that dress tonight...") he says quietly, almost to himself.

"Oui, pour son rencard avec Wilo." ("Yes, for her date with Wilo.") Jules' voice is pointed. "Pas pour toi." ("Not for you.")

"Tu sais," ("You know,") Cama adds casually, too casually, "pendant que tu es là à dire qu'elle est 'juste okay', Wilo est probablement en train de lui montrer à quel point il la trouve extraordinaire." ("while you're here saying she's 'just okay', Wilo is probably showing her just how extraordinary he thinks she is.")

"Je vais le tuer." ("I'm going to kill him.")

"Le problème," ("The problem,") Jules says quietly, "c'est pas Wilo." ("isn't Wilo.")

And deep down, Aurélien knows he's right, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Arrête d'être une putain de chochotte," ("Stop being a fucking pussy,") Jules says, done with the whole situation. "Si tu veux Leila, vas la chercher. C'est aussi simple que ça." ("If you want Leila, go get her. Simple as that.")

"Ce n'est pas si simple," ("It's not that simple,") Aurélien protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. "Elle est ma PA–" ("She's my PA–")

"On a compris!" ("We get it!") Cama throws his hands up. "Elle est ta PA, et alors? Comment tu sais que tu vas tout foutre en l'air si t'es trop chickenshit pour essayer?" ("She's your PA, so what? How would you know if you're gonna fuck it up if you're being chickenshit?")

Aurélien opens his mouth to argue but Cama isn't done.

"Leila est géniale et toi tu te tapes des mannequins pour essayer de cacher que tu craques pour elle. C'est tordu, mec." ("Leila is cool and you're fucking models to try to hide from you feeling her. Twisted as fuck, man.")

"Je ne–" ("I don't–")

"Tu peux la laisser sortir avec Wilo – parce que tu sais à quel point il est persistant quand quelqu'un lui plaît – et être malheureux, ou tu peux régler ça maintenant." ("You can let her date Wilo – because you know how persistent he is with a person he's feeling – and be miserable, or you can nip this in the bud.")

"Exactement," ("Exactly,") Jules concurs, leaning forward. "Tu crois que Wilo va la traiter comme 'juste okay'? Tu crois qu'il va hésiter à lui montrer qu'il la veut?" ("You think Wilo's gonna treat her like 'just okay'? You think he's gonna hesitate to show her he wants her?")

The thought of William showing Leila anything makes something dark appear Aurélien's chest. The image of them at dinner right now, William probably making her laugh, probably touching her hand across the table, probably looking at her the way Aurélien wants to but won't let himself–

"Elle mérite mieux que 'okay'," ("She deserves better than 'okay',") Cama says softly. "Et tu le sais." ("And you know it.")

"Je sais pas comment..." ("I don't know how...") Aurélien trails off, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Comment quoi? Être honnête avec tes sentiments?" ("How what? To be honest with your feelings?") Jules scoffs. "T'as vingt-quatre ans, pas quatorze. Grandis un peu." ("You're twenty-four, not fourteen. Grow up a little.")

"Mais là, tout ce que tu fais c'est regarder un autre mec faire ce que t'es trop lâche pour faire," Cama shrugs. ("But right now, all you're doing is watching another guy do what you're too scared to do.")

Aurélien sits there for a long moment, thinking about Leila in that dress that made his brain short-circuit. About how she looked at William. About how she hasn't really looked at him in days, not since the 'okay' comment. Not since he tried to tell her who she could and couldn't date like he had any right to.

"Elle est probablement en train de l'embrasser maintenant," ("She's probably kissing him right now,") Jules says casually, but his eyes are sharp on Aurélien's face.

The PS5 controller in Aurélien's hands makes an ominous cracking sound.

"Tu vois?" ("You see?") Cama gestures at Aurélien's white-knuckled grip. "C'est ça qu'on appelle de la jalousie, mon pote. Pas très 'professionnel' comme réaction pour 'juste une PA', non?" ("That's what we call jealousy, my guy. Not very 'professional' reaction for 'just a PA', right?")

"Je ne suis pas–" ("I'm not–")

"Jaloux?" ("Jealous?") Jules cuts him off. "Alors pourquoi t'as l'air de vouloir commettre un meurtre chaque fois que quelqu'un la regarde trop longtemps?" ("Then why do you look like you want to commit murder every time someone looks at her too long?")

Aurélien's silence is telling.

"Écoute," ("Listen,") Cama says, serious now. "Wilo est un bon gars. Il va bien la traiter. Il va lui montrer qu'elle est spéciale. Et toi? Tu vas juste rester assis là à te dire que c'est 'pas professionnel' pendant qu'un autre mec fait d'elle sa copine?" ("Wilo's a good guy. He's gonna treat her right. He's gonna show her she's special. And you? You're just gonna sit there telling yourself it's 'not professional' while another guy makes her his girl?")

The controller finally gives up the ghost, splitting right down the middle.

"Putain," ("Fuck,") Aurélien mutters, staring at the broken pieces like they hold some answer he can't find.

"Le choix est simple," ("The choice is simple,") Jules says, standing up. "Soit tu continues à être un lâche et tu la perds, soit tu deviens un homme et tu lui dis la vérité." ("Either you keep being a coward and lose her, or you man up and tell her the truth.")

"Et si je la perds quand même?" ("And if I lose her anyway?") The question comes out smaller than he intended.

"Alors au moins tu auras essayé," ("Then at least you'll have tried,") Cama says. "C'est mieux que de la regarder partir avec Wilo en te demandant 'et si'." ("Better than watching her leave with Wilo wondering 'what if'.")

Aurélien sits there long after they leave, thinking about Leila's smile, about her laugh, about how she's probably giving both to William right now.

And maybe... they're right.

Maybe it's time to stop being a coward, yet first, he owes someone an apology for the controller.

…………tbd

[bahrtofane]

dialogue 7 trope 8 with tchouameni pls. so happy that ppl are finally writing for him 🥹❤️

- "ooohh you wanna kiss me sooo bad." - Bodyguard au

happy to write for him! he needs more love enjooyyyy

word count - 800+

watch it - flirty tch and weapon mentioned like once enjoyy

You know you're not a very stereotypical bodyguard. Shorter than most, no rippling muscles that tear shirts apart. It does give you the advantage of surprise. No one expects you. Even more so for the man you've been tasked to protect. 

You know they hired you specifically to blend in and so you do. Still keeping close but you look like you could be anything from a part of the crowd to a friend and whatever more. You've seen yourself on a few gossip pages and on news articles here and there. 

They have yet to put the pieces together and you want to keep it that way. You have a job to do and a man to protect. A man that for the life of you you can't understand. 

He's an enigma on a good day. Aurélien keeps a curious eye on you, eager to watch you. But yet so hesitant. 

He doesn't talk to you all that much, but when he does he manages to squeeze playful words in between each sentence. Always catching you off guard. He goes from being honed in and focused to letting his shoulders loose in a laugh. 

Today seems like no exception. You wait in the wings backstage of an event. It's just a rehearsal for the actual thing yet you're here. Its empty save for stage screws running about with wires and microphones tangled on the floor. 

You stand arms crossed a few feet away from where Aurélien is being fitted with different wires and what not. He speaks, arms waving lazily and nodding along to whatever his agent is saying. You haven't talked to him today yet. 

He spots you soon enough, giving you a wave while you respond with a curt nod. He gets shown to where you stand, told to “hang out” here for a second while they adjust the lighting. 

“Didn't know they dragged you here too?” he says, hands resting inside the pockets of his jacket. 

“I have a job to do.” you shrug. 

“Does it even get boring? Being around the same person all the time. I know I get tired.”

Your expression remains neutral, though a spark of amusement flickers in your eyes. "Perhaps," you hum, "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm here to protect you, whether you like it or not."

He grins, gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to watch the lights cycle through the different settings. "Well, in that case, I suppose I'll just have to make your job as interesting as possible," he says with a lazy shrug. 

You roll your eyes, but cant help the small smile that tugs at your lips. "I have no doubt you will," you reply dryly 

Aurélien gives you a playful smirk before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "You know," he says, amusement dancing in his eyes, "sometimes I wonder if all this protection is just an excuse to be close to me."

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed by his attempt at flirting. "Don't flatter yourself," you retort, though you can't stop the smile that seems between your words. He's bold today. 

