#this probably isn't making it into the tags but....

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　PRADA FW25 | INSTAGRAM

matt sturniolo x prada!model!reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N goes to the Prada FW25 show with the triplets and enjoy Milan with her boyfriend, Matt.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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liked by sturniolofan1, matthew.sturniolo, ynfan72 and 1,528 others

people Supermodel Y/N L/N spotted today in Milan!

view all 3,065 comments

username wait you're lying??? she's actually there???

username IS SHE GOING TO THE PRADA SHOW OMG PLS

username lmaoooooo i see you hiding in the likes matt

username it’s so cute that he's always following her activities 🥹🥹

username she's so freaking gorgeous how's that possible???

username PRADA GIRL IN MILAN?? SHES SO MOTHER RN

username nah bc how can someone look this good just walking???

username I so hope that she comes back to the runways on prada's next woman's show 😔

username I'm obsessed omg omg omg

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liked by lilamoss, matthew.sturniolo, sturniolo.triplets and 11,628 others

ynsinstagram milano, your queen is here 🇮🇹🤌🏻

tagged: matthew.sturniolo

view all 3,065 comments

username um so like you’re actually perfect

username ughhhhh milan is so beautiful 😭

→ username ikr?? I dream of going there someday

username my jaw dropped but I'm happy about it

matthew.sturniolo love the shirt

→ ynsinstagram really??? it's my face in there 🥺

⤷ matthew.sturniolo actually I was talking about MY face in there

⤷ username I LOVE THEM LMAO 😭😭

username NO WAY, IS THAT REALLY MATT????

→ username OBVIOUSLY ???? the guy follow his girl everywhere 😭

⤷ username it's so crazy to think that he's in Italy right now

username matt flew to MILAN for his girl?? boyfriend of the year award goes to him fr

username you're everything mama, I adore you etc etc, but also like... MATT IS IN MILAN?? AS IN MY CITY???

username THIS IS Y/N'S WORLD AND WE'RE JUST LIVING IN IT

christophersturniolo 🏰🤌🏻🥧😱

→ ynsinstagram I agree, king 🙌🏻

username are nick and chris also there?

→ username I don't think they're (?)

→ username probably... this week is gonna happen the prada FW25 show, maybe she's in Milan to go there? her being the face of prada and all

⤷ username this actually makes super sense

username where Y/N is, fashion is following 🙌🏻

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liked by sturniolo.triplets, ynsinstagram, prada and 8,528 others

matthew.sturniolo this is what happens when you date a supermodel, they make you look cool by association

tagged: ynsinstagram

view all 3,925 comments

username damn god really out here choosing favorites

username he loves her your honour

username matt's milan era is just him third-wheeling Y/N and the camera

→ username FRRR!!! that girl looks amazing in every picture 😭😭

christophersturniolo bro really said I'm a prada boy now

→ ynsinstagram and he's slaying it 💅🏻

username sir, how does it feel to be living half of the world's dream?

→ matthew.sturniolo unreal

username nah bc prada matt is actually gonna break the internet rn

ynsinstagram you're cooler 🫵🏻🤍

→ matthew.sturniolo impossible

username this is the most unexpected collab but I'm OBSESSED

username HE LOOKS SO GOOD IN PRADA LIKE HELLO????

nicolassturniolo how do you pull a supermodel and still look like you can't spell milan?

→ matthew.sturniolo I think you mixed the triplet

⤷ christophersturniolo what's that supposed to mean???

username I'm SO sure that Y/N influenced matt 100% to buy prada stuff

username and now everyone say THANK YOU Y/N 🙏🏻

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liked by sturniolo.triplets, matthew.sturniolo, ynsinstagram and 6,279 others

gettyimages MILAN, ITALY - 19TH JANUARY. The Sturniolo's arrive at the Prada fashion show during Milan Menswear Fall/Winter 2025.

tagged: sturniolo.triplets

view all 3,624 comments

username WHAT THE FUCK

username what do you mean they're aLL IN THAT PRADA SHOW???? am I dreaming?

username omg omg omg omg shut up right now this is EVERYTHING

username PRADA KINGS 🙏🏻🙏🏻

→ username Y/N being their prada queen 🙏🏻

username I'm so so proud of them 😭

username fuck matt is looking amazing in all black 🫦🫦

username WHERE’S Y/N??????

