#so she had to be gone most of the day and then in her way back the roads were CHAOS

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 26: Cucking

So, considering I failed Kinkcember by not doing every day. I'll be breaking other rules I had, at the very least, to make this more enjoyable for me. So that means some more repeating idols and kinks. Anyway, enjoy cucking G!P Mina.

Length 2K

Dahyun X Mreader with cuck Mina.

You finish tying Mina to the chair; she gives you a shy smile as you pull back and look at your work. “You’re going to watch.” You say, staring at Mina, who looks a little more than confused at your words. You said I could have another woman for a night. Well, you’re going to watch it happen. “Tonight is when I’m doing it.” Mina had forgotten all about it. Her mouth hung open as you jogged her memory; she had gone out with friends and ended up cheating on you when she got too drunk. To repent, she had said you could fuck any woman you wanted to in an attempt to make it even.

You motion to the door, and in walks a young woman. Her pale skin was striking against her black dress. She waved to Mina with a smirk. Mina recognized the young woman as someone from her work she had heard had a crush on you. She wracked her brain to remember the name. “Hi, unnie!” The young woman said as she stood beside you. You take a step behind her and move your hands around her waist. 

“You remember Dahyun, right? Isn’t she pretty?” You say, moving your hand along Dahyun’s body, her breathing sharpening as your hand moves across her chest, the tender squeezing of her breast enough to elicit a moan. “She’s going to be the one I’m with.”

You undress the young woman, pulling off the thin straps of her dress. Dahyun looks over her shoulder to stare at you, unable to hide her soft smile. She cups her breasts, covering her nipples from your view. You snake your hands between Dahyun’s and her body, “Let me see you, Dahyun,” She gives you a slight nod and allows you to pull her hands away; Dahyun’s small, perky breasts feel the cool air. You look over her shoulder, staring at her pink buds as you squeeze her breasts. She never imagined that she would be having such an experience, certainly not in front of your girlfriend. Dahyun’s sole focus was on what you were doing to her body. You had one of her breasts in your hand, your finger circling her nipple, making it turn hard. You flicked the tiny nub, bringing more pleasure to the young woman. Dahyun squirmed, grinding against you. You stare at Mina, her cock throbbing as she watches you play with Dahyun. 

Mina struggles against her restraints; She wants to touch herself, to stroke her cock, but she can’t. She purses her lips, her mind running through ways to get involved. You see Mina furrow her brow; you huff before pressing your lips against Dahyun’s porcelain skin. Dahyun’s groans grow a little louder, flooding Mina’s ears. 

You thrust into Dahyun, listening to her moan as you slowly drag your cock out of her pink cunt. The young woman arches her back, pushing her chest out toward you. Dahyun reaches out for you, wanting to bring your head to her chest, but you keep away from her for now. Holding onto her tiny waist, you slam yourself inside Dahyun. “you’re so big,” Dahyun blurts out as you push inside her again. You grunt, enjoying the tight hold her walls have over you. You glance over at Mina, seeing the lost expression on her face. She had stopped struggling against her bindings and remained seated. Without so much as a touch, she was leaking precum over herself. The most she was able to do was rub her legs together as she watched you fuck Dahyun. 

The younger woman is paying no attention to Mina, entirely focused on you, etching the feeling of your cock stirring her insides into her memory. As you slip your finger over her clit, Dahyun gasps, the shock from your touch making her legs tingle. Dahyun’s eyes fluttered as she pressed her back against you. Already on the verge of cumming, she bit her lip, weak hums filling her mouth as her body claps against yours. You run your finger over her clit, moving quickly in small circles. The young woman whimpers, her body tensing as she gets ready to explode. You press your lips against Dahyun’s neck, marking her milky skin with a hickey. “Cum for me, Dahyun,” you whisper into her ear. 

“Ahh!” Dahyun whines, her walls tightening around your cock as you continue thrusting into her warm core. Dahyun’s juices spray out, splattering onto Mina’s legs. Your girlfriend strains against her restraints, wanting nothing else but to be involved in the action. You pull Dahyun back, laying her down on the bed before walking over to Mina.

“Don’t look so pathetic. You’re not getting involved, Mina. You agreed to this, remember?” You felt vindicated in your actions; her betrayal still stung, but seeing her be so needy made this so much better. You squish her cheeks as you hold her face, “Are you going to cheat on me again?” She shakes her head violently. Mina opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off. “Are you going to be a good girl?” Her mouth stays open as she nods.

“Please…” Mina mumbles, craving your touch. She tries to reach out for your hand, but the restraints keep her in place.

“You don’t get to ask for anything.” You grunt before letting her go and heading back to Dahyun. You turn Dahyun’s body, making sure you’re facing Mina as you fuck the younger woman. You position yourself between Dahyun’s legs, her heavy breathing slowly down as she raises her head and smiles at you. She reaches down, spreading her full lips apart. She didn’t care that she was being used now; she was happy to be with you, even if it would be for a moment. 

“Please, put it in,” she says through deep breaths. You grab your cock, rubbing the head against her entrance for a brief second before pushing back inside the warm hole. Dahyun cranes her neck, letting out a long exhale as you fill her again. Her head hangs over the edge of the bed; she stares at Mina with a look of pure ecstasy on her face. You hold onto Dahyun’s tiny waist as you begin thrusting; her walls hold you tightly, practically sucking you back in. You lean in and run your tongue between her small mounds, lapping at her sweat. Dahyun shivers, the cool air directly hitting her skin as you lap at her body. Grabbing onto her legs, you wrap them around your waist. Dahyun gleefully accepts the movement, using her feet to push you further into her cunt. 

You glance at Mina, still as needy as before, taking in the sight before her with hunger. You were getting close to cumming. Dahyun could feel it, too. The throbbing of your cock was pushing her over the edge, her mind filling with thoughts of being pumped full of your cum. “Cum in me, cum in me, cum in me,” she repeats, wrapping her arms around your neck. You weren’t going to disappoint Dahyun; you knew Mina would lose it seeing you fill another woman with semen that was rightfully hers. 

You make a show of it, grunting loudly as you slam yourself into Dahyun’s hungry cunt. Dahyun could only moan as she felt the tip of your cock smack against her womb. She shut her eyes and cried out as you made her cum again. A moment later, she arched her back, her body tensing as your cum poured into her awaiting womb. She couldn’t control herself, Dahyun's eyes became half-lidded, and her tongue stuck out of her mouth. The lustful look provoked Mina to rock her chair back and forth as she witnessed you fill the beautiful woman. You thrust into Dahyun slowly, letting her walls milk you of the last of your load before you unwrapped her legs and pulled out. “C’mon Dahyun, we’re not done yet.” You tell her, lifting her off her feet and laying her against Mina. 

Dahyun’s head rested on the older woman’s shoulder as you held her waist, keeping her standing. Dahyun needed the assistance, too weak to keep herself standing. Mina could feel the heat coming from the young woman’s body. She looked at you as you put yourself back inside Dahyun’s messy cunt. “I bet you wish this were you,” Dahyun murmurs into Mina’s ear, moaning softly as she feels your cock stretching her again. The beautiful woman whispering these things into her ear, along with Dahyun’s sweaty body rubbing against her own, was becoming too much for Mina. She bucked her hips desperately, wanting to be touched by either one of you. You both denied her, though; you kept your hands firmly on Dahyun’s waist, digging into her soft flesh while Dahyun touched everywhere but her cock. She knew perfectly well what she was doing. 

Dahyun ran her hands down the older woman’s sides before moving back up her stomach and pinching Mina’s nipples. “He feels so good. I can feel his big cock throbbing inside me again.” She moans, giving Mina a mental image. You continued your thrusts as Dahyun teased your girlfriend. Mina groaned, wanting more from her, but Dahyun wouldn’t give it to her. Mina thrust her hips wanting Dahyun to touch her cock, but Dahyun would pull her hand away every time. “Beg for it,” Dahyun ordered. 

“Please! Touch me, fuck me, anything!” Mina cried out, pouting as she begged for you. Dahyun shook her head, stopping her teasing as she felt your grip tighten. She pushed her ass back against you, letting you go as deep as possible. You bury yourself inside Dahyun, your cum flowing into her womb again as you have a stronger climax. Dahyun’’s body is pressed against Mina’s, giving her cock its first and only touch. You pump Dahyun full of your cum before pulling out, letting your semen drip onto the floor before an idea strikes you. You pull Dahyun back, setting her on the bed before untying Mina.

You pull on her hair, keeping her in the chair, “Your punishment will be over once you clean up Dahyun, and only then. Understood.” Mina nods quickly, and you push her onto the floor, making her crawl to Dahyun. The tired woman spreads her legs slowly, her cunt a creamy mess, your constant thrusting having turned your first load into a frothy mess. Mina stares at Dahyun’s cunt before turning to you. With a slight nod, Mina turns back to Dahyun and digs in, dragging her tongue along the woman’s sore cunt. 

The taste lingers on Mina’s tongue as she goes back in for more, her cock twitching each time. “That’s a good girl,” you say softly as you put your hand on the back of Mina’s head, pushing her forward. You keep her there, forcing her to eat your cum straight from the young woman’s pussy before letting go. Mina pulls back, her mouth covered in a thin layer of semen and slick. “Keep going, you’re not done yet.” You tell her. Mina nods slightly and returns to Dahyun’s slit, lapping at it until she finishes cleaning the young woman.

The experience leaves Mina wanting more and deciding that her punishment is over. You give Mina what she wants, fucking her until she’s out cold. Dahyun lingered in your bed, snuggling against you as Mina lays face down, cum oozing from her gaping ass. “Did I do a good job?”

“You did a great job, Dahyun. All your teasing really got to Mina. It wouldn’t be so bad to keep you around for more.” Dahyun smiled as she heard that. 

“Really? Do you mean it?”

“No promises, but we’ll see what happens.” You tell her, spanking her ass before making her straddle you. “I know what you want, and as thanks, you can have it.”

Dahyun's smile grows even wider, and she rises off you, grabbing your cock and slipping it back inside her cunt before laying her head on your chest. “I love this, thank you.” She says softly before shutting her eyes and drifting off to sleep with your cock inside her.

[potatoes83]

I appreciate the modifier "almost". Now, there was definitely a shift between the idealism of the white picket fence, the perfect family, Honey, I'm home world of the 50s and 60s, and say Married with Children, or The Simpsons. Both great sitcoms in their own right, but it was definitely a relatively new trope of the tit for tat between Peg and Al, or walking through the door to find Lisa on a hunger strike, and Bart smashing a hole through the drywall with a hammer, because reasons.

But there was this trope that definitely started more in the mid to latter period of our idealized Americana, and it most quickly comes to mind with The Flintstones. Now, I've opined on this before, but it bugs the hell out of me, because it's one we haven't yet been able to crack. It remains insidious. There's two sides to this. The first, and perhaps most obvious, is the fact that while Fred and Wilma love each other, one wrong move and she can be an absolute balls cutting bitch. Like seriously, if you have to sneak around to go bowling with the water buffalo lodge, crawling through the window of your own home because it's late and Wilma is either waiting to beat your ass with a cast iron skillet, or get pissed off and go to her mother's with the kid, what the hell is that? Like, living in the real non-idealized world, I don't have to worry about these sort of retributions. There is not going to be punishment or resentment because I want to hang out with my friends.

But then the other side, probably more subtle, is the fact that Fred is a freaking clod. And in this trope, the man always is. Wilma is pissed because Fred managed to forget their anniversary, went out bowling with the guys instead, said he'd be home by 8:00 to watch the kid because Wilma has a graniteware party or some shit that she told him about weeks ago, and instead comes sneaking in at a quarter to 12.

Now of course, the writing on this is just cheap humor. Supposedly relatable, one of those "uh oh, Fred's in the dog house again, we've all been there" sort of things. That's the point of a sitcom, it's idealized, dramatized, all sorts of other ized... but this thing started around that time, and it remains damaging to this day. Because if you look at male female couples as portrayed by the media, you see one of two things.

Going back to the age of The Flintstones, Fred is this big stupid blowhard popping off to anyone who will listen that he's the man of the house, he's not going to take no guff from Wilma for hanging out with the guys, and then comes home completely cucked both because she's downright vicious, but also kind of has a point because he's in the wrong, and is too arrogant to realize it because man. She's been cooking and cleaning all day, she asked him to do one thing, and he managed to screw it up because man. And you see that these days. Oh, she's pissed off, well he's just going to double down, he's going to tell her who the man of the house is, and then he gets the look. Granted, you see this one quite a bit less as time has gone on, because in general, you see strong men a lot less.

