#no I'm not continuing this but I will tag it

[wandanatsub]

At least once more, as always

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda finds a new spell in the Darkhold and wants to try it out.

Tags: Somnophilia, dub con (is reader there voluntarily? I don't know), magic (cock), stretching, overstimulation, breeding kink, pet names for reader (sweetheart, baby, angel), mommy kink, slight dacryphilia, no pronouns used for reader

Words: 3k

Find it on AO3 or others like it

I was thinking about how Wanda would wake you with morning sex and then my brain just did its thing at 2am. This took way longer to edit than I thought, but I'm happy with this for now so posting before it stays in my draft for another month..

The bed was warm when Wanda finally joined you, but sleep was the last thing on her mind.

She pulled the sheet off the bed and was rewarded with the sight of your naked body. Even asleep, Wanda knew you were always ready and waiting for her, whether you were aware of it or not.

She began with lightly brushing her fingers over your naked body, making sure you were still fast asleep. Then she pressed a bit harder, especially around your thighs and hips. Her hand snaked around your throat and massaged your pulse points. She teased your nipples and pulled on them.

Your breathing changed, but you were still sleeping. She checked, loving that her treatment was reflected in your dream.

After a while, she let her fingers drift down to your folds and pushed through them, feeling the wetness seep out of you. You were wet enough for her to put her plans into action.

And now for the second part of her plan. Wanda spoke another short incantation and started to slowly thrust into you. She wondered at what point you would wake and shiver of excitement ran down her back, making her thrusts a little deeper. Would the continued stretch of your hole would wake you up before her cock became thicker than her fist?

Before she pulled you close, she spoke the incantation and rubbed her clit. With the last word, a cock appeared between her legs. Her hand easily fit around it, as planned.

She turned you on your back. Your face was beautifully calm, a small smile on her lips if Wanda saw it correctly. Her fingers slid down to your thighs, grabbing hold at your knees and pulled them apart to slide closer towards you. She settled your legs over her hips, her cock right at your seeping entrance. She pushed in easily, groaning as she could feel her cock inside your warm and soft pussy.

Every passing second made her cock expand, slow enough to not be recognizable at the moment, but soon you'd notice the stretch. The slow process also gave her the chance to fuck you for a while before you'd wake up.

Wanda started with easy slow thrusts. You were so wet that she felt no resistance at all., though she could feel it starting to build. She fingered your clit to keep the abundance of wetness coming, not wanting to hurt you. Yet. She kept thrusting, checking in on your dream to find her dream-self lazily fucking into dream-you, your blissed-out face mirroring reality.

Wanda kept fucking into you. Once her cock had grown enough, the resistance was noticeable, your walls gripping onto her.  Gods, she loved the way you felt around her, the pressure gradually increasing, turning her on more every second.

She had to put more strength into her thrusts, holding onto your hips to push into you. Your dream-self had started to moan her name, slowly bleeding into reality, as she could hear you trying to form words. On a particular powerful thrust, going as deep as she could, your eyes suddenly popped open with you screaming out her name.

Wanda kept thrusting into you with all her power, relishing in the squeeze of her cock while pushing your hips into the mattress. Your hands came up to claw at her. To make her stop or will her to keep going, you weren’t sure.

Waking up to Wanda pushing into you with her thick cock had left you reeling, barely comprehending what was happening. But Wanda gave you no time to catch up. The squelching sound of Wanda forcing herself into your pussy filled the air.

"I've been fucking you for a while, but I’m glad you've finally decided to join the show."

"Yes, take me, pet."

She leaned down to pull your wrists above your head, brushing her nose up your throat to whisper in your ear.

"Gotta get you so wet for me, baby, more than ever before. I'm trying this little spell. Can you figure it out?"

Shivers ran through your whole body. Your hips tried to press up into the witch above you, desperately looking for more friction but Wanda slowed her thrusts, though only because she struggled to push into you all the way.

Her hand flew back to your clit, feeling your pussy give way to her. You squeezed your eyes shut, there were too many sensations. You needed to cum, because you needed this to be over. It was torture, lighting your body on fire, raw pleasure coursing through your veins.

And she kept thrusting into you, your brain nearly exploding while trying to make sense of her words and not pass out from the heavenly pressure between your legs.

You felt your orgasm creeping up on you. It hadn't been the first time Wanda had stretched you out, and it always felt great. But her waking you up already inside you felt intense. You wanted to cum so badly. Cum for her. Stretched around her cock.

"Please, more. I need-"

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart, more is what this is all about. I'm gonna stretch you out until all you can do is cum on my cock."

You were glad Wanda had let you come so easily, not even making you ask for permission. Your hands let go of the headboard and found her hips, trying to push her off of you. The orgasm hat felt amazing but you needed a break.

The thought, paired with Wanda's hard thrusts, sent you over the edge easily, squeezing her cock like a vice. She moaned, her hips temporarily thrusting out of rhythm.

She slowed down until you stopped clenching around her, not wanting to cum until she had you at your breaking point. It helped you catch your breath. Though you could still feel the stretch, you felt relaxed, the pleasure-high fogging up your thoughts.

Wanda took hold of your wrists again and kept pushing into you.

“What makes you think I’m done with you, baby?” Her overly sweet voice made you realize you might be in trouble.

Wanda quickened her thrusts again, pleasure filled your body without your permission though you knew better than to fight it or her.  You would enjoy her treatment so much more when you gave into her fully. If Wanda’s thrusts kept coming, so would you. Might as well enjoy it.

Something felt different though. Like she had gotten bigger, stretching you more and-

Oh.

Now her words made sense.

A loud whine escaped your lips.

"Yes, more, please, more, Wanda. Please, please, make me stretch for you."

Wanda knew you had finally understood.

By now, she was almost as thick as her fist. Her thoughts drifted back to a week ago, when you had asked her to fist you. Wanda pushed the image and feeling of you squeezing her hand, only her wrist visible between your legs, covered in cum and lube to the elbow, into your thoughts.

The mental image and the pressure of her thick cock pushed you over the edge again. Your whole body went rigid, muscle tension pulling your body away from the mattress, pushing into the pleasure and overstimulation.

Wanda kept up her rhythm this time, pounding into you, holding onto your hips, pushing herself as deep as possible. You didn't know when your second orgasm turned into the third, but you wouldn’t care if you lost all feeling in your physical body as long as the fireworks of pure ecstasy kept exploding.

"One more, baby, give me one more." The words pushed through the haze in your mind. And you felt yourself nod. One more orgasm and you could rest.

Wanda blew hot air on your clit, not wanting to overstimulate you, but you writhed underneath her anyway.

Wanda had paused her thrusts, waiting for you to return to reality, but her cock had gotten thicker again.

Your orgasm had spread your wetness over your thighs, her thighs and the bedspread, but neither of you cared.

"More, Wan, please." Your words were slurred, but Wanda understood them anyway.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You are doing so well. Just give me one more. Can you do that for me, baby?"

You nodded again, moving your hips against hers, pushing yourself onto her thick cock.

Wanda was in awe. She had trained you so well.

"That's it, baby, keep going, fuck yourself on my cock. You can't get enough of it, can you? You're so wet and open for me, made to be stretched by my thick cock."

You whined, not able to push yourself all the way onto Wanda's cock anymore, resulting in quick, shallow frustrating thrusts. You were stretched beyond anything you had ever experienced. You wanted more, needed more. Needed Wanda, her help, needed her to push deeper into you. All thoughts had left your head. All you could think about was Wanda. The witch liked it that way.

"Aww, my pretty baby can't do it without my help? Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll show you how to fuck a precious little angel like you."

You winced at the first deep thrust. Wanda's thumb found your clit and swept over it again and again. The stretch became easier to handle but it couldn't quench the frustrated arousal sweeping through your whole body. With all your strength, you wrapped your legs around Wanda's back and pulled her as close as you could.

"Harder. Please, Wan. Please, mommy, fuck me."

Hearing that title from your lips nearly pushed Wanda over the edge.

Nails dug into your hips, making you cry out. Wanda pushed into you as hard as she could, slamming her pelvis into yours with every thrust, but you didn't care. The pleasure exploded in your body, reaching every tiny nerve ending.

"Come for me, baby. Come on mommy’s cock."

Your orgasm ripped through you, only increasing once you felt Wanda's cock erupt in thick spurts of cum, stretching you even more. Your breathing stopped while your body tried to contain all the pleasure. All your nerve endings were fired up, sending ecstasy back to your center, the sensations concentrated on the stretch of your walls around Wanda's cock, pulling you into another orgasm.

It took a while to free yourself from the haze in your brain. You barely registered Wanda speaking words in another language, then the continued stretch stopped.

Wanda waited until your eyes fluttered open again, finding hers.

"Good morning, baby. Sleep well?"

Her lips pulled into a grin. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, if at all possible. But as soon as your brain found words, her thumb swiped over your clit, circling it, shooting pleasure through your abused nerves. You whined, your hands shooting out to grip her wrist. Wanda was still inside you, stretching your pussy to its limits.

"Ah ah ah, baby, hands to yourself. I just want to make this easier for you."

Your grip on her wrist didn't lessen, but you didn't have the strength to stop her anyway. Wanda brushed quick little circles over your clit, making your eyes roll back. Your hips lifted of their own volition, still chasing her touch, but she chose that moment to slowly pull out of you.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. Stretching you out had been ecstatic, but this feeling was agonizing. Her thumb pressed over your clit, your walls releasing her cock, bit by bit. Using magic could’ve definitely make this process easier for you, but Wanda wasn’t really looking to make it easier for you.

She pulled out slowly, slower really than she had to, but she loved seeing your walls all stretched around her, your clit fluttering under her thumb.

"You're doing so well for me, sweetheart. Be good, and don't fight it, baby."

Your body couldn’t decide between whines, cries and moans, letting it all out. Wanda basked in the display of pleasure and pain. She loved how your body writhed underneath her, constantly switching between pulling her closer and pushing her away.

Wanda was in total control of your body, just the way she liked it. Her fingers slid up your stomach to your breast and started to toy with your nipples, squeezing and pulling on them. All the painful sensations combined into a pleasure wave, slowly drifting over you.

She paused the movement of her hips for a few seconds, cruelly tracing your thin walls around her cock. Your whines turned into sobs, your body practically vibrating with all the sensations, until she finally took pity on you. Her thumb returned to your clit, the other hand held onto your squirming hips. Her lips found your ear, praising you in hushed tones as she finally pulled out of you.

A final small orgasm pulled out of you, relief flooding your whole body.

Without her cock inside you, your combined cum started flooding out of you, soaking the sheets underneath you.

Wanda's finger swirled through it and pushed some of it back into your stretched entrance. You whined and tried to pull away from her.

"Stay still, baby. I can't have all of this sweetness go to waste. Have to plug you up next time, to make sure to keep all of my cum inside."

Your struggle quickly faded. Your body was overwhelmed, unable, and unwilling to fight Wanda. After all, she knew what was best for you.

Four wet fingers easily pushed the cum back into you, her thumb finding your clit, overstimulation sending you into another quick orgasm, squeezing weakly around her fingers.

"Good job, baby, let me fill you up."

Wanda pulled you closer by your hips, propping your ass up onto her thighs. Your legs fell open, exposing your wide entrance to Wanda's hungry gaze. Your body felt heavy, too heavy to really move, but you knew Wanda would handle your body into any position she wanted it. You didn’t have to think about moving or anything besides breathing, though your body mostly managed that on its own.

"You're perfect like this, sweetheart, all open and ready for me."

Even though you were still incredibly overstimulated, Wanda's praise could easily push you into compliance.

"Wanna be good for you, mommy." Your whispers were barely loud enough to be heard, but Wanda would've caught them over the sounds of bombs raining from the sky.

"Then just lay still and let me fill you up, baby. Gotta make sure my seed takes root."

Your eyes fluttered, and it became difficult to keep them open. You caught glimpses of Wanda stroking her cock eagerly, staring at your freshly fucked pussy.

"Fill me up, mommy, want you to breed me."

Wanda loved you. She really did. Especially when you were fucked-out exhausted but still so incredibly horny. She was glad she hadn't managed to fuck that out of you yet.

She stroked herself while slowly circling your clit, delighted to see your pussy quivering, trying and failing to squeeze around anything. You couldn’t move a muscle even if you wanted to. Wanda would fuck you for as long as she wanted to, so there was no reason for you to move anyway.

The sight in front of her and the thought of breeding you finally pushed her into her second orgasm of the morning. The first ropes of cum landed over your stomach and hips. She kept fisting her cock and aimed at your still gaping entrance, the rest of her cum dripped into you.

Her thumb brushed your clit, making you squeeze around her cum.

Another short but intense orgasm made sure her cum stayed where it should and brought silent tears to your eyes.

"So good for me baby, you did so well. I love how hungry your pussy is for my cum. Love to see my little angel clench around nothing but my cum."

A smile bloomed on your face, and Wanda brushed away the tears from your cheek, mixing with the cum still on her thumb.

"Such a pretty angel. Cry for me, baby."

Crying after an intense orgasm wasn't new for you. And this had been the most intense experience of your life, so Wanda wasn't surprised by your reaction. The fact that it turned her on even more was also a benefit. The tears kept falling, and Wanda kept brushing them away, smiling down at you.

"Getting my thumb all wet, baby, and wet fingers are only good for one thing."

Her featherlight touch had barely left your face when you felt it once again on your clit. You stiffened. You couldn't. Not again. It was too much.

"Can you give me one more, angel? Just one more, and then you can sleep, I promise. Just have to make sure that you take mommy's cum as deep as you can."

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were sure this wasn't necessary to get you pregnant, whether she had cum inside you, tip pushed against your cervix, or masturbating over your gaping hole.

Your body fought against overstimulation. You wanted to be good for Wanda. To give her what she wanted. She was relentless, brushing over your clit. Quietly praising you. Telling you about all the other ways she wanted to breed you until you were finally pregnant and maybe even after that.

Your body slowly came alive again, pleasure reaching out its fingertips.

"Look at me, baby."

Wanda waited until your eyes fluttered open and anchored onto her own. She smiled at you, then looked down at your abused pussy and let her spit drip onto your clit. Your eyes rolled back, and your body quivered under her presence.

With the last vestiges of her sanity intact, Wanda pulled up your hips until her tongue could reach your clit. It barely took a few licks to catapult you into one last orgasm, long and intense, Wanda sucking on your clit throughout until you finally lost all strength in your body.

She carefully lowered you, pulled a pillow under your hips to keep them inclined, and finally laid down next to you, pulling you into her arms.

"Sleep, baby. You did so well for mommy, I’m so proud of you."