→ matthew.sturniolo that's a good question

⤷ username LMAO 😭 noticed by matt being ironic

username can't wait to see them in the front row

username weren't they in boston just yesterday? 😭😭 things happen so fast omg

username they're the moment guys ✋🏻✋🏻

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liked by matthew.sturniolo, bellahadid, kendalljenner and 17,279 others

ynsinstagram MILANO IS PRADA @/prada

tagged: prada

view all 8,624 comments

username fashion princess is living the dream so happy for her 😭🙏🏻

username mommy- sorry... mommy- sorry... MOTHER

kendalljenner you are GLOWING 😍

→ ynsinstagram love you, ken 🤍

username THE FACE OF PRADA ARRIVES, EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO HOME

prada prettiest

→ ynsinstagram 🖤

username she is literally making the streets of milan her runway rn

username stop, you're making me wish that she comes back to the runways 😭😭

matthew.sturniolo nah bc how does someone look THIS good just stepping out of a car?? unreal

nicolassturniolo stop drooling

username prada is lucky to even exist while Y/N is wearing it tbh

bellahadid it's giving movie from the 50s

→ ynsinstagram STOP I LOVE THIS

username icon of the century

username here, take my whole house if you want

username 💳💳💳

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liked by ynsinstagram, matthew.sturniolo and 3,528 others

prada Y/N L/N and the Sturniolo Triplets attend the Prada FW25 Menswear Show in Milan, at the Fondazione Prada's Deposito.

tagged: ynsinstagram, sturniolo.triplets

view all 665 comments

username nick, chris, and matt are living every fan's dream rn just casually at PRADA with Y/N

→ username idk who I want to be tbh 😫

username ughh they look so powerful wtf

username the fact that prada is literally being carried by THEM rn 😫😫

username Y/N's outfit is literally what dreams are made of

→ username ikr??? so angel coded

username can we talk about how matt's whole outfit is lowkey giving runway vibes?? boyfriend is LEVELING UP

→ username and for that we say THANK YOU Y/N 🙌🏻

username Y/N's accessories alone probably cost more than my whole apartment but like... worth it 😃

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liked by rosiehw, matthew.sturniolo, haileybieber and 14,528 others

ynsinstagram cause i love to love, to love, to love you 🤍

tagged: matthew.sturniolo

view all 7,365 comments

matthew.sturniolo that guy's pretty handsome

→ ynsinstagram very :) and an amazing photographer too

⤷ matthew.sturniolo with a muse like you, I have no doubts

⤷ username PARENTS ARE FLIRTING ‼️

username MY ROMAN EMPIRE

username how can you both be so damn hot?!

username they're the IT couple

username the way she's casually flexing that matt does her cartier for her like we're not all crying rn 😭

username he's so boyfriend material fuck 😭

nicolassturniolo cool pics and all, but where's my invite to the pasta tho?

→ ynsinstagram as if you didn't obligated us to bring some for you

⤷ username LMAO 😭😭 this is so nick coded

username EVERYONE PAUSE

username I want what these bitches have ;(

username she's truly one of the most beautiful women i've ever seen 😭

username omg he was taking pics of her??

→ ynsinstagram yes 😁

→ matthew.sturniolo always!

⤷ username WTF- HIIIII

⤷ username YOU'RE BOTH SO CUTE STOP

username why am I crying in the club rn

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liked by ynsinstagram, nathandoe8, tarayummyy and 12,588 others

matthew.sturniolo pizza in italy just hits different

tagged: ynsinstagram

view all 3,745 comments

username are yall breathing ok??