So then there's the other thing, and this is a more modern take, where the man is just a fucking idiot. I mean just this completely helpless man-child, thank goodness he is with this snarky judgmental always right woman, because if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be able to tie his shoes. Anything more complicated than football, nachos, and grunting, he is invariably going to fuck up, so we need her to come to the rescue by clicking something on her cell phone and calling in professionals to deal with it. Of course, while giving a snarky comment, and a holier than thou look. Good thing he's busy watching the game, he won't be in the way when she's getting railed by the plumber she had to call because he couldn't figure out how to put soap in the dishwasher.

What It ultimately boils down to is partnership. I won't even say equality, because that word has been really somewhat co-opted, and wouldn't come across is what I'm trying to get at. Marriage is a partnership. And there are traditional roles. But that is certainly not to say that you are locked into them. Historically, the man does the outside yard work, maybe not the flower gardening, works and provides for the family, the woman takes care of the inside stuff, the cooking the cleaning the vacuuming and all that. He provides for the home, she makes the home. And there is nothing wrong with this, that was a big change with the radfem movement of the 60s, was this idea that so-called traditional gender roles were somehow subjugating to women.

So in our case, I'm the primary provider, I maintain the outside of the house, the home repairs and upkeep, let's call that the traditional masculine gender role. But then I also do most of the cooking. I enjoy it, and I happen to be a trained chef. I'm also home first by a couple hours. The laundry is, I would say, probably split evenly if not leaning a little more towards me, but then it's like I'll do the laundry, but she'll fold and put away all the laundry. Partnership. What It ultimately boils down to is what needs doing. If I'm in the kitchen and the dishwasher needs unloading and reloading, then I'll probably do it. Or maybe she will. She might vacuum, I might vacuum, it just depends who decides to take it upon themselves to do it.

So in a partnership, neither of you are stuck doing a certain thing, or more to the point condemned to do it because of some arbitrary rule. Like she has never mowed the lawn, but that's because it's something that I really enjoy doing. It's a great way to blow off the stress of the work week, it's something that I just really like. And I can't think of any chore around here that she's done that I haven't, but that's because I lived with roommates or out on my own for quite a few years.

I'm getting off on a tangent here, but the point is, we somehow went from an idealism that was based on a reality of partnership, to this almost him versus her scenario. If I had to sneak around and lie to hang out with my friends because she's going to be pissed off no matter what, I wouldn't have married her. And she is strong, intelligent, and beautiful, so if I was one of those "woman, I worked all day, get in that kitchen and cook me a steak" kind of lunkheads, I would hope she wouldn't have married me either. I recognize that. I'm 41 years old. And was raised with two parents, both of whom were in a partnership to run the house and raise a family.

I mean, imagine being a young man today. If you have any kind of strength or self-confidence, you're told that's toxic masculinity, and you just can't be doing that. All your masculine role models in the media are cucks, and why would you want to date the judgmental trash that is portrayed as a woman. This shit needs to change, and I'm not talking a Hallmark movie script either; real, substantive change. Nuclear family, backbone of society, partnerships, in which both parties better each other. 🥔

[lostatsea-blog]

Bringing Home the Gold (Part 1)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Warnings: None

What happens when one wins and one loses.

The early morning sun had not long ascended the horizon casting a warm glow over the pitch that would bare witness to this afternoon’s battle. As you stepped out onto the immaculate turf for the pitch inspection, your eyes took in the sheer scale of the stadium. Tonight’s match would bring with it a record attendance for the women’s game and that thought made your heart flutter. Tonight, two of the best teams in the world would step out onto the turf and battle it out for the ultimate prize in football. You were lost in your musings when you heard it; the soft laugh that you would recognise anywhere and your heart instantly began to flutter. Your eyes snapped up immediately finding hers looking back at you. The way your heart reacted made you feel like a teenager in love for the first time. Her face broke out into the most beautiful smile and before you even knew it your legs were moving, carrying you towards her. It felt like the longest walk of your life but in reality was less than thirty seconds. Her arms opened and enveloped you in the most comforting hug you had ever shared

“I’ve missed you amore” she whispered in your ear. You wanted to hold on longer to bask in her arms for as long as you could but you knew that cameras and managers were watching so with a squeeze you let go. As you pulled away you managed to look at her properly and were quickly flooded with concern. She looked exhausted, like she had not slept for the whole of the tournament.

“Lex?” you asked and even though it was one word, she knew what you had seen and knew what you were asking.

“Not now” she shook her head and plastered on a smile which only fuelled your concerns further. This fight with the RFEF was taking a toll on Alexia who just wanted to play the game she loved and be treated fairly

“In a matter of days, we will be home together” You smiled gently and she understood what you were saying returning your smile with one of her own.

“Promise me, whatever happens here today, we do not bring it home.” She begged.

Before this tournament had started, you both knew there was a good chance you would have to face off against each other at some point. You also knew that the most likely event, would be the final. Both of you had dreamed of winning the World Cup and today that dream would come true for one of you. You nodded your agreement before turning and heading back towards your team.

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

As the final whistle rang, you crumpled to the ground; the dream was not to be. Your lungs heaved as you fought to take in much needed oxygen. Both sides had battled to the dying seconds and in the end, it was only one goal that separated you. One goal or ten goals it did not matter, England had lost and Spain had won. On one side of the pitch blue shirts littered the ground, all in various stages of grief and denial. At the other end a jubilant huddle of red. You wanted to be happy for your girlfriend and you knew that once the disappointment had gone you would be but at that moment all you could feel was sadness, regret and disappointment. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted a flash of pink but you couldn’t right now and jumped to your feet. You flashed Alexia an apologetic look hoping that she would understand as you backed away. Arms circled your neck as your teammates commiserated with you and promised that next time it would be our turn but having just turned 30 you didn’t know if you would make the next world cup.

The medal ceremony was a painful experience for any team that just missed the big prize. People would say how well England did and how we should be proud of reaching the final and while that is true, second place is the hardest. To be so close to the main prize and just miss out leaves a bitter feeling inside you. When you make your way through the tunnel of Spanish players, Alexia grabs your hand and whispers how proud she is of you. you turn your head to return the sentiment and catch a glimpse of the name plastered across her chest and any words you were about to say die on your tongue replaced by a sense of betrayal. Alexia looks down to see where your eyes are glued and realises why your demeanour changed but she has no chance to speak because you are dragged along by the line to collect your silver medal. After Spain have collected their medals and raised the trophy, you leave the pitch quickly not ready for any sort of conversation. Of all the people she could have exchanged shirts with; of all the people whose names she could have emblazoned on her chest, she chose her ex. These images would appear on every news outlet tomorrow bringing with it speculation about your relationship and their relationship which only deepened your feelings of betrayal. Sometime later, after the team have finished speaking with their families they start to make their way into your dressing room. The mood is sombre as you would expect. You are stuffing your kit into your bag when a voice breaks you out of your thoughts

“Y/N, Alexia is asking for you” Lucy says coming to stand next to you. You and Lucy are close being two of only a few English players on the Barcelona team so you are not surprised that Alexia had asked Lucy to get you.

“Lucy, please just tell her not now and not here” You plead not ready to face any of this yet

“Look, I know we lost but…” Lucy begins but you cut her off

“Luce, it is not about us losing and them winning. I am proud that she has achieved this dream but I am devastated by what she did after” You explain

“The shirt?” she asks and you nod

“Please, can you just tell her not now and not here” You ask again and she nods making her way back to the main door. When she comes back it is with a message.

“She asked me to tell you, please remember the promise you made” Lucy relays Alexias words and you feel your anger rise. The promise that no matter what happened you would not bring it home but you felt that promise did not extend to this. You felt humiliated and that was not something you could let go of easily.

Your flight back to England was the next day and you spent the whole night ignoring Alexia’s texts and calls. This was not a conversation you wanted to have over a phone call. You sent one message telling her to go and celebrate with her team. This was a dream she had worked hard for and you did not want her to miss out despite how you felt. She asked you to come and meet her but you declined.

The flight back to England was exhausting. While you had tried to sleep on the plane, the constant array of thoughts bombarding your brain would not allow it. By the time your flight landed, it had been over 24 hours since you had slept and all you wanted was to lock yourself away. It was a habit you had learned during your teenage years and one you found difficult to break. When things in your life felt out of control you would run away. Not literally run away but cut yourself off from people while you tried to deal with everything. It had been years since you had felt the urge to run away but right now everything was too much. You sent Alexia a text telling her that you would not be returning to Spain tomorrow, like you had initially planned and that you would be staying in England for a couple of weeks but gave no more information. Once the text hand sent you turned off your phone and made your way towards the exit……

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 2

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4705

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.

The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.

“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.

“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.

“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”

Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.

Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.

“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”

“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.

“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.

“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”

“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”

“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”

“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”

You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.

The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.

The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate. 

Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.

While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

It’s you.

“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”

Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.

“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.

“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.

“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out. 

You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” 

The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan. 

“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”

Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.

But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.

“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”

“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.

“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.

“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.

“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.

When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”  

“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.

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

Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.

“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.

“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.

“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”

“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.

“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.

“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”

Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?

“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”

“Enjoy!”

As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”

Less than a minute later, you respond.

Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.

Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you. 

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

“Table for two, please.”

“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.

“No,” you respond.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes. 

Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.   

“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”

“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”

You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases. 

You turn and wink at her. 

“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”

The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie. 

“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”

“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.

“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say. 

“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you. 

“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.

The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.

“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand. 

The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her. 

The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.

The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.

The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this. 

She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you. 

As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.

“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though. 

The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.

The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.

“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.

“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”

“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.

“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.

You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”

There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.

“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.

“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.

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

A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.

She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.

“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”

“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn. 

She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly. 

“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”

“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.

“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.

But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor. 

Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”

Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.

How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”

A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration. 

Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.

“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind. 

“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”

You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.

Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue. 

“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”

Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer. 

“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”

Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”

“But there’s really only one place you belong.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”

Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours. 

“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.

“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”

A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.

The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.

You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀

To be continued...(hopefully)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[snoopychris]

three identical triplets

in which... three identical triplets are living three absolutely different lives

warnings: very light smut

August 1 was an eventful day for thirteen Greek Gods and Goddesses. the birth of three identical triplets. three identical demigods. it was unknown just exactly whos children they were. it caused an uproar between the men. there was fighting between in every hallway and chamber in all of Olympus. even hades was involved. the last time he was involved in anything was the commotion caused by the discovery of Percy Jackson a few years prior. it was loudest the empire had ever been. between the women was nothing but speculation and rumors. when everything had finally died down enough, a meeting was held, led by none other than Zeus himself. his face was flush with anger. his expression was like none other. for somebody who had his own forbidden child, he sure was involved in other peoples business. 

“is anybody gonna fess up? Is anybody going to claim the children?” silence. complete and utter silence everywhere. theres a cough heard in the room, a sign of everybody keeping their mouths shut. the silence was broken by Athena speaking, clearing her throat beforehand. “you idiots could always… visit the mother. surely one of you will recognize her, no?” she suggests, looking around the room. the Gods all nod and agree, preparing themselves to make their journey to the human world. though they could have gone if they wanted to, most of the Goddesses kept their place. the only outlier of the situation was Hera, Goddess of Marriage and Family. she, too, got ready for the trip. the goodbyes to the other Goddesses were quick, its not like there was much to talk about anyway. most of them disliked one another for ninety percent of the year.

upon arrival to the hospital room, a majority of the Gods took a step back. theyd never seen the mother in their lives. the three who remained eyed each other, shaking their heads in disbelief. there was no way they all fell for the same woman. she was sleeping now, so there was no way to ask. scientifically, there was no possible way for one mother to have three separate fathers. unfortunately for them, the rules werent quite the same. Hell, Aphrodite could think of getting someone pregnant and it would happen. no, this was different. each God standing in the hospital room was a father to one of the babies in the room. Hera scoffs at the sight of their mindless mumbling, slapping each of the three on the back of the head. “Idiots. look at the babies and just… pick one. you’ll know.” she nods, looking at the Gods in front of her. 

the first to move is Ares. he strides over to the bassinets at the edge of the bed, eying over each small child. he reaches for the baby in the middle, the connection instantly being clear to him. he nods as he kisses the top of the babies head, looking at the name tag in the plastic looking bed. “Matthew…” he whispers, nodding once more. “yeah this ones mine.” he states, setting the infant down. 

the next to move is Hermes, instantly reaching for the bassinet sitting on the far left. he doesnt even have to pick the baby up to know. “this ones mine… Nicolas…” both Gods– and Hera– look over to the remaining God, eyes widening at the lack of movement. He sighs as he walks over to the remaining newborn, reaching in to grab his tiny hand. Much to his dismay, he nods. that is indeed his child. Hera hums at him, knowing that whether he liked it or not he would have to verbally claim the child. She groans at the silence, staring daggers into his soul. “Dionysus…” she whispers, raising her eyebrows at him.