Leave it to Aurélien to find a way to wiggle into your personal space and under your skin with his words so early in the day. And you have so many more hours left with him. How thrilling. 

He chuckles softly, leaning even closer until his breath brushes against your ear. "Oh, come on," he murmurs, "we both know deep down, you wanna kiss me sooo bad."

You can't help but laugh, shaking your head at his shameless antics. "You wish," you reply, giving him a playful shove before straightening up, feeling the waistband of your pants for your weapon. Old habits die hard you suppose. 

Aurélien grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes as he steps back, resuming his role in the rehearsal.

You don't know what game he really plays. If his words really hold any meaning. If you should listen. So you choose the safe route and brush them off and try to do your job. Even if he insists on making it near impossible. 

He sends you knowing looks from the other side of the backstage area. Ones you know would easily strike up talk. But you can't talk your eyes off him. Partly because of your job and partly due to him being so- what's the word- dazzling. 

You do want to kiss him, but he doesn't need to know that. Not now at least.

For now you watch him do his thing while you try to do your job and push away his voice from ringing in your ears over and over. 

we both know deep down

[snowseasonmademe]

Can I hit It in the Morning

warning ‼️: smut !!

word count: 3,634

pairing: aurélien x black female reader

summary: as you both lay, sleeping soundly, you couldnt start your day without a little morning delight

note: this was inspired by this little conversation over on @rougereds blog. thank you to her and here anon! i can always count on her to have the best freaky thoughts and opinions about our (her) man :) everyone say thank you maha!!! as always enjoy and tell me what you think🤍.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The faint glow of dawn tiptoed into the room like a shy visitor, brushing its delicate fingers over every surface it touched. Soft hues of honey and molten amber danced across the walls, kissing the edges of the heavy wooden furniture and pooling in the corners like liquid sunlight. The open window, framed by gossamer curtains that swayed ever so gently, invited in a crisp morning breeze. It carried the earthy sweetness of dew-soaked lavender mingled with the faint tang of damp earth, the scents swirling together in a symphony that hinted at the garden just below. The room held its breath in a perfect stillness, the only motion the slow, synchronized rise and fall of two bodies nestled beneath a duvet so pristine it looked as if it had been spun from clouds.

Your black silk nightgown shimmered in the early light, clinging to your figure like a second skin, its texture a fluid whisper against your warm curves. The fabric, smooth as flowing water, seemed to amplify the quiet intimacy of the moment. His arm was slung across your waist with a lazy possessiveness, his hand large and strong, yet tender in its placement on your soft stomach. Behind you, Aurelien’s body molded to yours with a warmth that radiated through the duvet, cocooning you in a way that made the idea of moving unthinkable. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against your shoulder, a gentle rhythm that grounded you as you blinked into the gilded light of the morning.

The scene felt suspended in time, a tableau of serenity and closeness that teetered on the edge of something sacred. The golden rays spilled through the sheer fabric of the curtains, painting streaks of sunlight onto your bare skin. The soft glow highlighted the curve of your collarbone and the faint sheen on your arms, catching every subtle rise and fall of your chest. The sheet that had slipped down from his shoulders revealed the defined lines of his torso, his skin sun-kissed and glowing as though he had been sculpted by the hands of a master artist. The air between them felt almost electric, charged with a quiet intimacy that words couldn’t capture.

His breathing shifted, a subtle change that sent a ripple of awareness through you. Then, his voice—low and rasping, like the first notes of a cello—broke the silence. “Bonjour, ma chérie” (Good morning, my darling) he murmured, the words rich and heavy with the texture of dreams and sleep, a husky melody that wrapped around you like a physical touch.

Your heart stumbled over itself at the sound, each syllable slipping into your consciousness like velvet dipped in honey. Your lips parted in response, and a faint, unconscious smile graced your face, the corners of your mouth curving upward as warmth bloomed in your chest. “Good morning” you breathed, your voice soft and rasping, still carrying the haze of sleep. Yet his words had done something to you, sending a low, simmering heat spiraling through your body like the first crackle of a fire.

His face, still tucked into the crook of your neck, pressed closer, his stubble grazing the tender skin there. The roughness of it sent shivers skating down your spine, each graze a spark that seemed to ignite something deep within you. “Mon ange, you feel so warm” (My angel) he whispered, his lips barely brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, his breath hot and enticing.

Your reaction was immediate, instinctual. A quiver rolled through you, your thighs pressing together as a ripple of sensation coursed through your limbs. His chuckle, low and throaty, vibrated against your back, a sound that was both teasing and unrepentant.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice a lazy tease that belied the subtle flex of his fingers against your stomach. The pad of his thumb, rough but gentle, began to draw slow, languid circles just above your navel, the movement sending tingles radiating outward.

“No” you managed, your voice trembling slightly, betraying the delicate balance between your words and the way your body had begun to respond to him. Every touch, every breath between them seemed to blur the lines of restraint.

“Non?” he murmured again, his lips now exploring the graceful curve of your neck, his kisses so light you both barely registered as more than the press of air. “Maybe it’s me, then” he mused, the teasing lilt in his voice offset by the heat of his touch. “I think I’m the one burning up.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the tension between them thickening as his lips lingered at a particularly sensitive spot just beneath your ear. The brush of his mouth against your skin felt both reverent and demanding, a silent promise laced into every movement. You could feel him behind you, his body warm and firm, the undeniable press of him leaving little to the imagination.

“Aurelien” you whispered, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, soft yet charged with meaning. Your tone carried a note of caution, but your body betrayed you, arching back just enough to meet his heat.

“Oui, bébé?” (Yes baby) His voice was velvet and smoke, laced with amusement but deepened by something darker, something more primal. His hand, still resting at the edge of your silk gown, slid lower, the tips of his fingers grazing the bare skin of your thigh. The contrast of warmth and cool silk sent a thrill racing through you, your pulse quickening.

“You’re doing this on purpose” you accused, your voice shaky, the words carrying no real bite. You shivered again as his mouth moved to your shoulder, each kiss a mark of possession and adoration.

“Moi? Jamais” (Me? Never) he said, his grin evident even without seeing it, his accent wrapping around the word like a caress. “How could I not? You smell like heaven, cœur tendre.” (Sweetheart)

Your breath came faster now, every movement of his lips and hands unraveling your composure. The sound of his voice, so rich and resonant, made your stomach tighten and your cheeks flush with heat. His free hand, rough and sure, skimmed lower along your thigh, his touch igniting a fire in your that spread like liquid gold through your veins.

“You’re trouble” you murmured, though the words carried no weight, your voice dissolving into a breathless whisper.

“And you” he said, his voice dropping an octave, roughened with raw need, “are temptation itself. Do you know what you do to me?”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you turned your head, catching a glimpse of his face. His dark eyes, smoldering and half-lidded, seemed to pierce through you, his lips parted in a slow, knowing smile that left you weak.

“You should hear yourself” you countered, though your voice trembled, your composure slipping. “Your voice…”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “My voice, hmm?” His words were molten, the cadence of his accent turning them into something decadent and irresistible.

You shivered, your body arching instinctively toward him. He pressed against you more firmly, his breath hot against your skin as his hand drifted higher, brushing the edge of your nightgown with an agonizing slowness.

“Aurelien” you said again, this time more desperate, your hands finding their way to his hair, tangling in the soft, unruly curls.

As the golden light bathed them in its glow, their world narrowed to just the two of them, lost in a sea of whispered words, fiery touches, and the unyielding pull of desire that drowned out the rest of the morning.

The first sparkles of dawn wove their way through the room, painting ribbons of molten gold across the bed. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and something warmer, something unmistakably them. Beneath the duvet, heat pooled between their bodies, a slow-burning fire stoked by the lazy weight of Aurelien’s arm draped over your waist. His breath, warm and steady, ghosted against the curve of your neck, a hypnotic rhythm that sent ripples of awareness through your barely waking body.

The silk of your nightgown was cool against your fevered skin, but his touch—his touch was fire. His hand, broad and calloused, slid lower, teasing the hem of the delicate fabric. He didn’t rush. No, Aurelien moved like a man savoring every second, his fingers tracing idle circles just above your knee before skimming higher, exposing inch after tantalizing inch of your thighs. A shudder coursed through your, anticipation tightening every nerve.

