#wild sweet william

[vandaliatraveler]

Part 2: Early Summer Wildflower Palooza, Cranberry Glades. During the first week of July, as the orchids are peaking in the bogs and seeps, the first wave of summer wildflowers, including the milkweeds and beebalms, arrives in earnest, bringing a blaze of color to open meadows and bog and forest margins. In the old growth woods of the adjacent Cranberry Wilderness, an array of strange and beautiful fungi sprout from moss-covered logs and the forest floor.

From top: tall meadow rue (Thalictrum pubescens), also known as king of the meadow, a wetlands-loving perennial whose distinctive, cream-colored flowers are composed of thread-like stamens only; meadow phlox (Phlox maculata), also known as wild sweet William and spotted phlox, easily distinguished from other phlox species by its red-spotted stems; mountain wood sorrel (Oxalis montana); a ramp (Allium tricoccum) flower, which emerges in early summer on a leafless stalk, after the foliage has died back; a shiny hemlock varnish shelf (Ganoderma tsugae) assailed by pleasing fungus beetles (Megalodacne), rarely seen because they hide under leaf litter during the day and feed on Ganoderma fungi at night; a lovely colony of crown-tipped corals (Artomyces pyxidatus); the beguiling fringed loosestrife (Lysimachia ciliata), an aggressively-colonizing perennial that makes for a shady ground cover in native wildflower gardens; and that blazingly-beautiful mint, scarlet beebalm (Monarda didyma), whose storied history as a medicinal herb stems from its antiseptic and stimulant properties.

[faguscarolinensis]

Saponaria officinalis / Common Soapwort at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[i-identify-plants-in-pictures]

Saponaria officinalis / Wild Sweet William

[topoet]

In the Garden June 2024

June blooms in the garden – some, like the poppy, gone already – sweet william pansies poppy wild flowers flox hosta dusty miller astilbes orange daylilies

[z0mbiesnoon]

yeah !!! yeaaahhh.... !!

i had to im completely hyperfixated on this silly little arg

template by @fetusmeme

[atyourmerci]

☀︎To the light is to the darkness✩

Abby X reader X Ellie

Prologue to vengeance (can be read alone)

☀�� ☀︎

Summary: Abby is your childhood best friend, you did everything together, taught each other everything. You were utterly infatuated with each other until Ellie Williams enters your world.

Warning: smut, MDNI, porn w lots of plot, innocence arc, mutual pining, lots of sexual tension, mutual masturbation (in the same room, together), fingering if you squint, useless lesbians, lesbian love triangle, abby needs a hug, phoebe bridgers as her own warning, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader

A/N: okay so holy fuck did I get carried away with this one. I didn’t want to leave yall on a cliffhanger but this dynamic deserves more and I don’t want to rush through it. I hope yall enjoy. This chapter is mostly just abby but there will be lots more Ellie in the next chapter promise :)

✩ ✩

“Someone you couldn’t lose. You said we’re not together, so now when we kiss I have anger issues.”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

A relationship that felt more of interlacing two souls into one that resided in two structures. Shared autonomy of mind, breath, word, and body. Unspoken feelings, touches, and stares.

What started in green fields of pink flowers and brown roots ended in dark rooms and pining embraces. Hand shakes turning into interlaced fingers, laughter filled glances turning into tense stares, and experimental pecks turning into open mouthed pants.

The first time you meet abby was at school at 15. Bright eyed and bushy tailed still untainted from the reality of the world around you. You were quite shy in those years, keeping yourself away from the wild hairs of children ready to grow up and take charge. You were okay with the stability of childhood, the sticky sweet feeling of safety and uncharted terror.

Before Abby’s dad had died, before the muscles and long locks of golden blonde hair she was reserved too. Abby was wrapped in a bubble of comfort, a loving community that doted on her. She felt no need to join the crowd of chaos when she had everything she needed.

Well she thought she did…and then she met you.

In class you had your face shoved into a notebook doodling away of ferns and dandelions you had seen in the fields early that day. If it were up to you, you’d spend every last dying breath in the fields, soaking in sunlight and trailing your fingers through the rows of flowers.

Abby sat next to you in class, always too shy to speak up to you. You always seemed so busy, either reading, drawing, or with your head in the clouds, never truly listening to the lecture ahead. She admired your creativity, attention to detail, and the utter sense of unawareness to your surroundings. She wondered why you didn’t talk to the others, you were so inviting, so pretty. She once wished to look like you, how effortlessly magnificent you looked.

She grew too curious, over zealous at the thought of being close to you, understanding you. She knew she had to speak up.

“H-hey you draw pretty cool- I mean- it’s really good…what you draw.”

You had never taken more than a glance at the freckled girl until then. She always seemed just as busy as you, so you never bothered her.

You let out a bellied laugh at the now crimson red faced girl- completely embarrassed by her attempt at recognition.

And that was that. The two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip from then on out.

Abby seemed to understand your weird quirks and odd fascinations. Even when she didn’t, she was there open minded and wide eyed to hear your lengthy ramblings on about nothingness.

Sometimes it felt like you did most of the talking. Not that it was one sided or you wouldn’t let her butt in, but rather she was completely enamored by what you thought. Sometimes all she wanted to do was to hear you talk, you were her favorite person, the own mold of herself.

She wanted to think what you thought, feel what you felt, see the world through your eyes.

17

As the years went on you only seemed to grow closer to abby as she grew fonder of you.

Some could call it an obsession, the way you treated each other. Not a single thought went by that the other didn’t know. If you were there, so was abby. If you knew something, so did she.

Everyday she would follow you to the fields after school, your special escape you’d learn to share with the other half of your being.

You’d make her lay across the flower ridden fields so you could draw her glistening hair kissed by the whisk of wind. She let her hair grow longer since you’d ask to braid it for her every morning. She liked it short but she wanted to let you have room to make intricate designs and lace them with weeds you’d found.

Abby would playfully nudge you when you’d draw the hump on her nose in the drawings, but you loved it too much to not appreciate it. You loved all the things she couldn’t in herself.

You two spent hours out in the field daily, even when it rained you’d make her dance around like fairies as mud splattered across your shins. Anything you wanted, she’d do as long as it was with you.

That’s when you asked her to try kissing, she’d obliged.

“Have you ever…kissed anyone?” You ask staring off into the cloud painted sky, tall grass framing your bodies.

She lets out a breathy giggle, “no… you would know if I did.”

You shrug, shoulder crashing gently into hers, “I don’t know, maybe it was too embarrassing to say.”

She trails off, “h-have you?”

“No dumbass you would know…” you push your shoulder into her turning to give her a toothy smile, “what if I’m not good when a boy kisses me?”

Her eyes remained trained onto the pillowy cloud, “you can try on me- I-if you want to.”

It was a good idea, she wasn’t going to judge you, she was your best friend, she was only there to help.

“Okay.” And without a second thought your upper body shot up and lent over hers, pressing your lips into her plush pink ones. It was gentle, only a placement amongst the flesh, yet so charged. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach and up to your throat, something you had only felt once before when you and abby went swimming.

Closeness you thought. Being close to someone causes that. How nice it was to be so close to your favorite person, maybe one day you could feel close to someone again.

After that you continued to experiment kissing. At sleepovers you’d talk about the boys you wanted to kiss, then show each other how you would kiss them. It turned into an innocent routine, pecking her before she would leave, kissing her in the fields when you felt the butterflies.

You’d told her about them- the fluttering in your stomach. Whenever you felt them she told you that she wanted to feel them too. Transferring them through the soft pink flesh, she’d say she’d feel them after.

Soon she’d tell you when she got them, to which you’d return the gesture back. As time went on, the butterflies came more often.

People were starting to notice the relationship, started talking about how close the two of you were. You’d shoo off the irrational comments and over zealous accusations, but abby never did. She just didn’t respond.

“Who am I to ask for more? But you’re breathing in my open mouth. You’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out.”

18

Abby started spending the night daily, she practically lived in your room at that point. After her dad died your relationship grew stronger than ever. In such a treacherous time she clung to the only person who truly understood her. Many a nights she spent huddled into a ball in your lap weeping as you smoothed the hair behind her ear and rubbing circles into the grown muscles in her back.

Abby had taken to working her emotions out in physical labor. Now being a solider full time out of school she had grown muscular and more rough. Her heart was still the same for you, but had grown caged off to the people around you.

Her pleasantries for the rest of the community had grown stale, only allowing a few to get near her. But you… there was always an indefinite spot inside her for you.

Since abby was always around now, in the darkness of every night, privacy had flown right out the window. Not that you had minded- there wasn’t much of really anything abby didn’t know or hadn’t seen.

But when that eery sense of familiarity crept up, when the butterflies would come at night.

She had started out sleeping on the extra bed in your room. Before she had practically moved in she’d sleep with you, but since her stay turned to no vacancy she’d taken to given you the last sense of space, even when you hadn’t asked.

In the middle of darkness as the crickets chirped outside the window you’d tell her the feeling had come back, and she’d always agree, and the room would fall silent again.

“Abby?” You call out to a darkened room, illuminated by the shine of the moon.

“Yeah?” She’d call back from the other side.

“Do you ever…fix the feelings of the butterflies. Like make them go away?”

“Uh yeah- sometimes…when it gets bad.”

“I think mine are…bad right now,” it felt embarrassing almost, there was nothing she could do to help, fix your issue. Transferring the butterflies to abby only made them worse sometimes, and you were boiling.

“M-mine too,” she admits.

“You can fix it- if you need to.”

“A-re you going to stop yours?”

“Is that okay?” You say reluctantly into the tense air coating you. Every slight move felt with a million nerves.

“Mhmm,” she responds, a rustling heard coming from her direction.

Soft hums filled the air from the feeling of release you had allowed yourself in the presence of your best friend. Abby’s breathy moans would only follow quickly after your own, never before.

Dual release become a routine. Allowing the sticky sweet sensations of climaxing in the same bedroom of your other half. It became another thing you shared with her, another check on the list of the endeavors you’d participated in with her.

Talks of the butterflies and the unleashing of them never left those four chipping walls. Some things were meant for just Abby’s ears. All best friends must do the same. You’d never heard of others talk of sorts so you sealed your lips, a secret kept like a bird in a cage.

As you both had grown accustomed to the routine things gradually got more intense. Sometimes you couldn’t get the butterflies to fly away even when you tried for hours, panting out whimpers of frustration. Even when they would go away sometimes they would crept back in immediately, your body unable to be satiated.

Abby begun sleeping in the bed with you, to calm the frustrating unnerve you felt after no avail. She’d tell you she wish she could help you, make them go away. She’d do anything to make you happy.

That’s when you started touching yourselves next to each other. The routine was upheld for so long that it felt natural to do it even when she was right next to you. First fully covered, then in undergarments, to finally completely bare.

Seeing Abby’s bare flesh only made it worse. You weren’t stupid, the pieces were falling into place before your eyes. But you hadn’t seen anyone else naked before, maybe it would be the same. Her flesh so pale, her nipples shades of pale pink roses, and the hair that trailed down to her folds as golden as wheat. You had never seen something so magnificent, so beautifully crafted.

That was something you didn’t share with her. The drawings of her bare flesh. You made sure to memorize each chisel, line, and freckle to be as accurate as possible once you got to your notebook. With every piece of her revealed opening thousands of opportunities to draw her art. She was so fucking beautiful.

“When was the first time?” The auburn girl had asked you.

It all had meshed into a blur, what had happened and when it did. When you and abby had started sleeping together it started on opposite ends. Heat not close enough to sting your flesh but the air still tense enough to be cut clean with a blade. As time grew on and the routine becoming daily, the space between you started to close in. Knees brushing as your legs wavered, arms transferring sticky sweat in the blistering heat of arousal.

The inevitable placement of foreheads touching as you watched each other fall apart, watching the butterflies flutter out of her throat with every pant.

From what you could call the ‘beginning’ of sorts, rather an act of mercy, came from her.

You found yourself in the familiar position of unnerve. Rubbing aimless quick circles on your abused clit. It became a matter of principle at the point, needing to fulfill the urge even knowing the outcome would leave you more helpless than before. Abby’s butterflies were far gone, now rubbing lazy stripes down her slit in attempt to not let you feel alone. She never wanted you to feel like she wasn’t completely enthralled by your every move.

Your leg sprawled across her own, wide open, bucking your hips into the air as you let out frustrated grunts, eyes sealed shut in concentration. She just watched. She loved watching you touch yourself. Abby felt like the luckiest girl in the world getting to watch you, kiss you, feel you. She wanted to feel more of you, every atom in your body she’d kiss if you’d allow it.

“Let me help” she said, eyes trained on your open mouth.

Your brain was too fuzzy to even comprehend the depth of the act, so pent up and eager.

“Mhmm,” was all you could muster up. As her calloused fingers transferred from her skin to your abdomen, your body jolted up. You had never been touched by another. Not like this. She took her time running the tips of her fingers from your side to the mound, taking your hand and moving it your thigh so she could replace it with her own.

Something deep in your belly erupted when you felt her fingers meet your clit. A flock of doves released from their cage, a gasping goldfish meeting water. An exaggerated sigh of relief came out as a depraved moan. Every nerve in your body heightened by her gentle touch.

She drew cautious and attentive swipes across the newly swollen bud, watching for when your breath would hitch.

“You’re so warm,” she said studying your face as it contorted in pleasure. Your chin raised high, burying your scalp into the frilly pillows below. She had then studied the flesh around your neck, oh why had she never noticed that. How thin the skin was there, how close she could get to you in that space.

“I-it feels b-better when you do it,” you admit to her, water in her hands, hips grinding into the soft touch of her. “Y-yeah really?” She says, perking up, so pleased with knowing she could make you feel better. She’d do anything to make you feel better.

You let your stagnant hand run down her chiseled chest to meet her mound, her sticky slit pooling at her core. You meant to return the favor, an eye for an eye. “It’s okay- just let me help you.”

You shook your head in agreement, but let your hand rest on the pulsing flesh, you wanted to feel her like she felt you.

With every gentle circle she took you closer to release. It was so much faster when she did it. When you did it together before you would lie there for hours flicking at the raw skin to no avail, but in minutes she had you tipping at your edge.

Her strokes felt akin to the ones on your notebook, gentle and cautious direction, seeking a desirable outcome. You’d thought to picture this, able to recreate this on paper shielded from her eyes. What would she think if she saw them? Maybe you’d grown too fond of the other half of your heart.

“Abby!” You scream out, nearing your pending release.

“Y-yeah? D-does it feel okay- are you okay?” She perks up in concern, helplessly worried she had hurt you.

“Yes- Yes! It- it’s coming,” you pant out, body slick with sweat as your arousal pools below you. A sloppy mess of bodies interlaced with remorseless pleasure.

“Let me feel them, I want to feel them,” abby says inches from your face, intently watching the contortions of your face below her. The butterflies, oh how she wished she could flutter in your tummy as they do so effortlessly.

You cave shamelessly, pressing into the soft pink flesh. You try to keep them stable, but as you reach the cliffs edge you can’t help but moan pathetically into her throat. Your hips thrust into the calloused fingers, chasing the lasting feelings of her, escaping your doom and passing the burden through your lips onto hers.