You barely registered the praise before you lost consciousness and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[cherrygirlfriend]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ so thirsty

pairing: sunshine!reader x bf!rafe synopsis: reader catches rafe working out tags / warnings: smut, handjob (through clothes) wc: 600 a/n; originally posted 10/30/2024

it wasn't fair how just someone's back could look so good while they were literally pulling themselves up and down on a steel pole.

rafe's back muscles basically glistened under the lights of the cameron home gym, your teeth biting down on your lower lip as you watched him do pull-ups, sweat slowly rolling down his back muscles, the urge to press your legs closer together getting stronger and stronger.

the music playing from his speakers was so loud that rafe hadn't been able to hear you come in. that morning you had sent him a picture of yourself wearing a criminally short dress, half your thighs visible, and thanks to his friends showing up at the ass-crack of dawn and demanding he come out with them, he didn't have any time to jerk off, so now he was trying to take his frustration out by working out.

rafe let out a small groan when he pulled his chest up to the pull-up bar, but even that couldn't mute the little whine coming from behind him, and when rafe's feet finally hit the ground, he turned around to see you, a dazed expression on your face.

"you're stalking me now, huh?" he grinned, tilting his head back slightly as he watched you start fiddling more and more, trying to distract yourself from him.

"no. no, i wasn't."

"mmhm. sure you weren't." rafe chuckled, making his way to you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you so close to his chest that you could definitely feel the bulge in his shorts, causing your eyes to widen and your cheeks to start warm up like a hot summer day.

you looked down at his chest, sweat slowly dripping down like it was a movie; like this was something he had planned. but what he hadn't planned, or even imagined would happen was you bringing your hand down to the bulge in his shorts, rafe letting out a small whine, one that made you press your legs even closer together.

you continued to palm rafe through his shorts, the blonde throwing his head back in pleasure, trying to figure out just how you'd managed to get such a hold on him; plenty of girls had given him proper handjobs and blowjobs, but there he was, about to blow his load all over his black boxers just because you were palming his cock through the thin fabric of his shorts.

"i-is this alright?" you mumbled softly, causing another groan to escape rafe's lips as his hips bucked against your hand, the man letting out an even louder groan when you moved your hand down his shorts and started properly stroking his cock through his boxers.

"i... i know you're..." rafe let out a loud gasp inbetween his sentence, "you're not experienced, but... fuck, baby, i can't handle this for much longer..." he mumbled, letting out a noise that was between a sigh and a groan.

you kept stroking rafe's cock through his boxers, his blue eyes rolling back while he panted uncontrollably, his hips bucking to the pace of your hand's movements.

"baby, i'm go-"

before rafe could even finish his sentence, his cock started spurting white, hot cum all over his boxers, your hand still stroking him outside the boxers, and even though your soft voice was trying to calm him down, rafe couldn't concentrate on it, all of his focus on the pulsing on his cock as his boxers filled with his own cum.

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief (Part 3)

Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Batman is confused. Elsewhere, a fox has dinner with a social worker.

Trigger Warning for starvation and animal/child abuse. Read at your own risk.

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

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

“I have a question about the report you submitted last Tuesday.”

“What is it, father?” Damian stopped sharpening his blade and looked up at Bruce, still in his cowl from patrol.

“Could you please explain this… Fox… you wrote about?” He asked, carefully picking his words.

“What about it?”

The cave was filled with silence as they stared each other down. Bruce contemplated how to proceed. 

“Damian, foxes can’t do these things. They can’t understand human speech to the degree you described, they don’t exchange food for services, they can’t point you to the joker.”

“Are you calling me a liar father?” Damian snipped back.

Bruce didn’t answer.

“I didn’t lie,” Damian seethed through clenched teeth, “You can ask Grayson if you don’t believe me. But I did not lie.”

Bruce contemplated that reaction. Perhaps it wasn’t just a ploy to get a new pet. “Foxes can’t do those things,” he repeated, a silent question hanging in the air.

“I know.”

~~~~

Jason did not yelp. He did not jump and definitely did not scream like a 5 year old watching a horror movie. In fact he did not react at all when he walked into his safe house, turned on the light, and heard the gravelly voice of the 6 foot tall hell beast behind him calling his name. Nope. Not a single reaction. Not even a flinch. Totally. Definitely. 

Which is why Bruce’s current expression is completely unwarranted. It was the expression he made when Jason ate 5 plates of pancakes in one sitting two months into living with him. It was the expression he made when Jason lost his tooth naturally for the first time — rather than in a fight. It was the expression he made when Jason cried over a bruised knee when learning how to ride a bike. It was the expression he made when Cass fell asleep against him during a movie, close and comfortable. It was the expression he made when Stephanie would show off a new skill she learned or hobby she picked up. It was the expression he made when Tim would show off his photos, or when Babs would take a break to read a new book. It was the expression he made when Damian would ask for a play date, or Dick would show off new clothes. It was the expression he made when his kids, his family, acted like normal people, and not vigilantes burdened with a fight they could never win. And there was no reason for him to make that awful, soft, sappy, expression now because Jason did not scream.

“The fuck you want?” Jason snapped (because he was upset about being intruded upon, and definitely, totally not because he was embarrassed about squealing like a little girl. Which is something he did not do, by the way.)

“I wanted to ask you about something,” his voice was clear and stern, but still held concern and care.

Jason tilted his head toward Bruce, urging him to continue. “Damian wrote a report I found… odd. It was about your informant,” That idiotic fool “I was hoping you could clarify something.” 

Jason signed, he’d reem the little twerp later, and plopped himself down on the ratty once-beige couch. “Alright. Shoot.”

~~~~

The clothes were itchy. Unbelievably so. They were baggy, but the intentional kind. The kind that hid how malnourished you were, rather than highlighting it. They were new, unwashed, ugly, and would likely be returned the next day, if the tag digging into your back was any indication.

“How are things going dear?” Asked Ms.Kelsey, a naive younger woman with a brown bun and thin purple glasses, “are you liking your stay with Neels?”

“It’s not the worst home I’ve been in,” you answered smoothly. That wasn’t a lie. Despite the fact you could only shower on Wednesday mornings, they confiscated your phone two days in, and they seemingly despised the idea they had to feed you, it still wasn’t the worst home you’d been in. Not even top five. 

“That’s good to hear!” Ms.Kelsey, your current social worker, celebrated. She was new to the job, only a year in, and annoyingly cheerful, but she was visibly trying her best. You appreciated that. “How’s school been going?”

“We’re reading Shakespeare in my English class,” you offered.

“Oh! And how are you liking it?”

“It’s alright, but I really like my English teacher, he makes it fun.”

“That’s wonderful sweetie,” Ms.Kelsey grinned, “Let’s go join the family for dinner,” she directed, standing from the worn brown armchair in the living room and heading towards the dining room where the Mr. and Mrs. Neel were seated beside their son, George.

You took your seat at the stubby table, across from George. The table was dressed with a tacky floral tablecloth, and covered with various mismatched bowls of sides surrounding a rather large chicken. The food was, as typical for Mrs. Neel, simultaneously overcooked and raw. You plopped a spoonful of soggy broccoli on your plate, followed by a serving of (unintentionally chunky) mashed potatoes. No chicken, you weren’t willing to risk salmonella or the screaming fit that would follow. Only simple sides that they have plenty of, so they wouldn’t get mad at you. 

The mashed potatoes crunched when you took a bite, and you tried your best to ignore it. They tasted wet and sad, and far too salty. Chewing was both difficult and necessary as parts of the food slashed down your throat with little resistance, and others put up a fight when you tried to chew them. But this wasn’t the worst home you’ve been in. Far from it in fact. At least the food isn’t moldy! And there’s no— no, wait, yup that’s hair. You decided to risk the chunky potatoes swallowed down your mouthful with a glass of water.

Ms.Kelsey and the Neels exchanged pleasant conversation, while you picked at your food, taking small mouthfuls fast enough they wouldn’t ask questions, and slow enough you could carefully examine all the food. The evening passed in a swift haze, with no mistakes on your end. After Miss Kelsey left, you helped clear the table, pack the food away, and retreated to your rarely used bedroom.