“You’re trembling, mon ange” he murmured, his voice deep and husky, still roughened with sleep. The sound alone sent a sharp pulse of pleasure through you, pooling low in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, your body instinctively pressing back against him, feeling the hard, unmistakable evidence of his own desire. you moaned quietly , your own tone breathless, needy. “Aurelien—”

A low, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest, echoing through your back as his fingers slid higher, pushing the silk aside. “Mmm” he mused, grazing his lips along the shell of your ear. “You love my voice, don’t you, bébé?”

You nodded, barely able to form words as he reached the lace of your panties. He didn’t rush—of course he didn’t. Aurelien reveled in control, in drawing out every ounce of tension until it snapped into something uncontrollable. His fingers traced the delicate fabric, teasing you without truly touching, making you writhe in frustration.

“J'adore à quel point tu es mouillée pour moi” (i love how wet you get for me) he murmured against your neck, his voice rich with approval.

Your breath hitched as he finally hooked a finger around the lace, tugging it aside. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, making you gasp. Aurelien’s hand was warm as he traced a feather-light path over your slick core, spreading the wetness he found there with slow, teasing strokes. You moaned softly, hips shifting, seeking more.

He let you grind in his fingers, he knew how bad you wanted him. He pressed a single, teasing circle against your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Tell me again how much you love my voice.”

You clenched around nothing, your fingers digging into his forearm as you gasped, “I love your hearing your voice. It t-turns me on so much” you moan.

His other hand slid up your thigh, gripping just behind your knee before lifting, hooking your leg over his arm to open you up completely. His movements were calculated to keep you right at the edge. Then, without warning, you felt the hard, smooth head of his dick pressing against the outside of your pussy.

“So wet” he murmured, dragging his length up and down your slit, coating the tip in your arousal. He moaned into your neck, the sound making you gush around nothing. “So soft”

Your nails dug into his skin, your body arching as you tried to push back onto him. Aurelien groaned, a deep, sinful sound, but held himself just barely at bay.

And then—finally—he pushed inside.

A broken moan tore from your lips as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch with agonizing slowness. His breath turned ragged, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly as he bottomed out. He was thick, perfect, every inch pressing into you with aching precision.

“Mon Dieu” (My god) he exhaled, voice thick with restraint. “Je pourrais jouir tout de suite, tu te sens si bien.” (I could cum right now, you feel so good.)

He rolled his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm, each stroke a thoughtful indulgence, each thrust sending sparks skittering through your veins. “Does that feel good?” he asks calmly, as if he wasn’t fucking you right back to sleep. “Yes oh- god yes that feels so good”. His hand slid up your stomach, his fingers grazing the soft swell of your breast before continuing their path, wrapping around your throat—not to restrain you, just to feel you, to remind you he would never let you go.

“You’re shaking, bébé” he purred into your ear, his voice dipping into something dark, something devastatingly erotic. “You like it when I talk to you like this?”

Your only answer was a desperate whimper as you clamped down around him.

He hummed in approval, the sound low and knowing. “Oh, you love it.” His thrusts grew firmer, his dick dragging along every sensitive inch of your insides. “You love my voice, my touch….tell me, do you love being fucked like this?”

Your moan was answer enough, but still, he wanted to hear you say it.

“Tell me” he pressed, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes—, yes—I love it, I love you— Keep talking please”

Aurelien groaned, his hips snapping forward with a sharp, needy thrust. “C’est ça, mon amour” (That's it, my love)

Aurelien’s breath came hot and uneven against your neck, his chest rising and falling in time with the ragged gasps that escaped your lips. The room was thick with heat, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the remnants of the morning air. He pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his lips searing against your damp skin.

“J’adore te baiser bébé” (I love fucking you baby) he groaned, his voice wrecked, his accent curling around the words like silk and sin.

He pulled out almost entirely, leaving you trembling, the head of his dick barely kissing your entrance before he slammed back in, stealing the breath from your lungs. The bed creaked in protest, their bodies moving in a desperate rhythm, the sound swallowed by the symphony of your breathless moans and his deep, guttural curses.

Aurelien’s hands never stopped moving, never stopped claiming. He reached for a pillow, shoving it between your legs to, adjusting his angle with a sharp, knowing tilt that sent pleasure rocketing through you. You gasped, arching against him as he drove into you again, deeper this time, his dick pressing into the very core of you.

“Fuck—Aurelien—” you choked out, your voice breaking on his name.

“Je sais, mon amour” (I know, my love) he growled, capturing your neck between his teeth, his kiss hungry and all-consuming. “I know.”

Your fingers dove into his curls, yanking at the soft strands, urging him closer, your other hand gripping the back of his neck as if you could pull him inside you completely. Aurelien groaned into your skin, his hips snapping forward, his thrusts gaining urgency.

“So fucking good” he rasped against your ear, his voice a feral growl, his grip unrelenting. One hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine, while the other dug into your hip, controlling the way you moved against him. The wet, obscene sounds of their bodies colliding filled the space between them, the slick glide of him inside you an erotic melody that only seemed to push them closer to the edge.

Your walls fluttered around him, tightening, your body wound so tight you thought you might snap. Aurelien felt it—felt the way you clenched, the way your thighs trembled.

“Mhm, I can feel you” he grunted, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Cum for me, bébé. Let me feel it.”

His hand slipped between them, fingers finding your clit, rubbing firm, relentless circles. You shattered.

A strangled cry tore from your throat, your entire body seizing as the climax crashed over you, pleasure blinding and all-consuming. Your walls pulsed around him, squeezing him in rhythmic waves, milking him as you trembled beneath him.

“Mon Dieu” (God) Aurelien groaned, his pace stuttering as he buried himself deep, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. He spilled into you with a deep, shuddering moan, his body tensing, his dick throbbing inside your warmth. He held you through it, his hands splayed across your skin, grounding you as you trembled in his grasp.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing, the slow come-down from pleasure so intense it left them both boneless.

Aurelien pressed his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your damp skin, his lips pressing soft, lazy kisses there.

“Good morning” you murmured, your voice still thick with the remnants of pleasure, your accent turning the words into something utterly sinful.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your body melting beneath him.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes finding yours, a mixture of satisfaction and something infinitely softer swimming in their depths. His thumb traced the curve of your hip, anchoring you in the moment.

“You okay, chérie?” (Darling) he asked, his voice low, intimate.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, your limbs languid and spent. “Yeah” you managed, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. “Just… give me a minute.”

Aurelien chuckled, the sound warm, indulgent. He rolled to the side, pulling you with him effortlessly, keeping you pressed against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, strong and secure, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

Aurelien’s fingers sifted lazily through your hair, his touch slow, absentminded. His mind replayed every gasp, every moan, the way your body had clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. A deep satisfaction settled in his chest, unlike anything he’d felt before. He wasn’t just content—he was utterly, decadently satiated.

His gaze drifted down to where their bodies were still tangled beneath the sheets, lingering on the faint marks forming along your hips—bruises shaped by his own fingers, reminders of how tightly he had held you, how desperately he had wanted to be as close to you as possible. A small, satisfied smile curled his lips at the sight.

As you lay together in the golden afterglow, your breathing gradually steadied, your body growing pliant against him. He was just beginning to drift into that hazy state between wakefulness and sleep when you shifted, suddenly sitting up beside him.

Aurelien blinked, watching as a mischievous glint flickered across her expression. His curiosity piqued immediately.

“Baby?” you purred, your fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles on his bare chest. Your nails skimmed lightly over his skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Hmm?” he responded, tilting his head slightly to look at you, his lips still curled in a languid smirk.

“There’s something I want to do with you…” you continued, your voice dipping lower, sultry, knowing. Your eyes sparkled with something wicked. “In the shower.”

Aurelien’s smirk deepened, his amusement quickly shifting into something darker, hungrier. His hands, which had been resting idly at his sides, sprang to life, sliding up your thighs, gripping the soft curves he already ached to claim again. His fingers flexed as he pulled you onto his lap, the feel of your bare skin against his sending heat surging through his veins.

“Oh?” he drawled, raising a single brow, his voice edged with intrigue. “And what might that be, chérie?”

You bit your lip, tilting your head as you leaned in, your breath warm and inviting against his jaw. The teasing, almost innocent expression you wore was at complete odds with the filthy words that spilled from your mouth next.

“I want you to fuck me against the shower wall” you whispered, your voice sultry and dripping with need. “I want the water pounding down on us while you’re inside me, and then I want you to bend me over and take me from behind while the water rinses us clean.”