You did draw of this, and every time after that. It became an obsession, mental images snapshotted to accuracy for replication later.

The routine increased in frequency and intensity. Exploring each other’s most sacred places. She would let you touch her sometimes, but only when she was touching you. Abby seemed more interested in your pleasure than her own. But she cared about you, she never wanted you unsettled. She wanted to be your salvation.

“I ask you how you’re doing and I let you lie. But we don’t have to talk about it, I can walk you home and practice method acting. I’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning.”

19

“Does she make you feel them?”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

Ellie Williams was so…vulgar, erratic, a ticking time bomb. The pieces of the puzzle connected at last when you lied eyes on the auburn haired girl.

She had entered the WLF as gentle as a bomb to a building. Fiery hot attitude, a chip on her shoulder, and drowning green eyes. At first glance she utterly captivated your ever fleeting thoughts.

When she first walked through the corridors of the stadium your eyes fixed on her, staring rudely at her every move. “Who is that, the girl?” You ask the unfazed blonde next to you, too busy working at sharpening a blade, “names Ellie, they say she’s trouble. By the looks of her, checks out.”

“What did she do? Why is she here?” You continue your glare, taking note of the pink scare rippled along the crest of her eye.

You had never drawn anyone other than abby, but the girls features were so strong, the strokes would come naturally in your grasp. A secret muse possibly, even from a far.

“I don’t know- stay away from her. She reeks of trouble,” she’d remark, finishing off the blade and leading you off to a pending mission.

You tried, you really did. She was so compelling, and you? You were a bee to honey. Was she soft unlike her features? Did she speak of the world beyond her? Did she like to watch the clouds mesh into unlikely objects? Did she know of the butterflies and their ever present existence in your lungs?

Your notebook grew of only her, the short frayed hair, the pink scare, the freckles that littered her face. So effortlessly magnificent she was, unknowingly your own secret work of art.

Until abby found them.

Related to this work

Song lyrics: casual , waiting room , cool about it

Moodboard

If you enjoy the childhood best friend trope with abby highly recommend this fic by @kieranscaren she writes beautifully and gave me great inspiration for this work:)

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[salem-witch-slut]

Keep The Pressure Up (18+)

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader x Abby Anderson

SYNOPSIS: Ellie and Abby love to tease you and torture you. But tonight, they want to see how far you can actually go.

WARNINGS: OVERSTIMULATION, eating pussy, strap-on usage, lots of swearing, slight mental abuse, polyamory, face-sitting, Ellie is brutal as hell, Abby is the caring one here, NSFW AF

WORD COUNT: 2K

A/N: This was probably one of my most favorite smut pieces I did for kinktober last year. I mean, it's still october right? I'll post it again! Also, this should go without saying, but don't steal my shit and then post it on wattpad as your own. Someone did that with this fic and just switched Ellie's name so it was fuckin' Billie Eilish and Abby (make that make sense), but do NOT steal my work.

Dividers made by @cafekitsune

 “Abby, fucking hold her!”

“You think it’s easy? She squirms around too much!”

“Unbelievable; you’re built like a goddamn tank, and you can’t even hold her still.”

“You think it’s so fuckin’ easy? You hold her then!”

“Fine! Move, bitch. I got this.”

The shuffle on the bed was bordering on distracting as the two switched positions overtop of you. The blonde that attempted to hold down your squirming legs was now grabbing at both of your wrists with one hand, holding it over your head while picking up the discarded vibrator on the bed next to her.

The redhead had replaced her spot, cold hands digging into your shins and shoving your legs apart as far as you’d allow without trying to hurt you, keeping them down and letting them both see your glistening cunt that was slightly gaped out and dripping with the aftermath of the two stretching you out with the fat silicone toy resting on the nightstand.

You had already cum at least three times, but they weren’t finished with you. As much as you fought against them, they were relentless. At first it was simply Ellie holding your arms down and towering over you as Abby put her mouth to good use and licked your cunt until you were crying. Her hair was long undone from her braid and wild in golden waves around her head, tickling against your thighs as she feasted upon you.

But Ellie got impatient. After too long, she grabbed Abby by the hair and forced her to look up, demanding that they switch spots. You sobbed pathetically. Abby was the champion when it came to strapping you two, but Ellie? Ellie ate pussy like she was starving. You knew you didn’t stand a chance.

They traded off every few minutes, exchanging a few sweet kisses between each other before deciding on the ultimate torture for you. Abby kept your wrists pinned to your head and kept the vibrator in her hand, turning the toy on and pressing it against your lower stomach just to tease you.

“What do you think, babe?” Abby looked at Ellie who was grinning like a madwoman. “Think she needs more, doesn’t she?”

“A-Abby…” You looked up at the blonde who was biting her lip and pressed a little kiss to your cheek. “C-Can’t…”

“Oh, yes you can,” Abby ignored your fear and pressed the vibrator directly on your clit, smirking when you attempted to squirm away, but Ellie kept you down on the bed. “You will take it… gonna make you cum until we decide when it’s enough.”

The noise you made was borderline feral. You made a guttural cry of pleasure and Ellie laughed at your voice cracking. Her nails raked across your skin and admired how your hips twitched, bucking up against the vibrator in Abby’s massive hand and admiring how her veined hands flexed in place to keep it on your clit.

It hurt, but it felt so fucking good. You wanted them to stop, but also wanted more. You loved being the center of attention, and adored how they were trying so hard to make you speechless and a blubbering mess at their mercy. As if they didn’t make you like that all of the time anyway…

“Sit on her face,” Ellie said, almost like she was desperate to see more. Her hands flexed aggressively and you flinched when she touched a vein behind your knee, making your leg jerk. Abby looked up at Ellie, biting her lip and then licking over the teeth marks. “Go on. She keeps on screamin’, she needs to use that mouth.”

“Ellie—” Abby warned.

“Just fucking do it, Abby!” Ellie demanded. It was like she was also getting off to watching this, heart pounding as she held you down into the mattress. Abby shared a look with you and momentarily removed the vibrator from your pussy, making you gurgle on a breath of relief.

Ellie was getting impatient as she released your legs and crawled up closer, yanking the vibrator away from Abby’s hand and went back for the harness that Abby had discarded earlier. You were very distracted, watching the blonde strip off her black boxers and swing her leg over the side of your head, her pussy mere inches from your face.

“Fuck…” You salivated, hands reaching up and gently grabbing her ass, squeezing and playing with her strong muscle and making her blush with embarrassment. Had she been in her right mind, she would have been teasing you about having a thing for her ass, but it was your turn to knock the breath from her. “So fucking pretty.”

Abby bit her lip and rolled her eyes back for a second, reveling in your tongue against her slit and gently grinding down against your face. “Nnnn… that’s it pretty girl… just like that… just fuck—E-Ellie, what are you—“

The redhead grabbed a fistful of Abby’s long hair and kissed her desperately. She wiggled her way between your legs and Abby knew something was different when she felt your dull teeth graze her clit and she looked down to see Ellie sinking her strap inside of your pussy with little to no warning.

In protest, your hands began to smack at Abby’s rear, almost desperately begging for Ellie to slow down, but she refused. You screamed into the blonde’s cunt. In between huffs of pleasure, Abby told the redhead how you must have been feeling. “E-Ellie, Ellie slow down! It’s too much for her.”

Ellie chuckled. “Fucking bullshit, I saw you damn near fist her the other day… Not gonna fit? I’ll fucking make it fit.”

Abby held your thighs open and began to slowly rub your clit, trying to ease out more wetness from you and get your pussy nice and slick so you could easily take Ellie. A few extra seconds passed before Ellie grabbed you by the waist and slammed down inside of you. The tip of her massive toy cock kissed your cervix and you shrieked into Abby’s pussy.

Everything felt so overwhelming, and you thought you were drowning, and it wasn’t because Abby was wetter than a damn waterfall. There wasn’t much you could do other than keep licking and slurping on Abby’s clit like you were made to please her.

“Shit… fuck, she’s so good at this,” Abby praised you, rubbing one hand over your belly while the other reached up and grabbed the back of Ellie’s neck. “M-Made a really good choice with her, d-didn’t we El?”

Ellie was thrusting wildly, grip around your waist as she split you apart on her strap, pushing her forehead against Abby’s and peppering her handsome face in kisses like she couldn’t get enough of this woman in front of her. If she wasn’t being so rough, this moment may have been really cute and sweet.

“Wanna make her cum again…” Ellie huffed, rolling her hips and touching so deep inside of you with her dick that you saw stars behind your eyes. She scrambled forward, grasping the vibrator and when she pressed it to your clit where Abby’s hand was, you started screaming into Abby’s pussy once again.

Abby wanted to hear you, so she crawled off your face and sat down right next to you, watching how you squirmed and trembled in place, grabbing at Ellie’s wrist and trying to find some form of pause in her movements. There was none. Ellie wasn’t stopping. She had far too much stamina to let up any fucking time soon.

“Come on- Come on baby,” Ellie growled, her thrusts growing harder and harder with every passing second. You didn’t stand a chance. The buzzing of the vibrator, how she was hammering into your cervix, and the way that Abby was holding you at the shoulders to keep you down.

The noise you made when you finally climaxed was enough for Ellie to roll her eyes back in response, basking in the sounds you made. “Fuuuuuuck! Ohmygod, OHMYGOD! Ohfuckfuck! Nnnnnn…!! S-Stop! Stopstopstop Elliepl-please I c-cant—”

She didn’t turn off the vibrator or stop fucking you when you came. Abby had never seen her like this, and she was staring in wonder as her wife destroyed you without any form of mercy in her body. Her tattooed forearm flexed, and she pushed her other hand down into your abdomen, fucking deep into your cunt and watching you start to sob and shake against Abby’s hold.

“Not a chance, little slut,” Ellie barked meanly, angling the vibrator against your clit to give the maximum stimulation. Your hands grabbed at Abby’s arms, nails digging in and the blonde was so out of it that she almost didn’t notice your grip at all. She was too busy watching Ellie and how she was basically torturing you. That smirk on the redhead’s face was so beautiful and so terrifying… “You’re gonna cum again.”

You sobbed brokenly, squirming and thrashing around on the bed as your hips bucked upward, doing anything and everything to shake her off so she would pull the vibrator away, but this woman was uncompromising. Nothing in hell could stop her from making you cum again.

“Ellie,” Abby said, trying to gain her wife’s attention. She was seeing the tears streaming down your face and how your thighs were shaking so bad that you looked like you were going to break. “Ellie, you gotta let up—”

“She’s got one more in her,” Was all Ellie said, looking down at your pathetically whiny face and seeing how your eyes were rolling back in your head and you started screaming bloody murder. The neighbors definitely hated you all at this point. “Come on baby… cum one more time and I’ll stop…”

Your clit was going numb, and you wished her thrusts would stop, but you were falling into the dark again. The pleasure was blinding, and you had no choice but to comply with Ellie’s words. Your climax this time was so intense that your vision went spotty and you lost your voice, heart racing and eyes crossing so bad that Ellie started laughing.

“Fuck, look at her Abby,” Ellie teased, wiggling the vibrator around on your clit and pulling out more screams from you. “Look at how fucked dumb she is…”

“Ellie,” Abby reached out and grabbed her wife’s wrist, carefully removing the vibrator from your cunt and turning it off. “Ellie, ease up…”

The redhead complied this time, slowing her thrusts and then carefully removing her strap from you. A white ring was around the base of the cock, and she smirked, pulling off the harness and flopping down onto the bed next to you. She left soft little kisses on your neck and cheek, Abby following her lead and pushing the hair away from your face.

Your focus was only on breathing. Your muscles twitched a little and you felt like everything was going dark, eyes fluttering closed and body going completely limp on the mattress.

Abby chuckled and gently caressed your face. “That’s it, sweet girl… you get some rest, did so good for us, didn’t you?”

“Prettiest little fucktoy we could ever have,” Ellie taunted, kissing your face and then kissing Abby’s face.

“Really did a number on her, didn’t we?”

Ellie snorted. “We? Please, I did everything.”

“Oh, bullshit, you did not!”

“Yeah? You wanna bet on that?”

Before Abby and Ellie could prove their dominance by fucking each other, you let out a whine of protest and grabbed at Ellie’s waist, holding her down onto the bed and whining. “Don’t go anywhere… please…”

Ellie smirked, loving when you got clingy and whiny like an attached puppy. She fell down onto her back and turned to her side, holding you close and resting her head on the pillow above yours. Abby sighed, ignoring the throbbing in her cunt as she laid down next to you, gently rubbing your tummy and soothing your trembling muscles.

“Once she’s rested,” Abby breathed slowly, looking up to meet Ellie’s eyes. “We’re gonna double-team you.”

Ellie snorted. “Good luck doming me. Couldn’t even hold her down.”

“Ugh, can’t wait to fuck that attitude out of you.”

[astralnymphh]

𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥!𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞: 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬.

note: just had this thought. this half-pure and mundane—but intimate thought about cowgirl!ellie again. what did we expect. mdni. suggestive themes. meant to be pictured in the wild west. discord. kofi.

trouble is found rearing godless heads in your pastures—as usual. be it animal, heretic or a trespassing posse, the homestead you search for solace in happens to be in an unfortunate area. men are the worst of them; with a saloon right in town vicinal to it, roisterers who stumble out this far do so with affected intentions, none of them good, lord-ridden ones.

now, what confounds you is the neglect to prepare you for these trespassers. it should be taught as a standard, right? wrong, you guess; father is the one neglecting this option. instead, he hires someone else. a girl-else. real beautiful one, too. nothin' wants a bargaining with her—their life, sidled against her gun in slim, muscled arms that tan in the neat, whiskey sun. hell, you wouldn't either. she spits on the metal barrel to wipe it down.

her total occupation is to ensure your solace, security—and happiness. however the last is achieved, is a secret kissed and not told.

she is awful sweet. an emobidment of rot-in-the-tooth, but it eases inside with small ligatures of addiction, following without a cause. she inhales sharp and long after pulling the rim of a glass from her heart-drawn lips, muttering, “damn, that time already?” and with squinted eyes in the shade of her hat—she looks too fuckin' cute. the chair she sits in groans under her shifting. “mhh—gotta hunt the perimeters. can't let no hounds claim a sheep-sized snack tonight, right?”

nothing but the words 'hunt' and 'hounds' trails into your ears. nothing other than the illicit escape to adventure unravels your knees to straighten and flips your head in her gunpowder-scented direction—the scent that lives in this house. she connects sights with you when your seat shifts, too: smug-faced. as though ms. williams expects a question to slip from that ever-quiet mouth. well, you part your lips for breath, and she beats you to it.