→ username no, actually going to the hospital rn

username bro went from youtube videos in sweatshirts to prada boy real quick

→ username AND I'M SO HERE FOR ITTTT

→ username don't you dare insult his sweatshirts 😔😔

nicolassturniolo matt driving in italy? 😱😱😱

→ matthew.sturniolo I can actually drive everywhere when I have a license, yk?

⤷ username clocked out 😭

username Y/N give me a chance pls pls pls

username fourth pic is peak boyfriendism 😭

username sooooooo dreamy omg I need this

username luckiest boy on the planet

→ ynsinstagram luckiest girl*

⤷ matthew.sturniolo nah, I win on that note, no one is luckier than me

⤷ username whipped

ynsinstagram 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕

→ matthew.sturniolo 🍕🍕🍕🍕

⤷ username best conversation ever

username I NEED IT I NEED IT

username matt's prada era AND his soft boyfriend era at the same time???

→ username and we all say THANK YOU Y/N 🙌🏻🙌🏻

tarayummyy every time you post her, my heart grows three sizes ;((( stop being so perfect

→ username we love a supportive bestie 😔

ynsinstagram italy has my heart and so do you, mio amato 🤍

→ matthew.sturniolo I promise I'm keeping it safe here 🖤

⤷ username I'm gonna throw up- THIS IS SO CUTE SHUT THE FUCK UP

username Y/N taking a picture of matt taking a picture of her 🙏🏻🙏🏻

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[the-nothing-maker]

Hmmm... I made a side blog to reblog/stash NSFW stuff, but now that I think about it, I'm actually unsure of what I would consider "too much" for this blog alone ?

I feel like I've established by now that this is a blog for mature audiences, and tagging explicit material more often than not leads to its termination, so I tend to just let nudity and suggestive stuff slide - kind of a "browse at your own risk" situation. But maybe I should be a little more careful 🤔 And I like the idea of a blog where I can easily find all of my nsfw stuff for future reference. I'm torn !

[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

[honeydewblogforwriting]

When you know you know

Summary: they’re convinced that they’re soulmates and they’re right.

Warnings: probably just typos

Uploaded to YouTube 30 minutes ago :

"Are you two a couple?", this question breaks the intimate bubble that you and your girlfriend had been trapped in as you swung your joined hands while strolling down the streets of San Francisco.

In front of you stands a young man with an eager expression and a digital camera.

Your girlfriend is the first of the couple to respond, "Yeah", she states with a large smile.

"Would you mind telling me the story of how you first met?"

"Oh yeah!", you excitedly respond.

"We met at a friend's birthday party. I thought she was really cute so I asked my friend to introduce us and then I moved in five days later."

"You moved in five days later?", the cameraman asks in a shocked tone.

Giggling, your partner states, "mhm in a business week"

"How did that happen?" Is the follow-up question.

"Well, the party was at her house and I just never left.", you giggle

"How long ago was that?"

"March of 2024"

"Wow, almost a year. What's your favorite thing about her?", the man behind the camera directs this question at your lover.

"Her gentleness. She's very gentle in all aspects of life. She's very patient, considerate, calm and receptive. She doesn't judge and her approach to life and interacting with others is to the point but not brash. She states her opinion but isn't rude about it. She makes me feel seen."

A warm blush coats your cheeks and you shyly sway on the spot.

There's a shift towards your direction and the previous question is repeated. You delicately toy with a beautiful necklace around your neck as you answer, "uhh everything. She's passionate, gentle, funny. She radiates warmth."

"We're doing a poll on if people believe in fate and the role it plays-"

Bright-eyed, you are the first to respond, "yes absolutely." You pivot your body towards her as you continue, "I feel like I knew you in like all of our past lives.". Your blonde-haired lover is quick to nod in agreement.

"What do you mean that you feel like you've known her in all your past lives?"

Nodding, you state, "I just feel extremely connected to her. Things have just been so comfortable and soothing."

"I've never heard a relationship being referred to as soothing. That's beautiful", the cameraman smiles.