Aurelien groaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest. His dick, still sensitive from their last round, twitched back to life at the mere thought of it. You knew exactly what you was doing to him.

“Mon dieu” he muttered, his grip tightening on your thighs. His dark eyes raked over her, his desire unmistakable. “Fuck, you have a dirty mouth on you.”

You only smirked, a challenge glinting in your gaze.

Aurelien didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he stood, dragging you with him effortlessly, their bodies still flush together. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your arms circling his neck as he carried you toward the bathroom.

“Let’s go get that shower then” he murmured, his voice a velvet promise against your lips.

And with that, he rose from the bed, utterly bare, his body a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and golden skin, still flushed from their last bout of pleasure. Every inch of him was firm, commanding, and undeniably breathtaking—all confidence, all hunger, all yours.

Your gaze raked over him, drinking in the way the morning light kissed the sharp planes of his chest, the deep lines of his abdomen, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. And then lower—where he stood, proud and thick, already aching for you again. Just the sight of him so eager for you makes you turned on all over again. Your arousal — and his — dripping onto the bed sheets.

Without a word, Aurelien reached for you, his fingers tangling with yours as he pulled you to you feet. His grip was firm, possessive, but the look in his eyes was something else entirely—pure, smoldering need.

He guided you toward the bathroom, his pace slow, as if savoring every second before he got his hands on you again. The air between them crackled, thick with anticipation.

A knowing smirk curled his lips as he glanced back at you, his voice husky with amusement and desire.

“And a good morning it is, indeed.”

You both were in you own world. There was only him—his voice, his touch, his body, his love.

[haartemis]

sooo for obvious reasons i think i'm going to pause writing for kylian for now. at least until there's clarity on the situation. but if anyone has requests for any other madrid player then please send them my way:) i'm partial towards aurel, rodry, and jude <3

[starlitmelanin]

feelings don’t lie | aurélien tchouaméni

pairing - aurélien x fem!reader

word count - 2.1k

warnings - none

summary - he wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his. you didn't know what to call it, what was happening between you, but you liked it.

you had never really believed in fairytales, the whole prince charming thing. it always felt too contrived, too far removed from reality. so when aurélien came into your life, it wasn't some grand gesture or a sweeping romance. it was small moments, little bits and pieces that somehow stitched themselves into something meaningful.

it started in the most unremarkable way. you were both at a party, one of those mind-numbing social obligations that you would rather skip. but you went, because sometimes you have to, and because your friends would drag you out of your cave if you didn't. aurélien was there too, not exactly blending in but not standing out either. just another face in the crowd, until he wasn't.

it was a simple conversation, really. you were standing by the bar, nursing a drink you didn't even like, when he came up beside you. "not a fan of the punch?" he asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

you glanced at him, not really in the mood for small talk, but something in his eyes held your attention. "it's terrible," you replied, and he laughed. it was a good laugh, genuine, and it made you smile despite yourself.

"i'm aurélien," he said, extending a hand.

"y/n," you replied, shaking his hand.

and that was it. no fireworks, no instant connection that made your heart race. just a simple introduction, two people making small talk at a party. but somehow, that night set off a chain of events that neither of you could have predicted.

you started seeing him more often, at parties, gatherings, even randomly at some upscale restaurant. it became a running joke between you two, how you always seemed to bump into each other.

"maybe it's fate," he'd say with a wink, and you'd roll your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.

it wasn't long before you started spending time together outside of those chance encounters. coffee dates, movie nights, lazy afternoons in your apartment. it was all so easy, so natural. you didn't have to pretend or put on a facade. you could just be you, and he could just be him.

and that's where it got confusing. because you liked him, a lot. but it wasn't the all-consuming, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of like. it was softer, gentler. it was the way he made you laugh, the way he listened when you talked, the way he made you feel seen. it was the way he made you feel like you belonged.

but you weren't his, and he wasn't yours. there were no labels, no expectations. just two people enjoying each other's company, no strings attached. it was silly and fragile and good, and you didn't want to ruin it by overthinking.

one evening, you found yourself at his apartment. it was a modest place, not ridiculously fancy but comfortable, lived-in. he was cooking dinner, and you were sitting on the counter, watching him. it was one of those domestic moments that felt oddly intimate, and you couldn't help but wonder what it all meant.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" he asked, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

"nothing," you lied, but he didn't buy it.

"come on, y/n. i know you better than that."

you sighed, playing with some spice container. "i don't know what to call this," you admitted. "what's happening between us."

he paused, looking thoughtful. "does it need a label?"

"i don't know. maybe?"

he placed the lid back over the pot, coming over to stand in front of you. he took your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "do you like what we have?"

"yes," you said without hesitation.

"then let's not worry about labels. let's just enjoy it."

you nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. he was right. why complicate things with labels and definitions? what you had was good, and that was enough.

and so, you continued. there were more coffee dates, more movie nights, more lazy afternoons. there were moments that felt almost like a relationship, but without the pressure. you became each other's confidants, sounding boards, safe spaces.

there were nights when he'd hold you close, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. there were days when you'd tease each other mercilessly, laughing until your sides ached. there were times when words weren't necessary, when just being together was enough.

but there were also moments of doubt. moments when you wondered if he felt the same way you did. moments when you questioned if you were just setting yourself up for heartbreak. because as much as you liked what you had, there was always that nagging thought in the back of your mind: what if it's not enough?

one night, after a particularly long day, you found yourself lying next to him, staring at the ceiling. you could hear his steady breathing, feel the warmth of his body next to yours. you felt safe, content. but there was also that familiar ache, the longing for something more.

"aurélien," you whispered, not wanting to wake him but needing to say it.

"hmm?" he murmured, half-asleep.

"what are we?"

he was silent for a moment, then turned to face you, his eyes soft and sleepy. "we're us," he said simply. "does that need to change?"

you shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "no, it's just... sometimes i wonder."

he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle. "i care about you, y/n. a lot. but i don't want to rush things or put pressure on us. can we just be? for now?"

you nodded, feeling a mixture of confusion and sadness. it wasn't the answer you'd hoped for, but it was honest. and maybe that was enough. for now.

so you stayed. you continued to share your days and nights. you continued to build something, something that apparently didn't need labels to be real.

because in the end, it wasn't about defining what you had, right? it was about the way he made you feel, the way you made him feel. it was about the moments you shared, the memories you created. it was about finding something good in the midst of the chaos.

and maybe, just maybe, that was all that mattered.

or maybe it wasn’t.

days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the rhythm of your connection with aurélien settled into something familiar yet always slightly unpredictable. you both continued navigating your own lives, but there was an unspoken understanding that you'd always find your way back to each other.

one evening, after a particularly grueling day at work, you found yourself at aurélien's door. you hadn't planned on going over, but the need to see him, to be in his presence, was too strong to ignore. you knocked lightly, and when he opened the door, the sight of his smile was enough to make the day's stress melt away.

"hey you," he greeted, pulling you into a hug.

"hey," you sighed into his chest, the scent of his cologne instantly calming your nerves.

"rough day?" he asked, leading you inside.

"you have no idea," you replied, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto his couch. "i just needed to see you."

he sat down beside you, his hand finding yours. "well, you're here now. tell me all about it."

you talked, and he listened. he always listened. it was one of the things you appreciated most about him. he never tried to fix things or offer unsolicited advice; he just let you vent, understanding that sometimes, that's all you needed.

"thanks," you said after a while, your head resting on his shoulder. "for always being here."

"always," he replied softly, kissing the top of your head.

but as the months passed, the lines between this casual, nameless ‘thing’ between you and something slightly more continued to blur. there were moments when you caught him looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. moments when his touch lingered just a bit too long, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you ache for more.

one night, you were both at a friend's birthday party. the atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and music, but all you could focus on was him. he seemed to sense your gaze, his eyes meeting yours from across the room. without a word, he made his way over to you, the crowd parting like the red sea.

"want to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

you found yourselves at a small, quiet location, the night air cool against your skin. you walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the city.

"do you ever think about us?" you asked suddenly, the words escaping before you could stop them.

he stopped, turning to face you. "all the time," he admitted, his eyes searching yours.

"and?" you prompted, your heart pounding in your chest.

"and... i don't want to lose what we have," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "but i also don't want to live with 'what ifs.'"