“wanna come?” that shotgun you wore intrigued eyes for—minus the cowgirl offerin' it—gets slinged over her shoulder. it fits the shape like a damn sleeve. “can't sit there playin' pretty all 'yer life—and i know you don't want to.” fuck, her salve-warm tone enraptures you.

the weald outside is grand in-person compared to what a window provides. chirps ring, but a growl can drag through the hollows and one can never be honest as to where it originates from. she states this in an earnest manner: with the pressure of her hand imprinting warmth to your chemise, onto your waist. “aim it down a little more. right.. there.” she pushes her voice so low in her chest, it turns her careful speech into intoxicating rasps. you get so lost, so distracted, she has to calibrate you herself—three of those fingers touching your arm. “there you go.” you can feel the shape of her vowels dust against your nape.

then, her leather-rough finger is guiding yours into the trigger loop, resting on top of it. “'n this part, i don't gotta explain. but you be mindful of it, yeah?” she turns, and the point of her nose respositions behind your ear. her lips—intentional. all she is, is redolent intention; not whispering into it, but along it. the little grin against your pulse suggests it. the slowing breath, aware of her closeness, proves it. “doin' so good..” then, her teeth bite down for a giggle.

guns aren't the special and lone thing she spits on to clean up, though; that mouth can—and was—used for more than it. and, perhaps, you adopt her strange methods too. do with that information as you will.

[judenostopwaitkeepgoing]

Your Villain... on a Leash!?

18+ | Suggestive Content | MDNI | EN-released!Villains x Fem!Reader

How would your favorite member of Crown react if you asked them to wear a collar and a leash for you...?

CW: Suggestive content, Dom/Sub dynamics, puppy/pet play, possible deviations from canon, fem reader, nothing super, super explicit, but these men are filthy so...

AN: Just more of my domming-the-Villains agenda! I feel like most (?) of the members of Crown are tops/doms, so it's fun to imagine them as subs! I just want to boss them all around so bad! Lol, Enjoy!! hehehe

William Rex

Will would have a lot of fun with this. He'd be beyond delighted that you are asserting yourself and asking for something that you desire, especially something that is so naughty. He's not usually the submissive type (his power can literally get him anything he wants lol) but he decides to indulge you because you're so cute when you're bossy. But! Unbeknownst to you, he is already scheming to one day lead you around on a leash in return. But until then he’d be grinning and panting like a true puppy, really playing it up and testing how affectionate of a pup you can handle! It's almost overwhelming! He might even bark!

Harrison Gray

Haha, I can't imagine Harry getting into this, but he might reluctantly wear a collar just for you. It'd have to be a time when no one else would see. He'd be too embarrassed! He would probably draw the line at being led around on a leash. Harry seems like more of a cat than a puppy... He'd come to you eventually and you could at least praise him for being such a sweet boy, enjoying the blush that he tries so hard to cover up. ;)

Liam Evans

Liam is kind of already wearing a collar, how convenient. He would get soooo turned on by this activity lol. The idea of you tugging him around, keeping him close to you all day, petting and praising him...? It would drive him wild. He'd want to do this all the time. He'd lick you and pant and everything. Liam is so obsessed with his mistress. He’d get really into being your sweet, doting puppy that he'd actually whine when you try to take off his collar lmao.

Elbert Greetia

Wouldn’t mind this at all! Actually he’d kind of be into it because it would signal that you want to keep him by your side all the time. He wouldn’t be the most effusive or expressive pup but he would be sweetly, silently awaiting your praises and caresses while you lead him around. The way he doesn't take his eyes off of you like a loyal guard dog is so endearing to you. Once you two are alone, he'd start begging for even more affection from his mistress...

Alfons Sylvatica

Hahahaha! Who knows! Would Alfons be into this? Hard to say! He's so kinky, but he also gives the impression that he likes to be the one in control. He’d probably like to see you try to be his master, and he might even get unexpectedly turned on at this display of assertiveness from you? But... I can’t imagine him being a well-behaved puppy. He'd probably do everything in his power to fuck with you haha. He'd be all like, "isn't it your job to train me?" Yeesh. Roger Barel

“Ooh...? And where would you lead me to, hm?” He’s actually kind of intrigued by this request from you. Roger is a certified top, but since it's you he'd want to see how you go about this. For science, of course. He would love having so many opportunities to get you flustered, since he’s attached to you by a leash. He wouldn’t want anyone to see him in a collar but you, though haha. So you'd have a very limited area where he would feel comfortable enough to be your dog. And, let's face it, he would wriggle out of his collar and pounce on you before you could even lead him around lol.

Victor

The "V" in Victor actually stands for "vers." Lol. Victor happily obliges this request haha. He's such a gentleman and also such a freak lol. How could he refuse. He would gaze at you affectionately while you put his collar on and ask you all kinds of leading questions throughout the day to tease you. “Does my pretty master want me to fetch something for her?” “Does my collar look cute enough for my extra adorable master?” He’d ham it up so much that you'd get all flustered and quit this whole thing. But he'd still be grinning ear to ear, because he's so obsessed with you lmao.

Jude Jazza

Hahahahahaha, oh you silly little robin. You're not gonna do this with him. Lol, so cute that you thought this request could even be uttered. Lmao. He'd pull one of his faces and be all like "Are ya actually a dumbass?" BUT! I could see him enjoying making fun of you for asking this so much that he kind of talks himself into trying it? But only if you're willing to barter. He'd be all like "I doubt you've got what it takes to train a dog like me." You’d have to let him tie you up and lead you around somewhere as payback. And he’d want it to be extra humiliating for you. You're kind of scared to agree to it, but... he’d be so sexy on a leash. Dear god. He’d be so pissy and annoying lol. Bratty puppy Jude? Yes please! Ugh and it would be fun to treat him like a dog for once...

Ellis Twilight

Jesus christ. Imagining Ellis... in a collar? and on a leash? is unreasonably hot??? He would of course be down to do this if you told him it'd make you happy. And of course he’d be so casual about it, just smirking at you and being all like “So that means you’ll lead me around on a walk all day?” He would be so affectionate with you, licking you and rubbing his fluffy hair against you all day. He'd ask, “What if I don’t want to leave my master’s side, even if she takes me off-leash?” And you would just die! Like what is wrong with him??? ugghhhhh, Ellis is THE nosebleed material!!!

[faguscarolinensis]

Phlox divaricata 'Blue Moon' / 'Blue Moon' Woodland Phlox at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[urfavoritegirlkisser]

"Midnight Rain" - Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader

a/n - finally getting back to writing!! it's been tough with school and stuff but I was finally able to write this, which had three drafts of how it could maybe go so enjoy!

Tags: Fem!Reader, Fem!Popstar!Reader, Rockstar!Ellie, wlw, slightly suggestive since it's kinda implied they had a one night stand, lightly proof read sorry babydolls, petnames like sweetheart and honey, playboy!Ellie, asshole!Ellie kinda, use of y/n, a little angsty won't lie, insecure!reader, lemme know if I forgot anything xoxo

You wake up to the constant ping of your phone on your nightstand, quickly realizing this wasn’t the hotel room your manager had arranged for you and registering the faint sound of the shower running.

Sitting up, you let yourself fully wake up before reaching over to grab your phone from the nightstand

The top one is a message from your manager with the link to a news article

“Pop Star Y/N Not As Innocent As She Seems?”

The article is about some grainy photos and a video of you last night at an after party with Ellie, who is in a rock band under the same label as you, it was your first big win taking home a Grammy for ‘Best New Artist’ and you decided to let yourself loose for once.

Your management wanted to keep up this facade of a sweet young pop star and that meant no ‘going wild’ as your manager liked to call it.

So the photos of you dancing and making out with Ellie Williams, who was known for her bad reputation and playboy tendencies was not good for your reputation apparently.

Speak of the devil…

You realize the shower has turned off and you see as Ellie walks into the room, clad in just a sports bra and sweats as she dries her hair off with a towel.

She looks over and smirks, “Well look who finally decided to wake up” she says with a chuckle and offers you a shirt of her own

You blush slightly, putting on the shirt before grabbing your discarded undergarments and quickly slipping them on, “My manager messaged me an article, apparently someone took some photos and videos of us last night at the party”

Ellie sits on the bed with her back against the headboard, “So? Not the first time this has happened” she says while fiddling with the rings on her fingers

You sigh and roll your eyes, “I mean to you maybe, but my manager is currently on my ass about what we’re supposed to do now and-”

Ellie cuts you off with a scoff, “Sweetheart it’ll be fine, they’ll circulate the pictures for a few weeks and then everyone will be over it”

You sit there before turning to her fully, “Will you be over it too?” you ask softly

The look in her eyes makes you regret even asking that.

“What? You think this is going to continue once you walk out that door?” she says with a laugh that makes your heart drop to your stomach, “Look you’re cute and all but I have a reputation to keep, honey”

You felt stupid, because of course this would just be a one time thing for her, and you knew that.

Maybe you thought you would be the one to change that.

“Right…sorry, yeah, I’m gonna go” you say as you take off her shirt and just put on the dress you wore to the after party, grabbing your things and making your way to the door of Ellie’s hotel room.

“Honey, don’t be like that” Ellie calls after you but you simply walk out the door and to the elevators where you go to your room a couple floors up, setting your stuff down, changing into casual clothes and sitting down on your bed.

You don’t know why you thought that you could change her mind, it was a fun night, but one that was meant to be forgotten.

Everyone will forget it happened, including Ellie.

You’ll forget it happened.

an - sorry if that was all over the place, I rewrote this like three times, anyways go drink water you girl kissers xo

[catfern]

feed.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: vampire!ellie williams x reader

music: angel - massive attack

word count: 630

summary: freshly turned, ellie has a hunger insatiable. you would bleed for her, but that's not all she wants.

warnings: pussy eating turned feeding, mentions and descriptions of blood, cannibalism (kinda), alludes to character death.

cat says ⎯ a quick little drabble to celebrate the start of autumn (fall, if you're a weirdo). also letting u guys know i'm alive barely! keep an eye on me, something fun coming soon!

sweet.

something sickly artificial, absent life beneath her tongue. a languid pulse, tired obligation.

pulling back, a gnawing feeling sits on ellie’s skin as she contemplates; the delicacy of a moment, so violently ruined by the willingness of her own temptation. the fever of something passed, as she watches the arc of your breathing on stained sheets.

you had agreed, so blindly loving, to the baring of her teeth. what a poorly hidden creature you had opened your arms to. come here, take my warmth, i shall feed you.

so very selfish, to long for more, to take. her tongue, taught to pull at the slick between your legs, thrumming a mean word, a trail down the pillow of your thigh. a soft whine dripped from the swell of your lips at the first feeling of her canines, press, press. a strained cry, the wound of an animal. ellie wonders if perhaps, you would curl away. an itch inside her told her not to let you.

glaring red, a sign to stop. a syrupy taste that bellowed the taunt of an addiction, something so, so easy to fall into. she watched the ichor pinken, mixed with the cotton shine painting the inside of your thighs.

“fuck…” a low, inserted rumble from the cavity of her chest. a call, answered. made for her own greed, your body now merely a vessel for this — awakened craving. she longs to feel the rip beneath this wicked invasion of ivory, the tears of your flesh, bitter on her tongue. if she pulled harshly enough, she thinks, she could even hear your body scream apart beneath her. 

wants and needs cloud the dimly shining lust in her, a newfound hunger choking that light. 

bleed.

shaky breaths crown on your ribcage, wordless mumbles dying in your throat. ellie would, maybe, laugh, something teasing, if not so consumed. a soft rhythm beneath her fingertips, buzzing in her skin, your own bastion of moribund life. she can feel you, feel your response to this … violation. and you want this? in some perversion of ellie’s own mind, you do. you want to feel the bite, teeth sinking into the hand with which you fed her.

you seize so unnaturally, beneath your lover’s teeth. pulled on strings, following a wicked path of pain, a stained rut of your hips, a whine amidst the blood.

ellie watches, impatiently, her own breath heavy and rotten through her nose. strings of red, falling across the plains of your stomach, the crooks of your neck, discovering as if not already a part of you, exotic on your own body. her mark is left here, deep in sconces of your flesh, pulling you on marionette wires with every scattered indulgence.

her tongue is a burning heat, tracing brutish, possessive trails in the fading delirium. her fingers press harsh fingerprints, inked in apple-ish reminiscence, across the curve of your breast, and your breath hitches.

“i can’t—“ she’s too close, too, too close. her breath melting against your skin. you can see her, blurred and wild, face flushed against the stretch of your legs. the eyes of a dog, wide and unforgiving and helpless, buried in the fading warmth of your body. you watch as one would something untamed, cornered. 

“you’re too good to me.”

ringing truth in your ears, a pained reminder as you lie, so eager to please, no matter the tax, in this hazy room of mortal lust and tenderhearted violence. 

ellie sits, she waits, for what she does not know. metal in the crooks of her teeth, a maple taste deep in her throat. to love is to consume, to swallow whole, to nourish. love shared is love lost, life lost.

ellie waits, shedding animal in dying skin, to rot in your memory.

⎯ kofi

[cherry-pop-elf]

What their Amortentia would smell like: Weasley Edition

All you did was something so harmless. You entered the WWW shop, and explored. Found yourself by the love potions, uncorked it for shits and giggles, and the smell sends you down a rabbit hole

Writing Commissions Open

William ‘Bill’

The beach. You smell the beach. The warm sand, the cool salt air, and the distant wind of beach flowers. It’s so warm, and inviting. The more you inhale, you smell something else. Marble. You smell cold stone, as if you were in Gringotts. A cooling scent to keep you grounded. A giggle leaves you, as you knew you smelled wet dog in there. You were going to keep that last detail to yourself. But, it did solidify something. He did smell like wet dog after his showers. You damn well knew it. Your Billy Boy.

Charlie

A smack to the face it was. This intense campfire. Very specifically a camp fire. Not a wood stove, not a fire place. It was a campfire. With those blends of nature, and burning of dried leaves. The smell of a campfire in the dead of night. When your eyes stopped watering from the smoke stench, you could smell something else. It’s almost like berries. Wild berries. A sweet, almost tart, against all that fire. Along with leather. Oh the leather clings to your throat. It stays with you, and hangs. That’s your Charlie alright.

Percy

Parchment. Parchment, and books. A rather bland scent. You swore you could even smell a freshly corked ink bottle as well. Amongst the paper, you smelled something else. Earth. You smelled earth. Specifically earth that had been freshly rained on. It’s such a soothing scent. Despite its blandness, it was comforting. It’s very familiar, and soothing. Just because it was simple, did not mean it was boring. It was his scent after all. It’s a simplistic, homey, scent. Simple, but never boring. Oh Percy. Your sweet little Percy.

Fred

Grape. That surprised you. Yes there was the expected. There was the scent of fire, gun powder, everything that defined a fire work. Yet, grape was a surprise. Grape, and tea. Specifically grape tea. There was also this distant taste of night air on the back of your tongue. As if you were enjoying a cup of cold grape tea, during a rainy night time sit on the porch. It was an almost mature scent. Fred? Mature? You were speechless. Yet, you couldn’t deny it. It’s him. It’s him to the smallest accent. Your Freddie.

George

Oranges. Oranges, and freshly made pastries. Yes, there was that familiar fire work scent, but you also smelled oranges. As if someone made orange cupcakes, and served it with an overly sugary coffee. It very much was a scent of someone waking up early in the morning. Fixing a cup of sugary coffee, with some freshly peeled oranges, while enjoying a freshly baked cookie. It’s so warm, and cozy. As if entering a kitchen, after the Fourth of July party. It’s so homey. Yep, that’s your Georgie.