Dionysus sighs as he nods, still holding tightly onto the baby’s hand. “Christopher… my son.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the tiny hand gripping onto his thumb. August 1. An eventful day for three gods more than others. 

but that was 20 years ago. From then on it’s been smooth sailing. The Gods— Zeus, specifically— decided it would be best for everybody to separate the triplets in fear that they’d be too dangerous if they were kept together. too easy to get caught. 

Ares managed to pull enough strings to make sure Matthew stayed with his mother. his big argument was that since Hermes was the God of Traveling and Thieves, his son would be fine on his own. Ares still doesn’t know how he won that argument. Matthew Sturniolo always knew home as his mother and (adoptive) father. Every Christmas, every birthday, every big moment, it was all celebrated. he didn’t even know how much luckier he was than his brothers. he didn’t even know they existed. 

crazily enough, Dionysus was the one to keep his son with him. it was a battle won simply by stating “i’m the director of the camp anyway, i can start training young.” from day one, Christopher Sturniolo knew home as Camp Half-Blood. every moment he lived through felt like it was preplanned for him. training, a little bit of free time, more training, then a lecture from his dad about how powerful he could be. he didn’t even know how much safer he was than his brothers. he didn’t even know they existed. 

Hermes is still upset that his son got the short end of the stick. it was unfair that both other triplets got some sort of parental figure and all Nicolas got was foster homes and broken families. Hermes did his best to keep an eye on him and keep his son safe, but it was hard when he was hardly able to communicate with him. Nicolas Sturniolo had never known what a home truly was. every moment felt like another battle that would just get him back on the streets. he didn’t even know how much stronger he was than his brothers. he didn’t even know they existed. 

twenty years changes a lot of things about a lot of people. twenty years into living, Matt was getting ready to go off to college– his dorm room was just one flight of stairs away. twenty years into living, Nick was in a random alleyway, desperately trying to break into the old newspaper box for some spare money. twenty years into living, Chris was sitting in his cabin with one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen bouncing on his cock. 

three identical triplets living three completely different lives. three identical triplets in three completely different places. and yet…

“do you think that-” the same phrase repeated in three different places. 

“-you have absolutely everything you need? i mean you’re really gonna be okay all on your own?” Marylou asks, her hand making its way to matt’s cheek. she rubs her thumb around his face lovingly, her eyes full of love for the boy. standing at the entrance for his dorm, matt nods, his grip on the box in his arms tightening. “yeah mom i’m okay.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her head. he wants to keep her with him, but he knows she has to go eventually. the goodbye is bittersweet. home is all he’s ever known. he’s never been on his own. never had the freedom he has now. he’s just kinda… there. but alone this time. Matt thinks he’s gonna be just fine.

“-breaking into that thing is really going to get you enough money to get through the week?” nick jumps at the voice, turning behind him to look at the officer he’s gotten so used to seeing. “officer pete…” he whispers, setting down his bobby pin. lockpicking was the only thing he seemed to be good at. over the years, it got him all the way through highschool when his foster homes wouldnt. “Nicolas youre a good kid… i dont wanna cuff you but sometimes you just… leave me no other choice.” the officer speaks, earning a groan and an eye roll from nick. “if i just leave empty handed we call it a day right?” a nod. Nick hopes he’s gonna be just fine. 

“-im gonna get claimed next summer?” you whisper, hands still sitting on chris’ chest as you continue to move up and down. chris sighs and throws his head back, pushing your hands gently. “you seriously cannot be riding me while thinking of who your parents are.” his cabin was quiet since he was the only camper, the only noises coming from the squelching between your legs. you frown down at him, gripping onto his chin. “we’re not all lucky enough to live with our dad.” you joke. chris chuckles as he switches the position, taking control of the situation. the conversation can be had later. looking down at you, Chris knows he’s gonna be just fine.

with each passing day, the Camp Half-Blood was getting more and more calm. the campers were finally settled in just as they were beginning to leave. there were always people like you and chris who stayed all year round just cause that’s the way it was. you sat with the other campers in the Hermes cabin, eying chris from across the dining pavilion, pushing your food across the plate. there was nothing appetizing about it anyway. an announcement was being made, something you didn’t care enough to listen to. Chris’ eyes mirror yours, widening when you hear your name called. there’s new campers. there’s never new campers this late in the summer. you lick your lips as you make your way to the front of the pavillion, meeting with Chiron and Dionysus himself. it’s evident to everybody in proximity that your voice is filled with confusion when you speak. “new campers? today? but it’s August 1.” 

a/n: new au series! percy jackson was my book series in elementary school so this is what we get. minimal percy jackson knowledge needed really. theres gonna be mentions of characters from the series here and there but you dont need to watch the show or read the books to understand my au. special thanks to @muwapsturniolo and @bernardsbendystraws and @sturnslutz and @zebonos! kiss kiss! -gen

tags(reply or message to be added): @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @ayesha-eroticaa @freshhhloveee @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @marrykisskilled @cykss @strnilolover @13hoax @oopsiedaisydeer

[ghosty-writes-23]

Kneeling Before Her. - Leon S Kennedy.

Ghosty's Notes: okay so this was a random idea I had randomly thinking about Wife!FemReader + Older!Leon (Between Damnation & Vendetta.) also I wrote this on my phone which is something I don't normally do, but it's like 2am and I can't be stuffed grabbing my laptop, so please forgive me if their is alot of spelling mistakes.

Summary: Y/n and Leon had been fighting alot lately, but even with how much they where fighting it didn't stop them from desiring each other.

NSFW Tags: Smutty Content, Eating Out, Pleading, Body Worship, Desperate!Husband!Leon, Hope for the future, Happy Ending.

Used Pet Names: Darling, Sweetheart, Princess, Love, Good Boy, My Wife.

| ID!PROFESSOR!LEON COMING IN 2 DAYS |

!Unedited!

Word Count: 1.9k

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Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty :] ❤️🦝

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Y/n and Leon had been fighting alot recently, from small things such as dirty dishes in the sink to Y/n tripping over Leon's alcohol bottles and she had enough. Tonight was like any other night, Leon was coming home from a mission and smelt like a brewery, the pair had argued yet again, Y/n was upset Leon had come home drunk and Leon was trying to justify he wasn't that drunk yet he could barley walk a straight line, she had guested one of the staff from the bar had called him a taxi because there was no way in hell he would be able to drive in the state he was in.

Sometimes she felt as if Leon treated her as if she was dumb, she knew this wasn't what he really thought of her, but when he was drunk he would treat her as if she was an idiot and it was getting on her last nerve, there is only so much a person can take before they snap, as Leon passed out on the living room couch Y/n had thrown a blanket over him and left a bottle of water and Advil on the coffee table before going upstairs to what used to be their shared bedroom.

Leon mostly slept in the spare bedroom when he was home, it was strange feeling to feel alone in her own house even with Leon home. Shaking her head Y/n closed the door and started to get ready for bed, such as doing her nightly routine of showering, changing into comfortable pajamas, drying her hair and doing nightly skincare and brushing her teeth and taking the last of her medication for the day.

When she got into bed, she couldn't help but wonder how did her and Leon's relationship end up like this, she knew Leon had alot of trauma before they had met, he had warned her that he wasn't the most easiest person to get along with but that didn't stop Y/n, she didn't see Leon as the government agent or the weapon that most people seemed too, but just a man that had the worse timing most of the time but once he started to open up he was a complete sweetheart.

When they had gotten married Y/n and Leon had gotten married in 2006 she thought everything would be perfect, they would have a house maybe out of town, maybe a fixer upper they could do together as a couple project, like an old historical cottage that has a nice front yard where she could plant flowers, maybe have a dog or a cat.

Leon would have left the government and got a less dangerous job after he found out she was pregnant, everything was meant to fall into place, but sometimes promises are broken even by the people we love the most, this had lead Y/n to start wondering was Leon still the man she had fallen in love with and married all those years ago, or was that man gone and replaced with an drunk, anger hollow shell of his former self.

Shaking her head Y/n turned off her bedside table lamp and layed back in bed, all this thinking was hurting her brain so she decided to try and get some sleep, even if she had to force herself too.

----------

Later on in the night the small city apartment was quiet, the only sound was a ticking clock and the soft hum of the fridge, but upstairs their was a soft buzzing sound and muffled soft mews filtering from under the door. Y/n had her eyes closed as she worked the toy on it's medium setting, after forcing herself to sleep only to end up tossing and turning, she knew the perfect thing to put her to sleep.

It was the ultimate relaxer or so she thought, her bottom lip was between her teeth as her middle finger and ring finger where working her clit, her other hand was working the toy inside her quivering walls. She couldn't remember the last time she had to use her toy to get off, usually her fingers would work just fine but she knew her body was craving something or somebody else.

In her mind was replying the last time Leon had touched her, when her hands where gripping his pillow as her hand was buried in it, his hand was in her hair, tugging firmly but not to roughly as he thrusted into her from behind, he had come home from a stressful work day and needed to let off some steam and who was she to say no to her husband, with Leon's stamina they would at least go for 2 maybe 3 rounds.

But she was soon pulled out of her fantasy when she heard footsteps, she slowly turned off the toy before hearing a soft knock on the door. "Come in." Y/n spoke softly soon the door opened and Leon sheepishly walked in only wearing his briefs and no short, he looked more sober but their was still bags under his eyes. "Did I wake you?" Y/n asked causing Leon to shake his head as he closed the door behind himself.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart." Leon spoke as he started walking towards their old shared bed, Y/ was at a lost for words this was the first time he apologized for anything in the past few weeks, so she was a little surprised but before she could get any words out, Leon slowly lowered himself to his kneeled in front of her, his head down as if he couldn't make eye contact with her.

"I'm so sorry for being a shitty husband, I know I should have come to you, I just didn't want to burden you with my problems, I wanted to protect you from them, but instead I did the exact opposite." Leon says before he shakes his head before finally he looks up at her. "I know I don't deserve you Y/n or your forgiveness, but I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you." Leon says causing her heart to skip a beat.

"You really hurt me." Y/n started and Leon put his head down like a puppy that was in trouble, "I know princess." Leon says shamefully. "But I am willing to forgive you if you promise this behavior stops now okay, I want you to go to counseling and get help." Y/n says and Leon listens and nods his head. "I'll start looking in the morning." Leon says causing Y/n to smile ever so slightly and nod her head, maybe this wasn't the end of their marriage.

"Good." Y/n said and just as she was about to move over in the bed, Leon reached out to grab her wrist to stop her, but as he did she knew he felt her hand was wet, she saw his eyes widen slightly before he started to bring her hand to his lips. "Leo-." she tried to protest but soon his lips where around her fingers.

the warm and soft feeling of Leon's mouth on her fingers caused her to gasps softly, their was something so erotic about a man on his knees lapping and sucking his wife's juice's off her fingers, especially a man that hasn't tasted her in months. she watched Leon her thighs clenching together as his tongue gently gliding between her fingers.

But soon Leon let her finger's go with a soft pop, a string of his saliva was between her now drool covered fingers and his lips, he looked up at her she could see the desperation and the lust in his eyes, because her were probley mirroring the same look ad if she was honest she was too pent up to let this moment slip through her fingers.

"Can I have more." Leon asked his voice was more husky but still had a slightly desperateness to it. "Will you be a good boy?" Y/n asked with a small tease in her voice but Leon nodded his head quickly, instead of getting up onto the bed so he could be comfortable, Leon was still kneeling on the ground but moved her so she was sideways on the bed but her ass was on the edge of the bed.

Leon started peppering kisses down her ankle, to her legs and then to her thighs, her body was starting to warm up, her thighs clenching with every soft press of his lips, she was nearly about to put him in a headlock between her thighs. When he finally got the edge of her panties that she knew where soaked, she let out a little mew as she could feel his warm breath against her.

"Please can I taste you now sweetheart." Leon softly pleaded as he looked up at her, she knew he was pulling the puppy dog eyes but even with the bags under his blue eyes and the stubble on his face that she knew would be scratching against her inner thigh. Y/n nodded her head again biting her lips.

She could see a small smile come onto Leon's face, as his index finger hooked into the side of her panties, he then lent in and placed a gentle kiss on her aching clit and quivering folds causing a soft moan to leave her lips and her fingers to go into his dark hair. She heard Leon groan softly as he started to lick and suckle as if he was savoring every moment of this.

His name falling off her lips in sweet moans and mews, the sound filled the bedroom as she gently gripped his hair, this was what she had missed the most between their fighting, she missed the intimacy between them, the love, affection, desire, want and need for each other what they can only get for each other, it almost made tears spring to her eyes.