"what are you saying?" you asked quietly, barely daring to breathe.

he took a step closer, his hand cupping your cheek. "i'm saying that i want to try. i want to see where this can go. but only if you do too."

tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming emotion of the moment. "i do," you said, your voice slightly trembling. "i really do."

his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. it was soft and hesitant at first, as if you were both testing the waters, but it quickly deepened, a year's worth of unspoken feelings pouring out.

when you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's. "so what now?" you asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

"now," he said, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, "we figure it out. together."

and you did.

it wasn't always easy, and there were moments of doubt, but you faced them together. you learned to communicate, to be vulnerable, to trust in what you were building.

the transition from friends to something more wasn't always smooth. there were moments when old habits clashed with new expectations, when you had to remind yourselves that you were in this together. but those moments of tension were always followed by moments of growth, of understanding each other a little better.

you found a balance between the comfort of your friendship and the excitement of your new relationship. you continued to share your lives, but now there was an added layer of intimacy, a deeper connection that made everything feel more profound.

there were lazy sunday mornings spent tangled in each other's arms, quiet evenings cooking dinner together, spontaneous adventures that took you to new places and brought you even closer. every moment, big or small, felt significant because you were sharing it with him.

and through it all, you never lost the feeling that had been there from the beginning—the feeling of belonging. he made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be, and you did the same for him.

one night, as you lay in bed together, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the room, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together. because what you had was no longer something fragile—it was something real, something that would endure.

something that would last.

[dexastres]

temporary heart, aurélien tchouaméni

face claim : serena page

summary : aurélien fell for maiya, the barista at his local coffee shop

warnings : aurélien being a matcha hater

wc : 870

notes : i didn't want to publish it cause of the game, but i'm doing this for the girlies.

Aurélien tightened his coat against the cold wind that swept through the city. Autumn had settled in Madrid, much to the joy of some, but not his. The Frenchman would have liked summer to last a little longer.

“I’ll never understand her love for this season.” The young man thought, before sighing. As he walked towards his car, Aurélien passed a café whose name immediately struck him. The bold letters on the sign brought a flood of memories.

“Moca Loca... I haven’t been there in a while.” A bittersweet smile appeared on his face as he walked past, only to turn around moments later. For some unknown reason, he decided to stop there, despite what the little voice in his head was telling him. As he stepped inside, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Nothing had changed since the last time he’d been there, or almost.

“Hello, what would you like today?” Aurélien glanced at the menu, although it was useless because he would end up ordering the same thing. 

“I’d like a medium iced coffee with two pumps of vanilla and a chocolate chip muffin, please.” A vague feeling of emptiness came over him. This was his regular order, but something—or someone—was missing.

“Sure! And can I have a name for the order?” 

“Aurélien.” The barista nodded, rang up his order and handed him a receipt.

“Perfect. It won’t be long. Feel free to grab a seat while you wait.” She said with a smile. Aurélien nodded and sat by the window, waiting for the barista to call his name. Sitting there, the young man watched the people outside, rushing by or lost in their thoughts, like him. His mind wandered back to the first time he came to this café.

That day, he had just dropped Jude off at his place when he saw the sign on his way back. The Englishman had mentioned this place before, because he used to go there almost daily with his ex-girlfriend.

Curious, Aurélien went inside. The moment he entered, the barista, busy wiping down the counter, caught his eye because of her beauty. He must have arrived just after the morning rush, since plates were still on tables and the air felt thick with a lingering humidity. Not wanting to bother the young woman, Aurélien just stared at the menu, trying to figure out what to order. Everything looked delicious, except the matcha. He hated that drink and never understood the craze for it.

“I really don’t know what to get.” He muttered under his breath, hoping not to draw attention, which was a failed mission because the barista heard him. She glanced up, tossed the rag she was holding and apologised to Aurélien. The Frenchman flashed her a smile before looking back at the menu, still unsure of what to choose.

“Hey... sorry, it's my first time here, but what’s the best drink you serve here? ” Aurélien asked shyly, scratching the back of his neck. The barista laughed softly, which sounded like music to Aurélien’s ears. Before she could reply, Sasha, her colleague, appeared from the back.

“Maiya, you can go on break,” Sasha said. “By the way, where’s your name tag?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Maiya shrugged nonchalantly in response.

“Somewhere in my bag. I only had time to put on my apron before the whole city showed up. But anyway, I’ve got a customer right now, so I’ll go on break later.” Maiya then turned back to Aurélien with a smile.

“To answer your question, our best drink is matcha.” The Frenchman rolled his eyes, which the barista noticed, and she felt slightly offended by his reaction. 

“I’m guessing you’re not a big fan of matcha. What a shame, you’re missing out on something good.” She said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, was it that obvious?” Aurélien replied in the same tone. The two of them stared at each other silently for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Maiya didn’t typically engage in chats with customers, at least not like this. However, she felt like she could talk with him for hours. Aurélien was different from most of the men who came to the café. He didn’t try to flirt with her or make inappropriate remarks. He just gave off good vibes and had a great sense of humour, despite his dislike for her favourite drink.

“I can make you an iced coffee, unless you don’t like that either. I can also add vanilla if you’d like.”

“I’ll take two pumps of vanilla in my iced coffee, and I’ll have a chocolate chip muffin too, please.” A lingering tension hung in the air, so much so that Sasha retreated to the back because she felt like a third wheel. Maiya didn’t know why she felt so drawn to this man, but she hoped he would come back to the café. 

“Okay, and can I have a name for the order?”

“Aurélien.” Maiya felt her heart skip a beat. She could listen to him repeat his name countless times without getting tired.

“Perfect. It shouldn’t take long, but feel free to have a seat while you wait.” The young woman said with a smile. Aurélien sat at a table near the window.

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: anything angsty/fluff with aurelien tchouameni if ur up for writing for him! ❤️ (anonymous)

Word Count: 470 words

(author's note: first tchouameni fic !! hope this is okay 🫶)

The sun had begun to set behind the trees, casting its soft glow through the windows. Y/N stood in the kitchen, basking in the remnants of the evening sun. Her boyfriend, Aurelien, was upstairs, getting a last-minute late-night shower after his training session had run over schedule. 

Y/N soaked up the tranquillity and peacefulness of the early twilight while anticipating her boyfriend’s return from upstairs. Sighing contentedly, she moved towards the kettle that resided on the kitchen counter. Y/N lifted it off its base and moved over to the sink.

As it filled up with water, she heard the faint sound of the shower door opening and closing from upstairs. Turning off the tap, Y/N placed the kettle back down and flicked it on to boil. The whistling of the appliance cut through the silence as Y/N returned to the window to further admire the now inky-black sky.

Aurelien stepped out of the shower and grabbed his towel from the floor. He wrapped it around his waist and wandered into the bedroom he shared with his girlfriend and opened the doors of his wardrobe. Pulling out a t-shirt and shorts, he began to dry himself off, eager to go and spend the rest of the evening with Y/N.

Walking down the stairs, Aurelien headed into the kitchen, where he spotted his girlfriend staring out of the window. He moved over to where she stood and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. Leaning his head onto her shoulder, he pressed a gentle kiss to the skin of her neck.

“Did you have a nice shower?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence that had returned after the kettle had boiled.

“Mhm, was nice after training.” He replied. “Were you making tea?”

She nodded, “Was waiting for you to come down to see if you wanted a cup.”

“Yeah, I’ll have some if you don’t mind, baby.” 

“Course, sit down, and I’ll bring it to you when it’s finished.”

Aurelien moved back and removed his arms from his girlfriend’s waist. He kissed her softly before he moved through to their living room. Grabbing the TV remote, he switched the television on, letting the cheesy late-night game show channel fill the silence.

Y/N had moved over to the cupboard and pulled out two mugs. She set about making the tea, and once she had finished, she carried the mugs carefully into the living room. She placed them down on the side table wordlessly and settled down beside Aurelien.

The couple cuddled together, the room being illuminated by the soft glow of the TV. Y/N laid her head on her boyfriend’s chest, who placed a kiss on her head in response. The pair basked in each other’s company, savouring the rare moment of quiet company.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY ────── iamquaintrelle (✨☔️💕)

⌗ pairing : aurelien tchouameni x black oc

⌗ tags : @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend

⌗ summary : she’s been his pa for almost a year and everyday 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.