Ron

Very fresh, funny enough. Like cut grass, and fresh laundry. It’s just a very homey scent. Like you were home sick, and you finally got to walk in through the front door again. It’s such a soft embrace. Like being hugged, after a rough day. You swear you even smell wool. Like of an old sweater, that’s been loved to death. Very musky, but in a good way. Like someone’s been working hard on a garden all day, and came inside to cool off. It’s such a warm scent. It makes you smile, and feel almost refreshed in a way. It was just right. It was home. Ron was your home, and he can make your day turn out for the better. Even if it’s just a few words. Your Ronnie.

Ginny

Wind. That’s the first thing that comes to mind. Just that scent of a windy day, where nature is carried through. The soft scents of floral undertones, mixed with fresh grass. There is also the scent of wood. Specifically freshly cut wood. Like someone had been whittling away, and was working hard on a project. Such earthy undertones, amongst the familiar scent of her favorite perfume. She wasn’t much of a girly girl, but that didn’t mean she hated femininity as a whole. Besides, her brother got it for her. That’s when you smiled. This was a scent of a little sister, that was loved so much, and strong in her independence. Oh that Gin Gin.

[moonstruckmoony]

HL x Kuroshitsuji ✨

“Humans are easily tempted. When they are poised on the edge of hellish despair, and a spider-thin thread of salvation presents itself, they will invariably grasp it. No matter the human.” -Sebastian Michaelis

Winter Blackstone as Ciel Phantomhive

Sebastian Sallow as Sebastian Michaelis

Ominis Gaunt as Snake (Featuring Snake’s snakes: Emily, Oscar, and Wilde)

Phantomhive Household:

Poppy Sweeting as Finnian

Samantha Dale as Mey Rin

Garreth Weasley as Baldroy

William Blackstone as Vincent Phantomhive

Snowball as Sebastian the Black Borzoi

Midford Household

Anne Sallow as Elizabeth Midford

Natsai Onai as Francis Midford

Others

Amit Thakkar as Soma Asman Kadar

Imelda Reyes as Grell Sutcliff

Another disclaimer that the BG for the first one is inspired by AFK Journey, just think they look fitting for this.

· · ─────── ·❆ ❅ ❆· ─────── · ·

Happy New Year everyone! I’m back. This was actually a fun idea that was supposed to be for Halloween, and I did start working on it on Oct but some things happened to me so I had to take a step back for a while but I’m ok now and am present here! But hey, it isn’t Chinese New Year yet but 2025 is the year of the snake so posting it this year is kinda fitting, no? 🫢 I had no intention of going back on my word on finishing all the MCtober prompts no matter how long it takes (bcs the prompts are fun!) but I’ll take my sweet time and if I had ideas outside of the prompts I might work on those first before going back on track.

I just wanna say that I’m very grateful to be in this fandom, it let me rediscover the joy of drawing for myself again after years of not doing it consistently (I was mostly drawing for work.) I’ve been loving everyone I got to meet and make HL friends with so far.. love u guys 🫶✨Hoping for a year full of love, joy and stability (as stable as it can be) for everyone.

[hunnylagoon]

Right Where You Left Me

Pt1: Coming Down With Me

Ellie Williams x reader

I once met a girl with skin like kiwi. Even the butterflies were drawn to her, landing on the top of her nose, the dip in her palm. But the kiwi stung my tongue, scarred my lips and made me bleed. I do not care. Cover me in your kiwi kisses, burn my mouth and scar my flesh. Bleach my eyes and dip my heart in lemon juice. Sing your sickly sweet words until my ears bleed.

Premise: You and Ellie were childhood best friends until you grew up. Funny thing about soulmates is that they tend to find their way back to each other.

Warnings: Angst / reader has religious issues / people are mean lol / best friends to enemies to lovers / roommate! Ellie

Part two here!

Part three here!

Part four here!

I know everything about you,

You know everything about me.

I had always been bound to the earth while Ellie danced with the stars in the night sky among delusion and dreams. Though, more so than anything, we were bound to one another.

Our parents were friends, even before we were born. They met at summer camp when they were teenagers, the same camp that Ellie and I were eventually shipped off to every summer. Of course, I have no recollection of when I was an infant, only stories that my parents shared with me; My dad told me that I learned to crawl backwards before I learned to crawl forwards. Joel kept a photo album of his girl.

I can't remember days of crawling around and babbling incoherently, but I can tell you what I remember.

Five years old- Kindergarten

Despite the air being unbearable hot, it was infused with excitement as Ellie and me set foot in the petting zoo. I had never seen so many animals in one place, my little brain was going nuts. Accompanied by the gentle hum of content animals, the aroma of straw, and the distant melody of joyful chatter, the petting zoo rang true to its rustic charm.

Ellie, with her auburn curls bouncing in the breeze, led the way, her eyes widened at the sight of a fluffy alpaca lazily grazing in the sunshine. I giggled as we approached a pen filled with adorable piglets, their tiny snouts sniffing the pure air far away from the dirty stench of the city.

Our parents, watching with affectionate smiles, guided us to the lamb enclosure where soft, woolly creatures nuzzled against tiny palms. Ellie's fingers gently traced the contours of a lamb's ear, and she couldn't resist a delighted squeal as she felt the velvety nose of a goat.

As the afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the scene, the families strolled through the meandering paths, passing by a pond where ducks quacked merrily. Ellie and I, hand in loveable hand, marvelled at the wonders of the animal kingdom, our hearts brimming with the pure joy of discovery and a blooming friendship.

Seven years old- Grade Two

On this particular day, Ellie and I had been messing around in her backyard; that's all we did on the weekends at that age, you couldn't get us to go inside. We spent the morning entwined in daffodils and hyacinth that Joel has so tenderly nurtured, careful not to crush the dainty flowers beneath our wild flailing bodies. 

We had the brilliant idea to paint rocks so we had been searching her yard for the perfect flat stones we had in mind. Ellie picked up a rock and immediately threw it back down, jumping away with a shriek.

This had piqued my curiosity (As well as Joels who sat on the back porch, watching us), I went over to where she stood petrified and found nothing more than a little snake staring up at her. I dropped the stones I had been carrying and bent over to get a better look at it, it was brown and had a few white vertical stripes cascading up its thin body. 

I slowly moved my hand outwards to touch but was swiftly interrupted by Joel scooping me up "That's enough of that kiddo." 

Nine years old- Grade Four

Joel's house garnered an expansive backyard and just past the old fence that Ellie and I had thrown one too many softballs at was a lush forest. I would always clamour up the wood fence and poke my little head over it to try and gather a glimpse of wildlife, Ellie usually had to give me a little boost. "Hold still!" She hissed with her arms wrapped around my torso to help lift me, my scrawny arms shook as I tried to pull myself up even further.

The wood rot of the ancient fence finally set in and with the both of us pressing our mighty weight against it collapsed with the fence. We heard the splitting of wood, I got the worst end of the stick, toppling over and putting my hands out to protect myself. I could've sworn that I heard my wrist break like a crunch.

While I did what felt like a three-sixty frontflip over the fence just for my small head to come down on the end of it with a solid smack, Ellie had just flopped on top of it, green eyes widening in shock when she saw my once straight arm now had an abnormal bump coming out from my wrist. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"I don't know I'm probably dying!" I screamed as loud as my voice could carry, that was the first time I had felt adrenaline run through my veins. "You killed me!"

"No, I didn't!" She retorted, scrambling off the fence and back up to her feet. She was clad in a Jurassic Park T-shirt that she practically was swimming in and those pink and orange plaid Bermuda shorts that any kid in the 2000s owned. "Dad!" Ellie yelled, calling for Joel.

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and finally, I released the sob that had been building up in my throat. She was almost dumbstruck and just ended up kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She muttered.

10 years old- Grade Five

Ellie had been practicing guitar the entire time I was at her house, Joel had gifted her his old guitar and she was so set on perfecting every cord, every half-hour she would ask for a song recommendation and then flip through the songbook she got to find it.

I was curled up in her bed reading The Hunger Games over again "Els, are you team Peeta or Gale?" I was always at Ellie's house, mine was too busy all the time; I had three siblings, Naomi and Aaron who were twins and two years younger than me and my brother Elijah who was three years older than me. I loved going to her house on Saturdays so I could sleep in and wriggle my way out of going to church. Even though her house was right across the street from mine and my parents would bang on Joel's door, he always covered for me.

"Uh," She was distracted by something in her songbook "Team Katniss?"

I nod in approval to myself as she isn't paying attention "You know who Gale reminds me of?" I ask and without Ellie giving me a response I answer anyway "Luke, I think I kind of like him."

Those are the words that get her to look at me "Ew, he's so weird."

"He's nice to me."

She wrinkles her nose in distaste then shrugs, returning to her guitar which sits awardly in her scrawny frame.

12 years old- Grade Seven

"Fuck!" I yell, kicking the grimy green dumpster in the graffiti-covered ally out of anger, though I kicked it a little too hard now my foot hurts I refuse to admit it "Fuck I hate them!"

Ellie leans against the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley, our bikes discarded on the ground while I hopelessly rant to my friend about my parents. She doesn't say much, just little nods of agreement. My parents had caught me skipping church and they laid into me, saying that I had no respect for them or god and whether that was true or not didn't matter, I was full of pre-teen angst and needed to call my friend to go for a bike ride around town.

"She fucking tore my room apart, I never see them get mad at Aaron or Naomi!" I drag my hands down my face before I look back at the dumpster and kick it again "Ow, cunt!" I'm now hopping on one foot while my knee bends my other leg and I hold my beaten red Converse, covered in doodles, to soothe the pain of my poor toes. It's moments like this that remind me why I love Ellie, because as stupid as I look hobbling around and cussing, she doesn't laugh at me even though I know she wants to.

After a little bit of me aimlessly yelling I finally wind down. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remember those breathing exercises that we were taught at school assemblies. "Thanks for listening to me talk shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," She shrugs "I've seen you do worse."

This cracks a smile on my face, I turn my head and am met with the Jackson skyline, a beautiful pink sunset on the horizon "Sun's setting," I say.

"Sleepover?" Ellie asks.

"Sleepover," I confirm.

13 years old- Grade Eight

We were thirteen when our parents shoved cash into our hands and dropped us at the mall to go back to school shopping by ourselves for the first time. Every parent's nightmare was a busy mall so when they figured us old enough to venture into the dreaded foodcourt on our own, believed they were taking that opportunity. 

Ellie had bought a couple of T-shirts and hoodies here and there, not too particular about what she was buying, though I was very nit-picky over what I wore so I forced Ellie to judge every single outfit that I wore and rate it, she gave the same answer every single time "It looks fine."

"Cool but I don't wanna look fine, I wanna look pretty," I say in frustration, walking back into the dressing room to try on another outfit. Ellie is sitting in the fitting room on a pink velvet couch, arms crossed and waiting for me to finish. "How's this?" I ask, walking out of the changing stall and giving her a little twirl.

"It looks fine- I mean good, everything looks good on you." She sounds almost exasperated. Ellie's hair was still that vibrant auburn colour that my mother was obsessed with, it had yet to fade out into a duller brown with age.

"Really?" I perk up just the slightest.

"Yeah, you look really pretty." She gives me a little nod of confirmation. I know that she's only saying that because she wants to go to the food court and get a cinnamon bun but I believe her anyway.

14 years old- Grade Nine

We were just nearing the end of the second half of our soccer game. It was the tournament and we were only a point away from placing first in the league, the thought of it had kept me up all week I was running off of Subway sandwiches and Gatorade. 

Riley (the midfielder) swiftly passed the ball to me before she was surrounded by the other team's defence, I looked up to the clock and there were only seconds left in the match. I let my instincts take over, my parents forcing me into soccer since elementary school was not going to wind up useless. My footwork took me up the right wing just before the penalty box. 

I wasn't paying enough attention to notice the tall blonde girl in a slick back ponytail closing in on me. I hear Ellie shout my name and that's all I need to make this last pass, I barely even looked up before power-driving the ball to Ellie who was merely six metres away from me. I slipped onto the muddied field with that kick, watching Ellie waste no time to score our final goal the second her cleat touched the ball. 

The clock deadlocks and I drag myself off the ground running towards my best friend, I jump on her almost taking her down with me though she manages to steady herself. "I fucking love you!" I scream hugging her with all of the force I can muster. She hugs me in return, unable to get any words out between her laughs. The team is quick to swarm us, everyone is shouting about our well-deserved victory but not one person is louder than Joel in the stands.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Snow was falling as I stood in the foyer of the high school, still waiting for my date for the winter formal to arrive. Conner had asked me out weeks ago, we hadn't talked much since though I just figured that was because he was shy. I even left school early to get ready and spent hours meticulously pinning every hair into place and adjusting my navy blue satin dress so it would drape across my body in just the right way.

My sister, Naomi was an aspiring makeup artist so I let her dust my eyelids in silver glitter, I forced Warren to drive me. All of that was just for me to get stood up. Conner hadn't texted me all day, I knew he wasn't coming that didn't stop me from forcing denial on myself. "Hey," I heard a soft voice sound behind me, I wasn't surprised to see Ellie. Even though our parents were no longer friends, we were close as ever.

"Hi," My voice was hushed and feeble.

"The dance started an hour ago," She said, that night she had been wearing a white button-up with a pair of jeans and her hair half up. It was clear the dance wasn't as big a deal to her as it was to me. All she had done was ask Riley to go with her and call it a day. Despite her lack of effort, she looks beautiful as ever "I don't think he's coming," She said bluntly.

That's the exact moment I felt myself crack, tears welled up in my eyes and I lurched forward to hug her, flailing my arms helplessly to search for comfort "Then why did he ask me to go with him?" My sobs were drowned out by the sound of Kesha blasting in the overcrowded gym.

"I don't know, but he's an idiot for standing you up," Ellie holds me close and I never want her to let go "I wouldn't have ever done that to you."

16 years old- Grade Eleven

This is where things begin to fall apart. I found Ellie on the back porch of some random guy's house at a party. "I figured I would find you out here," I say, taking a seat next to her on the wooden steps, I hug my knees close to my chest.

"What's up?" Beside me, Ellie is unnervingly calm, she nurses a joint, taking a long hit and letting the smoke turn to clouds. 

"Conner kissed me," I say cutting to the chase

I can tell she doesn't like the thought, she hated Conner, ever since he stood me up at the winter formal but she bites her tongue "You guys gonna date?"

"I think so."

"Good for you."

"I don't know if I liked it," My eyebrows are furrowed, and I pull my knees in even further, inhaling the crisp autumn air and the smell of Ellie, she smells like cannabis, firewood and bar soap. 

"What do you mean?" Ellie puts out the end of her joint and tucks what remains of it into an empty Altoids container.

"Nothing," I dismiss it, "It doesn't matter, I just wanted to talk to you," Ellie had softened every burden for me since we were girls. "Um, so, my parents are sending me to boarding school next year."

"No, they're not-

"They are."