Looking down Y/n saw Leon's face was buried between her holds, his eyes closed as he feasted on her like a starved man, she knew she wasn't going to last long as she already felt the familiar knot forming in her stomach. "It's okay, darling you can come for me." Leon grunted against her flesh, his stubble starching against her inner thighs.

With Leon's permission she came on his tongue with a high pithed cry of his name, her back slightly arching off the bed as her thighs trembled around his head, Leon helped her ride out her orgasm before he pulled away after placing a gentle and loving kiss on her folds, his face was coated in her slick but their was a small blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, there was a slightly glazed over look in his eyes.

But when she looked down, saw that Leon's cock was straining through his brief's he shook his head before slowly standing up. "Tonight was about you, I'll do deal with this." Leon spoke causing her to pout slightly but she nodded his head, he gave her a soft kiss on the forehead before he headed to the bathroom that was connected to their bedroom.

Maybe this was the start of the new beginning, maybe their was hope for their relationship, Y/n could only hope and pray but this was a good start and it could only get better for here....

----------

©Ghosty-writes-23, 2025. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explict consent and permission.

[stargazedwinchester]

Hey, for a request, how about an earlier seasons Dean x Reader scenario in which they got a little crush and flirting going on, sparks between them, but Dean's a little worried that John won't approve? 👀

Your texting moodboard and the image of the "I love you. Don't reply, this is my dad's number" kinda inspired this idea!

Forbidden ♡ Dean

Summary: John doesn't approve of you dating his son, Dean. Word Count: 1,037 Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Thank you for requesting ily!! I love this bc I love JDM <3 what a dilf A little bit of Negan came out here (sorry not sorry)

When your parents passed in such a cruel, sadistic way, Dean was the one that saved you. He was the one that introduced you to hunting, to really get a feel for the life that could’ve been if you knew you could save your parents.

That gnaws at you every damn day.

At this point, you had known Dean for roughly a year, joining him on late night drives to dive bars, drinking til you can’t see. You’d stay with him in motels close to your hometown, just for the sake of company. You don’t have a lot here anymore. No close family, old school friends turned acquaintances, so you can really just rely on Dean and his younger brother, Sam.

Oh, and John.

John is a tough nut to crack. Majority of the time, you can’t tell when he’s being genuine or an absolute dick. You know Sam and Dean had a tough childhood with him not being present enough in their lives, so that fact has already somewhat helped you decide from the get-go. You had tried multiple times in the past to get on his good side: trying to get to know him, stay friendly with his sons, and most importantly, stay out of his way.

“You wanna come with?” Dean invites, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. His dad sits in the front seat of the impala, waiting for Dean to finish up. “You think he’ll let me?” You peer at John, his eyebrows scrunched, glaring at Dean. Dean looks over his shoulder, John ushering him to hurry up. “Hell what he thinks. Come with me.”

You press your lips together firmly, believing that if you join them, it’ll end badly. “Dean.” He calls, his voice stern and impatient. “We need to go.” John rolls the window up, and Dean rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t like me, does he?” You focus your eyes on Dean, who shakes his head lightly. “He doesn’t like anyone. Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll figure something out.” He flashes you a quaint smile that makes your tummy do somersaults. You place a peck on his cheek, and he blushes almost immediately. “I’ll miss you.” He says, and you smile. Dean walks down toward the car, then drives off.

It’s been a couple of weeks, and you haven’t heard much from Dean except the odd text from random numbers. One read: ‘I Love You. Don’t reply. This is my dad’s number.’ Times like these make you ill with worry. Worry that Dean’s not safe and there’s nothing you can do. You trust that he can take care of himself and you care for him deeper than you’d like to admit.

A few hours go by and you find yourself nose-deep in your book, ruminating in the same motel room as before. Dean had mentioned about being gone for a day or two, so he paid for your room on your behalf. There’s some light commotion outside. Since the voile is practically see-through, all you can see is the motel sign gleaming through the window. The rowing gets louder, as you see two male figures almost butting heads close to your room. Putting your book down, you head over to the window and see John and Dean in each other’s faces. Again.

“She’s not an issue, dad! You haven’t even given her a chance!” Dean spits. “I don’t need to give her a chance when I’ve seen enough. You need to give her up.” John retorts, and Dean pinches his brow line. “I’m not giving her up just because you say so, dad! I really like her, so get off my ass, man.” Dean attempts to turn around, but John pulls him back. “I’m not done.” He says sternly. John forces himself to be eye to eye with Dean, his cavillous demeanour ignites a fire inside you. He carries on.

“Listen, man, you don’t get to have an apple-pie life. End of the day she’ll be the first one to run when the bullet flies - and you know what? You’ll end up being the one to pick up the pieces, or the one that gets killed. So don’t you dare come back to me when you realise how much you regret being with her and you wanna come back to hunting. It ain’t gonna happen. Once you give up your life here; there’s no going back.” He threatens. John’s eyes are dark. Menacing. You feel as if you’re rewatching Dean’s teenage years reappear right in front of you. He has always mentioned that his father is a very strict person when it comes to ‘protecting’ his boys. That’s what he calls it. You open the door and meet them halfway. John turns his head and notices the scowl on your face, his aura stagnant. “John.” You state, not even bothering to make eye contact with Dean, but you can feel him staring at you. “I don’t care what you think about me, but what you’re saying to your son is far from the truth.” You say.

“You don’t know me. You clearly don’t know your own son and you have no idea about us being together. I don’t care whether you approve of me or not, but what I’m trying to say is that I love Dean. He may be your child but he’s sure as shit nothin’ like you.” You assert yourself, and John’s demeanour changes. His eyes soften, gazing upon your whole body. He looks at Dean, then huffs. Dean almost refuses to look his father in his eyes, as if he’s scared of what he could say next.

A smirk creeps up on Johns face as he’s still looking at you. His posture relaxes as he lets out a small laugh.”You’re the first person to ever stand up to me about my boys. You’ve got balls, Y/N. I like that.” John says, which takes you by surprise. This whole time you assumed John didn’t like you, turns out it’s quite the opposite. “You’re headstrong and you’ll look after my kid. You may not seek my approval but I’m giving it to you.” Jon looks over at Dean, who’s just as shocked as you are. “Thank you, sir.” You nod, and John walks back to the car. Dean sighs.

“Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse. I was starting to get a little worried.” He looks at you with a shine in his eyes, one that screams ‘my-father-finally-agrees-with-something-i’ve-done’.

“Thank God.” You breathe. Dean takes your hand and walks you toward the car. He opens the back passenger door, planting a kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.”

[ssa-danhotchner]

Happier | Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Years after their breakup, y/n struggles with seeing Hotch move on with his new partner, Beth, while still working alongside him every day.

cw: use of y/n, past relationship, heartbreak, angst?, themes of moving on, Haley mentioned. let me know if I missed anything

wc: 1k

note: English isn't my first language so please be kind. I had the entire sour album stuck in my head. Please give me some ideas to write

The sound of laughter echoed faintly through the bullpen as the last of the team packed up for the night. You sat at your desk, staring blankly at the screen of your computer. The words of your report blurred together, the glowing monitor casting pale light over your exhausted face. You didn’t even know why you were still there; everyone else had gone home.

Everyone, except for him.

Aaron Hotchner.

It had been years since the two of you had ended things, but the wound never seemed to fully heal. Time had dulled the ache, sure, but it hadn’t erased the memories.

You could still see the way he’d smile when it was just the two of you, the way his hand would linger on yours longer than necessary, the way he whispered your name like it was the only word that mattered. Back then, it felt like you had something unshakable, something real. But life had a way of pulling people apart, and for you and Aaron, it had been no different.

It wasn’t a dramatic breakup. There were no screaming matches, no accusations hurled in the heat of the moment. It had been quiet, almost agonizingly so. You’d both known it was over before either of you said the words. The demands of his job, his grief over Haley, and the ever-present weight of being a single father—it was too much for him to bear. And you, despite loving him more than anything, hadn’t been enough to bridge the growing gap between you.

“I can’t give you what you deserve,” he’d said that night, his voice heavy with regret. “You deserve more than stolen moments and half-hearted promises.”

And that had been it.

You had cried, of course. For weeks, maybe months. But you told yourself you’d be fine, that you’d move on. You tried to convince yourself that his words weren’t true, that you could have made it work. But deep down, you knew he was right.

Still, knowing it was the right thing didn’t make it any easier.

Now, years later, you had settled into a new normal. Working alongside him every day was a constant reminder of what you’d lost, but you’d learned to compartmentalize. You had to. There was no room for personal feelings when lives were on the line.

Or at least, that was what you told yourself.

Your eyes drifted to his office, where the light was still on. Through the glass, you could see him sitting at his desk, his phone pressed to his ear. His face softened as he spoke, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You knew who he was talking to.

Beth.

The name tasted bitter on your tongue, though you hated yourself for it. She was kind, warm, and good for him. You’d never met her formally, but you’d heard enough to know she made him happy. And wasn’t that what you wanted? For him to be happy?

But it wasn’t that simple.

Because every time you saw him with her—every time you heard him mention her in passing—it felt like someone was twisting a knife in your chest. You wanted him to be happy, but not like this. Not with her.

I hope you’re happy, but not like how you were with me.

The lyrics played on a loop in your mind, echoing your most selfish thoughts. You wanted to believe he still thought of you, that some small part of him missed what you’d shared. But the rational part of you knew better. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t the type to dwell on the past. He had moved on.

“Hey.”

His voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him standing in front of your desk, his expression tinged with concern.

“You’re still here?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“I could say the same to you” you replied, forcing a small smile.

He didn’t return it. “You should go home. It’s late.”

“I will” you said, though you had no intention of leaving just yet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, weighed down by all the things left unsaid.

“Are you okay?” he asked finally, his dark eyes searching yours.

You hesitated. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”

He nodded, but you could tell he didn’t quite believe you.

“Goodnight, y/n” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Goodnight, Hotch”

You watched him walk away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the quiet of the bullpen.

Once he was gone, you let out a shaky breath, the weight in your chest threatening to crush you. You hated how much power he still had over you, how his presence could unravel you so completely.

Leaning back in your chair, you closed your eyes, letting the memories flood in despite the pain they brought. You thought of the nights you’d spent tangled together, whispering secrets in the dark. You thought of the way he’d kiss your forehead before leaving for work, murmuring promises to come back to you.

And you thought of the way it all ended, the way he walked out of your life without looking back.

It wasn’t fair.

You wanted to move on, to let go of the love that still clung to you like a ghost. But every time you tried, you found yourself pulled back to him, to the man who had once been your everything.

You sighed, grabbing your bag and shutting off your computer. As you walked to your car, the night air was cool against your skin, but it did little to soothe the ache in your heart.

Sitting behind the wheel, you gripped the steering wheel tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

“I hope you’re happy,” you whispered to the empty car, your voice cracking. “But don’t be happier.”

The words hung in the air, a quiet confession to a love you could never fully let go of.

And as you drove away, the memories of him lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the love you once had—and the happiness you’d never find again.

[carasspice]

I'd been invited over to an old college friend's new house along with two other semi close friends if you can have such a thing. I guess I'd been there for maybe forty minutes with Jason happily chatting along about work, homes and so on when I asked where his fiancée was as I'd expected the two of them to be present along with the other two who hadn't turned up yet.

His face was almost ashen as he took a ring from his pocket, held it in the palm of his hand and dissolved into tears.

"She's gone Wendy, two days ago we had a chat followed by one hell of an argument and she said she couldn't live with me any longer. We only bought this place a few months ago, I spent a fortune decorating it as she wanted and she walked out. What do I do? I can't afford to pay for this on my own and she wants her half back as soon as it's sold."

"I knew something was wrong when you opened the door but never imagined, oh fuck it, I'm so sorry Jason, I thought you two were so happy together."

"So did I, how wrong can you be but I don't know what to do."

I had my arms around him with his head on my shoulder for a while before I noticed his hand stroking up and down my side. Maybe I was stupid or out of order but I took that hand and placed him on my breast. As soon as I'd done it I realised that I was probably as surprised as he was and even more so when he kissed me and his hand settled on my thigh.

"Suspenders Wendy?" he queried just as I wiped his tears away with my thumb.

"Always Jason, tights are functional for work or whatever, any other time I go for stockings."

"That's good, I like stockings." he replied rather nervously but his fingers appeared to like following the outline of the suspender clasps on my leg. I looked at his face and streaks of those tears and my brain jumped into one of those moments when you can't tell if you're being stupid or whatever.

"Listen Jason, why are we wasting time? Don't be angry with me but would you like to take me to bed? I suspect you might and I'd like the same, what do you think? You need a life after ... what was her name? Anyhow, I can fuck as well as she could most likely."

"Her name? I forget but we shouldn't, should we, could we?"