It's actually ridiculous how much of Leila's day revolves around not combusting whenever Aurélien touches her. She is the guardian of his universe when she walks through Real Madrid's training grounds each morning, her tablet hugged close like a shield against her racing heart. Every schedule, every appointment, every little detail of his life bends to her organizational wit. Players nod at her with familiar respect. Staff members share knowing looks when she breezes past, already aware she'll have whatever they need before they ask. She is efficient. She is indispensable. She is absolutely screwed.

Eight months as his PA (thanks to his uncle Bertrand basically saving her from corporate hell), and she still hasn't figured out how to function when he does things like casually dropping his head into her lap during movie nights, her fingers freezing mid-air because oh god where does she put her hands? Her grandmother back in Georgia always said she had a heart too big for her own good. If only she knew how right she was, how that heart squeezes painfully whenever his sleepy morning voice crackles through her phone.

The thing about being Aurélien Tchouaméni's personal assistant is that nobody warns you about the little moments. Nobody tells you how to handle it when he fixes your collar without thinking, or plays with your braids during strategy meetings, or pulls you into his side when you walk. It's just who he is, she knows that. He does it without thinking, but her stupid heart doesn't get the memo that it's just Aurélien being Aurélien. That to him, she's just his PA who pushes up her glasses too often and stress-bakes cookies at midnight before big matches.

Yet Leila is good at hiding. She is spectacular at pretending, at burying the flutter in her chest when he calls her "ma puce" or rests his head on her shoulder after exhausting matches. The weight of unspoken words has become her closest companion, filling the spaces between their easy laughter and comfortable silences.

Sometimes she catches his uncle giving her these knowing looks, like he's trying not to laugh at how obvious her crush is. And honestly? Fair enough. Because she's the one who memorizes the way his accent gets thicker when he's tired, or how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's genuinely happy, or how he still hums the same Cameroonian lullaby his grandmother taught him when he thinks no one is listening. She's his PA. She's his safe space.

And she’s hopelessly, utterly, ridiculously in love with him. And that's both the best and worst thing about her life.

Five-thirty in the morning and Leila's already punching in the security code to Aurélien's mansion in Madrid, greeted by the enthusiastic clicking of Ocho's nails against the marble floors. The Belgian Malinois runs toward her, all crazy puppy energy and wet kisses, his tail wagging like he hasn't seen her in years instead of just yesterday.

"At least someone's excited to see me," she murmurs, scratching behind his ears while juggling her work bag and his freshly pressed training kit. The house is quiet except for the noises of the air conditioner, and sometimes she still can't believe this is her life – that his uncle Bertrand somehow picked her out of hundreds of applicants eight months ago.

She remembers the interview like it was yesterday, sitting across from Bertrand in that intimidating office, wondering if he'd lost his mind. "You want me to be his PA?" she'd asked, pushing up her glasses nervously. She only applied on a whim because the money looked really good, and she was expecting to be pushed aside for someone else. "I'm the same age as him. I have zero experience with professional athletes..."

But Bertrand had just smiled, that knowing look in his eyes that she'd come to recognize. "Trust me," he'd said. "You're exactly what he needs."

Now, padding through the kitchen in her loafers (because heels were a disaster waiting to happen), she starts Aurélien's morning routine like a well-rehearsed dance. Protein shake first – one scoop vanilla, one banana, almond milk, a handful of spinach that he pretends not to know about but absolutely needs. Light breakfast next – two slices of wholegrain toast, scrambled egg whites with herbs, half an avocado. His nutritionist would be proud.

She's laying out his training kit when she hears the echo of heels on the stairs, and her heart does that familiar plummet. A gorgeous woman appears, all legs, blemish free brown skin, and perfect 18-inch middle-part bust down weave, wearing what looks like last season's Balmain and carrying this year's Hermès. Their eyes meet, and Leila forces a polite smile as the woman sashays past, giving her a disgusted look as she left the home.

Good morning to you too, I guess.

Just another morning, just another model. They come and go like the house was some sort of an amusement park, each one more beautiful than the last.

Sometimes Leila catches her reflection in the massive windows as she moves through his house – her practical braids with their hint of gold thread, her simple black pants and collared blouse, her sensible shoes. She's pretty, she knows that. The kind of pretty that gets you genuine compliments from grandmas and makes babies smile at you in grocery stores, yet standing in Aurélien's world, surrounded by women who look like they've stepped off Milan runways... it's like being a sparrow in a flock of peacocks.

She's arranging his new predators (black and gold, because apparently Adidas knows exactly what they're doing) when she hears the familiar sound of his bedroom door. In approximately thirty seconds, he'll appear at the top of the stairs, fresh from his shower, probably shirtless because the man has zero concept of proper clothing etiquette. Her heart will do that stupid thing, and she'll have to pretend she's very interested in whatever's on her tablet.

This is her life now. Planning his days, managing his schedule, trying not to stare at his abs, and watching an endless parade of beautiful women float through his house. At least Ocho loves her unconditionally, even if she's not a size two or wore Louboutins.

"The things they don't tell you in the job description," she mutters to the dog, who tilts his head sympathetically. He doesn't care that she shops at Zara instead of Zimmermann. He just wants his morning belly rubs and maybe a piece of turkey from her sandwich later.

Now, she just has to survive another morning of Aurélien's sleepy smile and casual touches without having a complete emotional breakdown. Just another day in the life of being hopelessly in love with your impossibly beautiful boss who dates literal supermodels.

Right on schedule, Aurélien appears at the top of the stairs, and Leila immediately regrets every life choice that led her to this moment. He's shirtless – of course he's shirtless, because God is testing her specifically today – with grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. His skin is still dewy from the shower, curls damp, and there's a satisfied swagger to his movements that tells her exactly why this morning's model practically floated out the door.

Besides having that stank ass face though…

"Bonjour, ma puce," he calls down, voice still rough with sleep, and honestly? It should be illegal to sound like that at this early in the morning. She busies herself with her tablet, pretending her face isn't heating as he descends the stairs with that lazy grace that makes him look like he's been art directed by God himself.

"Your protein shake is ready," she says to her screen, because it's safer than looking at him right now. "And you have that interview with Marca at ten, so please try to sound awake by then."

He ignores her completely – typical – and instead wraps himself around her from behind, his chin finding her shoulder like it belongs there. His skin is warm against her back, and she can smell his ridiculously expensive body wash, the one she specially orders from Paris because he's particular about these things. "You're my favorite person," he mumbles into her neck, and her traitor heart does backflips.

"That's because I feed you," she manages to say, proud that her voice stays even as his arms tighten around her waist. "Your breakfast is gonna get cold."

"Mmmm, five more minutes." He nuzzles closer, and she can feel him smiling against her skin. "You're too comfortable."

Ocho just wags his tail at them, completely useless against inappropriate morning cuddles from sleepy footballers who don't understand personal space. Or shirts. Or what this kind of closeness does to her blood pressure.

"Aurélien," she tries to sound stern but it it doesn’t work, "you have training in an hour. Ancelotti will actually murder me if you're late again."

"Carlo loves you," he protests, but finally releases her, padding toward the kitchen. She allows herself one quick glance – purely professional, to make sure he's actually moving toward breakfast and not just collapsing on the couch – and immediately regrets it. The morning sun streaming through the windows is doing unfair things to his dark skin, highlighting every muscled plane of his back, and she sends a quick prayer of both thanks and protest to whatever powerful being is responsible for his genetics.

"He tolerates me because I get you to training on time," she corrects, following him with her tablet clutched to her chest. "Which won't happen if you don't eat now."

He drops into a kitchen chair, all loose-limbs, and she pulls up his schedule while he starts on his breakfast. "You're sliding through for dinner tonight, right?" he asks between bites. "Mama's asking about you. She says you never call her anymore."

"I spoke to your mother the other day," she points out, trying not to smile at his pout. "And that's only because you forgot to call her back. Again."

"See? This is why you're her favorite child now." He grins up at her, and her heart does that stupid stuttering thing it always does when he looks at her like that – all soft eyes and dimples, still sleep-warm and touchable. "So, dinner?"

"I have plans," she lies, because she needs at least one evening to reset her emotional boundaries after dealing with Morning Aurélien in all his shirtless glory.

He frowns, and something flickers across his face too quickly for her to read. "Cancel them," he says, reaching for her hand and tugging her closer. "Please? Mama's making that stew you love."