Ellie doesn't seem so calm anymore, she adjusts her body to face mine and she's so close I swear to god I could've counted every freckle on her face. "Why, what did you do?" The way she looks at me makes me wish that she was a boy.

"Nothing!" I retort "They think I'm straying from god, it's a Christian school." That was my code for 'they think I have a crush on you and I rather not get disowned by my super religious parents!'

"come stay with me and Joel-

"Ellie, please," I place a hand on her thigh "I don't think I can get away from this one."

That was at the end of September, it only got worse from there. I partially wished that I didn't tell Ellie that I had to leave, every time we hung out it just felt like words were hanging between us like birds on a wire and neither of us could say what we wanted. I forced myself to distance myself from her, I didn't know how else to handle my feelings. 

She would blow up my phone and come by my house even visit my work but I just told her that I was busy. I could tell that she didn't believe my excuses for a second, she had English with my new boyfriend, Conner and would get him to relay messages and notes to me.

It didn't get easier to ignore her, my family prying about where she had been. I never told my parents that Ellie was gay, though I know they had always had a suspicion and that's why they could never love her all the way completely, the way Joel loved me and looked out for me. My mom and dad liked that I swapped out Ellie for Conner, by February, my dad even started to call him son. 

In March Ellie and I had stopped talking completely, she gave up on texting me and coming by my house just for my siblings to lie about my whereabouts. It hurt to see the resentment gleam in her eye every time she passed me in the hallway. 

She didn't speak a word to me until the start of the summer bonfire which was custom in our town. If I had known she would be there I never even would have thought about going. I rather not rehash this awful night, not right now just know that it ended with some alcohol, a bit of blood in the sand and me telling Ellie 'I would pick him over you every single time.' Yikes, that's not a good look for me. I spent the rest of my summer burying her in the back of my mind until boarding school finally came upon me and I graduated with friends I didn't like in a place that didn't feel like home. 

I was sixteen then now I'm nineteen, no longer a girl but not yet a woman. Those were some key moments of our friendship. I'm not so sure why I felt so mature at the age of sixteen. I had taken a gap year and loved every minute of it, I backpacked in Australia, worked as a camp counsellor in the summer then left to work at a turtle conservatory in Bali, I was making pennies but the experience was worth it. 

I arrived at my new home sunkissed with Ellie far in the back of my mind. I didn't know much about who I would be rooming with, I had only spoken to Dina over a Zoom call who was a friendly girl with warm eyes and ink-black hair spilling over her shoulders. I just prayed that none of them were Craigslist killers.

It took me entirely too long to find parking, when I finally did, I grabbed two of my suitcases, unable to hold anything else, the rest of the boxes jammed into my car would have to wait. I read over the text that Dina sent me what seemed to be a million times to make sure I had the right address. It was a small-ish one-story flat with brown walls that had white accents along corners and the doorway with a wood-panelled gable roof. As far as college housing went, I was happy. It looked like something I would've made in the Sims when I was a teenager. 

I walk to the front door, the entrance is framed by intricately carved moulding, its details telling a story of craftsmanship and tradition. The wood, polished to a warm, inviting glow, exudes a sense of richness and history. I knocked on the door and heard a voice shouting that she would get it.

The door swings open and I'm met face to face with Dina "Hey!" She smiled "It's nice to meet you, I think you'll like it here," She held the door wide open, motioning for me to go in, and I obliged. "Let me give you a tour." Dina is clad in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and her hair has been pulled back into a messy ponytail.

The layout of the house seemed somewhat odd to me, there was a corridor straight ahead when you walked in, the first room was the laundry room and contained the washer and dryer with some hampers and shelves of detergent and laundry freshener. "This is the laundry room, we have a wash schedule along with a chore schedule so we will put you on that tonight," Dina told me, I just nodded politely in response feeling a little too awkward and out of place to say anything. 

"Alright so this is the kitchen, there's a half bathroom beside it," She says, swinging her arms wide open for exaggeration I can see the chore chart hanging on the walls, it's written in chalk, and it is the laundry schedule. There are little laminated tags with each person's name on them, though I can't quite make out the names from where I am standing. The fridge is covered in postcards, magazine cutouts, polaroids, and bright magnets of papayas and flowers, I automatically assumed this was Dina despite not knowing the other roommates. The kitchen is open with no walls to hide it, the oven and dishwasher are built into counters against the walls as well as the sink which i spotless at the moment, there isn't a dining table but a kitchen island with stools. Past the island you can see the living room, there are two grey couches with decorative pillows and fuzzy throw blankets, a coffee table that looked handcrafted with care and of course a TV. 

Have I mentioned there are plants everywhere? Like everywhere. "Okay, so," Dina keeps on moving and I trail behind with my suitcases, over there is my room and Cat's and Abby's," She points to the left of the living room where there is a short hallway with three doors, one on each wall of it. "There's Cat now," She waves at her roommate.

Cat is relatively tall, she has black hair that's tied into a bun, and she's wearing plaid pyjama pants and a black tank top, I can see her abundance of tattoos. She has one sleeve of laurel cascading up her arm and the other is patchwork done right, each separate piece blends almost seamlessly into the next. "I like your tattoos," I say, not wanting to sit in any more silence.

She grins at me "Thanks, love," I nod in response to her, Cat looks down at the suitcases that I'm lugging around "Dina, take this poor girl to her room already."

"I was just getting there," Dina teases and motions for me to follow her "So over here is the bathroom and of course your room, I left your copy of the house key on your mattress," She opens it up. The bedroom is completely blank aside from the boxed bedframe, shelf, vanity and mattress that I had to send over prior. There's a built-in closet in the wall. 

I put my suitcases on the ground "I'm gonna grab the rest of my stuff from my car," I offer up a tight-lipped smile.

"Wait a second," She takes my hand and then knocks on the bedroom door parallel to mine. "I'm coming in!" Dina announces pushing the door open, there's a brunette girl hunched over her desk. My breath hitches in my throat when she turns around "This is Ellie."

I can see the panic that momentarily takes over Ellie when she spots me before it's replaced by a false coolness, "Hey," She says before turning back to her laptop and putting her headphones back on. It felt like my heart had shut down, why the fuck did I sign the lease?

"Sorry," Dina shuts Ellie's door "She's not the friendliest of the bunch but she'll warm up to you eventually," Dina walks to the front door with you Abby should be around here somewhere."

I had gotten so frustrated trying to set up my bed frame that I sheepishly left my room and asked for help, god bless Abby. She was putting everything together so easily, I watched her in awe as she finished adding the final screw to my bedframe. "Want help setting up the mattress?"

"Yes, please," I say, I grab one end of the mattress while Abby gets the other, she tells me to lift on three and I listen, she carries the majority of the weight but it still feels like an accomplishment on my part. "So does everyone here go to Northridge?"

"Yeah, except for Cat, she's a tattoo apprentice."

"Cool, cool," I search for words, "What are you majoring in?"

"Kinesiology," It makes sense, I could've called that by looking at the fit gym rat who was now sitting on my bed. "You?"

"Wildlife biology,"

"So you like animals and conservation and stuff?"

"Mhm," I nod "It's honestly kind of hard to not have any animals in my life." I was missing all my pets back home, when I wasn't with them I was working at a conservatory or at a summer camp where I took care of all of the horses, and Ellie's dog, Achilles.

"You'll get used to it, living with Dina is the same thing as living with an animal," She smiles and for the first time, I feel comfortable. Abby watching me with her blue eyes as I begin to unpack my abundance of boxes, I kind of just dump everything onto the ground because I can't remember which box has what, the first thing I search for are my coat hangers. I dump out a box with a bible, wall cross, and rosery and golden cross necklace from a box of random knickknacks. "You religious?"

"Kind of?" I question it myself "Not really, it's just my family, I packed that stuff to make my mom happy."

Abby nods "I get it."

"You do?"

She backtracks "No, but I can try to."

I shake my head, "I wouldn't try if I were you, I spent nineteen years trying to get away from it." I was sure other Christian homes were healthy but mine wasn't one of them, the way my parents obsessed over Jesus was honestly frightening.

"Hey, do you wanna come watch a movie when your done unpacking?" Abby asked, "Get to know your new roommates a little better."

I don't entirely want to, I wasn't ready to talk to Ellie. I still hadn't wrapped my head around the fact that I was living with her and that she was pretending she didn't know me, despite this, my words betrayed me "For sure."

I sat on one of the couches beside Abby, I made myself as small as I could, thinking that maybe I could make myself disappear. Cat and Ellie crammed themselves on the other while Dina took the plush armchair. I felt so out of place everyone here had relationships, I had one with Ellie before I severed it 'Grown Ups' was playing on the flatscreen though it seemed I was the only one paying attention.

The four girls all laughed and talked their way through the movie, Abby, Cat, and Dina would ask me a question here and there but I didn't know them well enough to pitch in. I kept telling myself that I needed to push through, if Spiderman could do it, so could I.

I didn't even finish the movie, halfway through I excused myself saying I was tired which wasn't necessarily a lie. It was difficult to fathom how well Ellie was playing it off, acting like she never met me. I walk into the bathroom, clean towel in hand, ready to scrub off the stress of today. Beside the mirror, I see a cardstock poster decorated with bright markers and doodles.

HOUSE RULES

#1 No underwear left in the bathroom

#2 Wash your dishes

#3 Break it? Tell Abby

#4 No smoking inside

#5 Privates are private!

#6 Pls don't drink and drive (We have a couch)

#7 Give your beloved roommates a heads up before having someone over

#8 This is a residence of women so the seat goes down!!!

#9 Respect the bedrooms

#10 Having sex? Keep it quiet

#11 NO DRAMA!!!!!!!!

#12 Follow chore and wash chart

#13 Don't eat what's not yours! (Without asking)

I finish reading the last bit and mutter to myself  "Wasn't planning on it." I run the water so hot that it feels cold and I'm quick to not use all of the hot water and have my roommates hate me on my first night here. Everyone has their little drawers in the bathroom, mine is empty aside from some floss and cotton pads that the girl before me left behind. I make a mental note to make use of my bathroom drawer tomorrow and fill it with makeup remover or conditioner, or something like that.

Brushing my teeth and wrapping myself in a strawberry towel that I had purchased at a craft fair, I open the bathroom door, I can see the light of the TV and the sound of chatter from the living room. However, I ignore it and make a B-line to my bedroom. Even though I had spent hours unpacking and pinning up posters it still didn't seem homey.

I slip into shorts and a t-shirt, leaving my hair as is and throw myself onto my bed. My towel is discarded onto my bathroom floor. When I turn on my phone I am bombarded my messages from my parents, my mother has probably sent me twelve Google pins to the closest churches, I answer her with a thumb-up emoji and settle into my bed to scroll through social media and see how much fun all of my friends are having. 

Fucking Ellie. She's plaguing my thoughts, I think of what I said to her and it makes me cringe, I want to smother myself with my satin pillow. I don't even have food to eat, grocery shopping wasn't something that I put on my priority list and right about now I was but Ellie, god, why was I such a dick? Because I didn't know what else to do- whatever, I was a scared teenager. What would you have done? Probably kiss her you lesbo.

Lord, it makes me sick to think about what could've been.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Ellie and I were sitting at a fire pit at her uncle Tommy's lake house. It was a Fourth of July party except we were the only teenagers there; everyone else was friends of Tommy and Maria or some distant relatives of Ellie's or children of said people.

After five years of practicing day and night, Ellie had just about mastered the acoustic guitar, she played and I sang, wrapped up in her flannel, I was tucked close next to her. 

She struck every cord perfectly and I began to sing absentmindedly, the song that had been carved into my brain. Ellie looked so insanely beautiful illuminated only by fire and the stars that hung in the sky, if it hadn't been a sin I would've kissed her.

Talking to her felt as holy as praying to god but I knew it was as sinful as worshipping the devil. 

If it was so wrong why was I born in God's image?

Her gentle hand strummed on the chords of the guitar, the same calloused hand that had once turned water into wine. Her laughter was the sound of a church choir 

I wish I told her how much I liked her but what would've happened if I did? What would my parents think, they would kill me. 

Part of me didn't care how my parents would react, if I spoke up, I could say goodbye to my inheritance and having college paid for. Maybe that was an unfair assumption to make on my part. Ugh. FUCK, I don't know, let's get to the next part of the story.

I couldn't sleep that night, I thought maybe a glass of water would soothe me, well I didn't really think that but I was hungry and thirsty and water was the only thing in that house I had the right to ingest. I figured that I could fill myself with water and zip to Denny's in the morning then grab some groceries.

Poking my head out of my door, I checked to see if anyone was still awake before gingerly taking hushed steps towards the kitchen, I was trying to be as light as Thumbelina. I hadn't noticed Ellie bumming on the couch, scrolling through her phone. 

"You cooking all of that non-existent food you brought?" She jeered. Oh, now she wanted to talk to me.

"I was gonna have some warm water soup for dinner and chew on pistachio shells from the cup holder in my car for dessert," I answer "I'm treating myself tonight." She didn't think it was funny at all, a few years ago she would've been cackling at my subpar joke, but now she just seemed unamused. "Sheesh, tough crowd."

She stays silent.

"You used to think I was funny," I say.

"I also used to think the tooth fairy was real."

"Harsh," I mutter. Turning the tap on and sticking a finger underneath it to test the temperature. I put my hummingbird mug underneath it and let it fill. "Hey, Ellie," She doesn't answer "Have you told them any bad things about me?"

She nearly scoffs "No, believe it or not, I don't talk about you, I don't even think about you," There's venom in her voice "You haven't crossed my mind since you walked through that door."

"Why are you pretending you don't know me-

"Because I don't fucking like you," She says it like it's so obvious and it honestly is in this moment "Just because you're pretty and you act like a sweet little Christain girl, that doesn't mean shit."

"I'm not trying to act like anything-

"Yeah, well it seems pretty insincere to me," Ellie seethed and I could feel a sting in my heart, I would do some pretty horrendous things for a time machine right about now.  I can tell that there won't be any salvaging for this, she hates me to death and rightfully so. 

This is where I give up "Okay, sorry," I grab my hummingbird mug and retreat to my room.

I endured four months of that.

Ellie was pushed to the back of my mind while I ran through classes and got a job as a waitress at a stake house. I did everything in my power to keep myself busy, to keep her out of my head but she was always there, she hung around like a song I can't shake, like I'm haunted by the melody. 

Some nights when the city decides to quiet down I can hear her play guitar, and I'll quietly hum along to it. Songs she used to sing for me, she now sings for another woman, another soul. I knew that she had girls over, but I never got to meet them as Ellie did everything in her power to pretend I didn't exist.

The only communication I got with her was in the roommate's group chat, and it was always brief.

Ellie: Having a friend over tomorrow night

D-manz: Friend? With benefits??????????

Kit-Cat: Nah they're hardly even friends, just benefits

Abs: Don't get her pregnant

Me: 👍

As long as I was with the girls, Ellie was not. She avoided me like the plague, it was like she despised my existence. If we go clubbing, she takes a separate taxi, petty if you ask me. The girls knew something happened between us but they couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was Dina's conspiracy that Ellie used to date one of my friends and broke her heart. While I bonded with Cat, Dina, and Abby, Ellie would pretend to like me. She would occasionally laugh at my jokes or ask how my shift was when Dina was in the room. 