"Why not? She's gone and won't be back. You're single and so am I, I'm happy to share your bed and if you are then ... tell you what, give me ten minutes, take the champagne to your bedroom and I'll join you. Allow me to show you what this gal has to offer and I promise not to walk out in the next hour or two."

My dress was hanging behind the bathroom door as I gave my teeth a swift clean with my fingertip. I checked the mirror and tried to make my hair look a little more attractive or even sexy, took a little make-up from my bag and immediately put it back. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment and told myself there was no going back but maybe I wasn't looking for a way to go back. I should have checked before stepping into the bathroom but I only discovered the correct bedroom after looking into two others.

"Wow, now that is some bed. Am I okay Jason? I don't want to disappoint you and more importantly are you okay with me being here. I left my dress ... I'm talking too much, right?"

He smiled, shook his head and then nodded whatever those movements meant, pulled down the bed clothes and held out his hand.

"You look sensational Wendy, turn around and ... how many straps do you have there?"

"No idea Jason, you'll have to check them out and why are you wearing boxers? I never wear anything in bed for very long and always sleep in the buff. Did you remember her name yet?"

"The boxers can go and the name will be on the calendar somewhere."

"Hey, I'll deal with the boxers, you do whatever you like with the lingerie. I'm not a shy girl Jason. Let's look at this as your first step in your new life without whatever her name was ... was and not is as she's gone."

"You do talk too much Wendy, I need to check out those straps and you can ... mmmmmm ."

I never allowed him to say another word as I tugged those boxers away, his left hand was inside the back of my thong while his right pulled my bra up and over my boobs.

"Unfasten the thing Jason, get rid of it all, I love naked and I'm staying the night, okay?"

"I think so, yes Wendy, absolutely." he replied as my bra strap was unfastened first with the one at my waist and one just above my hips being twanged and unfastened."

"Don't forget the straps to my stockings Jason."

"I'm leaving those but this thong has to go and then I'll refasten the belt."

"Oh okay, funny how guys love stockings and suspenders, did you remember her name yet?" I teased. "So how do you plan to get the thong out of your way?"

"Bugger, I hadn't worked that bit out, I need to unfasten one stocking don't I?"

"Forget it, just get me naked and fuck me. Oh hell, you have no idea how much I wanted you to fuck me back at uni, but you were with the nameless one."

Within seconds my belt and thong were stripped down my legs taking my stockings with with them and just as all was stuck around my ankles his face plunged to my muff with his nose and mouth swiping and twisting from side to side, every which way there was. I was in hysterics by the time his rather lovely cock slid inside me while my feet tried to get free from at least one leg's encumbrances.

"Fuck me harder you college boy."

"Yes Miss Wendy."

So our friendship was well and truly cemented about seven times that evening and during the night plus another two after a breakfast break.

Jason was in the bathroom when I answered a call for him only to discover it was the ex. "Oh good morning Alice, I hear you two split up and ... What was that? Okay so yes I am in his bed and yes I stayed the night as his fiancée fucked off and left him in tears, yes I fucked him for hours and yes I will fuck him again once he's finished in the bathroom. I don't give a shit if my language offends you, I fucked him Alice and not the other way round. I've wanted to fuck with him since our second week at uni so you can blame me as much as you like but not Jason. Actually, you can blame yourself, did you want something?"

"How much, no chance you bitch?" I exclaimed as she demanded a fortune yet couldn't be bothered to speak to Jason. "You must be in fucking cloud cuckoo land, I know how much this would sell for and I can imagine how much the mortgage is, you'll get twenty quid after legal fees and not much more."

We had a few more words before I slammed the phone down.

"Hey Jason, Alice is on her way round to empty the wardrobe unless you want me to dump her things on the drive. I'm going nowhere and if the evil bitch wants a fight I'll give her one."

"No, it's not your fight Wendy."

"Oh I think it is now, I just told her she'll get twenty quid from the sale if she's lucky and that I fucked you about fifty times, shall we make it fifty-one before she gets here?"

xxxx

[tsundanire]

Whore

“Boo, you whore,” Dream groans as his beloved daughter slips out of his lap and trots towards George—actually trilling in greeting. 

“Well hello to you too gorgeous girl,” George replies, adding in the occasional meow when Patches responds. “Who’s the best, sweetest, most darlingest girl? Yes, it’s you. Don’t listen to Daddy. He’s just jealous you like me better.” 

“You’re a whore too, George. You both are.” Dream sighs, hands in the air like he’s giving up the fight.

George strides over, Patches tucked firmly in his arms. When he sits, it’s pressed right against Dream’s thigh. Where they touch is warm, and leaves Dream’s brain feeling a little fuzzy. 

“You okay?” It’s the first time George has broached the topic—one they steadfastly ignore out loud. 

Dream inhales, then exhales very slowly through his nose as he considers the shit show of the last few days. “I’m..” Dream opens and closes his mouth a few times but the words don’t come out.

Instead of saying anything, George slips his whole body into Dream’s lap. Patches is still wrapped in George’s arms, but they’re all huddled together now, with George’s head pressed to Dream’s chest. It takes a few minutes, but Dream can feel the tension and stress slowly melting away. 

“I think I should call Martin.” There’s a heavy weight to these words, and he knows George can feel it too. 

It’s like saying ‘I love you’ in so far as each word is innocuous on its own, but you put them together and say them to someone specific and it can change everything. And yet, saying them to George was still far easier than what he wants to do now.

“Do you want any help with that?” George replies, fully aware of the gravity of what Dream is saying. And Dream loves him even more for not making it out to be a huge deal. “I have nothing on for a bit so if you want me to go too?”

“No that’s—” Dream inhales again, exhaling a shaky breath. “It’s fine. I think we might be able to do it over video call.” 

Patches hears a sound in the distance and it has her scurrying out of George’s lap—probably Milo or Naomi, or God forbid..both. When she’s gone, and only George remains in his lap, Dream still feels surprisingly calm. 

“You know those whole emotional support pets?” George chews on his lip as he mulls the thought in his head. 

“Yeah? What, you think Patches? Nah, she’s great for me but neither of us are particularly great at actually going places.” Dream laughs quietly.

“No, I was wondering if they did that for people? Like emotional support people?” 

“Isn’t that just therapy?” 

“Idiot,” George huffs like he’s trying not to laugh, and is, instead, mildly annoyed that his idea was shot down. 

——

Later, when George is busy torturing Sapnap with his presence, Dream sits on his bed, his phone in hand, just staring at the call screen. It’s a stupid button, that’s all he had to press. But the weight was strong. 

At the door, a little trilling noise grabs his attention.

Patches pushes her way in, hopping onto the bed at his side. Immediately she sank into a loaf and purred, filling Dream with an almost ethereal calm. His large palm sinks into her fur, grounding himself in the vibrations of her pur. He hits ‘call’.  

“Hello?” Comes an older, cheerful male voice. 

“Dr Martin? It’s Clay. I-” Dream inhales like he’s gearing himself up to kill the Ender Dragon. “I’d like to schedule a therapy appointment with you.”

-END-

For @alittledizzy I hope this is fluffy enough. <3

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a Sebastian Solace x Reader (gender neutral is fine) where he is led to believe the reader has permanently died? Somehow he receives this information. At this point, him and reader don't have to have an established relationship, but they definitely have a bond and affection for each other. Then, the reader comes into the vent the following day like always, and there's a happy ending? Angsty until then though please 🙏 Thank you so much

"What do you mean they aren't back yet?!"

"......."

"I lent them a token 'cause that was an unfair end to their run. They would've used it by now."

"I'll admit that the Harbinger's...unexpected arrival was most unusual. No one at Urbanshade knows where it comes from nor why it chose to show itself to the expendable."

"[Y/n]."

"Pardon?"

"It's...[y/n].." Sebastian's shoulders slumped as he looked to the enigmatic green man who decided to show up inside his shop, confused by his sudden presence. "And why are you here now? We agreed to only meet when--"

"You seem awfully attached to them, Solace. And that's not good for us." Mr. Lopee frowned slightly. "You're giving them special treatment, putting a name to their face. Don't you want to get out of here?"

"...of course I do! I'm not "attached" to anybody." The fishman muttered, although his nervous tapping against the crates betrayed his insistence. "They've just given me the most dirt on Urbanshade, and I'd hate to lose their business.."

"Well, unfortunately...they have not returned from the Banlands. I don't believe they ever will. I'd consider their soul to be lost in the ocean for eternity."

In an instant, he felt his heart sink into the pits of his stomach, trying to process the words he just heard. "What do you mean "lost"?? She can't find them?!"

"Death has grown weary of her duties." Mr. Lopee answered grimly. "That is all I know. I have no way to contact her, but this may be a sign that she's tired of resurrecting Urbanshade personnel. Those tokens have lost their meaning."

"No..no, no, no. That's stupid!" Sebastian snapped. "She can't just "decide" to stop now!! That wasn't a fair death!"

"Nothing is fair down here, my friend. You of all people should understand that. Now continue your work. Don't let yourself become distracted over one insignificant loss."

"....I won't, "boss"." The fishman sneered rudely, watching him disappear into a cloud of green and black smoke.

But the second he was gone, Sebastian dropped his snarky front, trying his best to stay calm despite the grim news he was told.

There was a way that an expendable can die...permanently?

Did the Harbinger have something to do with that? Or was the ferry lady simply uncaring and decided she was done reviving people?

He knew that she was going to be replaced within the next year or two, so maybe she thought it was all pointless now.

Either way, he'd never know.

And he'd likely never know what really happened to you. He only had to trust Mr. Lopee's words...and begrudgingly so.

""Distracted", my ass. They have to come back eventually. They...they made a promise.." His shoulders sagged as he glanced at the vent again, only for his ear fins to perk up at the sounds of thumping.

"[Y/n]? Hah. I knew he was messing with......me...."

Much to his disappointment, it was just another Wall Dweller infected with the rotten coral who decided to sneak into his shop. And with one swift motion, he dispatched it with his shotgun, watching its head explode into clay and gore as the remains flopped to the ground.

"Ugh..disgusting.." He grumbled, not happy that he had to pick apart the creature piece by piece, wishing he didn't have to touch the alien plant. But all of it was still edible, even for expendables who couldn't even touch the bloxy cola left behind after the lockdown.

You always joked about how it's the only way you could get "greens" in your diet-

'Shit..why am I thinking about them again?'

Sebastian's hands shook a little as he set the pieces on the table, wishing he could tear these stupid feelings out of his chest, wondering why he ever allowed himself to get so close to you in the first place.

He never should have opened up. Not to you. Not to anyone.

There were more important things at stake.

He shouldn't be mourning over you. What good would that do? Mr. Lopee had a point. Maybe he was getting distracted--losing sight of his goal and the burning hatred he had for Urbanshade.

He had to get out. He shouldn't care about some weak little expendable.

And yet...he couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to escape with you, and maybe even..get to know you a lot better without having to pretend to be business partners. He wouldn't have to pretend to despise you and find you annoying.

Now he couldn't even find out your exact status in the Banlands. But from what Mr. Lopee implied...your soul was forever trapped at the bottom of that dark ocean, surrounded by thousands more.

By thousands of haunted faces and screams he himself once heard when the ferryman scooped him out of the water.

It drove him insane for the remainder of the day, and despite trying to fight his exhaustion by organizing his wares and assets...sleep managed to find him for once.

Yet his dreams were anything but pleasant.

He was forced to witness the horrific scenario of that fabled Harbinger descend upon you, tearing into the locker you were hiding in whilst he was unable to do anything but scream for it to stop tormenting you.

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he watched the demonic entity paint the entire room red with your blood.

...........

"Huh..that's weird."

Arriving to the 50th room, you were surprised that the vent grate didn't pop open like normal. You knew for sure Sebastian was there, given the spotlights shining directly towards the entrance to his shop.

So you opened it as quietly as you could--just in case he was sleeping. The last thing you ever wanted to do was startle the sleep-deprived traumatized fishman because of some noise.

He'd rarely doze off, and funny enough it only happened whenever you were in the shop, too, indicating he'd grown to trust you deeply.

You've come a long way in your friendship, although judging by the numerous discounts he's given you, the lack of landmines and ADS devices scattered around, his scoldings becoming less harsh and insulting, and his increasing worry for your safety the further you got into the blacksite....you wondered if he felt something more.

Like..attachment, almost.

But of course, you didn't want to assume anything.

Surely, you're just a means to an end for him. All he cares about are the documents you bring him and nothing more. He's only slightly more concerned for you because you bring him the most valuable stuff and barter with him better than other expendables.

However, as soon as you emerged from the other side of the vent and dusted off your pants, you could see Sebastian was almost...writhing in his sleep, his claws leaving deep marks in the crates as he whimpered, his tail flicking violently.