Misty-eyed, the 6-foot young woman nods in agreement. You notice her prickling tears and quickly pull her in a comforting hug as you whisper, "I love you" in her ear. She repeats the sentiment as she tightens her arms around you. You stay in your tender embrace for a few moments longer. As you pull apart, you turn to the camera and state, "Thank you for this."

Behind the camera, the man nods with a genuine smile.

"What are you most excited for?"

You raise your left hand and wiggle your fingers, "our wedding." A shiny pear-shaped diamond engagement ring winks at the camera.

The Illinois native inches closer to you and her voice overlaps with yours as she points to your ring and state, "our wedding next year"

"Wow, thank you. Do you mind telling us your names?". Nodding in agreement, you take turns to respond with you going first. "Y/N L/N" "and Kate Martin".

Comments:

User1: okay so who’s the friend? 😭

🔂User2: I think it’s Jada. Her birthday is March and she tagged y/n in her birthday post. I tried to view y/n’s account but it’s private.

User3: so you’re telling me that Kate has been in a relationship before she even started playing for the Aces???

User4: so no one else finds it crazy that they started living together after five business days ? 😀

🔂User5: does it matter? They’re still together and intend to stay together

🔂User6: some of y’all don’t know the man for five business hours before y’all make them y’all babydaddies, be quiet please

User7: so you’re telling me that Y/N has been with Kate for her entire WNBA career so far ? 🥹🥹🥹

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[starberry-cupcake]

hello!! I'm back!!! *sitcom studio cheer sound*

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag for all the recaps

last recap I said Something was happening and it has!! we have a puppy now!!! her name is Dana (after Scully)!! this is her!!!

DAY TWO (one of the things mentioned is that honesty's job goes terribly wrong and I feel so bad because I forgot to point it out in my recap, even if it was something that looked sus af to begin with and I was concerned when I read about it)

CHAPTER 7 (second house skull, after pyrrha probably)

nona wakes up abruptly

someone told me in the last recaps that the bible chapters are when nona is sleeping, which I hadn't put together at all and I don't know if I should have or if I missed something important

in any case, nona starts telling camilla what she dreamt, which is not what was in the bible chapter, so idk what's going on with that

maybe the bible thing is what harrow is seeing and the dreams are what an amnesiac gideon is seeing????

we don't know yet

she's describing being with the "other person" who is touching her hands but they're not hers

"I'm touching my own hands but they aren't mine"

which is another one on the tally for the "this is gideon in harrow's body" theory

they're surrounded by red eyes in the darkness and she's very hungry

and they're holding hands

that's the dream

she was startled awake because camilla threw a sponge at her

nona freaked the hell out about that

remember when harrow was woken up by og!gideon trying to murder her in cold blood every morning? those were simpler times

also, nona is about to put on the tshirt from the cover which took me 25 years and @lady-harrowhark pointing it out to notice it was a burger

camilla asks her about the hands and nona says she didn't like them

and that she doesn't like having hands????

she's a bit infuriating sometimes ngl

I don't know what to do with this information

pyrrha talks about people becoming violent because shit is getting real

and she prepares some mush for them to eat at breakfast

she's also worried about camilla's soul (and life) due to whatever it is they're doing on the sites

palmolive, I swear to whatever god of your choosing

(that isn't dr reverend emperor john asshat)

if something happens to camilla on your watch

I'm gonna chase your nerdy ass all the way to your river loft and back

when they start talking about nona wanting a "six months alive" gift, pyrrha tells camilla how depressing and non-gift-giving the ninth house is

which she visited when anastasia got settled

nice to know things in the ninth never ever changed

they did have a gift, though

the gift of ortus's poetry

nona wants differently colored hair ties, to not push too far into pyrrha's limited budget

we'll see if we make it to the birthday, there's a countdown going on

when nona gets to school, honesty has a punch in the eye and she has to help him with it until teacher angel comes in

teacher angel is still looking very sus, with clothes in disarray and also the same ones from the previous day

hot sauce also comes in afterwards, which makes me think she might have been following teacher angel