The bedroom had bare white walls, an uncomfortable bed, and a small dresser you kept your clothes in. It was fine. Everything was fine, you kept repeating to yourself. It could be much, much worse. It has been much, much worse. Be thankful for what you have. At least tomorrow you’ll see your friends again! That’s gotta count for something, right?

~~~~

“They… didn’t come today…” Damian rarely allowed his emotions to breathe freely, so seeing him look so defeated was odd.

“It happens from time to time. ‘Bout once a month,” Jason clumsily tried to comfort, “they’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Do you think they’re ok?” Damian asked, almost pleading, and looked up at Jason.

“I— ummm — ya,” he awkwardly placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder, “I’m sure they’re fine.” He was not sure, actually, but he hoped it was true. “Let’s leave the food here, so they’ll have something if they drop by later.” 

Damien seemed pleased by the idea. 

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

Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💚

Notes:

I put this elsewhere, but in case you haven't seen it: I'm having some technical difficulties with responding to comments, but I see them, and I appreciate them <3

[tinjap]

WAIT WAIT WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED I NEVER REPLIED TO THIS, oh god I'm so late, I just woke up from a (very badly timed) nap and this came to my mind. Thank you for tagging me! Here are also some cool people I can now very quickly think of that can be told that they are loved:

@th3-dark-abyss @winterbyn @thatapolloguy @erdasmcnonsense @yourpersonaljaskier @3lkin @mallowaj

And of course the greatest blog of all @skandy-skanders-skanding

(There is probably someone I wanted to tag but forgot, so any of my friends who see this are allowed to continue the chain if they want to)

i always mean it when i say i love you btw

[filthygalli]

When I Met You: Chapter 2 "Cat sitting"

Fem! Reader x Neighbor! Hwang In-Ho

Main Master list

Squid Game Master list

Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: Rude In-Ho, Some mild cursing, Sexual Innuendo, Terrible text messages edits by me, There's some bitch who's being touchy to our In-Ho, Mostly Yu-Jin and Y/n moments, Not proofread.

Word Count: 4281 (Jesus Christ, I haven't written something this long...)

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for publishing this a bit late, I've encountered some minor problems, I also ran out of space for pictures so there will be some lackings when it comes to my original designs for my fictions forgive me🙏🏻 but I hope you guys like this! 🖤

© Pictures that are used is from Pinterest

In-Ho groans as he saw the text message of Yu-jin’s sitter, 

“I knew I should've just looked for a better cat sitter,” he said as he stared at the message. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin sat on In-Ho’s lap, looking up at him, “You hungry? ” In-Ho said, looking down at Yu-Jin, who seems to understand what In-Ho just said, “I need to find someone who’s going to look after you this morning.” He said as he set down Yu-Jin’s food bowl on top of the kitchen counter. Yun-Jin didn’t pay any attention to what his dad was saying. In-Ho chuckled as he watched Yu-Jin eat its breakfast. 

He sighs as he grabs his phone from his pocket, scrolling on it, finding someone who will look after Yu-Jin while he’s gone from work. Few minutes have passed he still haven’t found someone, He thought of continuing to find later as he checked the time “Shit-” He’s going to be late—He rushed to the bathroom and took a quick shower, The warm feeling of the shower made him feel relaxed, Leaving all the thoughts behind his mind as he focused on relaxing for a while—He doesn’t care anymore if he gets late, He sighs as he turned off the shower head, stepping out from the shower, he quickly brushed his teeth as he dries himself. He looks at himself in the mirror. He looks tired—his mustache is already growing. He scoffs as he leaves the bathroom, not even caring to shave his face. He puts on his ironed dark gray button-up shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. He puts on black pants and a pair of dark leather loafers. He looks at himself In Front of the mirror, combing his hair through his hands, He got startled as he felt Yu-Jin circled around his legs, “Jesus, You scared me there buddy–” He chuckles as he pick Yu-Jin in his arms not bothering if it mess up his clothes, He and Yu-Jin sat down on the edge of the bed, Grabbing his phone as he checks if there’s someone who messaged him about the cat sitting, “Fuck, This is so fucking frustrating–” He muttered under his breath, “Sorry.” He says apologizing,  looking down on the cat who’s resting on his lap.

He can’t just leave Yu-Jin at home alone. Who will feed Yu-Jin? What if he wants to drink water and his bowl is empty? What if Yu-Jin wants to take a walk and sneak out of the house? He continues to think of all the possibilities that might happen to Yu-Jin while he’s at work. He just can’t leave Yu-Jin with his neighbors; Yu-Ji doesn’t even like any of his neighbors…except you. 

That’s right, You–Yu-jin liked you. Usually, even with Yu-Jin’s sitter, he doesn’t play or ask for belly rubs. Yu-Jin is more of a nonchalant cat to other people, while to In-Ho… Yu-Jin is a playful and sweet cat. Yu-Jin would often sleep beside In-Ho, sit on In-Ho’s lap while he finished some paperwork for the university, or while he read a book. But when Yu-Jin approached You that day, In-Ho wasn’t expecting that You and His cat, Yu-Jin, would get along pretty well. He ruffled Yu-Jin's fur as he set him down beside him. “I think I found a cat sitter for you.” He chuckled as Yu-Jin looked up at him with an ‘Oh, really? Nice dad.’ Look.

Meanwhile, you’re busy cooking food for your breakfast. You started singing and swaying your hips a little as Telepatia by Kali Uchis played in the background. You decided to wake up early this day, wanting to finish the book that you’ve been reading for a while, ‘Inferno’ by Dante Alighieri. You liked the book, Inferno, which describes the journey of a fictionalized version of Dante himself through Hell, guided by the ancient Roman poet Virgil, and you’re invested in it. Turning off the heat of your stove, you grabbed a plate and placed your bacon and eggs on it. You grabbed a glass of lemon water and set it beside your plate. You took a bite and savored the taste of the salty and sweet flavor of the bacon. You grabbed your phone to check your schedules for today, which, to your surprise, is not much of a busy day for you. Just a couple of cleaning, doing the laundry, sending some draft proposals to your clients, and reading books. After finishing your breakfast, you stood up and put your plate in the dishwasher, turning it on as you heard a knock coming from your door.

In-Ho picked up Yu-Jin in his arms and grabbed his briefcase full of paperwork from the university. He quickly grabbed a spare key to his house before going out. “Right, here goes nothing, Yu-Jin.” He sighs as he knocks on your door. He tries his best to be patient with you, remembering how rude he was the last time he knocked on your door, “Just a sec! ” You said as you opened the door. Your eyes widened at the sight in front of you. In-Ho looked handsome with his attire, and those damn glasses... why do they suit him so well! You noticed the briefcase in his other hand. Is he going somewhere? Work maybe? And he’s also… holding his adorable cat Yu-Jin? “Good morning, Mr. Hwang! ” You said as you gave him a smile. In-Ho looked at you for a moment before answering, You looked stunning. Your messy bun hair, he liked how you smiled to him. It's genuine and innocent the way your eyes would turn into crescent-like moons. He cleared his throat. “Good morning,” he almost whispered. You immediately focused your attention on Yu-Jin. “Aren’t you a handsome one—! ” He looked at you confused. Are you calling him handsome? Then you reached your hand to touch Yu-Jin’s face. Oh. You’re talking about Yu-Jin and not him. He felt embarrassed, thinking that you see him that way. Not that he cared. He is handsome. He knows it. Lots of people from the university know it, and he wouldn’t care if you don’t see him that way. “What brings you here? Oh, you look so cute, Yu-Jin! ” You said, smiling brightly at Yu-Jin, who also seemed happy to see you. He let you pet him, purring at your touches as you do. In-Ho once again cleared his throat, catching your attention, and it did. You looked up at him. You gave him a smile before asking, “What brings you and Yu-Jin here, Mr. Hwang? ” You gave him a confused look, curious about the reason why he’s here. He barely gave you a glance, and when he did, he scoffed, saying, “Aren’t you going to let me in first? ” He said with a mocking tone, ‘Geez, he's the one who came here, and he’s being rude already? ’ You thought, you chuckled awkwardly, “Right, I’m sorry—please come in.” You opened your door just enough for In-Ho and Yu-Jin to enter your home, and when they did, you couldn’t help but smell In-Ho’s perfume; he smelled manly and strong. It almost felt like tobacco and leather combined… It’s a strong scent, and you can’t help but fall in love with how good he smells, I mean, what do you expect? He looked handsome and expensive with his look right now. Any woman out there would be begging to get into his pants. One look from him and he’ll send you to heaven. You just wish how good he looks and smells would also reflect his attitude. He’s rude and stubborn. You do understand him, though. He looked like a busy person whose world only revolves around his cat, Yu-Jin, and his work.

“Please, take a seat, Mr. Hwang.” You said, leading him and Yu-Jin to your living room. Yu-Jin, whom In-Ho sets down, seems to be comfortable already. He started to walk to your sofa and lay there comfortably on his back, asking for a belly rub. You smiled at the sight in front of you. You walked towards the sofa and sat down beside Yu-Jin to give him belly rubs. Meanwhile, In-Ho can’t stop himself from smiling at the sight in front of him. He’s glad that you and Yu-Jin are getting along. He liked how Yu-Jin loved your presence. This is just your second meeting with Yu-Jin, and he can’t help but ask himself, ‘What’s so special about her? ’ He continuously admires you as you look at him as you slightly tilt your head, “Mr. Hwang?”

He snapped back into reality as you called his name, making him walk towards you. He sat down beside you. You took a quick glance at his lips. God, it looks so kissable, and by the looks of it, He takes care of himself a lot. You also noticed his growing moustache. He looked more attractive. “So, what are you and Yu-Jin doing here? ” You asked him. He took a moment to answer you. It almost feels like he’s trying to find words for how he is going to say it. Honestly, he felt embarrassed. He was rude to you. Well, until now he is. He just doesn’t like how you’re so lively and kind after what he did to you last time. “Yu-Jin’s cat sitter, she said she won’t be doing cat sitting for a while,” he mumbled as he looked down on your lips, then your neck. ‘Fuck,’ he thought. ‘Oh… That’s unexpected—” You gave him a shy smile as you pet Yu-Jin. ‘You’re so sweet, Yu-Jin. If I were them, I’d love to take care of and look after you any day! ” You smiled at Yu-Jin, who’s now sitting on your lap, “I can look after this little one if that’s ok with you. ” In-Ho gave you a subtle nod. “I—I actually went here to ask you a favor about that,” he scoffed. “I guess I don’t need to ask you that anymore.” You chuckled at his words. “I’m more than happy to take care of Yu-Jin, and I’ll do it for free.” “What? ” He asked as he gave you a confused look, “Why would you do that? “ “Yu-Jin is a good cat; I like him.” You replied, making In-Ho look at you for a while. ‘She is really special,’ he thought. He nodded and didn’t say anything. 

The silence felt so loud and heavy. Good thing that Yu-Jin is there to at least make you feel accompanied. In-Ho's shoulders are tense; perhaps he’s nervous, afraid, but for what? Why would he feel nervous and afraid in front of you? There's no reason for him to feel that way when he’s with you. 

“You’re off to work, I presume?” You asked, breaking the silence between the two of you. He nodded.’What’s your work? ...if you don’t mind me asking.” You felt brave enough to ask that. “I teach,” he sighs, “I work as a professor.” He added, “Oh, really? That’s great. What subject do you teach?” You asked as a hint of excitement showed in your face, and In-Ho noticed it. He couldn't help but smile when he quickly stopped himself, “Literature, I teach different kinds of literature.”  Your excitement grew bigger, It was unexpected that Mr.Hwang, your  grumpy and rude neighbor work as a professor for literature, You can’t help but imagine him teaching in front of the class, how his deep and soothing voice would echo the classroom, How would he look like leaning back on his table as he teach or observe the class, How attractive would he look like leaning down to a student when a certain student asked him a question while he looks at the student with those beautiful brown eyes…You stopped yourself from thinking anything else by asking In-Ho some questions about Yu-Jin, on what Yu-Jin can eat and can’t eat, In-Ho tells you everything that you need to know, You made sure that you will remember this later that's why you grabbed your phone and opened your notes app to type down everything that you need to know about Yu-Jin.

In-Ho thinks that it's very thoughtful of you to do that, given that you both barely know each other, and yet you kept giving him kind gestures, or maybe you're doing it because of his cat, Yu-Jin.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” In-Ho asked as he slowly turned his gaze on you, 

Fuck. 

Those brown eyes of his could swallow stars, galaxies, and the universe…

Your breath hitched. “Uhm… Yeah, sure,” you said as you tried your best not to look back at him; you just couldn't look him in the eyes. 

“You asked me about what I do,” he paused for a moment, his eyes still looking at you. “What do you do for a living? ” He added, “I work for a company as their graphics designer.” You smiled up at him, “Hmm, must've been fun? ” He gave you a shy smile. “It is, but a little stressful…” There it is again, silence. You hate it; you're used to silence like this, but it doesn't feel right. “I should go,” he said, standing up. “Right,” you looked up at him, his figure towering over you. “Don't worry; I'll take good care of Yu-Jin; he'll be safe here.” You gave him a reassuring look. Before you could stand up, he leaned down. Your heart skipped a beat, thinking of the possibilities of what he was going to do. The smell of expensive perfume filled your nose; you just couldn't help but lean slightly on his neck and—”I'll see you later, Yu-Jin. Be a good cat, will you?”He said, chuckling as he pets Yu-Jin, who's still sitting on your lap, ‘That was close,’ you thought. 

You put down Yu-Jin on your side as you stood up, following In-Ho to show him the way out. ‘God, his back is so…broad.’ You thought as In-Ho grabbed the doorknob and twisted it; the door swung open. He took a pause before looking behind to talk to you; he reached out something in his pocket, “Here,” he said as he extended his hand, giving you a key, “This is a spare key from my house; whenever Yu-Jin needs anything, feel free to go to my house and get it; you can also stay there if you don't want to take care of Yu-Jin here at your home.” He said coldly; you nodded as you grabbed the silver key in his palm. 

His skin feels so soft against yours; you remember the first time you brushed your hands on his. “Alright, got it, Thank you Mr. Hwang.” You smiled up at him, “I’m Y/N, by the way–” you extend your hand offering him a handshake, “I feel rude for not telling you my name…” you felt embarrassed, but In-Ho didn't say anything, He just looked at your hand then to your lips for a second before looking in your eyes, He scoffed as he shake your hand, Finally—the warmth of his hand and the softness made contact with yours fully, In-Ho felt something inside him, he doesn't know what it is, “In-Ho, Hwang In-Ho.” He said, his voice is deep enough to make your breath hitch, “I know–” you chuckled, you saw him smile a little bit quickly fades as he pressed his lip together into a fine line, “My number is on Yu-Jin’s collar, if you need anything, Let me know.” And just like that, He left, leaving you standing on your door.

After finishing all the things you needed to do, you decided to feed Yu-Jin. You're lucky enough to have some cat food laying around; you liked feeding stray cats on the way home.

You put the cat food on the plate as you called Yu-Jin, who was lying on the coffee table; you chuckled as he hurriedly ran to the kitchen. He started circling on your legs. “Alright, alright, here you go.” You set the plate down as Yu-Jin looked at you before eating, “Eat well, Yu-Jin.” You remembered that you had saved In-Ho's phone number; you quickly grabbed your phone from your pocket as you typed in his name. You decided to update him about Yu-Jin. You took a couple of pictures of Yu-Jin, who had just gotten done eating and was now lying on his back; he looked satisfied with the meal he just had. You chuckled as you went through a bunch of pictures of Yu-Jin in your gallery. You picked the best one to send to In-Ho.

After tapping the send button, you quickly pick Yu-Jin up in your arms as you grab the spare key to In-ho’s house.’Now, before we go out, you definitely need your leash…” 

You went out with In-Ho’s cat, walking through the sidewalk till you reached In-Ho’s house.’Wait here for a while. It’ll be quick,” you said as you put down Yu-Jin to insert the key in the keyhole. Yu-Jin patiently waited for you as he looked up at you with his emerald green eyes. You twisted the knob and looked down at Yu-Jin. “Aww, you look so cute! ” You chuckled as you picked him up. Your eyes widened when you saw the inside of In-Ho’s house—it's beautiful! The walls are painted black with some accents of gold. The floors are made of fine polished wood, and there’s a big bookshelf full of books arranged by the colors of their book covers. Before you do anything, you’re here for one reason, Yu-Jin. You need to find where In-Ho keeps Yu-Jin’s leash. 

You grab your phone from your pocket and you type in a message for In-Ho, hoping not to disturb him.

You smiled at his quick response. Was he waiting for your text? Or did you disturb him? You looked around to locate the drawer, which is not that hard thanks to In-Ho’s detailed message. You pulled the first drawer and found a red leash. “This must be it, right, Yu-Jin? ” You looked at Yu-Jin, who was sitting on the edge of the stairs. You chuckled seeing his confused expression, “C’mon Yu-Jin—we’re going to have a lot of fun! ”

You and Yu-Jin take a walk at the park. It's a sunny day. You made sure to bring water bottles with you like what In-Ho said in his message. He’s not bad after all. Yu-Jin patiently walked with you; he’s not rushing things or making you feel scared that he might run and cause chaos. He's a sweet, patient, and obedient cat. Why can't his dad, In-Ho, be like Yu-Jin? 