And this – this right here is why she's completely screwed. Because he looks up at her with those eyes, thumb absently stroking her wrist, and she knows she'll say yes. She always does. Even though it means spending another evening pretending her heart doesn't break a little when he unconsciously flirts with her, even though she'll have to smile through stories about his latest hookup, even though his mother will give her those knowing looks that make her want to sink through the floor.

"Fine," she sighs, and his whole face lights up. "But I'm not covering for you when you're late to training tomorrow because you stayed up all night watching game footage again."

He just grins, pressing a quick kiss to her palm before releasing her hand. "Yes, you will," he says confidently. "Because you're the best PA in Madrid."

Right. PA. Because that's all she is. All she'll ever be.

Aurélien disappears into the half bath with his training kit, and Leila lets out the breath she's been holding. She cleans up his breakfast dishes, trying not to think about how domestic this all feels – her in his kitchen, him getting ready for work like they're some kind of... nope. Not going there.

"I really got to get it together," she mutters to Ocho, who's doing his best starving dog impression despite having a bowl full of premium kibble. She sneaks him a piece of turkey anyway, because she's weak and he knows it. "Don't tell your dad."

The sound of Aurélien humming from the bathroom makes her pause mid-wipe of the kitchen counter. It's unfair how even that sounds good – everything he does is just intentionally devastating to her sanity at this point.

He emerges fully dressed in Real Madrid training gear, and somehow that's worse because now he looks like every football fantasy she definitely hasn't had.

"Ready?" he asks, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door. The black Lamborghini Urus sits in the driveway like a spaceship, because Jules apparently got one last month and Aurélien has never outgrown that best-friend-matching phase. She's not complaining though, because watching him drive it is... problematic for her mental health in the best possible way.

She slides into the passenger seat, tablet clutched in her lap. Aurélien starts the engine with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for his phone to queue up his morning playlist. Lil Baby's voice fills the cabin, and Aurélien starts rapping along, his French accent wrapping around the English words in a way that should be funny but instead makes her want to crawl into his lap and–

"You okay?" he glances at her, one hand still casually draped over the steering wheel as he navigates Madrid's morning traffic. "You're looking like you’re gonna be sick."

"Fine," she squeaks, because how does she explain that watching him drive one-handed is doing things to her that would have her ancestors clutching their pearls and setting back feminism a few decades. "Just... thinking about your schedule."

He hums along to the music, totally oblivious to her internal crisis. His fingers tap against the steering wheel, and she's definitely not watching the way his forearms flex or thinking about those hands in other contexts. She's a professional. She has a degree. She's read Bell Hooks and Audre Lorde and she is absolutely not having elaborate fantasies about climbing him like a tree while he's parallel parking with one hand.

"We should get some coffee before training," he says, and she knows without looking that he's doing that thing where he glances at her through his lashes while asking for something. "The good café, not the training ground stuff."

"You’re nutritionist is gonna be mad," she reminds him, and he takes a turn with just his palm on the wheel, all casual control that makes her brain go fuzzy.

"But you love their pain au chocolat," he grins, and Lord help her, he's right. "Come on, ma puce. One coffee isn’t gonna be that bad."

And this right here? This is why she's going to hell. Because he smiles at her like that, voice still rough, one hand on the wheel like he's auditioning for Fast & Furious: Madrid Drift, and she just... gives in. Every time.

"Okay," she sighs, "but if Carlo asks, I tried to stop you."

His laugh is low and warm, and she sends a silent apology to every feminist scholar who fought for her right to be seen as more than just a woman losing her mind over a pretty man in an expensive car. But really, they've never seen Aurélien rap trap music while driving one-handed in morning traffic. She thinks they'd understand.

The café is their usual morning hideaway, tucked away in a quiet corner of Madrid where the servers are discrete and the pastries are sinful. Aurélien parallel parks the Urus with one hand.

"The usual?" he asks, already reaching for his wallet as they enter. This is another thing about him – he always pays, without making a show of it. It's just natural, like breathing. His mother raised him right, beyond all the revolving door of gorgeous women (which, fair enough, he's young and single and literally one of the most eligible footballers in Europe, so who can blame him?). He holds doors, pulls out chairs, and never lets anyone else reach for the bill when he's around. It's just who he is.

"You don't have to," she starts, but he's already giving her that look that means she should save her breath.

"Ma puce, when have I ever let you pay?" His accent wraps around the words like honey.

The barista recognizes them – of course she does, they're here often enough – and starts their order before they reach the counter. Aurélien adds an extra pain au chocolat to their usual, shooting Leila a wink.

She's watches him charm the barista (because he charms everyone, it's like his superpower), when her brain decides to remind her that she wouldn't even know what to do if she ever had a chance with him. Like, literally wouldn't know. Because while he's out here probably setting records for most models fucked in a calendar year, she's... well. The most action she's gotten recently was an awkward kiss after a date that ended with her glasses fogged up and her nose bruised.

"Leila," his voice breaks through her spiral, amused and way too close. She blinks to find him watching her with that soft smile that makes her knees weak. "Where'd you go just now?"

Oh, you know, just thinking about how I'm probably the only 24-year-old virgin in Madrid and definitely the only one who works this closely with a footballer who could probably teach a masterclass in... everything.

"Just work stuff," she lies, accepting the coffee he hands her. Their fingers brush, and she nearly drops the cup because she's apparently twelve years old.

They settle at their usual corner table, and she tries not to stare as he tears into his pain au chocolat with the enthusiasm of someone who normally lives on protein shakes and steamed chicken. There's a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, and her fingers itch to wipe it away. Instead, she clutches her coffee cup.

"You've got a little..." she gestures at his face, because complete sentences are hard now.

He swipes at it with his thumb and then licks it clean, and she sends up a quick prayer for strength because honestly. Her mind helpfully supplies images of other ways he could use that tongue and – nope.

"You should eat yours before it gets cold," he says, nodding at her untouched pastry. "And stop looking at your tablet. We have ten minutes before we need to leave for training."

She takes a bite to stop herself from saying something stupid like 'I love you' or 'please break my back', and okay, maybe the pastry is good enough to justify committing minor nutritional sins. Aurélien watches her with satisfaction, like he's personally responsible for making her enjoy breakfast.

"See? Sometimes breaking rules is good for you," he grins, reaching over to brush some stray chocolate from her lip with his thumb, casual as anything. She stops breathing entirely, because what else can you do when the man you're hopelessly in love with is touching your mouth and you have absolutely zero experience with any of... this?

"You're a bad influence," she manages to say, proud that her voice only shakes a little.

His laugh is low and warm. "You love it."

And that's the problem, isn't it? She loves all of it. Him. This. Everything. Even if she wouldn't know what to do with any of it if she had the chance.

They make it to the training ground with five minutes to spare, because Leila's nothing if not efficient at scheduling buffer time for Aurélien's pastry cravings. As they're pulling into his usual spot, a sleek Mercedes SUV stops nearby, and out comes Jude Bellingham with all the energy of a labrador puppy, his mom Denise waving from the driver's seat.

"Morning, loves!" Denise calls out, and Leila waves back, feeling that familiar warmth she always gets from Jude's mom. There's something so endearingly normal about him still getting dropped off by his mother sometimes, even though he's football royalty now.

And the fact that he can’t drive worth a damn…

"You lot finally made it then?" Jude's Birmingham accent cuts through as he bounces over. "Been waiting ages, ya know what I mean?"

Aurélien just shakes his head at his younger teammate, but Leila grins. When she first started, she'd spent hours watching Peaky Blinders to handle Jude's accent.

"Come 'ere you," Jude opens his arms wide for Leila, and she can't help but laugh as he engulfs her in one of his trademark bear hugs. He's always like this – all sunshine and affection, treating everyone like his best mate two minutes after meeting them.

She hears Aurélien click his tongue behind her, and suddenly there's a warm hand at her waist, pulling her back. "That's enough," he says, voice carrying an edge she rarely hears. Jude just grins wider, if that's even possible, and nudges Aurélien's shoulder.

"Don't be jealous, mate. Plenty of love to go around."

They head into the facility, Leila following a few steps behind with her tablet, trying not to smile too obviously at Aurélien's lingering protectiveness. She can hear Jude chattering away as they walk, his excitement vibrating through the air.