she's on the case

hot sauce gets very upset asking honesty who punched him in the face

everyone's very upset and tense, except for kevin who's eating peacefully

we love kevin

so, honesty tells the story and starts from the worst place imaginable to explain something that happened with accuracy

which is the end

but that's fine, because the tension of the story is in the middle, so we get the narrative effect

we appreciate that

he's got a podcast in another life

honesty was about to go to the tunnel job but, turns out, it wasn't a tunnel job

it was actually a mad max job

and they get cocky and do more than they were planning to, which is never a good idea

so, by the third attempt, the guy who's been doing the dropping-in maneuver gets very spooked by what he finds in there

which is a lot of people with white eyes who look directly at him when he shows up

which prompts militia trucks to pull them over

so honesty runs the fuck out of there and gets smashed into a pole

depiction of honesty, ruby and born in the morning after the incident, had they been together:

honesty gets saved and cared for by some homeless folk

after his face got smashed into the pole

and he clarifies they were trying to steal from a convoy

which he would have said no to had he known the job before being taken to do it

he asks hot sauce to protect him

which hot sauce agrees to, but I think this is too much work for one hot sauce alone, especially if she's keeping an eye on everything else

nona offers her help, but is rejected, on account of being dumb

I wonder if nona will somewhat reveal her powers of healing protecting these kids at some point

OH, ALSO

teacher angel sus person mentioned not being technically a doctor but getting a crash course in triage

which, continues to be sus behavior

is teacher angel helping with the fights? with war? with secret confrontations?

we'll have to wait and see!!

THAT'S IT FOR NOW!! I haven't had a lot of time to read and recap and I'm currently falling asleep as we speak, so sorry for such a short one this time!!! ♥

[drawloverlala]

January status update

(˶ˆᗜˆ˵) So I'm back from my break! and I'm ready to start the year proper!

🌼Regarding commission info

I've been trying to update my carrd site, which is where my commission info is and also I've been trying to update some prices and such, but I haven't yet finished with that

I'm hoping to be able to do that and announce next commission date on Sunday at most though!

just really hoping the new layout of my card will be easy to navigate in general lol

though there's something I'd like to ask, I've been wondering which option is better should i take chibi and sketch page commissions on Ko-fi or do I take them on my email?

it's fine either way but I wonder which option would be easier for people to order 😅

🌼New listings?

and well besides that I'll be offering ink/black and white commissions! that is to say an ink drawing, I currently don't have too much examples though but I'm hoping to get some after I open commissions

and I want to add background options to the chibis! and I haven't made yet some examples but I'll probably be doing that later this week and I'll be also be making the line art a bit smoother!

I'm also thinking on adding some variations to the sketch pages

🌼Ko-fi shop

It may still not be open but I want to work on some new items for it! and I also gotta get some new supplies, this year I want to focus more on stickers but I won't stop with some stationary stuff like notebooks and bookmarks.

And well last year I really wanted to go sell to an art market here in my region, I applied to one but I didn't get chosen for it, which honestly was a good thing because I was very much unprepared and busy with commissions lol 😅

I'd like to try again this year so I'm hoping to set a better balance when it comes to the time I spend on making products and working on commissions.

so yeah that's all for now, really looking forward to giving my best this year!

I'll comment more on the things I did on my break on another blog post later this week, I'll also start using a different tag for these kind of status updates, so any info regarding commissions and shop isn't mixed up with personal or unrelated stuff 👍

I'll be also posting some commission work I did last year here! so yeah! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[actual-sleeping-beauty]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for the tags @paperstorm and @alrightbuckaroo! today for wip wednesday i present to you: nothing! just kidding, i would never do that, i will show you the temperature blanket at the end of this post, but first i have to tell you about my next project that i have been trying to start for 87 years since september. (if you are just here for the blanket, skip to the bottom of the read more.)

so, back in the summer @carlos-in-glasses posted her version of the step by step sweater by florence, and i thought, hey, this would be lovely to make for my grandfather! but the pattern uses wool yarn, and the man will not hand wash a garment. everything he owns has to be able to go in the washer and preferably the dryer, although i could probably convince him to air dry a sweater. maybe.