You grabbed your phone from your purse. “Yu-Jin—look here—” You chuckled as you took some silly pictures of Yu-Jin. Sometimes…Yu-Jin can be a little stubborn, just like his dad, In-Ho. You sent the pictures to In-Ho hoping to see them and might brighten his day a little.

In-Ho just got done with his classes; one of his colleagues approached him, “Why are you late earlier? ” The woman clung to his arms. “Me being late doesn’t concern you.” He said coldly, not even bothering to look at the woman, “Don’t put your arms on me like that; we’re not together.” He said, grabbing the hands of his colleague, who seemed taken aback by what In-Ho did. In-Ho left without saying a word. He quickly went into the parking lot as he felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket. He sighed as he pulled it out. His eyes softened upon seeing your message. He replied to your message; he can’t help but smile. You kept giving him updates about Yu-Jin and, especially, you. He types a message and taps the send button before he drives home that day with a stupid smile on his face that only his cat, Yu-Jin, gets to see.

You and Yu-Jin sat down on a bench. You pulled out Yu-Jin’s food bowl and poured some water on it. Yu-Jin sat down beside you as he drank water. “You looked worn out,’’ you said as you chuckled. “Let’s go home,” you said as you put Yu-Jin’s empty food bowl inside your purse, setting him down on the ground as you two walked again to head home. 

You and Yu-Jin arrived at your home. You fed Yu-Jin and decided to freshen up. You had a lot of fun today, and it’s fun to have someone like Yu-Jin. He’s a really nice cat to be with. You want to know more about Yu-Jin and, well, about In-Ho too. You want to be close to him, to become friends with him. You like his presence around you. You wonder if he thinks the same about you. Does he mind being friends with you? --Your phone vibrates as you reach it out on the coffee table in front of you, a text message from In-Ho.

You smiled at his text message, You don't know why, But it felt good, You quickly replied back to him. 

You sigh as you tap the send button; you grab your book and read it. The warm silence of your home feels good; it's not the silence that you and In-Ho get when you two are together, blankly staring at each other, not talking unless either of you starts it. Yu-Jin sat on your lap, deciding to disturb your little peace. Not that you don't mind; you love Yu-Jin; he's an adorable cat. You chuckled as you took your phone out to quickly snap a picture of Yu-Jin,, who's doing a little pose on your book; you laughed as you sent it to In-Ho, thinking he might also find it funny.

In-Ho stops his car from the red light, he sees your text message, he opens it and sees Yu-Jin's adorable picture, he smiled and replied to your message.

A few moments later you heard a car engine going off, ‘that must be him,’ you thought as you looked through the window as you see In-Ho going out of his black Mercedes-AMG SL ROADSTER, ‘Damn’ you thought, he saw you from the window, he walked towards your porch, opening it before he even gets the chance to knock on your door, “Hi.” You said giving him a smile, he said nothing but eventually gave you a subtle nod, you let him in, “Yu-Jin's been good, he didn't give me any headaches, he's nice throughout the morning.” You mumbled as you and In-Ho went into the living room, seeing Yu-Jin asleep on the leather couch, In-Ho can't help but smile, “He must've been tired,” he smiled seeing his cat's sleeping figure, you can't help but smile as well upon seeing In-Ho’s smile, his smile is so adorable, the way his eyes would turn into crescent like moons, you just wish that he smiles like that more often, smiling suits him a lot. 

He noticed you smiling at him; he quickly changed his expression into a serious one, hoping that you didn't just see him smile all over his cat, Yu-Jin. You chuckled, “It suits you,” you said as you sat down beside him, making him look at you with a cold expression. “Suits me what? ” He asked, looking intensely into your eyes, those eyes that never fail to make him feel that unexplainable feeling. “Smiling.” You teased him as you chuckled. He didn't say anything but just looked at you as he scoffed, “Whatever.” He breathed out. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin decided to interrupt you two; he sat on In-Ho's lap as you leaned a little to pet Yu-Jin, who was more than happy to lay on his back to ask for more. You chuckled as you accidentally brushed your hand on In-Ho's thighs, “I—I’m sorry—! ” You nervously chuckled, he didn't say anything except he just looked at you with such a soft gaze, He sighs as he close his eyes, “We should go,” he said picking Yu-Jin up in his arms like a baby, “Oh- alright, I had a lot of fun with Yu-Jin, Thank you so much for that, In-Ho.” You said as you walked him out of your house, you quickly hurried back to get Yu-Jin's things to give it to In-Ho, “If you ever need someone to look after Yu-Jin whenever you're away, I'm happy to help.” You said as you looked up at him while he returned the gaze, he slightly tilted his head and smirked, “Thank you too, Y/n, I appreciate the help.” you nodded as you watched him walk away leaving you staring at his broad shoulders.

It's almost midnight, and you can't help but think about In-Ho, the way he looks at you... it feels like a burning desire, but neither of you wants to play with it. I mean, who would want to play with fire, right? Right? You groaned as you lay down on your bed, still thinking of the interactions with In-Ho. You fell asleep thinking of him, of In-Ho.

In-Ho couldn't sleep too; he sat in his home office, searching through tons of papers, but his mind is on you, how good you are to him, how he wants to be with you every day, and if he needs to use Yu-Jin as an excuse to see your smile, to hear your angelic voice, to feel your featherlight touches, he'd do it.

—

Author's Note: I liked how my idea turns out, feedbacks and suggestions would be nice though—again I'm sorry for publishing this a bit late, I'm really trying my best to publish some fics at the moment, since I'm on a semestral break lmaoo, Thank you for all of your support! I appreciate it so much! 🖤

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[rakiah]

Just so you know, I had to unblock the Epic Musical tag just to see your art, so if I get spoiled I'm blaming you (/joking joking).

I just wanted to gush over the designs coz- just- *waves arms at them* Bearded Leona? Vil looking like a goddess? Aknxoddjd Circe!Jamil owns my heart now! And Azul too I just- AAAAAAAAAAA

They just all look so good and your artstyle compliments the whole AU so well and I love it so much!

Can't wait to see more of it! Thanks for the eye-candy! Love you bye!!

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehe Well, it’s a blame I will gladly assume~ Truly an honor to be responsible of unblocking a tag 😌

Glad you’re enjoying the food as much as I like doing it!! Can’t wait to continue the cast, I’m having so much fun o(≧▽≦)o

In the meantime, have some appetizers just for you ~

Thanks for this cute ask!! Love you too dear! <3

[starrygazers]

home, or what's left of it.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ I'M IN MY MYDEI WRITING GROOVE (procrastinating on my programming assignment). Also, the food used here is based on Golden Honeycakes, one of the oldest delicacies in Amphoreus history, which was once a favorite high-end dessert among the nobility. (according to the HSR wiki) also he made an ad for this? that's so cute

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : comfort, fluff

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei; minor spoilers for 3.0

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The brutish man ducks his head to slip inside the small entryway. He makes no sound, but his demanding presence in the middle of the establishment is not easy to miss.

You meet his eyes, cloth in hand. Giving him a small smile, you look away and continue wiping the tables. "Normal people say hello, you know?"

Mydei huffs, his hands crossed in front of his chest. The chilly night air of Okhema doesn't seem to bother him, as he's dressed like he normally is. Flashy, royal; befitting of a Crown Prince.

"Take a seat," you motion to the table nearest to the counter. You've put away most of the chairs, as the clock nears midnight, but saved a single one in hopes of your esteemed guest's visit.

He positions himself on the appointed seat, watching you take ingredients out from behind the counter to start cooking.

Mydei is no stranger to being away from home; that's how he'd spent most of his childhood, anyway. Fighting for his life at sea, dying in the hands of giant waves, starvation, or beasts. Even in Kremnos, he never experienced a good night's sleep. It was a kill or be killed world, and immortality doesn't take that away from him; they just have to kill him again and again until he stays dead.

And home was not something to miss, not after what happened. Not after his god fell from glory, dooming his people, and he was forced to make a choice between dying (again and again) for mortals or reign as a deity. So, he chose pain, because that is what's destined for the King who never got his throne.

Home is so far, and he doesn't want to go back.

And yet,

"Here you go!"

You place a plate of Golden Honeycake, topped with fresh fruits and dripping with honey, just like how Mydei likes it.

Home is far, and he doesn't want to go back, but he remembers the same aroma. Of the cooks taking pity in him and introducing him to the sweet delicacy. Of stories in the past by his mother who teased him for having the same taste in sweets as his father and all the kings before him.

He gives you a curt nod, a sign of thanks. You beam at him, watching intently as he takes a tentative bite. It tastes like home.

He takes another bite. Then another, and another, until the plate is a fresh clean slate. You chuckle, picking up the plate.

"You know, most people consider it rude to barge in on closing time," you tease him.

"I didn't mean to disrupt your business."

"You act like you don't drop by here every night, ordering the same thing," you laugh again, and he find himself liking the sound of it. He wants you to laugh again. "You must really like it, huh?"

He chooses not to answer, but he doesn't shake his head either.

You disappear behind the counter to wash the last plate, and he stands in the middle of your restaurant awkwardly.

"Is there ... anything I can help with?" he asks sheepishly.

You stare at him, clearly surprised, before clearing your throat. "Oh, um, you can put the chair away. Please, if you don't mind."

Mydei nods, picking up the wooden chair with ease as if he were handling a feather. At the sight, you allowed yourself a joke, "Closing would be a breeze if you worked here."

The Prince looks away, seeing your apron tucked under one of the shelves, letting his mind wander about a universe where the battles he fought were less gruesome. Where he could patch his wounds and value his only life. Where he would go home, and he'd be proud to call it that.

But in this world, all he had were the scars and the baths.

"You make good Golden Honeycake," he says. "It reminds me of the ones they used to make back in Castrum Kremnos."

Mydei swears he can see the sparkle in your eyes when you stare at him in awe, and thought they rivaled the sight of the night sky of all of Amphoreus.

Then your lips break into a smile, and Mydei's cold, inhumane, non-existent heart melts like the butter on the honeycake.

"I'll have you know that compliments won't suffice as payment," you grin, though a hint of bashfulness is evident in your voice.

"Put it on my tab." the Prince turns away from you, hiding his own embarrassment as he walks to the exit.

"If you had one, it'd be longer than my grocery list," you joke again. "How about this; you come back tomorrow?"

Mydei looks back to you, reads the hope written on your expression easily, and lets out a sigh.

"Yeah, expect me to bother you again tomorrow."

Home is maybe not too far away.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©2025 starrygazers. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ if you liked this, consider buying me a ko-fi! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[unknownati]

xiii. tap tap tap

a/n: im. Cooking. I swear

idk whether to finish my reqs first or my wips 😭 but lowkey i've been busy asf sorry 😞 i am slooowly chipping away at them

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no desc of reader's physical features, gn!reader, sub!ekko, crop top, living my truth, orgasm denial, handjob, short bleghhh, unproofread THIS ENDING 😒

_______________________________________________

a small groan rumbles in ekko's chest as he leans over his workbench, papers scattered across the wood surface in a chaotic organization.

"ugh," ekko's head shook, nose scrunching in frustration. nothing was adding up—none of the math circled back to the main problem.

his z-drive got messed up in a fight, and the whole thing was completely off now. not being able to figure this stupid thing out had his forehead heating up, his fingers flicking his pencil between his fingers, a constant rapping against the table reminiscent to a clock ticking.

a whole room over, the sound made your ears twitch at the familiarity, your mind's attention shifting from the book you were reading to that consistent noise.

you've asked ekko many times to try to not make that noise—it's a distraction, gritting to your ears. each word you read gets replaced with a 'tap tap.'

you know the context behind that noise too—so why not help him fix it?

you peek into ekko's room, the tapping filling your ears more clearly. your presence is thick, even with your lack of noise, ekko realizes you're there. he gives you a small grunt of acknowledgment, no time to think about anything more.

your chin rests on his shoulder, palms running up and down his forearms. your eyes pass over the work he has, not a clue in the world what any of this means. what your eyes dart to instead was that pencil. still tapping. you hum. "what's wrong, baby?"

his nose scrunches and he sighs, shaking his head. "i just can't figure this out."

you let the sentence linger in the air, squeezing his shoulders, fingers slipping to kneed his biceps. "hmm...well, what are you tryna do?"

his lips form a line and then he opens his mouth, explaining the entire plan out to you with reasoning, showing you pictures, showing you evidence, everything. you weren't listening to a word.

"but the thing is, i tried both, and doing the first one leads me down a complete different road. and i'm wondering if it's because—"

"mhm," you hum as he continues speaking, your eyes trailing up his gesticulating arms, then down. his shirt was cropped, his midriff peeking out from the angle you were at. casually, both of your hands begin snaking down. they both stop at his waist. he doesn't notice—it's a regular occurrence. you're always touching the visible skin when he's wearing a crop top.

you couldn't lie, the sight was tantalizing. every time he reached up for something, the shirt would raise and give you a larger view of his abs. something about the crop top was so much better than seeing him shirtless.

it wasn't until your hand started creeping up his shirt that he fumbled over his words. "what are you doing?"

"nothing, sorry. keep talking."

he cleared his throat, stuttering for a moment but then getting back on track to his sentences. he asks something, some question related to the papers in front of him.

"hmm, well i dunno baby. talk me through it, what do you think?" you throw the ball right back into his court. good thing ekko likes talking, because he immediately had an answer for you, his mouth running once again.

you give half-hearted noises of acknowledgment between pauses in speech, meanwhile, the hand that wasn't up his shirt was slooowly making it's way down his pants. once you breached the band of his boxers, he stuttered again.

"what are you doing?" he re-asks, more emphasis on his words. you shake your head.

"focus on what you have to figure out, not on me."

he doesn't respond, zoning out as your fist closes around his dick. it's slowly growing in your hand, twitching at your touch. the hand up his shirt taps. "focus." you repeat.

"um," he groans, picking up the next sheet of paper. "i just think that—"

his sentence was cut short by a gasp, since you gave him no time to prepare himself, immediately starting to stroke him. he thinks he knows what game you're playing.

"think that...maybe i should try thinking about it the other...way around...i–f-fuck..." his sentence trails off, shaky breaths filling the air and ghosting around him. the tapping grows weak until it finally stops, wood clattering and rolling against the desk.

"you...?" you pick the sentence off where it ended, your wrist flicking rapidly. his knees feel weak— he leans his weight onto his palms, which rest against the edge of the table.

"god, i–i don't know. i can't focus with you doing that..."

you allow him a few more moments of bliss, and you can tell he's close. you're leading him right into your trap, moving faster,

"ah,"

faster,

"baby, please, i'm-"

faster,

"oh fuck,"

...then it's all gone. the tight coil in his tummy simply...crumbled rather than unraveling. he almost collapses, arms wobbling to hold himself up on the desk.

"that's how i feel when you tap that pencil."

before he can even process his confusion, you're out the room, door shutting behind you.

maybe an unconventional approach—but you never heard that tapping again.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 3) ────── iamquaintrelle

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

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

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

Leila isn't trying to make it a whole thing, but that date with William? That man took her to this cute little restaurant tucked away in a corner of Paris where nobody would recognize him, ordered wine that probably cost more than her rent, and spent the whole night actually listening to her talk about her family back in Georgia. Not once did he make her feel like she was just some thick girl he was trying to get with – instead he treated her like she was actually interesting, like her stories about her mama's cooking adventures were the most fascinating thing he'd ever heard.

And when she found out he was half Cameroonian? Maybe Yolanda had a point about her having a type because these West African men were really out here testing her resolve. The way his accent got thicker when he talked about his family, the way he understood exactly what she meant about certain cultural things without her having to explain... it was nice. Really nice.

He didn't try to kiss her at the end of the night, even though she maybe (definitely) wanted him to. Just kissed her hand (which should be corny but somehow wasn't) and said he'd love to do it again soon. She'd gone to bed thinking maybe this could be something.

But then Sunday morning happened and somehow everything else felt small in comparison.

"Avant de commencer l'entraînement," ("Before we start training,") Didier's voice carried across the morning meeting room, "J'ai une annonce à faire." ("I have an announcement to make.")