You had to duck as it suddenly swung over your head, but when you heard him utter your name, you froze with surprise.

Was he...dreaming about you?

You would've been flattered, if not for the realization that he was probably having a nightmare instead. So you quietly went over to him, wondering how you can wake him up and explain your....absence.

You couldn't return to the living world for some time after the Harbinger killed you, and surely...he's gonna realize that and get pissed off at you "wasting" another ferry token.

You just pray he believes you.

"Seb? Wake up." Stepping onto his desk was a risk, but it was one worth taking as it allowed you to get close to him so you could shake his shoulder. It took him some time to get used to your touch, and thankfully he's more comfortable with it now.

Suddenly, he gasped as his eyes snapped open, his upper body sitting up with such a start. You damn near fell off the table, but managed to keep your balance as you stared up at him.

He saw you, and only your uniform, and got angry.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!! GET OUT-!!!"

"Sebastian it's me!! It's me!!" You shouted, your voice rising a few octaves as you held your hands up.

He huffed and puffed, beads of sweat dotting his hairline as he looked down and slowly began to recognize your face.

And then the realization hit him.

You were here. Alive. Breathing.

You were back as if nothing had happened.

"[Y/n]?" He shuddered. "Shit..sorry. H-How are you...? I'm not seeing a ghost, am I?"

"I'm not. And know you're mad, so let me explain.." You sighed, putting your hands down. "I tried coming back, but the portal was busted, so I got...stuck on the other side for a while. The ferry lady was nice enough to show me how to repair it, though she didn't say much else. She seemed to appreciate me expressing my condolences for her husband, and....."

You trailed off as Sebastian put a hand on your shoulder, and at first you were worried he was going to throttle you for making him wait this long...

Only for him to pull you into a quick embrace, lifting you off your feet. "Ah..I'm sorry, Seb." You hugged him back, feeling guilty. "I guess I've been away too long, huh?"

"..it's been an entire day."

"Really?" Your heart sunk as he let you go, setting you back on the floor. "God, I...I had no idea. You must have been freaking out."

"Only...a little bit.." He muttered, managing to calm himself down as he brushed his bangs to the side. "Someone has...led me to believe that you died permanently. But they were wrong, so it doesn't matter anymore."

You were quiet for a moment, debating on whether or not to question who told him that, but you didn't wanna stress him out over the details, considering how shaken-up he got.

"Yeah, I guess it doesn't." You shrugged, deciding to look at the wares Sebastian had available.

Unfortunately, you lost all the assets you collected this time, although there wasn't anything of utter importance that you needed right now. But after grabbing the keycard to leave....he blocked the vent with his tail. "Seb?"

"Why don't you stay here a while? Hm?" He coughed, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Why? In case the big bad Harbinger gets me?" You chuckled, only to fall silent as he didn't laugh at all. "Alright, bad joke. I'll stick around for a bit."

Judging from how his shoulders instantly relaxed the moment you said that, you realized he did care more for your safety than other expendables. He didn't want you running back out into danger so quickly, especially as he knew that if you were to revive again, the ferryman...won't really like that.

It was kinda sweet seeing him act so clingy with just you, even when he didn't wanna outright admit it.

[lvnleah]

viv’s last match.

bit of a long and kinda emotional one! <33

You didn’t wake up happy. 

The sunlight peeked in through the window, tickling at your face and making you scrunch up your nose. You tried to hide under the covers, squeezing your eyes shut. But then Beth’s voice drifted in, soft and gentle.

“Roo… time to wake up, baby.”

You didn’t budge. Your bottom lip stuck out in a pout as Beth’s footsteps got closer. Then the edge of the covers lifted, and she peeked in with a soft smile.

“Rory, it’s Mamma’s last match. We’ve got to get you ready, sweetheart.”

You huffed, a little too loudly, and her smile turned soft and understanding. Her hand reached under the covers to ruffle your hair. But you didn’t move, keeping your face hidden.

Today was the last game of the season and also Viv’s last-ever game for Arsenal. Ever since Beth and Viv had broken the news to you that she was leaving you’d been in a complete grump. 

You now hated going to training with Beth and Viv because despite you only being five, you were Jonas’ biggest hater alongside Buddy and Monkey. 

You’d gone from loving every Arsenal training day to absolutely hating them. Before, you’d spent most days cheering with Buddy or giggling with her as you watched the players run around. But now, everything felt different. Now you sat with a big scowl on your face, arms crossed, and made sure everyone knew you weren’t happy.

Every time Jonas would say hi or wave, you’d just frown harder, turning your back and sticking out your tongue when he wasn’t looking. Buddy and Monkey would laugh at your grumpy face, and even Viv would smile and shake her head, but it didn’t make the bad feeling go away. 

You didn’t want her to leave Arsenal. 

And most importantly you didn’t want her to leave you.

Beth’s hand rubbed your back gently as you snuggled into your pillow and Twix. 

“I know it’s hard, Roo,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “But you don’t want to miss Mamma’s game, do you?”

You shrugged, keeping your face hidden. But even as you did, you knew Beth was right. You wanted to see Viv play, even if it was for the last time in an Arsenal kit.

“C’mon,” Beth coaxed again. “I bet Mamma’s hoping to see her biggest fan out there today.”

After a moment, you peeked out and saw her waiting, her face soft and patient. Beth knew better than to rush you, so she just stayed there, giving you a gentle smile.

You finally let out a big sigh and slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes. You knew it was silly to pout so much, but the thought of Viv leaving still made your chest feel tight. Beth helped you out of bed, and after a few minutes of cuddling, you made your way into the kitchen with her and Twix clutched tightly under your arm. 

The kitchen smelt of toast and strawberry jam, Viv was standing at the kitchen island already with Myle sitting at her feet. 

“There she is,” Viv smiled as you walked over to her, Twix still in a tight grip in your arms. “Morning, meijne miesje.” she smiled. 

“Up please, Mamma.” You mumbled, lifting your arms up to Viv. 

Viv chuckled and bent down to scoop you into her arms, settling you comfortably on her hip. The familiar warmth of her embrace made the tightness in your chest ease just a little, but the grumpiness still lingered.

“See, isn’t this much better?” she asked as she kissed your forehead.

You nestled your head against her shoulder, not quite ready to answer. The smell of toast was tempting, but you were still too wrapped up in your own feelings.

“Mamma’s right, Roo,” Beth chimed in, plating a piece of toast and spreading jam on it. “You know Mamma wants to see your smiling face today.”

You pulled back just enough to pout at her. “But I don’t wan’ her to go away. I wan’ her to stay.”

Viv’s expression softened as she looked down at you, her fingers brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Roo. I’ll always be your Mamma, no matter where I play.”

“But I don’t like that you’re leaving Arsenal,” you said, your voice a little louder than intended. “What if I don’t see you anymore?”

“Munchkin,” Beth interrupted gently, “You know we’ll always find time to see Mamma, right? We can visit whenever you want and she’ll be home a lot anyway!”

“But…but Mamma will still be away,” you stumbled over your words as tears began to build up in your eyes. “I don’ like Mamma…being away.”

Viv’s face softened as she held you closer, “I know, Roo. It’s hard to understand, and it’s okay to feel sad about it. But I promise, we’ll find ways to make it work. You’re my baby, aren’t you? I’ll never stay away for too long.”

You sniffled, resting your cheek on her shoulder. “I just wan’ you here all the time.”

Beth came over, rubbing your back gently. “We’re all going to miss Mamma around here,” she said softly. “But she’ll still be with us for all the important things. And hey,” she gave you a little nudge, “You can even cheer for two teams. You’ll be the biggest Arsenal and whatever club Mamma goes to fan around.”

You wrinkled your nose at that idea, and Beth laughed, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Think about it, yeah?”

Viv lifted your chin gently so you were looking at her. “And guess what, Roo? You and I can make a special plan—just for us. How about every time I’m off and I’m home we’ll have just us time? Just Mamma and Roo day.”

Your pout started to fade as you thought about it. “Promise?”

Viv nodded. “Promise. And I’ll even let you pick some of the places.”

Beth, seeing your spirits lifting, handed you the toast with jam. “How about we finish up here and get you into your kit, eh?”

With a little more energy, you took a big bite of the toast, nodding. “Okay.” You glanced up at Viv with a determined look. “I’ll cheer the loudest.”

Viv grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, meijne miesje.”

For the first time that morning, you felt a spark of excitement in your chest.

When you arrived at Meadow Park, it was buzzing with people in Arsenal shirts. You clung to Beth’s hand as you walked in, feeling both excited and sad at the same time. 

As you climbed out of the car, you noticed Steph getting out of the car beside you. While Viv grabbed the bags, you took Beth’s hand with Twix tightly in your arms still. 

Steph spotted you immediately and came over with a smile on her face, “Hey Roo! You excited for the game?”

You clinged onto Beth’s hand and shrugged, “Roo’s a little grumpy and upset aren’t you, munchkin?” Beth laughed, playfully shaking your hand in hers. 

“Aw that’s okay, Roo,” Steph reminded you, crouching day to your height, “But you get to be Mummy’s mascot, remember?”

“Yeah! And I get to walk out with baby Lux!” You reminded Steph. 

Lux was the little boy of one of Viv’s and Beth’s, he was only nine months old and you found him funny. You found all babies funny. 

Steph chuckled, “That’s right! And I bet you two will be the cutest mascots out there.”

You made your way inside with Beth and Steph, and Viv followed closely behind you. Leah, Lia, Buddy and Monkey were already in the reception area when you, Beth, Viv and Steph walked through the doors. 

“Roo!” Buddy smiled, running over the second she saw you, “We match!”

Buddy was right—you both wore matching Arsenal kits, and her grin was infectious. But you still felt the grumpiness hanging on a bit as you glanced over at her and gave her a small nod.

Leah chuckled as she held Buddy’s hand, “You a little sad?”

“Roo’s still a bit grumpy,” Beth explained to Leah with a grin, “but I think seeing her best friend might help, eh Roo?”

Monkey bounced over and ruffled your hair playfully. “Come on, Roo. Don’t tell me you’re too grumpy to cheer for your Mamma!”

You looked up at her, clutching Twix tighter, and gave her a stubborn little frown. “Mamma’s still leaving Arsenal,” you muttered, just loud enough for Viv to hear.

“I know it’s sad, but well, think about it this way, at least she’s not joining a club on the other side of the world, right?” Monkey told you, getting a funny look from you. “She’s stayin’ in the wsl! Just dunno where yet..”

“That’s not helping matters at all, Menace,” Leah told her while giving her a knowing look.

Monkey exhaled a dramatic huff, “Geesh you try an help and you still get it in the neck, honestly, forget I said out– Oh! Kyra! You’ll never guess what…” She didn’t bother finishing her sentence, as she walked off to catch up with her Australian pal.

“And there she goes,” Viv murmured, shaking her head in amusement.

“Monkey’s on one today, huh?” Beth wondered.

Leah shrugged as she shook her head, “I don’t know what she’s on honestly, she’s all over the shop. I thought she’d still be moping like she’s been pretty much all week,” She mentioned gesturing to the rest of the week prior where Monkey had been dwelling over the news of Viv leaving Arsenal. 

Leah had also been dealing with Monkey and Buddy being sad and down with the news, she even had to go as far as stopping the hate posters Monkey was prepared to make for Jonas. 

“Monkeys’ crackers!” Buddy giggled, repeating familiar words that she had heard.

“That she is,” Beth joked in agreement. “Right you, shall we take you out to Grandad so me and Mamma can go get ready for the match?”

You nodded reluctantly, holding tight to Twix as Beth led you out to find Rich, who was waiting just outside the changing rooms. As soon as you spotted him, you let go of Beth’s hand and ran over, and he scooped you up with a grin.

“Grandad!” You finally smiled, running over to him as fast as you could. 

“There’s my little troublemaker!” he smiled, kissing the top of your head. “Ready to cheer on Mamma?”

You wrinkled your nose, “Yeah, but I’m still sad Mamma’s leaving.”

He gave you a nod, “I know, kiddo. But that’s what makes today so special, right? We get to send her off with all our love!”

You gave him a little smile, “How about we find our seats and get ready to make some noise, eh?”

You nodded as Beth smiled at the both of you, she tickled your stomach before kissing your forehead, “Be good for Grandad, yeah? Me and Mamma will see you in the tunnel.”

“Okay, love you, Mummy!” You said as Rich placed you down on the floor. 

You found your seats and you sat beside Rich with Twix on your lap, waiting for the match to start. Your seat was right behind the dugout with all of the other players' family and friends. The seat was right beside Buddy and Leah’s family, meaning the two of you could stand on the seats together and cheer away. 

Cheers rang around Meadow Park as the team entered the pitch for their warmups. As the players clapped their hands in the air in response to the cheers, Beth and Viv spotted you in the stands and blew you a quick kiss and wave. 