Trust me when I say I would rather forget than dwell on it but it was impossible. I know that I'm nothing more than an obstacle to her, a stain on her bedsheets, a sore in her mouth, but she was still my diamond in the rough. I will willingly ignore all of her cutthroat words and her jagged edges. 

Because I know everything about us.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 6) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕) # wc: 7.8k

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

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

Her apartment in Madrid feels smaller somehow, like two weeks away expanded her world just enough to make everything feel tight. Leila drops her bags by the door, too exhausted from travel and emotions to properly unpack.

The last two weeks play through her mind like a highlight reel: Seeing her parents and friends back home in Atlanta, chilling with them. William in London, treating her like she's precious, making her laugh even when her heart felt heavy. His kisses that made her forget, at least for a moment. The way he held her in that hotel room, patient and sweet, telling her she didn't have to choose right now.

Then Aurélien's texts. That letter that felt like someone reached into her chest and squeezed. "I don't know how to say it — words always fail me when it matters most..."

She pulls out her phone, rereading messages from both of them:

William: Landed safely? Already miss you x

Aurélien: Sarah's contract ends tomorrow. Please come back.

Her girls back home were right – William is proving to be a rebound, and that knowledge sits heavy in her chest. Because she does like him. Maybe in another universe, in another timeline where her heart wasn't already tied up in knots over his teammate, she could love him properly.

But Yolanda's voice echoes in her head: "Baby, you can't build something new on a foundation of 'what if.'"

Still.

Still.

Before anything else happens, she needs Aurélien to explain himself. Needs to hear him say out loud why he called her "okay" like it wasn't a bullet to the chest. Needs more than pretty words in a letter.

Her phone buzzes again – both of them, like they're coordinated:

William: No pressure, but Arsenal's playing Newcastle next week...would love to have you back 😉

Aurélien: Ma puce, s'il te plaît.

She turns her phone off.

Some decisions need sleep first.

And maybe a proper explanation. And definitely an apology. Face to face this time.

The Madrid night seeps through her windows when she finally woke up, city lights casting shadows that feel unfamiliar after two weeks away. She should unpack. Should shower off the airplane feeling. Should do anything except sit here on her couch staring at her phone like it holds the answers to the universe.

A text from Jules breaks through her spiral:

You back?

Auré's been impossible

Like, worse than when someone eats his protein bars

She starts typing several responses, deletes them all. What do you say to your boss's best friend when you're caught between said boss and his teammate?

Jude: You better be back tomorrow. He's proper lost the plot. Even Carlo's noticed. Man's not even celebrating goals properly

Rodrygo: Lei, he's impossible. Made the kit man cry 😭 Something about the wrong socks?? Please come back before he starts a civil war in the locker room

Her doorbell rings, making her jump. For a wild moment she thinks – hopes? fears? – it might be Aurélien. But it's just her neighbor Marina with a stack of mail.

"Welcome back!" Marina hands over the envelopes. "I kept your plants alive."

Plants. Right. She has responsibilities here. A life here. Can't just hide in her apartment forever avoiding difficult conversations.

Her schedule app pings – tomorrow's agenda already filling up. Training at 10, marketing meeting at 2, press conference prep at 4. She'll have to face him eventually, see him in that familiar Real Madrid training kit, probably looking unfairly good despite apparently terrorizing half the staff.

Her mama's voice echoes in her head: "Baby, you can't avoid your feelings forever. Even if you're really good at it."

She finally responds to Jules: Back tomorrow. Tell him not to get his hopes up

Jules replies immediately: Too late for that ma belle. He's already planned his apology speech. Practiced it on me and everything. Even Zizou called to check what's wrong with him

Her heart does a complicated flip.

A key card for Ciudad Real Madrid sits on her counter – the one she almost left behind two weeks ago. Tomorrow she'll have to use it. Tomorrow she'll have to face him.

But tonight?

Tonight she's going to order pizza, unpack her luggage, and try to remember why she took this job in the first place.

Before boys with accents complicated everything. Before letters and confessions and choices. Before her heart decided to make everything messy.

First day back and Leila's already falling into old rhythms like muscle memory. Their usual café knows exactly what she means when she asks for "the usual”. His dry cleaning's waiting at the place that probably pays their rent solely off his designer everything.

The drive to his house feels both foreign and familiar, her hands remembering every turn while her heart tries to remember how to beat normally. She sits in his driveway for a full minute, actually tempted to use the intercom button like a stranger.

But she doesn't.

Can't.

Won't.

The house is quiet when she lets herself in, morning sun streaming through those ridiculous floor-to-ceiling windows. Ocho's excited barking breaks the silence as he comes tearing around the corner like she's been gone for years instead of weeks.

"Hush," she whispers, dropping to her knees to accept his kisses. "You're gonna wake your daddy up."

"I'm already up, ma puce."

The nickname hits her chest like a physical thing. She's spent two weeks trying to forget how it sounds in his morning voice, all rough edges and soft intentions. Her resolution to stay indifferent cracks just a little.

She clears her throat, standing and brushing dog hair off her pants. "Back to ma puce already? What happened to Leila?"

And then she actually looks at him and – oh.

He's dressed. Actually dressed. Not his usual morning shirtless situation that tests her professional resolve, but a vintage Wu-Tang shirt and Rhude basketball shorts. Even his feet are covered in socks, like he's been up waiting, like he made an effort.

For her.

The thought makes something warm bloom in her chest that she quickly tries to squash.

She's supposed to be indifferent.

She headed to the kitchen trying not to notice how good he looks in actual clothes for once, settling the coffee and dry cleaning on the island, and then busies herself with his protein shake, a task her hands remember even if her heart's trying to forget its job.

"About what I said," Aurélien starts, voice careful like he's handling something fragile. "The 'okay' comment..."

"Ah, that." She keeps her back turned, pretending to be very interested in shake prep. "Your stellar review of my existence?"

"I panicked." The admission comes soft, almost shy. "Noah asked that question and I just... all I could think was how inappropriate it would be to say what I really thought."

She turns then, can't help it. "Which was?"

"That you're extraordinary." His eyes meet hers, steady and sure. "That you're the first person I want to tell things to. That watching you with William made me want to break things. That your smile makes me forget plays I've known since I was five."

"Oh." It comes out smaller than she intended.

"The letter was real," he continues, taking a step closer. "Everything in it. And I'm done fighting wrong. Done taking it out on William when I should have been fighting for you instead."

Her heart's doing gymnastics in her chest. "For me?"

"For you." Another step. "The right way this time. However long it takes."

It's good. It's really good. But...

"Are you really sorry?" She puts weight on the word, watches him catch it.

He nods, something vulnerable crossing his face.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove to me that you're sorry," she says, and maybe she's half-joking but also? She's never been in this situation before. Never had someone like Aurélien practically begging for forgiveness. Might as well milk it a little.

What she's not prepared for is him closing the distance between them, all six-foot-two of him towering over her with an intensity that makes her forget how to breathe proper. And she's definitely not prepared for him to sink to his knees in front of her, taking her free hand in his like it's something precious.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice rough with sincerity. "For calling you okay when you're everything. For walking away when I should have run toward you. For letting fear make me stupid."

His lips brush her knuckles and – lord, is this what romance novels feel like?

"Would you like me to kiss your feet too?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, but his eyes stay serious.

"What is happening right now?" She means it to come out teasing but it sounds breathless instead.

"I'm proving it." His thumb traces patterns on her palm. "Is it working?"

And really, what is her life? Standing in this ridiculously expensive kitchen while one of football's finest is literally on his knees apologizing? While he's looking at her like she's art, like she's precious, like she's everything he said in that letter and more?

"Maybe," she manages. "But you're going to have to do better than just words."

"Tell me how."

"Figure it out." She gently pulls her hand free, trying to remember how to be professional when all she wants to do is push his curls back. "You're smart when you want to be."

He stays on his knees even as she steps around him, watching her with those eyes. "I won't mess it up this time."

"We'll see."

Leila goes to the sink to wash her hands and the apples for his breakfast shake, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. Except Aurélien's still on his knees, scooting across the expensive kitchen tiles like some oversized puppy, designer shorts probably getting scuffed beyond repair.

"Boy, get up!" She laughs awkwardly because what in the world is happening right now? Like yes, she's enjoying watching him humble himself a little, but also? Those shorts probably cost more than her car payment and she's the one who has to deal with the dry cleaners judging her life choices.

But he doesn't move. Just stays there looking up at her with those eyes that should come with a warning label. "I'm serious."

She rolls her eyes, focusing on washing the apples because it's easier than dealing with whatever this energy is. "Aurélien please... I just said we'll see. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Lord, he's really out here acting like one of those girls on Twitter who lose their minds every time he winks at the camera during interviews. Which, honestly? She gets it now. She really does. But her inexperienced self isn't equipped to handle this kind of attention. This man who usually has models throwing themselves at him is literally on his knees in his own kitchen looking at her like she hung the moon or something.

The quiet stretches between them as she starts slicing apples on the cutting board, trying to remember how to be a professional PA and not a woman whose body is very aware of how close he is.

And then – sweet baby Jesus – his arms wrap around her waist, face burying into her stomach, and she nearly drops the knife because he's practically eye-level with parts of her that have never had this kind of attention and—

"I mean it, ma puce. Dead ass."

The fact that he's using Atlanta slang while basically nuzzling her stomach should be funny. Would be funny if she wasn't trying really hard to remember how to breathe properly.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Uncle Bertrand's voice makes her jump, but Aurélien doesn't move an inch. Just stays there with his face pressed against her blouse while his uncle walks in with Ocho trotting behind him like he's backup security or something.

Bertrand takes in the scene – his nephew on his knees, face buried in his PA's stomach, said PA holding a knife and looking like she's contemplating several life choices – and raises an eyebrow that speaks volumes.

"Aurélien Djani Tchouaméni, why is your face in her stomach? What did I walk in on?"

Leila bites back a laugh because she's never heard anyone use Aurélien's full name like that except his mama.

"I'm apologizing for being a dick," comes Aurélien's muffled response, still not moving from his position.

"My god, is this you begging?" Bertrand sucks his teeth, his voice carries that special kind of amusement reserved for embarrassing family members. "You have to kiss her feet."

"First of all, yuck — no feet kissing," Leila protests, trying to pry Aurélien's arms loose. "And can you please get him off of me?"

"Non," Aurélien tightens his hold. "Not until you believe me."

"Believe what?" Bertrand asks, already reaching for coffee like this is a normal morning occurrence.

"That I'm sorry. That I meant everything in the letter. That I–"

"Letter?" Bertrand's eyebrows shoot up. "What letter? When did you learn to write feelings?"

"Uncle–"

"No, no, this is fascinating. My nephew, who once told a girl 'thanks' when she said she loved him, wrote a letter?"

"Can we not?" Aurélien finally lifts his head to glare at his uncle, but his arms stay locked around Leila's waist.

"We absolutely can," Bertrand grins. "Right after you explain why you're harassing your best PA on company time."

"I'm not harassing–"

"Your face is in her stomach, nephew. She's holding a knife. This looks like harassment."

"It's... complicated," Leila manages to say, still trying to figure out how this became her life.

"Mhm." Bertrand eyes them both over his coffee cup. "As complicated as you flying to Georgia? As complicated as William calling me to ask about transfer policies?"

That makes Aurélien's head snap up. "William did what?"

"Oh, now he pays attention," Bertrand mutters. "Leila, dear, would you like me to remove my nephew from your person? He seems to have forgotten his manners."

"I haven't forgotten anything," Aurélien protests. "I'm trying to fix what I broke."

"By becoming a human koala?"

"By whatever it takes."

The sincerity in his voice makes something in Leila's chest squeeze. Even Bertrand's expression softens.

"Well," he says finally, "at least you're fully dressed this time. Progress."

Leila chokes on air while Aurélien groans. "Uncle–"

"What? I've seen the security footage. You really need to learn about shirts, nephew."

And just like that, any tension breaks. Because how can it not when your boss's uncle is roasting him about his clothing choices while said boss is still wrapped around you like an expensive octopus?

What even is her life anymore?

After Aurélien finally releases her to get dressed, Leila continues his protein shake – the one she's perfected over months of trial and error. Two scoops of the vanilla one (never chocolate, no matter how much Cama tries to convert him), banana, that secret dash of spinach she pretends not to add but he definitely knows about, and a surprising twist with some sliced apple.

Uncle Bertrand watches her work with that knowing look that must run in the family.

"I told you, you know," he says finally, "that he needs someone like you."

Her hands pause on the blender. "You know what this is about then?"

"His father told me bits and pieces." Bertrand's voice goes soft with affection. "I'm happy he's being serious with a girl again. Lord knows he's not cut out for this bachelor life."

"The models weren't enough?" She tries for humor but it comes out a bit sharp.

"You've seen them," he chuckles. "Different girl every other day, running through here like it's Paris Fashion Week. It was... concerning."

The blender whirs to life, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts.

"You need to deal with William soon," Bertrand says when the noise dies down. "Before this gets messier."

"I know." She pours the shake into Aurélien's favorite shaker bottle – the matte black one, never the clear ones. "I feel terrible about that actually. Using him as a rebound when he's been nothing but sweet."

"But?"

"But he still has to prove it to me," she says, and they both know who she means. "Make an effort. Show me it's real."

Bertrand nods, understanding lighting his features. "He will. You know how determined he can get."

"Like a dog with a bone," she agrees, just as footsteps announce Aurélien's return.

He's in his training gear now, all Real Madrid logos and compression wear that does things to her concentration. She hands him his shake without meeting his eyes – some habits are safer than others right now.

"Ready?" He asks, voice soft like it's just for her.

She grabs their coffees, professional mask sliding back into place. "Your car or mine?"

"Mine." The way he says it leaves no room for argument. "Always mine."

Uncle Bertrand's knowing laugh follows them out to where the Urus waits in the driveway, morning sun making everything look a little too much like possibility.

Just another day at the office.

Except nothing about this feels like just anything anymore.

Lucky Daye's voice fills the Urus while Aurélien drives one-handed through Madrid traffic, his other hand draped over the gearshift in that casual way that still does things to her concentration. Some things haven't changed in two weeks – like how he still looks unfairly good doing the most basic tasks, or how his Spotify playlist seems determined to test her emotional stability with all these R&B songs about complicated love.

She needs to call William soon. Has to be honest with him in a way Aurélien never was with her. Has to tell him she's weighing her options (a first for her inexperienced self) and that he shouldn't put all his eggs in her complicated basket. It's not fair to him, not when he's been nothing but sweet and patient while she sorts through her feelings.

"The letter," Aurélien starts, eyes on the road. "I really meant every word."

"Funny timing though." She sips her coffee, watching the city blur past. "Almost like seeing me with William made you realize something."

"It wasn't just that–"

"Wasn't it?" Her voice stays even despite her heart doing gymnastics. "Because before William, I was just 'okay', remember? Before he started showing interest, before he started treating me like I mattered, I was just your PA."