The room went quiet – well, as quiet as a room full of French footballers can get, which means Marcus was still whispering something to Mike that had them both stifling laughs.

"En l'absence de Kylian," ("In Kylian's absence,") Didier continued, holding up the captain's armband, "nous avons besoin d'un nouveau capitaine." ("we need a new captain.") "Aurélien Tchouaméni."

The room erupted. Leila's never seen someone look so surprised and honored at the same time, like Aurélien couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"Notre nouveau capitaine!" ("Our new captain!") Marcus shouted, starting an impromptu chant.

"MON CAPITAINE!" Jules was the first to reach him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Tu l'as mérité, mon frère." ("You earned it, my brother.")

"Finalement, quelqu'un va peut-être réussir à le faire sourire," ("Finally, someone might succeed in making him smile,") Cama teased, doing an exaggerated salute. "Oui, Capitaine!"

The whole team picked up the salute, turning it into this ridiculous ceremony that had even Didier trying not to laugh.

"Je suis honoré," ("I'm honored,") Aurélien finally managed to say, voice thick with emotion as Didier handed him the armband. "Je ne sais pas quoi dire..." ("I don't know what to say...")

"Dis-nous qu'on va défoncer Israël!" ("Tell us we're gonna destroy Israel!") Mike called out.

"Et qu'on peut manger la cuisine de Leila ce soir!" ("And that we can eat Leila's cooking tonight!") Marcus added, which started a whole new round of cheering.

Leila couldn't help but clap and cheer with them all – because this was huge. This was her boss becoming captain of the French national team at twenty-four. This was history.

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

The Bridge's studio setup is way more casual than Leila expected, all warm lights and comfy chairs arranged in a circle like it's just bros hanging out – which, technically, it is.

"Ma puce, mon café?" Aurélien calls out as she's setting up his notes, and she pretends not to notice how Sébastien raises his eyebrows at the pet name.

"You have two hands that work perfectly fine," she responds, but she's already heading to get his coffee because she knows exactly how he gets without his caffeine fix before filming. Two sugars, splash of cream – the man drinks coffee like he's trying to hide the fact it's coffee.

"Ah, c'est comme ça maintenant?" ("So that's how it is now?") Jules grins as he walks in, followed by Ousmane and Thomas.

"Elle fait la grève," ("She's on strike,") Ousmane adds with a knowing smile.

"Can y'all not?" Leila mutters, but of course they can't because they live for chaos.

"What’s going on?" Thomas asks, settling into his chair while the makeup artist touches up his face.

"Nothing–" Aurélien starts, but Jules is already diving in.

"She's dating Wilo."

"I am not–"

"Wilo?" Sébastien perks up like he's just been handed gossip gold. "As in Saliba? Mon dieu, this is better than what I planned for the show."

"Speaking of the show," Leila cuts in desperately, "maybe we should focus on your actual topics? Like the Champions League? The national team? Literally anything else?"

"But this is much more interesting," Sébastien grins. "Tell me, how does our new captain feel about his PA dating his teammate?"

"We are NOT discussing my dating life on YouTube," Leila says firmly, handing Aurélien his coffee with maybe a little more force than necessary. Some splashes onto his notes and she automatically reaches to wipe it, just as he does the same. Their hands brush and she pulls back like she's been burned.

"Ooh, as-tu vu ça?" Thomas stage-whispers to Ousmane. "La tension!"

"I'm about to show y'all some tension with these coffee cups," Leila threatens, making them laugh harder.

"Non, non," Ousmane agrees solemnly. "We'll just discuss how our captain gets jealous every time someone looks at his PA. Like yesterday at training when Giroud asked her about American football..."

"I was not jealous," Aurélien protests. "I was concerned about her getting distracted from her duties."

"Her duties of watching you run laps?" Jules asks innocently.

"Her duties of maintaining my schedule–"

"The schedule she has memorized?" Ousmane adds.

"Y'all really want me to poison your dinner tonight, huh?" Leila threatens, but they just laugh harder.

"See? This is why I need my own Leila," Sébastien says. "Where do I find a PA who cooks?"

"You don't," Aurélien's voice carries that edge again. "She's one of a kind."

The room goes quiet for a moment, and Leila busies herself with absolutely nothing important on her tablet.

"Okay!" The producer calls out. "Five minutes! Let's talk about the actual show content?"

"Oui, oui," Sébastien nods, suddenly professional. "First segment about then national team dynamics with our new captain, maybe some stuff about Jules and his fashion sense…."

"Maybe one about a certain PA?" Thomas asks hopefully.

"Including nothing about any PAs," Leila cuts in. "Unless y'all want to explain to Didier why half his starting lineup got food poisoning before a match."

"She wouldn't really..." Thomas starts.

"She absolutely would," Aurélien, Jules, and Ousmane answer in unison.

"Ma puce," Aurélien calls softly, and she looks up to find him watching her with that expression that makes her stomach do stupid things. "My notes?"

She hands them over, careful not to let their fingers brush. "Try not to start any international incidents this time."

"Une fois," ("One time,") he protests. "I say one thing about Premier League defenders..."

"You said they tackle like they learned football from YouTube tutorials," she reminds him.

"Was I wrong though?"

"That's not the point! Twitter was a nightmare for days."

"This is why you're my favorite," he says, and something in his voice makes her look up. "You keep me in line."

"Someone has to," she manages to say, stepping back as the cameras start rolling.

She watches from behind the scenes as they dive into football talk, the banter shifting into serious discussion about tactics and pressure and what it means to wear the captain's armband. Watches how Aurélien leads the conversation with natural grace, how he makes everyone feel heard while still keeping things moving.

"Et maintenant," ("And now,") Sébastien grins near the end, "Les fans veulent savoir - est notre nouveau capitaine single?" ("the fans want to know – is our new captain single")

Leila's head snaps up from her tablet.

"Non," Thomas jumps in before Aurélien can answer. "Son cœur appartient à son P–"

The water bottle that flies across the room and hits Thomas square in the chest is definitely not thrown by Leila.

"Cut!" The producer calls after they wrap the final segment, and Leila releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. They managed to get through the whole episode with only minimal chaos, though Thomas kept trying to sneak in comments about "certain PAs" until she started keeping a steady supply of projectiles within reach.

"That was fun," Sébastien grins, stretching as they all stand. "We should do this again. Maybe next time with Wilo as a guest?"

"Don't you have a dinner to prepare?" Jules asks quickly, shooting her a look that clearly says 'get out while you can'.

"Oui, about that dinner," Thomas perks up. "What exactly are you making?"

"If one more person asks me about dinner," Leila cuts in, gathering her things, "I'm making y'all eat protein shakes instead."

"You wouldn't," Ousmane gasps dramatically.

"Try me."

"Ma puce," Aurélien's voice is softer now that the cameras are off. "Need a ride to the store?"

And that's... new. He hasn't offered to drive her anywhere since The Comment™️.

"I can take her," Jules offers with fake innocence. "Since you probably have captain duties and all."

"I can drive my PA to the store."

"Your PA?" Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Just okay PA or...?"

The second water bottle that hits him is definitely from Aurélien this time.

"I'll wait in the car," he tells her, ignoring the knowing looks from everyone else.

As soon as he's out of earshot, the chaos erupts:

"Girl, if you don't get in that car–" Ousmane starts.

"But what about Wilo?" Thomas asks.

"Capitaine is clearly in his feelings–" Sébastien adds.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" Jules announces. "Let her breathe."

Leila takes a deep breath, gathering her professional dignity around her like armor. "I have a dinner to cook for twenty something grown men who act like children. I don't have time for... whatever this is."

"This," Sébastien gestures vaguely, "is prime content. The captain and his PA?"

"There is no 'captain and his PA'," she insists. "There's just a PA who's about to feed half of the French Football Federation because she makes poor life choices."

"Speaking of poor life choices," Jules grins, "your man's waiting."

"He's not my–"

A horn honks outside. Twice.

"La patience de cet homme," Thomas laughs. "Vraiment incroyable."

"I hate all of you," Leila announces, heading for the door.

"But you'll still feed us?" Ousmane calls after her.

She doesn't dignify that with a response.

The car ride is... weird. Not tense exactly, but full of something she can't name. Aurélien keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something, then closing it again. She pretends to be very interested in her grocery list.

Two hours and way too many bags later (because apparently she's feeding an army now), they're back at Clairefontaine and the kitchen is already buzzing with energy and she directs her very enthusiastic sous chefs – Michael and Cama, plus some actual kitchen staff who keep looking at her like she's either genius or crazy for attempting this.

"This is not 'season to taste'," she swats Cama's hand away from the seasoning. "This is 'season to kill'."

"But it needs more–"

"If you say 'spice' I'm demoting you to dish duty."

The thing about cooking while Chief Keef is blasting through Clairefontaine's halls is that it really sets a specific type of mood. Leila can hear Marcus and Mike singing "Don't Like" at the top of their lungs, probably driving everyone crazy, but she's too focused on making sure Cama doesn't turn her greens into chemical warfare.

Michael, who’s undoubtedly the sous chef MVP, is quietly following her instructions to the letter. There's something zen about the way he moves through the kitchen, precise and focused like he's preparing for a match instead of helping prep chicken.

"You're good at this," she tells him, and his answering smile is small but genuine.

"My grandmother," he says simply. "She taught me that cooking is meditation."

"YOUR GRANDMOTHER DIDN'T HAVE TO COOK FOR HANGRY FOOTBALLERS!" Marcus's voice carries through the door, followed by the opening beats of "Love Sosa."

"The meditation is about to turn into medication if they don't calm down," Leila mutters, but Michael just laughs softly.

The kitchen staff has gone from skeptical to impressed, watching her coordinate this whole production like she's done it her whole life. Which, honestly, she has – just usually for family reunions, not professional athletes who probably cost more than her entire hometown.

"It's almost ready?" Mike pokes his head in, looking like a hopeful puppy. "Because we're dying out here."

"You've eaten today," she points out. "Multiple times."

"But not your cooking," Marcus appears behind him. "And now the whole place smells like heaven and we're suffering."

"You're not suffering," she rolls her eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"I AM suffering," Mike insists. "Look at me, I'm wasting away."

"You literally had lunch two hours ago."

"That was before we could smell the mac and cheese," Marcus argues. "Now we're starving."

She's about to throw something at them when Michael quietly says, "The chicken's ready for the second batch."

"See?" She points at Michael. "This is why he's my favorite. He actually helps instead of just complaining."

"Favorites?" Marcus clutches his chest. "That's cold, Lei. Ice cold."

"You know what else is getting cold? This food, if y'all don't let me cook in peace."

"But–"

"OUT!"

They retreat, but not before Mike tries one last time to steal a piece of chicken. She catches him with her wooden spoon – years of defending food from hungry cousins have honed her reflexes.

"The quiet ones always got jokes," Cama laughs as Mike runs away clutching his hand dramatically, then yelps when she catches him trying to sneak a taste of the greens. "How do you even see everything?"

"I have eyes in the back of my head," she says seriously. "My mama installed them when I started cooking."

"They're getting restless," Michael notes as another song starts shaking the walls. She's pretty sure she can hear Jules trying to teach Marcus and Mike the words, which is... a choice.

"Let them be restless," she says, putting the finishing touches on the mac and cheese (extra cheese on top because she ain't playing). "Good food takes time."

The kitchen settles into a rhythm after that, just the sounds of cooking and the distant bass of whatever song Marcus and Mike have moved onto now. Even Cama calms down enough to actually be helpful, following her instructions with only minimal attempts at creative seasoning.

"This is nice," Michael says after a while, quiet enough that only she can hear. "Reminds me of home."

"Yeah," she smiles, understanding exactly what he means. There's something about cooking with people who get it, who understand that food is more than just fuel. It's love, it's family, it's...

"FANCULO!"

The Italian curse makes them all jump as Cama nearly drops an entire tray of cornbread.

"What happened?" Leila spins around, heart racing.

"The cornbread!" he looks devastated. "I almost... it almost..."

"But you didn't," she soothes, trying not to laugh at how genuinely distressed he looks. "The cornbread is safe."

"I would've had to leave France," he says seriously. "Change my name. Start a new life."

"Because of cornbread?"

"Have you met my teammates? They would never let me live it down."

He's not wrong. She can already imagine the chaos if anything happened to the cornbread. These grown men really out here ready to riot over some baked goods.

"Speaking of teammates," Michael says casually, too casually, "our captain's been pacing outside the door for the last ten minutes."

"He what?" She turns so fast she almost knocks over the hot sauce.

"Mhm," Michael hums, that knowing look back in his eyes. "Every time someone walks by he pretends he's on his phone."

"That's..." she doesn't even know how to finish that sentence.

"Interesting?" Cama suggests with a grin.

"Complicated," she corrects. "Now focus on not dropping any more cornbread."

"I didn't drop it!" Cama whined.

"Almost dropped it."

"So," Michael says after a moment, quiet enough that only she can hear, "we're really not going to talk about it?"

"About what?"

His knowing look rivals Jules', but he just goes back to prepping chicken.

"Nothing," he says. "Just thinking our new captain might need to work on his game off the field too."

She chooses to ignore that, focusing instead on finishing up everything. The food looks good – really good. Soul food isn't meant to be fancy, but there's something beautiful about it anyway. Something honest.

"Time to feed the children," she announces, and both Michael and Cama snort at her description of their teammates.

"They're going to lose their minds," Cama predicts as they start plating everything.

He's not wrong. She can already hear the excitement building in the cafeteria, the mix of French and English and various other languages all carrying the same message: finally.

"Ready?" Michael asks as they prepare to head out.

She looks at their work – all this food made with love and patience (and only minimal threats of violence).

"Ready."

The whole team is there, plus coaching staff, plus what feels like half the FFF. They've pushed tables together family-style, and someone (probably Marcus) starts a chant of "Speech! Speech!" that gets picked up by everyone else.

"Y'all are doing too much," she laughs, but Michael gently pushes her forward.

"I'll translate," he says, and she sends up a prayer of thanks for this man's whole existence.

"Okay, okay," she holds up her hands and the room quiets down. "Listen. Where I'm from, food is how we show love. It's how we celebrate victories and comfort each other through losses. It's how we welcome family – blood or chosen."

Michael translates as she speaks, his French making her simple words sound almost poetic.

"Today we're celebrating our new captain," she continues, and the cheers that go up nearly shake the windows. Aurélien, sitting at the center of the longest table, ducks his head but she catches his smile. "And tomorrow we're gonna beat Israel's whole ass."

The roar that goes up at that almost drowns out Michael's slightly more diplomatic translation.

"Everything is Halal," she adds, "and yes, there's dessert – banana pudding with vanilla ice cream because I'm not a monster."

She nods to the servers who start bringing out the dishes, and the way these elite athletes' eyes light up at the sight of proper soul food would be funny if it wasn't so endearing.

"Bon appétit, mes amis," she finishes, and immediately gets swept up in a group hug from Marcus and Mike that nearly takes her off her feet.

"An angel," Marcus declares as he squeezes her. "A motherfucking angel."

The room fills with the sound of comfortable chaos that reminds her of Sunday dinners back home. She catches William's eye across the room and he gives her a warm smile that makes her cheeks warm.

But then she feels it – that familiar weight of attention – and finds Aurélien watching her with an expression that makes her breath catch. He's looking like something out of her most inappropriate dreams, and...

"Your plate," Michael appears at her elbow with food he's made up for her. "Can't let the chef go hungry."

She tears her eyes away from Aurélien, forcing herself to focus on her food and not on how their new captain keeps glancing her way like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

For the first few minutes, the cafeteria vibrates of pure, unadulterated appreciation – the kind that makes a cook's heart sing. These professional athletes, who probably have personal chefs on speed dial, are absolutely demolishing their plates. Bradley's over there drowning his chicken in hot sauce like he's trying to prove something, while others are just making these little sounds of joy between bites.

"I'm going to marry you," Brice announces suddenly through a mouthful of mac and cheese, breaking the reverent silence like a hammer through stained glass.

The table erupts in hoots and hollers, and Leila definitely doesn't miss how Aurélien's fork freezes halfway to his mouth.

"It's a joke," Brice adds quickly, though his eyes are twinkling. "But this food? Magnifique."

"You can't just propose like that," Khephren shakes his head with mock solemnity. "There's a process. Parents first."

"Exactly," Ousmane nods with all the wisdom of someone who's been in this position before. "Gotta do it properly."

"And don't forget the bride price," Ibou adds, which sets off a wave of groans like he's just announced extra training.