"Bruv, you gotta throw a party soon, yeah? Get some pretty girls over, make it massive," Jude's saying, gesturing enthusiastically. "My mate knows these girls from this modeling agency, absolute baddies, ya know what I mean?"

Leila pretends to be very interested in her tablet, definitely not thinking about the parade of models who already frequent Aurélien's house. She doesn't need to imagine more of them.

"Nah," Aurélien shakes his head, rolling his shoulders in that way he does when he's not really feeling something. "Think I'm good with just having the boys over. Keep it lowkey, you feel me?"

"Say less, say less," Jude nods, like Aurélien's just dropped some profound wisdom. "Just the mandem then. Text me when you sort it, yeah? We can get Cama and Edu over, have FIFA tournament and that."

Leila makes a mental note to stock up on snacks that won't horrify the nutritionist too much. She's learned that "lowkey with the boys" usually means half the team sprawled across Aurélien's living room, screaming at the TV while Ocho tries to steal their food.

"You'll come too, right Lei?" Jude calls back to her, because of course he includes everyone. "Someone's gotta stop this one from murdering Cama when he starts his celebration dances."

"She's busy," Aurélien answers before she can, and she looks up in surprise to find him watching her with an expression she can't quite read.

"Mans really keeping you all to himself," Jude laughs, ducking the smack Aurélien aims at his head. "Selfish, innit?"

Leila feels her face heat up, but before she can stammer out a response, Carlo's voice rings out across the training ground, calling the players in. She watches them jog off, Jude still chattering away, and tries not to read too much into Aurélien's behavior. After all, she's got a full day of meetings to coordinate and his agent to wrangle about some upcoming sponsorship deals.

She's a professional. She's got this.

There's something about watching a bunch of millionaire footballers act like complete fools around a pool that makes Leila question all her life choices. The Madrid sun is beating down on Aurélien's backyard while she stands at the grill, working her magic on another batch of her daddy's famous honey brown sugar wings. Somehow this recipe made its way from her little corner outside of Atlanta all the way to Spain, and now Aurélien straight up refuses to eat wings from anywhere else.

"Ma puce," he'd hit her with those puppy eyes this morning, the ones that should come with a warning label because they're basically emotional warfare. "Please? You know nobody does it like you."

And really, how was she supposed to say no to that? The way he appreciates her cooking isn't some weird thing about women in the kitchen – it's deeper than that, his genuine love for Black American food that sometimes makes her wonder if that's exactly why his uncle Claude picked her. This Georgia peach bringing a taste of home to his nephew in ways those Instagram models could never.

The party (though it's really more of a glorified kickback) is peak chaos right now. Cama's over there trying his hardest to convince Manuel to do some TikTok dance by the pool, while AK and Julio are having what looks like a whole UN summit about their FIFA ratings. Then there's Jude sprawled out with his boys Toby and Noah, all of them looking like they invented sunshine or something.

"Need help with that?"

She spins around (definitely too quick, way too quick) and ends up face-first into Jules's chest. He steadies her with that laugh of his, dreads catching the sunlight as they sway. And look, she isn't blind – Jules is fine fine, with those perfectly maintained locs and that neat goatee, the kind of smile that probably has half of Barcelona in his DMs, but it's different with him. While she can appreciate the aesthetic (because she has eyes and is breathing), he's never made her heart race the way Aurélien does, never made her think inappropriate thoughts about jumping his bones in the weight room downstairs.

"Hi JuJu," she grins, watching him do that eye roll he always does at the nickname. "And no, I don't need help. Last time you tried to 'help' with the grill, you nearly set your eyebrows on fire."

"That was one time," he protests, leaning against the counter all casual like he didn't almost commit arson. "And it was Cama's fault."

Truth is, Jules might be her favorite of Aurélien's friends if she's being honest. He's real – says exactly what he thinks, never plays games, and treats her like his actual little sister instead of just his bestie's PA. Plus, he's the only one who's never tried to set her up with random friends or teammates, which honestly? God bless him for that.

"You good though?" His voice drops lower, just for her. "Saw that Instagram model leaving Aure's place yesterday morning."

And that's the other thing about Jules – man catches EVERYTHING. Including, apparently, her embarrassingly obvious crush on his best friend.

"I'm his PA, not his keeper," she focuses very intently on basting these wings. "He can have breakfast with whoever he wants."

"Mhm," Jules hums, unconvinced. "Pretty sure breakfast wasn't on the menu, petit."

"Jules," she warns, but there's no heat in it. Hard to be mad when he's looking at her with that big brother concern.

"All I'm saying is–"

"JK!" Aurélien's voice cuts through whatever truth bomb Jules was about to drop. "Stop bothering my cook and get your ass over here. Cama thinks he can beat you at pool basketball."

"Your cook?" Jules raises an eyebrow that she wants to smack right off his face, but she just waves him away with her basting brush.

"Go defend your honor or whatever. These wings need a delicate touch."

He gives her one last look – the kind that says this conversation isn't over – before jogging over to the pool and immediately getting into it with Cama about basketball form. She catches Aurélien looking back at her for a moment, something in his expression she can't quite read, before Jude causes chaos with a cannonball that probably just displaced half the pool's water.

Just another day in paradise, she thinks, turning back to her grill. Just another day of pretending she isn't completely gone for this man who probably just sees her as his wing-making PA from Georgia.

The food spread looked like something straight out of her mama's Sunday dinner dreams - honey brown sugar wings arranged on grilled lemon slices (a family secret that made everything taste like heaven), seafood salad that would make her Auntie Janelle proud, and cornbread still warming in the kitchen. Leila stepped back, wiping her hands on her apron and trying not to feel too pleased with herself.

"Food's ready!" she called out, and watching a group of footballers scramble out of the pool like excited kids was actually hilarious, but then Aurélien had to go and do that thing where he made her heart forget how to beat properly - all bright eyes and dimples, rubbing his hands together like she'd just announced Christmas was coming early.

"Everyone better thank Leila," he said, already reaching for a wing with his still-wet hands. "This right here? This is love on a plate."

If you only knew, she thought, ducking back into the kitchen before her face could give her away. The pitcher of Arnold Palmer was waiting in the fridge - another little piece of Georgia she'd brought to Madrid because these boys needed to know what real sweet tea tasted like.

She was heading back out with the pitcher when she heard them, voices carrying through the open doors like they were determined to ruin her whole existence.

"Nah but for real," Noah was saying, "your PA is thick as fuck. You telling me you never tried to get with that? ‘Cuz I would."

Her hands tightened around the pitcher, heart suddenly doing a very different kind of dance.

"Pssh, no," Aurélien's laugh felt like ice down her spine. "Leila isn't that type of girl. She's… okay."

Okay.

OKAY???

Like... OKAY???

Not even pretty. Not even cute. Just... okay. Like a sandwich that's not bad but not good either. Like a movie you watch when nothing else is on. Like a backup outfit when everything else is in the wash.

The pitcher made a too-loud sound as she set it down on the table, and she caught Jules watching her with those too-observant eyes of his. He always saw too much, always knew too much.

"I should go," she said, proud that her voice stayed steady even as her heart was splintering. "Got errands to run."

"You good?" Jules asked all quiet, and she nodded so stiffly her neck almost cramped. His frown got deeper and she wanted to tell him to stop looking at her like that before she lost it.

"I have to return that Aimé jacket – store closes in an hour." Please just let me leave with whatever dignity I have left.

"Leila, that can wait," Aurélien said around a mouthful of HER wings that SHE made with LOVE because she was STUPID. "Sit down and eat."

"I'm not hungry," she managed, gathering her things. "See you later."

She made it to her car before the first tear fell, and then they just kept coming because apparently, her heart didn't get the memo. Because somehow she'd let herself fall for her boss - her very beautiful, very uninterested boss who thought she was just okay while he dated women who looked like they'd stepped out of Vogue.

"Get it together," she muttered, wiping at her cheeks and probably ruining her makeup. "He's your BOSS. Your very male, very beautiful, very uninterested boss who thinks you're OKAY. Just okay."

Her phone buzzed - Jules, because, of course, he'd check on her - but she couldn't deal with his knowing kindness right now. She needed her bed, needed her comfort playlist, and needed to remember that this wasn't some romance novel where the curvy Black girl gets the football star.

This was real life. And in real life, girls like her don't end up with guys like Aurélien Tchouaméni.

They just end up okay.

And somehow, that hurt worse than a straight-up rejection ever could.

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