He sucks his teeth, that familiar sound of frustration. "I want you to be mine."

"No."

"No?"

"No," she confirms. "You have to work for it. And I still need to talk to William. Need to be honest with him, unlike some people."

The jab lands – she sees his fingers tighten on the wheel.

"Work for it?" The concept seems to genuinely puzzle him. "Why? Isn’t my apology enough?"

"Didn’t the girls you've fucked make you work for it?"

His silence at the red light speaks volumes.

"No, they don't," he finally admits. "Pretty much just gave in to anything I want."

"Well, there you go. You're spoiled."

"I'm not spoiled," he argues, but his dramatic eye roll undermines his point.

"You are. And I'm not doing it." She shakes her head. "I still don't believe you. Not when this could just be jealousy because William's occupying my time. Actions speak louder than words, Aurélien." She claps with each word for emphasis. "I. Want. To. See. Action. Steps. Taken."

He stares at her for a long moment before the light turns green. His jaw sets in that way that usually means someone's about to have a very difficult match.

"Bet."

The word carries weight, promise, challenge. Like he's accepting terms to a contract that could change everything.

She pretends her heart doesn't skip at the sound.

Pretends she doesn't care that Giveon's now singing about trust and integrity through the speakers.

Pretends she's not already wondering what Aurélien considers "action."

But she's definitely calling William tonight.

Some conversations need to happen before others can begin.

The training ground feels different when your boss is trying to prove something. Aurélien's been all "please" and "thank you" and "I appreciate you" all day, to the point where Jude and Cama keep exchanging looks like they're watching a nature documentary about rare behavior.

Like when she brings out the water bottles, he actually stops practice to help her carry them. When she hands him his post-training protein shake, his "merci, ma puce" is soft enough to make several teammates raise eyebrows.

"What is happening?" Jude whispers to her as she passes. "He's being… really nice?"

"It's creeping me out," Cama adds. "He said 'thank you' three times in ten minutes."

And don't get her wrong – Leila likes this version of him. Likes how he's actually showing gratitude instead of just expecting things. Likes how his eyes follow her around the training ground like he's memorizing her movements. But William's already set that bar pretty high with his constant thoughtfulness, his way of making her feel precious without trying.

A thank you can only do so much when you're competing with someone who treats you like you hung the moon.

Back at her apartment now, after Aurélien hugged her goodbye at his house (a proper hug, not those casual touches from before) with promises of "see you tomorrow" that somehow felt loaded. That twinkle in his eyes spelled trouble – the good kind, maybe, but trouble nonetheless.

Her phone feels heavy as she pulls up William's contact. This conversation needs to happen, even if it might hurt.

"Hey beautiful," his voice comes warm through the speaker. "I was just thinking about you."

They chat easily for a few minutes – about his day, about that Nigerian restaurant he still wants to take her to, about Arsenal's upcoming match that he's hoping she'll attend. His voice feels like comfort, like something she could sink into if her heart wasn't so complicated.

"Will," she finally says, heart heavy. "We need to talk."

The slight pause on his end speaks volumes.

"About Aurélien?"

"About everything." She takes a deep breath. "You deserve honesty."

"I appreciate that." His voice stays gentle, even now, and something in her chest aches.

"I'm… keeping my options open. For both of you. Seeing where things lead." The words come out in a rush. "And I think you should do the same. It's only fair."

His uncomfortable chuckle makes her chest tight. "Can't say I'm surprised. The way he looks at you…"

"Will–"

"No, it's okay. Really." Another pause, heavier this time. "I knew what I was getting into. Knew there was history there."

"Not history exactly–"

"Feelings then." His smile is audible even through the phone. "Strong ones, on both sides."

"I really like you," she says, because he deserves to hear it. Because it's true.

"But you might love him?"

The question hangs between them like smoke.

"I don't know what I feel anymore," she admits. "That's why I need time. Why you should keep your options open too."

"Leila," his voice goes soft, gentle in that way that made her choose him that night at the club. "You're worth waiting for. But I understand what you're saying."

"I'm sorry–"

"Don't be. Your honesty? That's one of the things I like most about you."

They talk a bit more – lighter topics, easier words – before hanging up. Her heart feels both heavier and lighter somehow, like setting down a weight only to pick up a different one.

At least now everything's on the table. At least now everyone knows where they stand.

Her phone buzzes with a text from Aurélien: Sleep well, ma puce. Tomorrow's a new day.

Something about the message makes her nervous in the best way. Whatever he's planning, whatever that twinkle in his eyes meant, she's about to find out.

Because Aurélien Tchouaméni doesn't do anything halfway. And apparently that includes trying to win her heart.

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

The past few days have been a weird mix of text messages. William's responses are still sweet but decidedly shorter since The Talk. He's still nice – still sends her "good morning beautiful" and checks if she's doing okay – but there's a new distance there. Their usual paragraphs have been shortened to quick exchanges:

Will: Match tonight against Newcastle Leila: Good luck! Will: Thanks x

That's it. Which, honestly? What did she expect after telling him to keep his options open? Can't be mad that he's taking a step back, even if it stings a little.

Meanwhile, Aurélien's been playing games with her head all week, sending these cryptic messages that probably make sense to him: When stars align, music speaks What's black and white and red all over? Some dreams happen under open skies

Like sir, are you having a stroke or…?

But he insisted she "dress sexy" for whatever this is, which prompted an emergency FaceTime session with her girls:

"The House of CB dress," Yolanda had declared. "The black one." "That's a size too small," Leila protested. "Exactly."

And looking in the mirror now? Her girls were right. The ruched dress might require slightly shallow breathing, but the way it hugs every curve like it's getting paid to? Worth it. She even put in her contacts and strapped on kitten heels because whatever he's planning clearly required effort.

When she pulls up to his house, Ocho greets her at the door like usual, but everything else feels different. The house is dimmed, rose petals scattered across the floor like some romance novel come to life, and – is that a violin playing?

Following the trail leads her to the open sliding doors, and sweet baby Jesus.

The backyard's been transformed – more rose petals, twinkling lights, a table set for two that looks straight out of a movie. And Aurélien…

Lord have mercy.

He's wearing actual pants – not ripped jeans or basketball shorts – and a button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms like he's trying to kill her specifically. The undone buttons giving her a peek at his chest and that Cuban link chain, his wrists glinting with his watch and bracelets.

"You look beautiful," he says softly, and she ducks her head because the way he's looking at her is too much.

His fingers catch her chin, tilting her face up to his, and he's so close she can count his eyelashes. Thank god for contacts because her glasses would've fogged up three seconds ago.

"Did you figure it out?" His voice is low, intimate.

"What?"

"The riddles, ma puce. The violin?" He gestures to the musician. "Stars under open skies?" His hand sweeps toward the clear night above them. "Black and white and red all over?" A nod to his outfit and the roses everywhere.

"You're ridiculous," she says, but she's smiling.

"Maybe." He bites his lip in that way that probably makes models sign NDAs. "Is it working?"

"Good job, Capitaine," she manages with a giggle, and his answering wink definitely made her whole body tingle.

He leads her to the table, pulling out her chair like a proper gentleman, and she pretends her heart isn't doing backflips.

Sundays are supposed to be her day off – no early morning protein shakes, no training ground chaos, no schedule managing. But here she is anyway, sitting at a table while a professional violinist plays in the background.

"You didn't have to do all this," she says as he pours her wine. "Especially on a Sunday."

"Had to prove I was serious." He settles into his chair across from her. "Show you I can do more than just words."

The candlelight catches his cheekbones in a way that should be criminal, and she has to remind herself to play it cool. "So this is what Aurélien Tchouaméni considers romance?"

"This is just the beginning." His smile holds promises. "Wait until you see what's for dinner."

Right on cue, his personal chef appears with appetizers that look like art. Everything's perfectly plated, portions actually sized for humans instead of athletes, and she realizes he's really thought this through.

"I remembered you mentioned liking seafood," he says, watching her reaction. "When you were telling that story about your daddy taking you fishing."

The fact that he remembered that random conversation from months ago does something to her chest.

"And the violin?" She gestures to where the musician is playing what sounds like a classical version of a Drake song.

"You said classical music helps you focus." His eyes hold hers. "I pay attention, ma puce. To everything about you."

And really, what is she supposed to do with that?

She takes a bite of perfectly cooked scallops, trying not to show how much his words affect her. "So you orchestrated all this just to prove a point?"

"To prove I can change." His eyes haven't left her face. "That I can be what you deserve."

The wine feels warm in her system, making everything soft around the edges. "And what do you think I deserve?"

"Everything." He reaches across the table, fingers brushing hers. "Someone who notices when you push up your glasses because you're nervous. Who knows you take your coffee with two sugars but pretend it's one because your mama would disapprove. Who remembers that you hum Anita Baker when you're happy."

"You notice all that?"

"I notice everything about you, ma puce." His thumb traces circles on her palm. "Even when I was pretending not to. Like how you tap your pen three times before writing something important. How you always save the best bite for last. How you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at something inappropriate."

The violin shifts to what sounds like a classical version of "Essence". "Did you give him a specific playlist?"

"I might’ve," he smiles. "You like it?"

"A little." But she's smiling too. "Points for creativity."

"I can do subtle," he offers. "If that's what you want."

"Since when do you do subtle?"

"Since a certain PA made me work for her attention."

The way he says it – fond but serious – makes her pause. "Is that what all this is? Working for my attention?"

"This is me showing you I can be more." His fingers tangle with hers properly now. "That I can be what you need."

"And what if what I need is time?"

"Then I'll wait." He lifts her hand to his lips. "But I'll wait while showing you exactly what you're waiting for."

The kiss he presses to her knuckles shouldn't feel this intimate. Shouldn't make her skin tingle like this.

"You're dangerous when you try," she manages.

His smile is pure sin. "Good thing I'm trying then."

The chef appears with the main course – some kind of fish that probably has a fancy French name but just tastes like heaven. Aurélien watches her take the first bite, satisfaction clear on his face when she can't hold back a sound of appreciation.

"The chef asked about your allergens," he says casually. "Your favorite spices. Whether you prefer your food spicy or mild."

"You did research?"

"I did everything." He takes a sip of wine, eyes holding hers over the rim of his glass. "Even called your mama about dessert."

"You did not–"

"Peach cobbler," he cuts her off with a grin. "Your grandma's recipe. Though the chef says it won't be as good as hers."

Something warm blooms in her chest. "You really are trying."

"I told you." His voice goes soft. "I'm not messing up this time."

The violin switches to what sounds like a classical version of "Love" by Keyshia Cole and she has to laugh. "Okay, now you're just showing off."

"You like it though?"

She pretends to think about it, taking another bite of perfectly cooked fish. "Maybe."

"Maybe is better than no."

"Don't get cocky."

"Never." But his smile says otherwise. "Though I did have other plans if dinner didn't impress you."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. Backup plans. Several of them."

"Care to share?"

He leans forward, voice dropping low. "And ruin the surprise? Non. You'll just have to wait and see."

"More riddles?"

"Perhaps." His fingers find hers again. "Though this time I might make them easier. Since you clearly struggled with these ones."

She tries to look offended but can't quite manage it. Not when he's looking at her like that, not when everything feels warm and soft and possible.

"You're trouble," she tells him.

"For you?" His thumb traces her pulse point. "Always."

She's in trouble.

So much trouble.

But watching him in the candlelight, seeing how much effort he's put into every detail, feeling the weight of his attention like a physical thing...

Maybe some trouble is worth it.

Maybe this trouble specifically.

Dinner was delicious and Leila never laughed so much in her life. With the chef and violinist now gone, the house feels different – more intimate somehow as they enjoyed dessert. Leila's curled up on his ridiculous designer couch, feet finally free of those torture devices called heels, while Aurélien sits close enough that she can feel his body heat.

"I can rub them if you want?" he offers, eyeing her feet with too much interest.

She squints at him. "Do you have a secret foot fetish or something?" His expression answers before his words do. "Oh my goodness, you do!"

"You have nice feet," he says like he's telling her his favorite color (it's blue by the way). "Your toes are always done. They're nice."

She shakes her head, laughing. "Wow, we're learning a lot about each other."

"You're telling me you don't have any things you like?" His voice drops lower, suggestive, as he moves closer – though how that's possible when they're already practically sharing space, she's not sure.

Her virgin brain short circuits for a moment. Because maybe… that one time she stumbled across exhibition videos on PornHub… but that's definitely not something she's ready to discuss over wine and peach cobbler.

"Uh… how are you feeling about the match against Milan?" Real smooth, Leila. His laugh is warm against her skin. "What?"

"Are you really changing the subject?" His eyes are dancing with amusement. "I asked you a question."

"And… I'm not answering that question."

"Leila," he says her name like it's honey in his mouth.

"Aurélien," she counters, trying to look stern.

They sit there at an impasse, the tension thick enough to cut, before he finally looks away and takes another sip of wine. "Fine, we won't talk about it."

"Thanks."

But the way he's still looking at her suggests this conversation isn't over.

Just postponed.

Leila takes another bite of cobbler, pretending she can't feel his eyes on her.

"You know," he says, "this isn't how I thought tonight would go."

"No?"

"Non." He shifts even closer. "Thought you'd be harder to impress."

"Who says I'm impressed?"

His smile is dangerous in the dim light. "The way you reacted to the food. The violin. The roses."

"Maybe I was just being polite."

"Ma puce," his voice drops low, "you're many things, but polite isn't one of them."

"Excuse me?"

"You tell me exactly what you think. Always." His fingers find a strand of her hair, twirling it absently. "It's one of the things I like about you."

"Only one?"

"Want to hear the others?"

The way he says it makes her pulse jump. "I don't know, do I?"

"I could show you instead."

And oh – the look in his eyes suggests he means business.

"Aurélien..."

"Just a taste," he murmurs, leaning closer. "To prove a point."

Leila doesn't move, not at first. She wants to — feels her body urge her to lean back into the softness of the couch and let the tension drain away, but there's something magnetic about him. Something that makes her blood hum, makes her pulse quicken, even as she tries to ignore it.

She forces herself to look at him, really look. His jawline is sharp, his lips slightly parted like he's already anticipating her next move. And those eyes are burning with something fierce, almost as if he's daring her to stop him.

"I—" Her throat feels dry. "Aurélien... what are you—"

"Shhh," he cuts her off gently, placing a finger over her lips. "Don’t talk, ma puce. Just listen. Let me show you."

Her heart slams in her chest, her mind screaming at her to back away, to call it a night, to leave before things go too far. But the way he's looking at her pulls her in, and suddenly, every rational thought is slipping through her fingers.

"Just a taste," he repeats, his voice thick with promise, his finger trailing lightly down her chin, her neck. She sucks in a breath as his touch lingers at the base of her throat, then slides lower, closer to the curve of her collarbone.

Her eyes flicker to his lips again, and before she can stop herself, she finds her hand reaching up, fingers grazing the side of his face. It's a simple gesture, but it's a signal. A question.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. But the way his gaze rakes over her, dark and hungry, tells her he doesn't want her to answer that. Not really.