"They don't do that in America, bro," someone calls out, which starts a whole debate about marriage customs in different countries.

"Speaking of America," Mike cuts through the chaos with surprising grace, "you're from Georgia, right?" At Leila's nod, he continues, "Do you know where your peoples from? Like which country in the motherland?"

"You can't just ask her that," Jules protests.

"Why not?" Mike shrugs, all innocence. "I'm just curious."

"Slavery happened," Michael says quietly, taking a casual sip of water.

"I know that happened," Mike responds, "but you know some Black people in the US do one of those ancestry.com tests. You know, to find their roots."

"I did one," Leila interjects, and suddenly she has the undivided attention of some of the most expensive athletes in Europe, all of them looking at her like she's about to reveal the secret to scoring hat-tricks.

"And?" Marcus prompts, gesturing with a chicken wing that probably violates several of their nutritionist's rules.

"You guys really want to know?"

The chorus of "yes" comes in various accents and volumes, but the enthusiasm is unanimous, and they're ready to put their food on pause – and considering how they've been eating, that's saying something.

Laughing, she pulls up her phone, scrolling through her gallery for that screenshot from her college days. "Okay, this is from my Cultural History & Heritage class, so... I'm 65% Ghanaian..."

The applause that breaks out would make you think someone just scored a World Cup winner. Ousmane's practically glowing with vindication.

"I knew you were Ghanaian! You're feisty," he declares.

"And that forehead," Ibou adds, making her touch it self-consciously.

"What's wrong with my forehead?"

"You got that West African forehead," Marcus explains through a grin. "It's still cute though!" he adds quickly, like he's just remembered his mama raised him right.

She's doing her best impression of a confused goldfish when she continues, "10% Western Bantu Peoples, 14% Beninese." Her eyes flick to Jules, who's wearing the kind of smile that suggests he's already plotting something.

"You and JK are cousins!" Cama announces with the excitement of someone connecting invisible dots. "The family reunion's gonna be lit!"

"9% French Guiana," she pushes on, "8% English, and the rest is Dutch."

The reaction to the English and Dutch parts hits like they've just heard she's part alien. Eyebrows shooting up across the table like they're trying to escape.

"Slavery," Michael says again, and the word lands like a weight, heavy with centuries of history.

"Right, right," comes the collective murmur, before Marcus breaks the moment by declaring he needs thirds "to honor all those ancestors."

"More cornbread, ma puce?"

She turns to find Aurélien holding out the basket, something soft in his expression that makes her heart do stupid things.

"I'm good," she manages to say.

"You sure? You've barely eaten."

"Just happy everyone else is enjoying it."

His response is cut off by Marcus starting a debate about whether Ghana or Benin has better jollof rice, and suddenly the whole table is taking sides in what's apparently a long-standing West African rivalry.

"Ghana obviously has the better jollof," she says quietly, just to watch Aurélien's eyes narrow in betrayal.

"Et tu, ma puce?" He shakes his head like she's personally wounded him. "Non, non. Cameroon's jollof is superior. This is just facts."

"Please," Ousmane cuts in with the confidence of someone about to start a war, "Nigerian jollof clears both. This isn't even a debate."

"Bullshit," Marcus declares. "Ghana invented jollof. You can't beat the original."

"Being first doesn't mean being best," Aurélien argues, and suddenly it's like they're discussing tactical formations instead of rice. "Cameroonians perfected it."

"The delusion," Ousmane sighs dramatically. "This is why you need a Nigerian wife. To show you what real jollof tastes like."

Leila tries not to think too hard about why that comment makes something twist in her chest, but then Aurélien's saying, "I don't need a Nigerian wife when I have–" before cutting himself off abruptly.

The table goes quiet enough to hear a fork drop.

"When you have what?" Jules prompts teasingly.

"When I have... more important things to focus on," Aurélien finishes lamely. "Like tomorrow's match."

"Mhm," Michael hums into his water glass, sharing a look with Jules that speaks volumes.

The conversation shifts to safer topics after that, but Leila can't quite shake the weight of that unfinished sentence. Can't quite ignore how Aurélien keeps sneaking glances at her like he's trying to read something written in a language he doesn't understand, but that's a problem for another day.

Match day arrives bright and crisp, the kind of weather that makes footballers' eyes light up. The usual pre-match routines take on extra weight today – this isn't just any game, it's Aurélien's first as captain, and you can feel it in the air at breakfast. Even Marcus and Mike are quieter than usual, energy focused instead of scattered.

But before they can get to the match, there's the small matter of getting to Budapest. The morning after her soul food extravaganza has these grown men acting like they've discovered the secret to eternal happiness.

"I swear," Marcus is saying as they wait in the private terminal, "I haven't slept that good since I was in the womb."

"That's called the itis," Leila explains, watching their confused faces with amusement. "When good food puts you in a food coma? Yeah that’s what it is."

"Whatever it was, we need it before every match," Mike declares, and several others nod enthusiastically.

"That's too much to ask," Aurélien cuts in, that protective edge creeping into his voice.

"I'll help cook again!" Cama volunteers immediately.

"NO!" comes the unanimous response, making him pout.

"After what you tried to do to those greens?" Michael adds quietly. "I think not."

The conversation halts as they board their plane, and Leila thought she knew what luxury was, but this private Airbus is on another level. It's all cream leather and polished wood, with business class seats that look more like individual living rooms. Each pod has its own entertainment system and enough space to lie flat, making her regular flight experiences look like public transit.

"First time on the team plane?" William's voice is warm as he slides into the seat next to her, flashing that smile that still makes her stomach flip.

"That obvious?"

"You're looking around like you just discovered Narnia."

She catches Aurélien watching them from across the aisle, his jaw doing that thing it does when he's thinking too hard.

"You should come to London after the break," William continues smoothly, either not noticing or choosing to ignore their captain's attention, "There's this amazing Nigerian restaurant I want to show you."

"Oh?" she tries for casual. "Just for the food?"

His smile turns soft. "Among other things."

Someone – definitely Jules – clears their throat loudly, and Leila suddenly finds the safety card fascinating.

"The restaurant's near Emirates," William adds. "I could show you around, catch a match..."

"You trying to convert her to Arsenal?" Bradley calls from behind them. "Nah, she needs to see a PSG match instead."

"Please," Mike scoffs. "Milan is clearly superior."

And just like that, they're all arguing about their clubs like they weren't just praising her cooking five minutes ago.

"Think about it?" William asks quietly while the others debate club merits.

She's about to answer when Aurélien's voice cuts through: "Leila, I need you to review the post-match schedules."

"Now? We just took off."

"Oui. Now."

William just shakes his head but his smile is knowing. "We'll talk later?"

She nods, gathering her tablet and trying not to analyze why their captain suddenly needs to review schedules he definitely already knows by heart.

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

The Puskás Aréna is something else entirely when they arrive – all modern glass and steel but somehow still intimidating as hell. Leila's back in her element, running through pre-match routines she's got down to a science by now. Water bottles positioned just so (because Michael swears the angle affects his performance), extra shin guards for Marcus (who she's convinced loses them on purpose at this point just to watch her scramble), and that specific pre-wrap that Mike treats like it's made of gold.

Aurélien's different today – you can see it in how he carries himself, that armband not just a piece of fabric but a crown. He moves through the locker room like he's been doing this his whole life, stopping at each player with exactly what they need: a quiet word with Jules, some complicated handshake with Cama that looks more like interpretive dance, a firm nod to William that carries weight she can't quite read.

The match itself? Pure poetry. Whatever that soul food did to them, it's working overtime because they're moving like they've got cheat codes enabled. Aurélien's commanding the midfield like he was born to it, every tackle clean enough to eat off of, every pass finding feet like he's got GPS in his boots.

Six minutes in and Cama's already making statements, finding the back of the net with the kind of finish that makes you question physics. Before Israel can even process what hit them, Nkunku's doubling the lead in the 26th minute, celebration looking suspiciously like a TikTok dance she's definitely seen Marcus teaching everyone.

Israel manages to pull one back, but these boys aren't about to let their captain's first match be anything less than spectacular. The last five minutes turn into a highlight reel – a goal in the 87th with a strike that probably broke the sound barrier, and then Bradley putting the final nail in the coffin just two minutes later, making it 4-1 with the kind of casual elegance that shouldn't be legal.

The final whistle just confirms what everyone already knew – this French team, with their new captain and apparently their new pre-match soul food ritual, is something special.

4-1. Four different scorers. And one very proud PA trying not to look too obvious about it.

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

The rowdy chaos outside her hotel room tells Leila exactly what's about to go down. Post-match celebration means clubs, means someone's definitely about to drop stupid money on bottles, means Marcus will absolutely end up shirtless at some point, and means these boys are headed out to dance a little and find someone who's down to fuck. Instagram models will materialize like they've got professional athlete radar, the elevators about to get more action than a fashion week runway.

Her mind cannot handle the aura Aurélien has right now especially after winning his first match as captain; she knew what type time he was on and it wasn't going to be anything saintly. He loves a win more than anything and the only other thing that can top that is going out with the boys and bedding some girl.

Thank goodness she never heard him getting busy - that may scar her to the point of needing therapy but she read some things on gossip blogs (she didn't know if it was true or false) and the way they talked about him having humongous dick energy not to mention the stamina—

A knock on her hotel room door pulled her out of her thoughts and she hurriedly fixed her bonnet and glasses before looking at the peep hole and to her surprise it was Jules.

The hell?

"I know you know it's me," he says and Leila let out a groan silently debating on whether or not she should let him in. He knocked again, this time harder.

"Okay, relax." She said then opened the door. Jules eyes scanned over her body.

"That's how you going to the club, Leila? A bonnet and muumuu?"

And she squinted at him like he had three heads. "Huh?"

"You're coming to the club."

"I most certainly am not," she says, already trying to close the door, but Jules is faster, wedging his foot in the way.

"You really gonna let Wilo go to the club without supervision?" he asks with that smirk that means trouble. "When there's gonna be all those Hungarian baddies there?"

"Wilo is a grown man who can do whatever he wants," she says, but something must show in her face because Jules' grin gets wider.

"Mhm. And I'm sure Auré has nothing to do with you hiding in your room?"

"I'm not hiding, I'm being professional."

"Professional?" Jules actually laughs. "Ma puce, you're our age. You think the FFF expects you to sit in your room in a bonnet while we celebrate?"

"The FFF expects me to—"

"To what? Pretend you're not twenty-four? Come on. Get dressed. The car leaves in twenty."

"Jules—"

"Either you come willingly or I'm sending Marcus and Mike to get you. Your choice."

The threat of those two showing up at her door is enough to make her pause. They'd probably live-stream the whole thing, and then she'd have to explain to her mama why she's trending on French Twitter.

"Fine," she sighs. "But I'm not staying long."

"Sure," Jules says in a tone that suggests he doesn't believe her at all. "Wear that black dress you brought."

She narrows her eyes. "How do you know what's in my suitcase?"

"I don't. But you're a Black woman on a work trip – you definitely packed a just-in-case outfit."

"I hate that you know that."

His grin is entirely too satisfied. "Twenty minutes. And Lei?" He pauses at the door. "Aren't you curious what your captain's going to say when he sees you in something other than work clothes?"

Before she can throw something at him, he's gone, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

She looks at her reflection in the hotel mirror, bonnet and all, and lets out a deep sigh.

"Lord," she mutters, already reaching for her suitcase, "give me strength."

Because Jules isn't wrong – she definitely packed that black dress. Just in case.

The black halterneck dress has been sitting in her suitcase like it's been waiting for this moment, all dangerous intentions and "maybe I will act up tonight" energy. She holds it up, already questioning herself because this hem is definitely living its best thigh-high life. But then again, if she's about to get dragged to a club by a bunch of football players, she might as well look like she meant to be there.

The over-the-knee boots are her compromise with herself – wedge heels because she refuses to die tonight trying to channel her inner Instagram baddie in stilettos. Her silk press is still hanging on by a prayer and whatever magic Theresa put in that heat protectant, so at least that's one less thing to worry about.

One last glance in the mirror has her reaching for her silver metallic Diesel mini purse (her one designer splurge that she justified as a "work expense" because technically she does need to look put together around these millionaires).

A knock at the door has her rolling her eyes. "It has not been twenty minutes—" she starts, yanking it open, ready to tell Jules exactly where he can put his timeline.

Except it's not Jules.

William's standing there looking like every bad decision she's ever wanted to make, already dressed for the club in a fitted black Amiri shirt that's doing criminal things to his shoulders.

"Oh," she manages, suddenly very aware that this dress is doing exactly what it was designed to do. William's eyes do a slow sweep from her boots all the way up, and listen – she might need to text Theresa a thank you for this silk press because the way he's looking at her right now?

"Jules said you needed an escort to the club," he says, voice a little rougher than usual. "But I'm thinking maybe we should skip it."

She tries to remember how to form words like a professional. "Skip it?"

"There's this rooftop bar..." he starts, then stops as voices carry down the hallway – she catches Aurélien's distinct tone among them and something in William's expression shifts.

"The rooftop bar?" she prompts, pretending she doesn't hear the footsteps getting closer.

William steps closer, just inside her doorway. "Much quieter than the club. Better view. And we could actually..." he pauses as the voices get louder, "talk."

The way he says 'talk' definitely isn't suggesting conversation about the weather.

But before she can respond, another voice cuts through:

"Ma pu—" Aurélien's voice cuts off abruptly, and Leila watches something complicated pass across his face as he takes in the scene – William in her doorway, her in this dress that's definitely not PA-appropriate, the energy crackling between them that definitely isn't professional.

He's already dressed for the club too, looking like he stepped out of a GQ spread in all black everything, that captain's confidence still radiating off him. For a moment, nobody moves.

"Capitaine," William says easily, not moving from his spot. "We were just discussing alternate plans for tonight."

"Alternate plans?" Jules appears behind Aurélien, taking in the situation with raised eyebrows. "Non, non. The team celebrates together. You know this."

"I was thinking—" William starts, but Aurélien cuts him off.

"The van's leaving. Now." There's something in his voice that doesn't invite argument. "Both of you."

Leila catches Jules hiding a smile behind his hand, and she really might have to fight him later.

"After you," William says to her, finally stepping back, but his hand finds her lower back as they head toward the elevator and she swears she hears something that sounds suspiciously like a growl from behind them.

The rented van's already bumping with French trap music when she climbs in, Marcus and Mike immediately letting out wolf whistles that would absolutely get them slapped by their mamas.

"OH? Okay Lei! I see how you coming tonight!" Cama's eyes go wide. "This is not PA behavior!"

"Nah for real though," Marcus grins, "who told you to show up looking this good? We trying to play it cool tonight!"

"Cool?" Mike winks at her. "Ain't nothing cool about this. Now we know why Jules was so pressed about you coming out."

Bradley's already pouring shots in the back, passing them around like they didn't just play 90 minutes of professional football. "To the baddest in the van!"

"Hold up though," Khephren raises his glass with a smirk. "You really just been hiding all this under them work clothes? That's foul, Lei."

William's hand is still somehow finding reasons to brush against her knee, while Aurélien's watching the whole scene from the front like he's plotting multiple homicides. The bass is hitting hard enough to cover whatever Jules is saying to him, but judging by their captain's face, it's nothing he wants to hear.

"Another round?" Bradley calls out as Gazo's latest hit has everyone trying to rap along.

"No, I’m good. Thanks," she says.

The club is exactly what you'd expect when rolling with the French national team – all VIP treatment and bottle girls already lined up like they got a notification that fine athletes were incoming. Security parts the crowd, leading them straight to the section.

"You good?" William asks as she slides into the booth next to him, his hand finding that spot on her lower back again. Before she can answer, Marcus is already ordering bottles like he's trying to buy out the whole club.

"Dom, Clase Azul, and whatever our PA wants because she blessed us with that soul food!" he shouts over the music.