so anyway, i'm on the hunt for either a cotton or acrylic yarn that is soft enough to be comfortable as a sweater and the right thickness. i have gauge swatched two different yarns at this point. the michael's stores have very limited selections within these parameters, there isn't a joann's close to my college town, and i won't shop at hobby lobby because of the rampant homophobia and smuggling of human remains. so i've been stuck for a while, just endlessly gauge swatching and getting frustrated. (for the non-knitters, a gauge swatch is where you knit a small-ish section to make sure your yarn is the right thickness and you're using the right size needles.)

so then randomly my cousin sends me a youtube short of someone saying they made this sweater with pound of love from lion's brand, which is an acrylic yarn! my yarn woes may be over! of course, the colors i need are not available at the michael's, but that's okay, we're going out on tuesday night and we can check to joann's then. so we go to joann's at like, 7:45. the sign out front clearly says it is open from 9-9. all the light are on inside. the doors, however, are locked. my mom and i stood there for like five minutes knocking on the door and waiting for someone to show up, but it was just locked and seemingly abandoned by whoever had been working there? so anyway i STILL don't have the yarn i need and i am starting to think the universe doesn't want me to make this sweater. luckily i am more stubborn than the universe and i will persevere.

and now, the 2022 temperature blanket! i have been working on this blanket for so long that two of the yarn colors i originally picked have changed formulas lmao. but if i had bought all the yarn i needed originally i wouldn't have any space in my closet for clothes, so oh well.

as a reminder, this is the first temperature blanket, which is january to june 2022. mug for scale. it's very stretched out because it is so heavy. i rarely get to use it now that i'm home because my family loves it and always steals it.

THIS is the current wip. it is currently july through most of october 2022. again, mug for scale. i am finally free from the purgatory of purple and red and now i get to enter endless yellow territory. yippee!

tagging: @whatisamildopinion @strandnreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @welcometololaland @rmd-writes and whoever else wants to share!

[moonpie016]

---

This song just fits this.

My goodness, they're simpler in design.

Good!

.....And so the rambling begins.

Which I would consider this a oc rambling, I don't know what these dudes are anymore. Except for Myst. But fun.

Though I already explained stuff here.

(If ya wanna read or re-read.)

The wall of words underneath.

⬇️

💛

Soooo.

Illy (she/her)

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

First one up. Not much has changed honestly. Still trying to have some calculated way of thinking about things, either logically or critically. It's a struggle for her.

But likes using whatever knowledge she has to idk, rant? Spout random facts?

She's just minding her own business unless it IS her business. (Or nosy).

She has glasses now. Yay! Great! She can read without straining her eyes!

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

💛

---

💜

Waxing (he/they)

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

I kinda stole the name Waxing from an old oc of mine, sooo that's his name now. Old oc has no name now. :]

A new thing (other than the headphones) is that the center of his hoodie can basically become or resemble a pit.

Because that's how any strong emotion feels. Usually negative ones. He hates it, Illy tries to make Wax calm down with reasons he shouldn't be anxious, but falls out the window.

💜

It only works if he's not too worked up. Man's eyesight is....ok. Not the best, because unlike his other part, he has to squint at most things. Like words on signs and stuff. Why doesn't he just copy his other half? Idk. He's stubborn. And character design reasons.

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

---

❤️

Seeds (She/he/they)

Myst (she/her)

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

Imma just put Seeds and Myst together here.

Because they're basically one in the same. Yes, Seeds' jacket has stuff on it, I probably will draw something with more stuff on the jacket. (Because I didn't know what else to think of.)

The one side of his face is more expressive than the other. Mostly because each one of these guys looks upset every waking moment.

(They're not, they just look like that.)

But I guess it's to show being more comfortable in being expressive and just not feeling comfortable and trying to... understand the room. Confusion.

Is their goal the same as the album? No. They're all technically "whole", but don't understand anything about this life stuff. It's weird, tricky, and overall odd.