You grinned and waved back, the excitement bubbling up and momentarily pushing away the sadness. Beside you, Buddy bounced on her seat, waving both hands in the air as Leah blew her a kiss too.

“They waving at us!” Buddy squealed, turning to face Amanda, “Nana! Mummy’s waving!”

As kickoff grew closer, more people started to fill Meadow Park. Lots of them had signs for Viv and the Netherlands flag, you found it fun to look around and see what they say. 

Once warmups were over, you made your way down to the tunnel Viv’s friend, Nathalja, as she carried her little boy Lux down. Beth was near the front, right behind Leah, and instantly smiled as she saw you. 

“How’s my little munchkin doing?” She asked, crouching down to you. “You ready?”

You nodded, your fingers anxiously going to your mouth as your other arm her Twix. “Take those fingers out, little miss!” Beth joked, pulling your hand down. 

You lowered your hand with a sheepish smile. As the line began to move, you walked out holding Beth’s hand as she held Lux on her hip. 

You held onto Beth’s hand tightly as she walked you over to where the teams were lining up. Cheers rang out around Meadow Park as everyone lined up. You looked over and saw Viv at the subbench with Rich standing behind her in the stands.

"C'mon, munchkin!" Beth smiled as the line began to move, "Remember to high-five everyone!"

You anxiously shook your head as you got closer to the referee who were all crouched down, ready and waiting. “Are you going to be shy?” Beth chuckled. 

Once you reached the end of the line, Beth let you over to where the team photo was going to be taken. “Wanna be in the team photo, Roo?”

You nodded before following Beth over to where the team were now lining up. She crouched down and stood you in front of her while she positioned Lux to face the front. You made sure that Twix was facing the front too. 

After the photos were taken, Beth stood up, “Okay, let’s go over to Mamma.”

You ran straight over to Viv, crashing right into her chest as she scooped you up, “Well done, Roo! Let’s take you to Grandad, yeah?”

You shook your head, “No! I wan’ sit on the bench with you, Mamma.”

“You wanna sit with me?” Viv double-checked, getting a nod in response from you. “That’s fine, mijn meisje.”

Viv took you over to the subbench and sat down with you on her lap. Settling onto Viv’s lap, you clung to her tightly, your arms wrapped around her neck and your cheek pressed against her shoulder. 

“Comfortable, Roo?” Viv asked, her voice soft as she adjusted you slightly to make sure you were settled.

You nodded against her shoulder. “Mhm. Can I stay here the whole time, Mamma?”

Viv chuckled, brushing her hand over your back. “I think you’ll have to go back to Grandad after a little while. But for now, we can sit here together, okay?”

As the others joined the bench, you peeked up to see them smiling at you. “Hey, Roo!” Teyah greeted you with a big grin, reaching over to gently tickle your side as she sat down beside Viv. “You’re keeping Mamma company, huh?”

You giggled softly, nodding, though you tighten your grip on Viv.

The match soon started and by the seventeenth minute, Alessia had scored a goal assisted by Emily and another soon followed in the twenty-fourth. You jumped up from Viv’s lap and started to cheer, feeling a bit more happier. 

After that, the first half flew by quickly and before you knew it half time was over and the girls were back on the pitch. The first twenty minutes went by quickly, and Arsenal were given a penalty which Kim ended up missing. 

In the sixty-first minute, three changes were made and Viv was brought on. You were sad about her leaving you on the bench but it meant that you got to sit with Steph instead.  Kyra, Steph and Alessia left the pitch, hugging Viv tightly as Frida, Laia and Viv took their places.

“Hey, Roo!” Steph smiled, lifting you up off of the seat before settling you on her lap. “You enjoying the match?”

You shrugged, snuggling into her as you held Twix close to you, “Mamma leaving…”

Steph sighed, brushing a stray hair away from your face, “I know, it’s sad, isn’t it? But let’s cheer so loud for her, yeah?”

You nodded your head before moving your attention to Viv and Beth on the pitch. Cheers and chants once again rang out around Meadow Park. You watched as Leah kicked the ball to Beth who then passed it perfectly to Viv, giving her the chance to score her last goal. With a swift touch, she sent the ball flying into the net.

You screamed so loud Steph thought your voice might give out. “She scored! Mamma scored!”

Steph laughed as she tried to calm you down. “Alright, alright, settle down, little champ!”

After that, the last thirty minutes flew by and by the end, the girls had won 5-0. Once the final whistle blew, Steph carried you onto the pitch and over to Beth and Viv who we’re currently hugging. 

As you were carried across the pitch by Steph, the crowd’s cheers and clapping seemed to fade into the background. You could see Mamma and Beth in the middle of the celebration, surrounded by their teammates. Beth was laughing, her eyes a bit watery, and Steph set you down gently just a few steps from them, you rushed forward, legs carrying you faster than you could have imagined. The moment Viv saw you, a smile grew on her face, and she crouched down, arms open wide. You collided into her, squeezing her tightly as if she might disappear if you let go.

“Did you have fun?” Viv said softly, her voice full of affection as she kissed the top of your head.

Beth lifted you up onto her hip, “You did so well today, munchkin!”

You looked at her with a soft frown still tugging at your lips. “I still don’t want Mamma to leave.”

Beth’s hand moved to your hair, brushing it softly as she nodded, her eyes a little misty. “I know, munchkin. I’m going to miss her too, but we’ll always be able to see her!”

Viv smiled and lifted you into her arms from Beth’s, cradling you against her chest. “Yeah, think about how many fun sleepovers we’ll be able to have and all of the fun stuff you’ll be able to do!” Viv said, trying to lighten your mood. 

The team gathered for their final round of hugs and goodbye and Viv held you a little tighter, her eyes scanning the pitch, knowing this was her final moment at Arsenal. You nestled your head against her shoulder, holding Twix tightly against your neck. 

“Mamma needs to go get ready for her speech, are you gonna go with Mummy?” Viv told you as your head rested on her shoulder. 

Beth held her arms out to you, a soft smile on her face. “Come on, Roo. Let’s go wait for Mamma while she gets ready.”

You reached for her, your small arms wrapping tightly around her neck as Viv passed you over. She pressed a kiss to your temple before walking off with a reassuring smile, though you could see the hint of sadness in her eyes.

Beth guided you towards where the team was starting to form a guard of honour. Vic was already there, waiting for you as Beth placed you down on the ground. 

“You play football with me, Vic?” You asked tugging on her hand. “I don’ wanna stand here!”

“How about we play after Mamma’s speech yeah?” Vic said as she picked you up with ease, settling you on her hip. “Look, Sabs and Kaylan are gonna do their speech then it’s Mamma’s turn!”

You frowned slightly but nodded, resting your head against Vic’s shoulder. The crowd was still buzzing with excitement, and you could hear Beth’s voice behind you, laughing softly as she chatted with Steph and Leah.

As the speeches began, you stayed tucked against Vic, her hand lightly rubbing your back. Sab and Kaylan went first before it was Viv’s turn. The crowd erupted in applause as she walked down the guard of honour. 

You didn’t really pay attention to any of the speeches, you just rested your head on Vic’s shoulder and fiddled with Twix’s ear. Beth stood a few steps away from Steph, her arms wrapped around Steph as she tried to hold it together. You noticed the way her lips pressed tightly together, and even at your young age, you could tell she was feeling sad.

“Mummy?” you whispered, leaning slightly toward her.

Beth looked over, her expression softening as she met your eyes. “Yeah, Roo?”

“You’re sad?” you said matter-of-factly, your small voice full of concern.

Beth blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh as she stepped closer to brush a hand over your hair. “A little bit, munchkin”

The speeches ended and the team began gathering for a photo with all the staff. Vic carried you over to join the group, Beth reached out to take you, settling you into her lap as the staff and players arranged themselves.

“Smile, Roo,” Beth whispered, tickling your stomach, her voice soft and encouraging.

You looked up at her, noticing the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Reaching up, you gently placed your hand on her cheek. “Don’t be sad, Mummy. I love you.”

Beth’s eyes filled with tears, but she managed a shaky laugh. “I love you too, munchkin. So, so much.”

The photo was taken, and after a few more pictures, you joined Beth and Viv for their lap of thank-yous. Viv carried baby Lux in her arms, while Beth held your hand tightly as you walked around the pitch together. Fans cheered and waved, and you waved back shyly as they called your name, though you stayed close to your mums.

Afterwards, Viv hoisted you onto her shoulders, letting you take in the view from up high. You giggled as she bounced you gently, her hands securely holding your legs. “This is fun, Mamma!”

Viv laughed, her voice full of warmth despite the bittersweetness of the moment. “I’m glad, Roo.”

Eventually, you spotted Buddy and Monkey playing nearby, and you wiggled excitedly. “Can I go play, Mamma?”

Viv nodded, “Just stay where we can see you and if you’re not with us stick with Monkey or one of your Aunties okay?”

You nodded as Viv set you down, “Okay, Mamma!” You chirped, running off with Twix tucked under your arm still. 

You darted off towards Buddy and Monkey, your laughing soon ringing out as you joined their little makeshift game with Kyra. Beth and Viv stood off to the side, keeping an eye on you as they chatted with a few of their friends and family. 

When it was finally time to leave, you started to grow tired. You waited outside with Rich while Beth and Viv got the bags before heading home. 

“Mamma? Up please?” You yawned, holding your arms up, “Don’ wanna walk.”

Viv turned around at the sound of your small voice, she quickly scooped you up into her arms, cradling you against her chest. “Of course, Roo,” she said softly, adjusting her hold to make sure you were comfortable. “You’ve had a big day, haven’t you?”

You snuggled into her, your small body already relaxing in her embrace. “Mhm… I love you, Mamma,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice thick with drowsiness.

Viv smiled, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I love you too, Roo. So much.”

Beth, who had just finished gathering everything, walked over with a tired but content smile on her face. “You ready to go home, munchkin?” she asked, her voice soft as she looked at you in Viv’s arms.

You nodded slowly, your eyes barely staying open. “Yeah… home…”

Beth reached over and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before looking at Viv. “I think it’s time we get you to bed. You’ve had a long, exciting day.”

Viv nodded in agreement as she carefully adjusted her grip on you. “Let’s get you home, Roo. Time for some rest.”

Beth led the way to the car, Viv following closely behind. As soon as you were settled in your seat, Viv leaned in and buckled you in, her heart aching at how small and fragile you seemed at that moment. “We’ll be home soon, sweetheart, okay?”

You gave a soft nod, clutching Twix to your chest as your eyelids fluttered shut. Beth and Viv exchanged a quiet, loving glance before getting into the car and driving home, the soft hum of the engine lulling you to sleep in the backseat.

It had been a day full of joy, emotion, and change, but as long as you were all together, everything felt just right.

[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

[beautysurvives]

also don’t see enough ppl acknowledge how Dean and Jack are going through such similar journeys in s14. The parallels between Jack losing his soul and the s6 soulless Sam arc are right there on the surface, but what Dean is going through with Michael is also a huge parallel.

I know people get mad at Dean for putting Jack in the Ma’lak box, and I guess it’s easy to forget that Dean’s original plan was to put himself in there. The way Dean blames himself for Michael’s escape (the line is something like “I let my guard down”) is something that gets echoed by Jack so many times, about failing to kill Michael and getting tricked by Lucifer. Jack thinks it’s his fault for not being strong enough. His fault for being too trusting.

And the fact that Dean didn’t put himself in the Ma’lak box — the fact that he allowed his family to convince him not to — that he let his emotional connections guide him rather than his instincts — probably feels like another huge failure for him, and it 100% connects to Mary’s death. Not just because he’s grieving her, not just because he indirectly got her killed, but because, for him, she represents emotional vulnerability and honesty and connection, everything that he believes family should be. Trust and safety, and most importantly, the presence of a parent/matriarch/patriarch — because if she’s gone, who’s left to lead the family? The responsibility has always fallen on his shoulders as the older brother without a stable father figure, but Dean has never wanted this role, and at this point is really not equipped to handle it. Once Mary came around to filling that role in s14, a bit of the weight was lifted from Dean’s shoulders.

And now that ability to breathe a little easier, to start accepting Jack as his own son with the knowledge that, this time, he doesn’t have to feel like he’s the only person responsible for a kid’s life — all of that, to Dean, was his own mistake. It’s a reminder not to trust, not to be emotional, not to form new attachments, and especially not to feel safe or happy (another huge theme in this season: happiness leading to death)

Because if he had just gone in the box, Michael wouldn’t have gotten out, all those hunters wouldn’t have died, and Jack wouldn’t have burned the last of his soul to save him. And if we go even further back, if Dean had never said yes to AU Michael in the first place — which, if you remember, was to save Sam (and Jack, who also doubles as Sam’s foil) from Lucifer.