"And that dress," Mike adds, earning himself a look from Aurélien that could freeze hell.

The first bottle of Dom arrives with sparklers because of course it does – these men don't know how to do anything lowkey. Bradley's already got his phone out, documenting everything for his Close Friends story while Cama starts pouring shots like it's his job.

"To our captain!" Someone calls out, and more bottles appear, more sparklers, more everything.

"And to our angel," Khephren adds with a wink in her direction. "Feeding us like kings!"

She catches Aurélien's expression in the strobe lights, something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watches William lean in to whisper something in her ear. The music's too loud to hear what Jules says to him, but whatever it is makes their captain knock back his entire drink in one go.

"Dance with me," William says as Rema's voice fills the club, and Leila immediately starts shaking her head, pushing her glasses up her nose like they'll shield her from his request.

"Oh no, I don't—"

But then he does that thing with his tongue, running it across his lips in a way that should be illegal, and her brain short-circuits for a second.

"Come on," he grins, already standing and holding out his hand. "One dance."

Before she can protest again, he's leading her down from their VIP section to where the dance floor is pulsing with Afrobeats. She catches Aurélien's expression as they pass – something dangerous flickering in his eyes as he watches William's hand on her waist.

"I really don't dance," she tries one last time, but William's already pulling her closer, moving to the beat like he was born doing this.

"Everyone dances to Afrobeats," he says in her ear, his accent wrapping around the words. "Just feel it."

And maybe it's the shots, or maybe it's the way his hands feel on her hips, but she finds herself starting to move. The rhythm catches her, William's smile grows wider, and suddenly she remembers – she does know how to dance. She just usually doesn't do it in front of half the French national team.

But tonight? Tonight feels different.

The thing about dancing with a professional athlete is that they know exactly how to move. William's got this natural rhythm that makes it easy to follow his lead, his hands steady on her hips as she finds her groove. The beat switches to "Calm Down" and suddenly they're moving like they've been dancing together forever.

"Look who can dance after all," he murmurs in her ear, pulling her a little closer as she rolls her hips. The shots are definitely helping with her confidence, but it's the way he's looking at her that's really doing it – like she's the only girl in this packed club.

She catches glimpses of the other boys joining the dance floor – Marcus already shirtless (called it), Mike with some girl who looks like she models for Fashion Nova, Cama doing some complicated dance routine that has everyone making space. But she keeps feeling that weight of attention from above, knows without looking that Aurélien's watching every move, every time William's hands slide a little lower, every time she moves a little closer.

"You've been holding out on us," he says against her ear. "All this time in training and we never knew you could move like this."

A particularly bold turn has her back pressed fully against him, and oh – apparently footballers really do have incredible stamina because that's definitely not his phone in his pocket. His thumb traces her jawline, tilting her face up to his, and the look in his eyes makes her mouth go dry.

"I think," he says, voice rough in a way that sends heat straight through her, "we should get out of here."

The reasonable part of her brain, the part that remembers she's technically working, tries to speak up. But then his lips brush her ear and that part of her brain short circuits completely.

"I've got a suite," he continues. "Much quieter than here. Better view of the city."

She knows what he's really saying. Knows exactly what that invitation means. Knows that tomorrow she'll either have the best story for Yolanda or the biggest regret of her career.

From somewhere behind them, she hears Mike shout something that sounds suspiciously like "GET IT, LEI!" She's going to have to fight him later.

William's still waiting for an answer, his body moving against hers in a way that's making thinking very difficult. His hand slides up her spine, leaving fire in its wake, and really – what's the worst that could happen?

Besides losing her job, her dignity, and whatever's left of her heart that isn't already tied up in another footballer who thinks she's just okay.

The music shifts to something slower, something that has William pulling her even closer, and she's about to say yes to everything he's suggesting when someone bumps them hard enough to break their bubble.

"Désolé," Aurélien's voice cuts through the music as he moves past them toward the bar, not sounding sorry at all. Bradley is right behind him, shooting them an apologetic look that seems more amused than anything.

But William's not letting this moment slip. His fingers turned her attention back to him like their captain didn't just try to body check them on the dance floor. "So? That view I mentioned..."

Maybe it's the shots. Maybe it's the way he's looking at her. Maybe it's how Aurélien didn't even acknowledge her when he passed. Maybe it's all of it, mixing with the bass and the heat and the way William's fingers are drawing promises on her skin.

"Show me," she says, and his smile turns dangerous in the best way.

He leads her through the crowd, hand firm on her lower back. They pass the VIP section where Mike lets out another wolf whistle (she's definitely fighting him tomorrow), where Marcus is too busy with his own conquest to notice, where Cama's eyes go wide before he bumps Jules' shoulder with a knowing look.

She catches one last glimpse of Aurélien at the bar as they head for the exit, watches him knock back what looks like straight whiskey while Bradley says something in his ear. His eyes meet hers for just a moment, dark and intense and full of something she can't name.

But then William's guiding her toward the door, and she decides that's tomorrow's problem.

Tonight belongs to different choices.

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

The Uber ride is charged with enough electricity to power all of Budapest. William's got his hand on her thigh, thumb tracing circles that are making her brain malfunction, and listen – she might need to text God an apology real quick because the thoughts she's having right now are absolutely not church-appropriate.

He's definitely feeling those shots, all loose limbs and heated looks, but she's right there with him – everything's got that soft-focus feeling that makes bad decisions feel like destiny. The way he's looking at her like she's something to be devoured is doing things to her heart rate that can't be healthy.

But underneath all that liquid courage, panic is starting to set in. Because this man definitely thinks he's about to get the kind of experience his usual conquests provide, and she's over here having never gone past first base. Her virgin self is really about to try to play in the Champions League with no practice, and that's not even counting the fact that this man is built like he was carved from marble.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmurs, leaning in close enough that she can smell his cologne mixed with expensive liquor. His lips brush her ear and – oh. OH. Maybe this is how she dies. At least it's a good way to go.

The hotel appears way too quickly and not quick enough. William helps her out of the car like the gentleman he is, but his eyes are pure sin as they head for the elevator.

Her heart's doing double-time now, a mix of want and worry that has her pressing her thighs together. Because she wants this – wants him – but also? She's seen the gossip blogs. She knows what these football players are working with. And her inexperienced self is really about to—

The elevator doors close and William presses the button for his floor, and suddenly everything feels very, very real.

Lord help her.

It took no time before William got her pressed against the mirrored wall, one hand braced beside her head while the other plays with the ends of her hair. They haven't even kissed yet but the anticipation is thick enough to cut.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, eyes tracking over her face like he's memorizing it. "You know that?"

The elevator dings at his floor and suddenly they're playing this game of trying to walk down the hallway while staying as close as possible. His key card takes three tries to work because he's too busy pressing soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth that's trying not to smile too wide.

Then they're through his door and everything shifts. His hands find her waist, pulling her close as he backs her against the door. The first press of his lips against hers is gentle, questioning, like he's asking permission yet when she sighs into it, fingers curling into his shirt, gentle goes out the window.

Listen. LISTEN. William Saliba can KISS. She's got her back against his hotel room door, his hands cupping her face like she's precious while simultaneously trying to steal her soul through her mouth. Everything's hazy with want and Clase Azul when his lips find that spot behind her ear that makes her knees weak. One of his hands slides down to her hip, thumb finding skin where her dress has ridden up, and the noise she makes should be embarrassing but he groans in response like she's driving him crazy.

His mouth is doing ungodly things to her neck, the kind of things that make her understand why people write songs about moments like this, when reality crashes back in.

"Wait," she manages to breathe out. "I should... I need to tell you something."

He pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and intense in a way that makes her forget how to breathe. His thumb traces her bottom lip and for a moment she forgets what she was going to say.

"What's wrong?" His voice is rough in a way that does things to her insides, accent thicker than usual.

They've somehow migrated from the door to the middle of his suite, the city lights of Budapest twinkling behind them through floor-to-ceiling windows. His hands are still on her waist, thumbs drawing circles on her hips that make it hard to think straight.

"I've never..." she starts, then stops, trying to find the words while his mouth is doing devastating things to her collarbone. "I haven't..."

He pulls back again, and this time understanding dawns on his face slowly, his eyes widening. One hand comes up to cup her cheek, and she leans into it despite herself.

"Wait. You're...?"

She nods, warmth rushing to her cheeks that has nothing to do with his kisses or the shots still buzzing through her system.

"But you're twenty-four," he says like he's trying to solve a complicated math problem. His other hand is still on her waist, thumb still moving in those maddening circles. "And you look like... I mean, how has nobody...?"

She shrugs, suddenly finding his gold chain very interesting. "Just never happened. Never felt right with anyone."

His fingers catch her chin, tilting her face back up to his. The heat in his eyes has been replaced by something softer, something that makes her heart do different kinds of flips.

"We can wait," he says, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Until you're ready. No pressure."

"You sure?"

His answering kiss is gentle now, all sweet promise instead of consuming fire. "Some things are worth waiting for."

They end up on his couch, trading lazy kisses that slowly build and ebb like waves. His hands stay respectfully above clothes even when hers wander a bit (because listen, those footballer abs are a gift and she's only human). They talk about nothing and everything – about growing up in France, about her friends in Georgia, about how nervous she was her first day as a PA.

It's nice. More than nice. The kind of nice that makes her wonder if maybe...

But it's getting late, and her willpower is seriously testing its limits with the way he keeps looking at her like she's something precious. She should go. She needs to go.

"I should head back," she murmurs against his lips.

"Mhm," he agrees, but kisses her again anyway.

Ten minutes and several more "I should really go" kisses later, she finally makes it to his door. He pulls her in for one last kiss that nearly changes her mind about leaving.

"Think about what I said," he says. "About London."

"I will."

She's still floating on cloud nine when she rounds the corner and nearly collides with them – Aurélien and what looks like this evening's conquest. The girl's exactly his type – all curves and confidence, the kind of ass that probably has its own Instagram following. They're wrapped around each other like they can't wait to get behind closed doors, and the sight hits her like a bucket of ice water.

Their eyes meet over the girl's shoulder, and something in his expression makes her stomach drop. She tries to slip past quietly, already planning how many miles she'll need to run tomorrow to forget this moment.

"Good night, Leila."

She freezes mid-step, the sound of her actual name falling from his lips feeling like a slap. Not 'ma puce'. Not his usual pet name that makes her heart flutter. Just Leila.

His hotel room door clicks shut, and she stands there in the hallway like someone just pressed pause on her whole world. In the eight months she's known him, through every up and down, every early morning and late night, every moment of casual intimacy and professional distance, he's never once called her just Leila.

Never once until now, when she's standing in a hallway wearing another man's kisses while he takes another woman to his bed.

The universe really does have a sense of humor.

A cruel one.

………….tbd

[silcoitus]

Can we maybe have silco x reader who he bites out of habit (could be nsfw, while making out of something) and they moan from it? How would his reaction be to it?

As I was writing a continuation to Practiced Hands, I realized I could incorporate this request into it! So behold, second installment of Young Silco! Reminder that this turns into an AO3 link in one month's time! So read it here while you still can!

Practiced Hands (Part 2)

Masterlist | AO3 link

Previous Chapter

Rating: Explicit—Minors DNI

Tags: Young Silco, f!reader; biting; couch sex; cunnilingus; penis in vagina sex;

Word count: 1.5k

Betas: @juniper-sunny

“Why don't we continue this upstairs?”

You'd answer if you had any energy, but with the way Silco's hands worked you, you're entirely spent. Turning your head toward him, eyes half-lidded, you look at him through your hazy afterglow.

Twin oceans stare back at you behind a curtain of raven hair, the fringe he so stubbornly styles obscuring his face like a thick forest canopy hiding the form of a hungry tiger, nothing visible except for its predatory eyes. Silco’s gaze is possessive and carnal, an animal running solely on instinct.

And with one small nod, you yield to it.

At that, Silco bends down to scoop up your legs in one arm, the other supporting your back. He lifts you with such ease that you're suddenly reminded of the hidden strength behind that lithe frame. Muscles toned in the mines, forged out of necessity. 

His footsteps are light as he carries you out around the bar, heading for the staircase that leads to the office. All the while, you press your face to his neck, breathing in his scent. 

The office door left ajar, he shoves it open with his shoulder before swiftly kicking it closed behind him. It's not long before he's depositing you onto the couch, his hands now free to shove aside a box to clear a space on the floor.

You sit up to watch him, your pants still hanging open from before. And when he kneels in front of you, long fingers digging under the waistband of both your pants and underwear to yank them down, you suddenly awaken from your fuckdrunk stupor. 

You gasp when the air of the room hits your core, Silco pulling the garments past your knees. But when your boots halt his movements, he curses under his breath, bending down to remove one. One leg freed—just enough to have you spread open for him—is all he needs. You're left with the strange sensation of your left calf draped in a pool of fabric while your right leg is completely exposed. But you're given no time to protest the arrangement when Silco's hands are tucking under your knees and yanking you forward. Your ass is practically hanging off the couch when Silco dips his chin and dives into your core, mouth first.

“Ah!”

His tongue is hot against your folds, greedily licking your glistening arousal from his previous ministrations. He ravishes you with the fervor of a man starved, doing nothing to hide his enjoyment, his hums of approval vibrating through you.

Your knees rest on his shoulders as his hands smooth up your thighs to grip you by the hips, keeping you rooted to the spot so he can thoroughly pleasure you with his mouth. You throw your head back as your hands reach for his head, fingers tangling in his long raven hair, nails dragging against his scalp. That sharp blade of a nose parts your folds to nestle over your clit, breathing in your musk. 

You can feel another orgasm building within you and you're powerless to stop it, so overcome by the way Silco makes a meal out of you. Just as you stand on the edge and stare down your ruin, he pulls his face away.

You let out a soft whimper, looking down to see the lower half of his face absolutely drenched in your arousal. He wipes most of it off with the back of his hand before standing, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his pants.

“Don't want you coming yet,” he explains, voice almost hoarse. “Not until I'm inside you first.”

He shoves his pants down over his hips, his hardened cock springing free. Your eyes widen at the sight as he continues to push the fabric down to his knees.

“Lie down.”

Wordlessly, you obey, shifting on the couch to lie on your back. Silco joins you, seemingly too impatient to take his pants off all the way, his boots proving too much of an obstacle, just as yours had.

You spread your knees for him, one leg hanging off the couch as he scoots toward you, one hand gripping his shaft to line himself up. And as the head of him glides through your folds, gathering your slick, you close your eyes and wait.

“I’ve wanted you ever since you joined the Children,” he says, voice ragged with desire. “I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you.”

You open your eyes to see him towering over you, his cock prodding at your entrance but his gaze solely on your face, drinking in your ruined form. 

“Tell me,” he grunts, bringing his free hand to grip the armrest behind you. “Tell me you want me, too.”

Half naked beneath him, you can’t help but chuckle, a little bit of your old self returning, no longer a prisoner to your own lust.

“You fucking idiot,” you say breathlessly. “Of course I fucking do.”

You lift your head and crash your lips into his, bringing both hands up to grab his face, fingers digging into his cheeks and behind his ears. He groans into the kiss, mouth hanging open as you swipe your tongue against his. The two of you almost seem to forget about his hardened cock at your core, so focused on tasting each other like this for the first time. 