Living in a nice relaxing Void™ is all they know. But taking a step into unknown territory is the what they want, an adventure.

(Depending on whatever adventure really means to them. Or me.) Breaking out of this weird shaped shell. Because the world is scary.

Too much scary stuff that makes Wax retreat to his safe space, and essentially brings his other counterparts with him.

She's more honest and blunt about everything. Even when she's trying not to be. Her cold face, her voice. Always been how she's characterized in my head.

Myst doesn't like this because she knows that this isn't ok. But the others, especially Seeds and Wax just... don't do anything.

But, she and Illy continue to try and strive for new things. Even when the other two challenge them.

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

🩵

---

I really need to update tags on certain stuff.

Ok, I think I've ramble enough again.

But hope you enjoyed this... random redesign/ LORE (not really lore.). :3

---

[heoneyology]

TAEYOUNG ≫ C H E E S E

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Cite your sources.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[vulpixelates]

i know it will never happen but i so desperately desire an origins-type playable backstory thing in all games but especially veilguard. i feel like it added so much depth to origins and made you feel instantly connected to your character in a way that gets lost in games like inquisition where you fill in the blanks as you go except for the bare basics. like, i do enjoy the freedom to willy nilly decide where a character was before the events of the story from a creative perspective, but the playable origins were just so good! especially when you go back to where your warden is from and can engage differently with the arcs there

[egophiliac]

Hi it's just to let you know that the official romanization of Revaan's name is Raverne ! Also they have romanized Baul's name to Baur !

Twst coming back at us again with the least expected romanization! thank you everybody (oh god my inbox) (no it's great, I literally asked for this and the reactions have been INCREDIBLE, thank you all!)

I do like Raverne though, I think it's got a nice fancy sound to it! (I had kinda suspected it was going to be an R instead of an L, so the fact that it's SO close to Laverne except for that is hilarious to me personally.) and Dragoneye Duke is honestly probably the best translation for his title, I wasn't envying the localizers that one. :') Baur instead of Baul I was NOT expecting, but in retrospect I think his name's supposed to be a reference to the Bauru crocodile, so that actually makes way more sense!

someone else also said Meleanor has become Maleanor, which is the REALLY weird one to me, because I was so surprised it was written as Mel instead of Mal in the first place?! oh god no I can't decide which one I like better. 😭 (I wonder if they might change it to Mal...they have made romanization changes before) (like I remember House of Distraction being corrected to House of Destruction in Playful Land) (I did check and she's still Mel for now, but I dunno, they might Mal her up and some point and save me from having to make a decision about which one to use) (HECK I CAN'T DECIDE)

uhhhh thank you for letting me ramble about anime names, let's just say MONOGRAMMED SWEATERS FOR EVERYONE

[krazieka2]

Here's a big old Fire Emblem Search & Find I did for the FE3H Masquerade Zine! Find the Golden Deer, but see if you can't find the rest of the students as well! For the ultimate challenge, see if you can't name every character! (Disclaimer two characters are NPCs with no names)

[wasyago]

we're at it again🕺

[marigraphia]

I've had this pose ref saved for a while and the Superman set photos just gave off the same energy 👉🏻👈🏻

The reference is this photo of Katharine Hepburn as Antiope and Colin Keith-Johnston as Theseus in the 1932 play 'The Warrior's Husband' (and I'd love for people to turn into a draw your otp meme pls pls pls this pose is so good)

And also, of course, the Superman (2025) set photos

[dreamytfw]

Can we please not fucking do the bullshit "if you still like [insert media here] after this news, you're a HORRIBLE person who hates victims and wants rapists to thrive" thing?

I'm a victim of several different types of abuse. I use stories to escape my trauma. Do not DARE tell me that something I got emotionally invested in BEFORE learning about the horrific things the creator did means I'm an awful person. You know who says shit like that? Abusive people. You know how I know that? Because that's one of the control tactics my abuser used against me.

Fuck all of you who are using this to play fandom police and feel morally superior to people who are struggling to come to terms with something horrific right now.