Leila swallows, her heart racing in her chest, her body betraying her with every passing second. She shouldn't. She knows she shouldn't. But instead of pulling away, she inches closer, her lips barely brushing his.

"No," she breathes against his mouth.

Aurélien smiles, the kind of smile that’s more predatory than anything else. "I’d rather show you how good it can feel." And then, before she can say another word, his mouth captures hers.

He’s guiding her, pulling her closer, his hands smoothing over her hips. The kiss is everything — a mix of softness and heat, of slow-burning desire that’s impossible to resist.

Leila’s head spins, her breath shallow, hands running up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. She can feel him, all of him — how much he wants her, how much he’s holding back. Her body moves toward his instinctively, her heart races with every beat.

His hands slide lower, his fingers brushing her waist, and she can feel the heat pooling between her legs. She can’t help it. She presses closer, needy and unashamed.

"Ma puce," he whispers, his voice like velvet, "let me show you just how much I’ve been wanting this."

She doesn't answer. She doesn't need to. She knows. And when his hands cup her breast, her breath catches, anticipation and excitement clashing within her. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate. Leila feels him pull her closer, his lips moving with purpose, like he’s trying to claim her. She feels the heat of his body pressed against hers, but....not yet. Not tonight.

Leila finds strength to pull back, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she looks him up and down. "That’s all you’re getting," she says, her voice low, but definitely sure of herself.

Aurélien raises an eyebrow, lips still curved into that half-smile of his, eyes dark with intent. But before he can protest, she spots the clear evidence of his arousal — yeah, she sees that tent in his pants. The man’s not subtle, but she’s not here to make things too easy for him.

She stands, straightening herself up, smoothing down her dress. "You’ve still got work to do, remember?" she adds, as if reminding him of the tasks ahead. "I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He sighs, frustration and something else flickering across his face, but he doesn’t try to stop her. "Tomorrow," he echoes, voice low, and there’s that challenge in his eyes that makes her pulse race.

She gives him one last glance before turning toward the door, her smile sly. "'Night," she says, her tone promising something more, something to keep him on edge.

The door closes behind her with a soft click, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Holy shit.

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

Leila's hands are definitely not shaking as she punches in Aurélien's gate code. And if they are, it's definitely from the coffee she's carrying and not from flashbacks of last night. Not from remembering how "just a taste" turned into his hands in her hair, her fingers clutching his shirt, that sound he made when she accidentally bit his bottom lip...

Lord.

Her virgin self really got caught up last night. One minute she was eating cobbler and dodging questions about her kinks (which, thank god they got distracted before that conversation continued), and the next minute his "let me show you" turned into the kind of kiss romance novels try to describe.

The texts they exchanged after she finally made herself leave (before her inexperience could catch up with her courage) don't help:

Aurélien: Already miss your taste

Leila: Go to sleep

Aurélien: Can't. Still thinking about how you sound when...

She had to turn her phone off before she did something crazy like drive back to his house.

Now here she is, walking up to his door trying to act professional while her body remembers exactly how his hands felt on her waist, how his voice got rough when she tugged his hair, how he...

"Ma puce."

Sweet baby Jesus.

He's standing in the doorway looking like every bad decision she wants to make, wearing just basketball shorts and that smirk that started all this trouble in the first place.

Just another Monday morning.

Except nothing about this feels like just anything anymore. Especially not the way he's looking at her like he's remembering too.

She walks in as he moves aside, following her closely as she makes her way into the kitchen to start his breakfast. Her phone buzzes while she's making his protein shake, William's name lighting up the screen:

You okay? Haven't heard from you since yesterday

She should answer. Needs to answer. Should probably tell him about the kiss that's still making her lips tingle. About how–

Warm arms wrap around her waist from behind, and Aurélien's lips find that spot on her neck that she didn't even know was sensitive until last night.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmurs against her skin.

"I'm working," she tries to sound professional but it comes out breathless. "Some of us have actual jobs to do."

"Mhm." His lips trace up to that spot behind her ear that made her gasp last night. "Important jobs."

"Aurélien..."

"Ma puce?" His voice is all innocent but his hands definitely aren't, drawing patterns on her hips that make it hard to remember why she's supposed to be resisting this.

Her phone buzzes again but she can't focus on it. Not when he's pressed against her like this, all warm skin and morning voice and–

"I have to answer that."

"Do you though?"

And that's the problem isn't it? She should. She needs to. But with Aurélien's mouth doing things to her neck that should be illegal in at least twelve countries...

William's text can wait.

Her self-control apparently can't.

Leila manages to slip out of his grasp, heading to the fridge for eggs because somebody needs to maintain some professionalism around here. She's bent over, searching for the organic ones he likes, when she feels him press against her back, his "morning happiness" making itself very known.

"I think I like you like this. Bent over."

The eggs are immediately forgotten as she straightens up, turning to give him a look that clearly says "are you for real right now?"

"Aurélien–"

"Yes, ma puce?" His innocent tone doesn't match his eyes at all.

"You're still on thin ice, Capitaine. So all this little freaky stuff is not gonna get you what you want..."

"I know," he smiles, and something in it makes her eyes widen. "I know you're not just going to give in to anything I want so easily, but I don't know if I could ever stop touching you."

And that's the thing about him – if quality time is her love language, physical touch is definitely his. At least in private. He might keep his distance in public, but alone? Man's like a human koala, especially with her.

"I got you something," he says suddenly, and she tries not to look too excited. A gift? For her?

He disappears down the hall, returning with a pristine white bag that definitely came from somewhere expensive. When he hands it to her, she peers inside and – oh.

It's a new planner. But not just any planner. It's the one she's been eyeing for months, the ridiculously expensive one with the butter-soft leather cover and gold monogramming. The one she'd mentioned exactly once, in passing, while organizing his schedule.

"I noticed yours is almost full," he says softly. "And you said this one had the best layout for managing multiple schedules."

The fact that he remembered that random conversation, that he noticed her current planner getting full...

"You didn't have to–"

"I wanted to." His fingers brush hers as she lifts it out. "Look inside."

She opens it to find he's already filled in important dates – his matches, his family's birthdays, even her mama's birthday that she definitely didn't tell him about.

"How did you–"

"Called your mama again." He looks slightly sheepish. "She had a lot to say about my timing."

Of course she did.

"Thank you," she manages, trying not to show how much this means. That he noticed. That he remembered. That he put in effort.

"There's more," he says, reaching for the bag. "But first..."

His lips find hers, soft and sure, and she forgets about the rest of the gifts. There's something different about this kiss – softer than last night's heated exchanges but somehow more intense. His hands cup her face like she's precious while his mouth does things that make her knees weak. She finds herself clutching the planner to her chest with one hand while the other grabs his shoulder for balance, and he makes that sound again – the one from last night that lives rent-free in her head now. When his tongue traces her bottom lip, she opens for him without thinking, and lord... for someone who's never done this before, she's learning quick. Maybe too quick, judging by the way he groans when she experiments with a gentle bite to his lip. She's definitely going to need Jesus after this, but right now? Right now she just needs him closer.

When she finally manages to pull away from his kiss (which takes more willpower than she wants to admit), he's got that satisfied look that makes her want to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

"The rest?" she prompts, trying to sound composed even though her lips are still tingling.

He reaches into the bag again, pulling out a smaller box. Inside is a pen that probably costs more than her first car – all sleek rose gold and clean lines.

"Because you keep stealing mine," he explains with a grin.

"I do not–"

"Ma puce, I've bought six pens this month."

She wants to argue but... yeah, okay, maybe she has a habit of walking off with his pens. But in her defense, they write really nice and–

"One more thing."

The last box is smaller, and when she opens it, her heart actually stops for a second. It's a delicate gold chain with a tiny diamond 'A' pendant.

"Before you overthink," he says quickly, "it's not... I know we're not... it's just..."

Seeing Aurélien Tchouaméni stumble over words is definitely new.

"It's just what?"

"A reminder," he finally manages. "That I'm serious. About you. About us. About earning your trust back."

She stares at the necklace, at this man who's apparently determined to make her heart malfunction, at the way he's watching her like her reaction means everything.

"Help me put it on?"

The smile that breaks across his face is worth any overthinking she might do later. His fingers brush her neck as he fastens the chain, and then his lips follow, pressing soft kisses along her skin.

"Aurélien..."

"Mhm?"

"We're going to be late for training."

"Worth it."

His lips are still on her neck, making it very hard to remember why being on time matters, when her phone buzzes again. This time it's Jude: Ancelotti's asking where you two are.

She jumps back like she's been shocked. "We're really late."

"And?" His smile is pure sin, eyes dark with promise.

"And Carlo will actually kill me this time."

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but he's already heading upstairs to change. "Give me five minutes."

She takes those five minutes to try and compose herself, to remember how to be professional, to definitely not think about how his lips felt against her skin or how the 'A' pendant sits perfectly in the hollow of her throat or–

"Ready?"

He's back, properly dressed for training this time, but his eyes still hold promises that make her nervous in the best way.

"Keys?" she manages.

He dangles them with a smirk. "One condition."

"What?"

"Let me take you to dinner tonight. Another date."

Her heart definitely skips. "Wasn't last night enough?"

"Never enough with you." He steps closer, fingers brushing the pendant at her throat. "And I promise - no riddles this time."

"You sure? No cryptic messages about stars and violins?"

"Well, maybe one small riddle..." At her look, he laughs. "I'm joking. Just dinner. Just us."

And really, what is she supposed to say to that?

"We'll see," is what comes out, but they both hear the 'yes' in it.

His answering smile could power all of Madrid.

Sunday night….with Wilo…..

Wilo sits at the small corner table of the Nigerian spot he loves, the smell of jollof rice and suya filling the air around him. It’s a quiet evening after his match against Newcastle, a hard-fought win that left his body aching in all the right ways.

A few days have passed since that conversation with Leila, but the words still linger, the distance between them now palpable in a way it hadn’t been before. He thought it would be easier, that the space she’d given him would allow things to settle, to let him move on from the uncertainty. But instead, he feels like he’s stuck in the same place, unable to shake the feeling that he’s losing her, even if she’s not quite his to lose yet.

His phone buzzes, dragging him from his thoughts. He looks down at it, then back at the half-empty plate in front of him. The jollof rice and plantains are still warm, but he’s lost his appetite. The food is just a distraction now, nothing more than a reminder of the dinner he’d been trying to enjoy alone.

He picks up his phone again, unlocking it without thinking, his fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before he sends a message to Leila.

"Hey. Just checking in. Hope you’re doing okay."

It’s simple. A text that doesn’t demand anything, that gives her space. It’s all he can do, really, considering where things stand. After a few minutes, he sees the three little dots appear, then disappear. And for a moment, he holds his breath, wondering if she’ll reply.

But instead, his phone goes silent. No message.

Wilo sighs, putting the phone back down. He shouldn’t have expected anything different. She’s still figuring things out. And he has to respect that. He leans back in his chair, trying to push away the feeling of helplessness creeping in. He doesn’t want to rush her, doesn’t want to pressure her into something she’s not ready for. But damn, it’s hard.

The waiter comes by, refilling his drink, and Wilo forces a smile, nodding his thanks. He’s been here enough to know the staff, but tonight, he feels a little out of place, like he’s only going through the motions.

Wilo takes another bite of the jollof rice, the spice lingering on his tongue, but it doesn’t hit the same tonight. He pushes it around the plate, chewing slowly, the rhythm of eating providing little relief to the weight he feels on his chest.

He's still poking at the rice, when a voice interrupts him.

"So, is the jollof rice not living up to your expectations?"

Wilo looks up, surprised to find a woman standing next to his table. She’s dark-skinned, with a pixie cut that frames her face perfectly, highlighting the sharp angles of her jaw and the soft curve of her full lips. She’s got that effortless coolness about her that catches his attention immediately.

"Nah, it’s good," he responds, his voice a little more clipped than usual as he tries to refocus. "Just... not hungry, I guess."

She tilts her head, clearly noticing the distraction in his tone. "You sure?" She steps closer, her gaze flicking to the plate and then back to him. "I know it’s hard to find good jollof, especially when you’re used to a certain standard."

Wilo raises an eyebrow at the sudden shift in conversation, not quite sure where this is going. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But... this spot's good. Nothing beats my mom’s though," he says with a small, genuine smile.

She grins, as though she’s been waiting for that answer. "What would you rate it, then? Like... on a scale from one to ten?"

Wilo blinks, a little confused, before he notices the notebook tucked between her fingers. It clicks, and he chuckles softly. "Wait, you’re a journalist?"

Her smile widens, and she nods. "Food and culture." She pulls out a pen and begins scribbling in her notebook. "So, one to ten. Be honest."

Wilo laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to shake the weird feeling of being put on the spot. "Okay, okay... probably an eight. It’s solid, but, you know, not like my mom's."

She scribbles quickly, her eyes glinting with amusement. "An eight? I’ll take that. How about the plantains? Better than the rice?"

Wilo laughs again, this time with a little more ease. "The plantains are solid too. I’ll give those a nine. Can't go wrong with them."

She jots it down, looking up from her notes, locking eyes with him. "And are you a regular here, or just popping in for some comfort food?"

"A bit of both, I guess," Wilo replies, leaning back in his chair. "It’s one of my go-tos."

"Good choice," she says, making a note of it. "Do you think the food here captures the essence of Nigerian cuisine for people who might not be familiar with it?"

Wilo pauses, thinking. "I’d say it’s a decent intro. It’s definitely a good version of what you’d get from a home-cooked meal."

She nods, scribbling that down too. Then she glances up at him, a playful glint in her eye. "So, would you want to be quoted on the record? Or should I keep this between us?"

Wilo smirks, leaning forward. "If it’s going on the record, I might have to revise my answers." He’s joking, but the flirty undertone is clear. He can't help but enjoy the back-and-forth, the way she’s been teasing him all along.

"Noted," she says, her lips curving into a smile. "But I can make it unofficial if you want. Just let me know."

Wilo chuckles. "Yeah, you can quote me. Why not?"

"Great," she says, flipping her notebook shut and pulling out a business card. "I’m Kemi, by the way."

Wilo takes the card with a raised brow. "Wilo."

She grins, her eyes scanning him for a second before she teases, "Your French accent’s really thick, huh?"

Wilo laughs, giving a slight shrug. "Yeah, I know."

They share a brief, amused silence, and just then, the waiter comes by with her bill. She takes it without hesitation, signing it quickly and handing it back to him with a polite nod.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Wilo," Kemi says as she fastens her coat. "And I’ll make sure to quote you if I use this in the article."

"Yeah, sounds good," Wilo replies, watching her with a half-smile. "Take care."

She gives him a final, lingering look, and then she turns and walks toward the door, leaving him watching her retreating figure.

Wilo leans back in his seat again, the jollof rice now cold, and the absence of Kemi lingering more than he expected. It’s only then that the weight of the conversation with Leila starts to hit him again. She said to keep his options open, but that doesn’t make it easier. He lets out a slow breath, feeling like he's caught between two worlds — one that’s still unsure, and another that wants to take that leap.

..........................tbd