Your absentmindedness is short-lived, as Silco is quick to press himself against your entrance, prying you open. And as you continue to kiss each other in a mess of lips and tongues and teeth, he pushes into you in one smooth—absolutely blissful—motion.

You whimper against his mouth and dig your fingers into his scalp at the feeling of fullness, acutely aware of how easily he pressed in with how thoroughly drenched your core is. And when his hips pull back just enough to piston back into you, you break off the kiss to let out a shattered, hedonistic moan, filling the office with the sounds of your ecstasy.

There’s a roughness to Silco’s movements, sending the various buckles and metal rivets on his clothing jingling with each thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep into you. Both his hands grip the armrest now, the top of your head pressed against the stiff side of the couch, your mouth hanging open as he fucks you. 

Your spread legs are a sinful display, one hanging off the cushions while your other knee hooks over the back of the couch, granting Silco all the access he desires. As he continues to pound into you, you bring your hands up above your head to the armest, holding on for dear life. Silco’s eyes spot the movement and he’s quick to lace his fingers over yours, gripping them in place. 

The couch shifts with every thrust, the squeaking of wood on wood unmistakable as Silco rails into you. You feel on the edge of oblivion, your body limp while Silco uses you. And just when you think you can’t take it any longer, his hands leave yours to grab you by the waist, his torso flush with you as he brings his face to your neck. Breath hot and labored, he squeezes you like a boa constrictor with his arms as his teeth drag against your pulse point. His teeth clamp down, biting you harshly as his hips stutter frantically, signaling the beginning of the end.

As Silco’s teeth sink into your tender flesh, you can’t help the wanton wail that escapes your lips, the exquisite pain of his bite sending lightning to your core. At the sound of your loud approval, he laughs against your skin before soothing the bite with a long, hot swipe of his tongue before shifting his mouth and biting down again, marking you once more.

Your walls clench around him at that and you can feel your demise thundering toward you, heavy and overwhelming. 

His grip is tight on you, the harsh metal pieces of his jacket digging into your chest. He ruts into you at a staggering pace and you can do nothing but dig your nails into the wood of the armrest as he comes undone inside you, his cock pulsing against your walls and sending you spiraling into your own release. Silco’s breath comes out as short grunts as he paints your insides, while your walls flutter around him, milking him for all he’s worth. A heady warmth fills your veins as vibrant colors dance behind your closed eyes, mouth hanging open as you ride out the brilliant sensation that is your orgasm.

When finally you pry your hands from the armrest, your fingers shake from exhaustion, your forearms sore from how tightly you had held on. Silco lets his full weight flop onto you, his torso heavy, but strangely comforting.

He lifts his head just a fraction, peeling his cheek off your sweat-dotted skin to bring his mouth to your ear. You’ll think he’ll whisper something to you, but he instead nips at your lobe, as if he’s still hungry. But there’s no vigor behind the gesture, his energy too spent.

Finally, he speaks, voice ragged.

“I’m never letting you leave this office.”

You laugh with what little breath you have left.

“This is how the revolution dies. Not on the bridge, but on the couch.”

He chuckles.

“We can pick the revolution back up tomorrow.”

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess

Join my taglist!

[bilgisticallykosher]

Tags by @g-dsnumber1faggot [ID: Will people see this and look at their own house? Will it convince them things are bad? Will this enable them to recognize it in their own movements? Or will it be another "Harry Potter goblins are antisemitic" to wash their hands of it?]

No. It won't. Because "it's different" and "we just love dead babies."

Anyway. Tried to find a post regarding this that really got my feelings on this whole thing. And, actually, seeing people talking about "Well, was it, wasn't it?" and "Oh my gosh how horrible what a nazi!"

But like. It's extremely obvious that this is only because he's a maga, right-wing piece of shit. People are literally doing this at rallies, David fucking Duke has been at rallies, you are repeating his rhetoric! What is the damn difference! When people draw swastikas and tell us we deserve to die because we believe that Israel should continue to exist alongside Palestine! Sometimes not even that, sometimes just for saying, hey Jew hatred is bad, you guys! So honestly, if you're only concerned about it now, you're not actually concerned about it.

Remember that nazis hated Jews.

I don't know, man. I'm not organized in my thoughts right now. I'm angry. I'm tired. I'm sick of this. STOP SPREADING JEW HATE RHETORIC!

jews have been sounding the alarm about the alarming rise of antisemitism and neo-nazi rhetoric around the world for years now, and have been largely dismissed by all sides of the political spectrum. they’re playing the victim, they’re exaggerating, they’re lying, they’re a distraction from other more important issues, etc etc.

i hope this can be a wakeup call for many. if this is shocking to you, i urge you to find jewish voices and creators to follow. antisemitism is a canary in the coal mine for fascism and jewish people are the ones most equipped to recognize it and oppose it.

we will all need each other more than ever for what’s to come. make sure the coalitions and networks you build include jewish people too.

[lacyscabinet]

reader and ellie williams dating and reader meeting joel for the first time

A/N: HELLO THERE! This is not my best work but stilllllll I wanted to post something, not proofread<3 I'm a little late sorry😞 this was supposed to come out yesterday but I fell asleep on my desk and forgot to press post😭😭😭🙏🏼🙏🏼 begging on my knees for forgiveness, I hope you enjoy<3

NAVIGATION

VERY SHORT. MORE LIKE A BLURB.

TW: DAD JOKES.

MEETING JOEL

Joel. It's just Joel. Ellie talked about him so much it's almost like you know him already, come on, how hard could it possibly-

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks, placing a hand on your shoulder while simultaneously cleaning it from the snow that had settled on your jacket as you two stood outside the porch. It's not like she wasn't at least a little nervous as well, she really wanted her two worlds to blend, and she wasn't completely sure about what Joel's reaction would be, after all, she has never brought someone like you around him before.

"Yes..." You look up at her and smile gently, trying to be brave about this "All good, should we...knock?"

Ellie nods as she keeps her arm around your waist as she walks up the porch, then her bruised and cold knuckles bump against the worn down wooden door, patiently waiting for someone to open it.

Soon enough, a bearded man cracked the door open, a smile plastered on his face as he welcomed you guys into his home. The house was warm, a record muffled by the sound of the crackling fireplace played on his old record player, the dinner table was all ready to sit down and eat whatever he had cooked, and considering the warm scent that floated through the house, it must've been something tasty. He hugs Ellie once he closes the door, and then turns back to you.

"Finally putting a face to the name!" He says, his voice doesn't sound judgmental at all and he introduces himself right after, extending his hand to shake yours.

All throughout, you can feel Ellie's eyes on you, she's probably smiling, watching you two interact and praying that everything will go the right way. Ellie knows he’s been through enough with the world falling apart, and letting someone new into his circle isn’t easy, but so far, everything was going amazingly.

Just as predicted, dinner was amazing: Ellie sat right next to you while Joel stood in front of you, asking questions about you, about your relationship with Ellie. She subtly checks in with you, just a glance, or a quick touch of your hand to reassure you that she’s there. Her thumb runs over your knuckles, soft and comforting, as if to say: “I’ve got this.” You’re still a little nervous meeting Joel, but the feeling of Ellie beside you is grounding, and he has been nothing but kid with you so far. Everything was flowing seamlessly, until...

"Hey girls, listen" he said all of a sudden as he stabbed a carrot with his fork. Ellie looked up at him curiously, her hand resting on your thigh under the table.

"Do you guys want to know my favorite animal?"

Both you and Ellie looked at each other, extremely confused. Lightly chuckling at your reaction, he continued "Before the outbreak, I remember really liking axolotls..."

At that, your and Ellie's confusion only grew wider, while on the other hand, he started grinning, and that's when Ellie realized.

A dad joke was on the way.

"I used to really like them because they were quiet animals, they didn't axolotl questions"

A moment of silence followed as you took in the joke, bursting out laughing a few seconds later, not really because the joke was funny, but more because of the proud smile on his face and Ellie's maroon flushed face.

“You’re gonna scare her off if you keep making jokes like that.” she mumbled as her hands came up to hide her face.

Maybe, in the end, this wasn't as intimidating as it seemed...

Tags!! @livvietalks (another person asked me to be tagged but for some reason it doesn't work 😭) + @autisticintr0vert :)!!! thank u for the support pookies! In case I post something else tonight I'll tag u over there too!!

I've never thought about starting a taglist but if anyone is interested let me know in the comment section! I also write for yellowjackets and (soon!! trust!!!) for arcane 🤍

[fatphobiabusters]

I was tagging an ask I answered about skiing as a fat person, and these were the first two tag suggestions Tumblr gave me:

All I wrote was "ski" and Tumblr listed for me two different thinspo tags. Tumblr staff truly does not care about the cesspool of thinspo blogs they allow to infest this website. That's why they secretly make the report button "magically" stop working when you try to report more than two thinspo blogs at a time. They know they've allowed their thinspo problem to fester to the point of being a lot of work to fix. So, instead of doing something to make this website a safe place for fat people, people with eating disorders, and especially fat people with eating disorders, they'd rather pretend to not know the problem exists.

Tumblr staff needs to actually work on the problems with this website. And I'm tired of Tumblr staff targeting fat people while allowing shit like this to continue.

-Mod Worthy

[earlycuntsets]

those on tumblr that fwm in anyway!

I have not checked my notifications in a week. so sorry to anyone I haven't gotten back to.

i'm leaving. happy 1000 followers to me!!! lol but I might come back in some capacity but not rn. just until personal stuff has been handled. maybe once a week. i've got a lot of post ideas so i'll come on here if I find anything really good. but I have a bad history with social media consuming my brain.

this tumblr has been fully added to earlycuntsets.org and posts will continue from there, but I am not gonna be on here very much.

i've gone through some mental stuff interacting on here. I have a substance issue rn that i've been trying to get ahold on since september. my full statement is on earlycuntsets.org

I felt so broken up really. this thing mcr that we all love so intensely.

I don't want to see that get ruined for me. the negative connotations with my account because I flipped out on mcr archive people. talking about that will get me nowhere because no one understands my side. about 4 people on here understand my side.

and for the first time yesterday, I considered apologizing. just to ease my own pain around this. you want to know the truth?

I wanted to work with them obviously. I wanted to do what they do is that clear enough?

it was hard for me not to be aggressive when you be me. from the start they just wouldn't respond to me. I would find cool stuff and send it to them. I just thought they'd be more accessible to fans.

and then the only time I have heard from them was for them to judge my website when I spend every extra moment i'm not at work on this one thing. this one thing that is my only expression of love to mcr.

AND SO I gotta get out of the social aspect. it's making me overthink my every move.

I am going to be spending less time on here and more time on my website.

I have moved this whole blog to my website and just updated 840 posts to have links/tags/titles that function. I need to figure out a few things but I won't rest until it's easy to navigate. and perfect. lol there are dead pics and video on the blog section. there are pages of posts that don't have preview images. the site overall is undercuntstruction.

I was actually looking at hulus set up with the "carousel" things for each category. I am having fun and i'll probably make an mcr netflix idk. big grandiose bipolar dreams. that I hope to see through.

my website will be like this (2002 is the only one done rn) so the layout now is:

the google drive part

the 2002 blog part (everything from here)

the sources and links

[voxvaughn]

I SAW THIS, MEANT TO DO IT, AND FORGOR. woops!!!

Last Song; 20 Percent Cooler by Ken Ashcorp

Fav Colour; red!!!! purple is a close second thou

Last Book; admittedly all of my books are packed and inaccessible rn BUT i did buy the most recent Warrior Cats release this past week!!!

Last Movie; Sing 2 (it was on TV and i was flipping channels! the Sing movies r really cute and fun to me)

Last TV Show; American Dad! (new episode came out yesterday, and i watched the reruns that followed it!)

Sweet / Savory / Spicy

Last Search; vox hazbin hotel (i really can't justify this 😭 caught red handed)

Current Obsession; take one look at my blog and guess

Looking Forward To; HAZBIN HOTEL SEASON 2 IN A FEW MONTHS!!! my Vox plush should be arriving around the time I'm guessing it'll air/close to my birthday :3 and its been greenlit through season 4 already, so I have at least a few years to look forward to!

i usually don't tag people back in these games but ur free to use my post as a continuation :3

10 People I'd Like to Know Better

Thanks for the tags @gaiaseyes451 and @beerok23!💜!💜

last song: Gloria by the Lumineers

favourite colour: Red, like a deep luscious red that you know would taste good if you licked it. Don't act innocent, you know exactly what I mean by that. Red is a color that you just know tastes good.

last book: I am currently trying to read the Witcher series (per @lickthecowhappy's suggestion) so I am at the start of the Last Wish

last movie: Moana 2 (I have young kidsssss)

last TV show: My oldest is almost 10 which means she stays up late. Which also means I have so little time to watch adult things. So we've been watching the Office with her. I think I want to watch the Good Place with her next tho (I've never watched it!)

sweet/spicy/savoury: Sweet followed very, very closely by spicy. Habanero maple syrup is one of my favorite things on the planet.

last thing i searched online: How to explain a 10 year career hiatus in a cover letter (looking to return to work since having kids. It's been an interesting experience so far).

current obsession: Have not moved on from Good Omens, but recently realized that my obsession may be more in my own little connected universe of fics that I wrote rather than the actual canon at this point😳. I'm sure once we get that first glimpse of red and white hair that will change very quickly.

looking forward to: Going back to work and having a more established adult life again, honestly. I've been so lucky to be home with my kids while they are young, but I am ready. And figuring out how my newfound passion for writing is going to fit into that new life of mine. Another big year of change over here for me, and I am eagerly looking forward to how the growing pains are going to make way for something beautiful beyond.

ten people i’d like to know better:

@addledmongoose, @di-42, @afrenchwriter, @haemey, @eybefioro, @alwaystuesday, @katspause, @alphacentaurinebula, @shadesofecclescakes, @ochre-sunflower and whoever wants to do it (but also feel free to ignore!)

[energievie]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY

Thank you, dearest Jess @jrooc 🤗🥰 Watch me completely butcher it 😅🤦🏼‍♀️ Anyways, a look at 2024, you say...

---

Name: Evie

Age you are mentally: mid-20s

Top 3 fics that came out last year (that you can remember at this point lol): Oh boy 😣 I think I remember quite a lot of the stories that came out for the Masquerade and for the Summer Camp. I think. Does this answer count?

Add in any authors who you read all of their things: I mostly read one-shots, so, with this caveat in mind, Deena, Jaclyn, Sam and Ray.

Fave artist/band/singer/group your discovered last year (has to be new to you, not new): Nick Rich

One thing you learnt last year that you’re taking into 2025: took a whole ass course on leadership (on-site in UK, three three-day modules throughout the year) and I learned a lot of stuff I'm applying almost daily.

Was it a good year or bad year? Good, but Q4 was simply exhausting.

Is there anything superstitious you do to try and continue that vibe or absolutely change it? No, not really. I just try to take one day/week at a time. Sometimes I fail 🫤

Fave WIP you're following into this year: I rarely read WIPs - I'm an impatient binger, so I prefer reading stuff in one go.

Are you doing any January ‘get healthy’ things? Less sugar. Less fast food. Gained some weight during the holidays and I know that if I don't do something now I'm gonna regret it come spring 😅

More random questions~~ Did you consider yourself an avid reader before you found fanfic? Yes. I still am, at least in theory, because work has been extra hectic in the last couple of months, so I don't have too much mental energy in the evenings and the weekends are for spending time with the kid.

Do you read books as well as fanfic? Yes or No: fanfic or die

What are you doing to survive this January so far? Honestly, taking one day at a time and waiting for it to pass. It's always been my least favourite month, so I'm kind of dragging myself through it 😋

---

Tagging @suzy-queued @sisitrip @sgtmickeyslaughter @look-i-love-u @too-schoolforcool @michellemisfit @deathclassic @jrooc @guinguin1984 @sickness-health-all-that-shit @lupeloto @doshiart @wehangout @iansw0rld @ian-galagher @gardenerian @sleepyfacetoughguy @atthedugouts @creepkinginc @catgrassplantdad @crossmydna @spacerockwriting @lingy910y @deedala @firendeavor @heymrspatel @thepupperino @blue-disco-lights @francesrose3 @ms-moonlight-inn @transmurderbug @darlingian @vintagelacerosette @gallapiech @palepinkgoat @stocious @mybrainismelted @burninface @spookygingerr @gallawitchxx and ANYONE else who'd like to play 😎