Another important detail is how in his s12 confrontation with Mary (in Who We Are), Dean blames her for everything that happened in her absence — including Sam losing his soul. Although in that situation, prior to Mary’s resurrection, the main person who could’ve been blamed for that was Cas, and even that (in Dean’s mind) was a reach, because I’m sure he believed that Cas was telling the truth about it being a mistake, and at the end of the day no one really knew why Sam lost his soul. Similarly, many of the things that Sam did while soulless were blamed on Sam himself, which, in light of what we saw in s11 and with Donatello (that not having a soul doesn’t automatically make you harmful), kind of holds up. But still, who can be blamed for mistakes, errors in judgment, or consequences of risky decisions made in the absence of crucial information. Mary, like Chuck and Amara in s15, becomes that person simply by virtue of being a parent. Which is also why it’s so easy for Dean to start placing all the blame on Cas for failing to warn him about Jack killing the snake, and then failing to get back in time to warn them — being absent when they needed him there most. Regardless of how Dean has been behaving towards Jack, regardless of his own internal feelings of parenthood, Cas is the only one in tfw who has claimed responsibility for Jack, verbally identified himself as Jacks father, and accepted blame by apologizing.

People often point out how Sam behaves like a parent to Jack, but I think they miss the opportunity to connect this to the role Dean had to play after Mary’s death when he was a child. Sam sees Jacks need for another father figure besides Cas, just as Dean did for Sam when they were children — which is something I think Dean recognizes in s15, when he says “I tried the family thing, didn’t work” and Sam says “Yeah, me too.” Dean could be talking about Cas and Jack, or Lisa and Ben, but Sam is most likely talking about Jack. And if you watch the scene, there’s this little look from Dean that I’ve always read as guilt, because imo he does see Jack as his child, and regrets that Sam was parentified in his absence.

But when it comes to Dean himself, as one of Jack’s parents, he completely deflects blame in light of Mary’s death. He starts acting like he never saw Jack as family — and like his relationship with Cas was never “real” — and it’s especially easy because they’ve never had an actual out loud conversation where they explicitly defined Dean’s significance to either of them. His rejection of Jack as a family member — and his subsequent rejection of Cas as a partner — is not because Dean never loved/cared about him — it’s a rejection of responsibility. It’s his inability to recognize himself as partially culpable (and he is, because, despite his relative passivity at the start, he went along wholeheartedly with the plan to use Jack’s soul to bring him back, and he, like Cas and Sam, put the responsibility to make sure that Jack didn’t lose his soul on other people AND allowed Jack to be unsupervised and put in situations where he’d be tempted to use his powers AND didn’t even allow himself to see the warning signs — and none of this makes it entirely Dean’s fault, because of course he was dealing with his own Michael crisis — he was hardly in a position to really act like a good parent, which he knew) — but the death of Mary also means the absence of a central figure to blame. It is the absence of a leader.

So when Chuck appears and gives him the Equalizer — the gun that will kill both its target and the person wielding it — of course he’ll take that deal. God is telling him to do it, and that it’s the only way — and without Mary present to remind him that she wouldn’t want this (which he realizes on his own later), he believes it.

Of course he’ll die killing Jack, because in Dean’s heart he sees them as the same person. He sees them as equally to blame. And it’s so connected to everything that came before Jack too — it’s a fitting punishment for the mistake Dean’s been making over and over again since episode one — since his father first told him that he’d have to kill Sam. Since he refused, time and again. Since he let himself get close to Cas just to get betrayed over and over. Since he decided to team up with Crowley, despite that warning he’d been given (if John saw you working with a demon…) Since he saved Baby Amara, not knowing that she’d grow up to be the darkness. Letting his love and compassion and empathy blind him to something that, in his mind — in any good hunter’s mind — should be black and white. The monster is supposed to die, even if it looks like you. It shouldn’t matter how you feel because feeling means the monsters win.

[beatrixst0nehill]

"Well.... this is me at 18, the summer before college, vs me three years into my Master's program. College has been a lot of fun but it's taken its toll on my body so fast! Not that it stops lots of guys from fucking me. Sure they used to call me sexy and hot, and now they call me a hucow slut or a dumb pig, but they still fuck my brains out just as much, if not more since I've, um...... bulked up.

This is my fourth pregnancy, I'm about six months along and my belly is gigantic. Granted it's kinda always huge because of all the beer we drink at my sorority. Every single girl has a big round beer belly and it's like we're all competing to see who can grow the biggest gut before we graduate. I actually kind of like being so fat, feeling my ass and my thighs jiggle as I walk, my boobs slosh around, getting sweaty constantly. They used to be so small but after a couple pregnancies my body knew I was always meant to be a cow and ballooned my boobs from, like a DD, to these massive udders. 90% sure I couldn't even breastfeed a baby with these things without suffocating them, which means my body grew these things for guys to enjoy. Nothing more. I started out as barely a B-cup, thankfully all this overeating, chugging beer, and fucking bareback has reminded my body what a girl is really supposed to look like!

I never thought I'd be 21, weighing over 400lbs, having already pushed out fourteen kids (triplets, quintuplets, sextuplets, if you were curious!), and now I've got at least six in my belly again. I don't know if I have another three years of this in me, I feel like my heart is gonna pop any day now from getting so unhealthy and fat so fast. I'm putting so much strain on my body but I can't stop now, I'm having way too much fun. If I have a heart attack at 700lbs in a couple years, having pushed out over thirty kids, then I'd say I've served my purpose as a woman perfectly fine. Loads of guys got to enjoy my body, breed me, cum all over my tits, use my holes, and call me all kinds of demeaning names as I drank a twelve pack of beer every night and stuffed my face all day with my sorority sisters. Since we were all competing to see who can have the biggest, fattest, grossest body! Oops, already referring to myself in the past tense.

But it would be super hot if half of us croaked from being such big fat breeder slobs, wouldn't it? We sit around in the lounge, drinking, eating a stack of pizza, rubbing our pussies as we talk about this stuff, how hot it'd be if we got heart attacks before graduation or kicked the bucket pushing out octuplets. It happened last semester to our friend Reilly! She was pushing out ten kids and bam! She moaned and came as she pushed out baby seven, drooling and smiling, sweating like crazy, looking perfectly eager to push out the last three. But then she passed out! Gone, just like that. The school had to cart her sexy, preggo body off and open her up to get the last few kids out. I was soooo jealous it was the hottest thing we've ever seen! Hopefully most of us follow her example, guys even tease us on campus when our bellies get really big like mine is now and tell us they can't wait for us to wind up like Reilly...... fuck, I'm cumming so hard just thinking about it. I need to go to the Chinese buffet and drink so much beer I piss myself at the booth! Gotta not disappoint my sorority sisters and all the frat boys..... A girl's got to put on a show. ❤️"

[is-on-its-way]

ripples

inspired by this wonderful story

Read on AO3

The first time he asked her to marry him he was joking… sort of. They’d been on a case buried two basement floors deep in the bowls of the NIH library in Bethesda. He was turning the big wheels to get a row open to check for a journal they were searching for, and she’d walked past him without glancing at him.

“Why are you looking in physiology…” mind control will be under psychological capacities in… philosophy.” She said almost absentmindedly as she cranked the handle on the end of the shelf ten feet away from him.

He’d felt the familiar jolt in his chest he’d gotten so used to, being around her. That rush of adrenaline when she took charge, or knew better than the men in the room, or knew better than him. Her brain was a wealth of information in topics he hardly understood, and he was forever thankful for her expertise. But when she revealed she knew about topics that interested him as well? It was electrifying. Literally- he could feel his brain short circuit, so, staring at her, smirk on his face, it had just tumbled out of his mouth before his good sense managed to catch up.

She’d looked at him like he was insane, not an unfamiliar look even then. Hands on hips in the florescent light with the beige walls and grey rug and white endless stacks, a divinity standing in front of him when anyone else in her place would’ve seemed lesser for it. To his surprise she’d broken into a smile and then a giggle. He’d laughed with her savoring her rare joy in this private limbo among the stacks. Buttoned up as she had to be back then, practiced in long days working in mens fields, her laugh was dangerous, raw, uninhibited. Men didn’t know how to deal with that kind of power. So she hid herself most of the time. He knew it was second nature, from even before the FBI, from years in a cutthroat hospital culture and med school, she’d graduated summa cum laude. She was destined for men to be jealous and angry at her for daring to be who she was from the beginning. 

He thought it was sexy, even sexier how she gave herself up to him in tiny fits and starts over the years. He waited for each moment, feeling like a kid running down the stairs on christmas every time it happened. After that there’d been no opportunity to do it again. There had been no right moment after she’d been taken, to joke lightheartedly about such things, or remind her of the normalicy she might’ve had if not for him. For the x files. He’d tried to give her an out even, asked her to quit so she could feel like she wasn’t quitting on him or the mission, but she’d refused, even more resolute to find the truth now. He could’ve asked her again right on the spot if he had been more selfish.

If he was honest, if she’d said yes that first time, he thought he might’ve gone along with it, just for the mere fact someone like her, could want him. He would’ve been too terrified to fuck everything up then though, and probably would’ve messed it all up and hurt her more than she deserved.

The next time he asked her, he had never been more serious about anything in his life. He loved her, but it wasn’t really about that. It wasn't really about the fact he knew she loved him either.  It was the knowledge that before his life was done, he would make her his wife. It was just a fact, like how humans breathe air and fish water. Like how the sun rises in the morning and the moon only faces one way. It just was. He was hers and she was his and letting her leave this earth without declaring that, without letting her declare that to her god, was unthinkable. He should’ve felt insane. They had not even so much as been on an official date, but when you’re insane do you know it in the moment? 

She’d had tears in her eyes and panic in her voice, so strangled she could hardly breathe. He was on his knees at her bedside, chair kicked out as he realized the panic she had arrived at on the fifth day in her hospital bed hooked up to the poison that was saving her and killing her in front of his eyes. She let all her walls break then, let might’ve been putting it kindly. Her walls had been broken against her will and she was looking at him to save her. He wished with all his might he could but all he could do in that moment was hold her hand and wipe her tears and blink his away angrily at the audacity of his body to think this was about him. 

She told him things she’d never have said to him if she wasn’t feeling trapped like an animal against the end. Things he’d read in her diary entry to him. Things deeper than that. He’d told her he didn’t need to hear any of it, he knew already, she could leave him without worrying about him. 

“I’ll be okay Scully.” He rubbed his thumbs over the thin pale fingers in his hands. He pulled them to his cheek, head bowed over hers nose brushing the flyaways of her natural curls.

She looked at him wild eyed, on her side, pushing herself closer to him.

“What if I wont be? “ she whispered. “What if I…” 

A tinge of regret. He felt it in his own stomach before he saw it form in her eyes, but she went on “I wanted to be a wife.” her voice quivered, stopping before the rest of it. But he understood. She wanted a life, a husband, children, every normal thing you naively expect from life when yours hasn’t been stolen from you. She cried quietly into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her, committing it to memory, stroking her hair. Saying nothing because there was nothing to say.

He would’ve held her for hours if she’d needed, knees screaming, but when she pulled away, his heart shattered at the look in her amber ringed, warm sea, eyes. He couldn’t let her regret, couldn’t let her feel shame for opening up to him when their affection for each other had never before been debased by the simplicity of words.

So he said words back. Threw a stone into the still waves of the spacetime realm they alone inhabited now that the damn was open. He offered the only thing he could in that long list of regrets she would leave with. 

“We could get married.” A hand brushed down her cheek, her face blurry as he blinked furiously. “Marry me Dana.” Voice between a whisper and speech, between pleading for her soul and offering his. 

Her answer then was also no. Dragging herself back to reality, she politely pretended he was joking. And he politely smiled along with her. It was easy to play along with her, easy to ignore his shattering heart. He would do anything for her. Port in her chest, eyes the color of fresh bruises, sinking deeper into her hospital bed every moment of every hour, holding his hand at his insistence despite her chemo induced clamminess. The look in her eyes though, the sorrow, haunted him every time he closed his eyes until she was cured, and then occasionally after.

So polite to pretend he’d been joking… 

After she was cured, to stymy the sour feeling in his stomach every time his mind brought him back there; her sweetest little ‘Thank you, but we shouldn’t. I can’t break your heart any more than I already have and you’re breaking mine…”; he made a habit of asking her to marry him. Dilution of that moment was his tactic. Rewriting the honesty into lighthearted jokes so as to calm the waters in their little world.

Mostly he was joking. Mostly he was pretending to joke. Mostly he wanted her to say yes. One day, he would ask, and she would make a ripple.

🦋🌀🦕🔹🐋 @today-in-fic