#i keep getting booted from queue over and over again

[aureliawisenri]

trying to log back in is going great

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 3: 36 hours in Munich Other Parts

Word Count: 8k

⚽️

You’re in the locker room, post-session. Freshly changed but, pulse still settling, water bottle half-drunk and rolling somewhere near your bench. Everyone’s moving slow — stretches, recovery gear, shower queues. Typical post-training lull.

But you’re pacing already packing away, quicker than normal, you normally linger for longer. You sit finally. Jacket half-zipped. Legs twitchy, breath short, heart doing sprints while your teammates are winding down.

You check your phone for the sixth time in two minutes. Still nothing. Still soon.

“Alright,” a voice cuts through behind you. “Who is it?”

You look toward the voice. Georgia. Leaning against the wall, towel over her shoulder, one brow cocked. You blink. “What?”

“You’re all… shifty.” She waves a vague circle around you. “Nicely-dressed, hair down. You keep checking your phone like it's gonna grow lips.”

You try to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”

Georgia doesn’t even flinch. “Liar. Spill it.”

You stare at her for a second. You weren’t going to tell anyone. But something about her tone — casual but not cruel — makes your chest loosen. And you need to say it out loud. Just once.

You sigh, grab your other boot, and sit. “She’s flying in.”

Georgia pauses. “She?” You assumed Beth would of blabbed by now.

You swallow. “Alexia.”

That name lands like a stone in a calm pool. Georgia blinks once. “Putellas?”

“Yeah.”

She’s staring now. Like full-body-turn, jaw-slightly-dropped, towel-falling-off-the-shoulder staring. “For… ?” she tries.

You sigh a hand going through your freshly washed hair. “For a day.”

Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “As in…”

You shrug, but you can’t help the way your face warms. “Yeah. As in that. She followed me after the home game against Barca, after the away game, that's when she first started DM'ing me" You smile at Georgia's mouth hanging open.

"Saying what?"

"Football stuff mainly, about the games, but after the last game at Wembley, she asked if she could come here to see me. I said yes.”

Georgia whistles low. “Bloody hell. You’re actually—” she stops herself. “Wait. Are you nervous?”

You nod, fast and helpless. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

She laughs, loud and bright. “You scored a free kick at Wembley in front of ninety thousand, but you’re sweating because the Queen of Barcelona herself is flying in for a sleepover?”

You put your hand out, "You say it like they're not both just as equally massive" You groan, head in hands. “Why did I tell you.”

Georgia grins. “Because you needed to.” She slaps your back once, warm and steady. “She’ll have a nice time I'm sure. And you're interesting when your social battery is full. Just don’t overthink it.” You look up. Georgia’s still smiling — not teasing now. Just sure. “Go get the girl from the airport,” she says. “Don't over think it, just take it for what it is, it's her idea to come here so let her lead what it is"

You roll your eyes. But you’re nodding too. Because yeah — it’s real now. She’s coming. And you have to be ready.

“Meado knows about mine and Alexia’s conversations, she doesn’t know about her coming. If you know, you need to freak out about this when I’m gone”

⚽️

The car is parked just beyond the pickup loop, engine idling low. Your hoodie’s half-zipped, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other drumming nervously against your thigh. You’ve been here twenty minutes early, but you’d never admit it.

Your phone lights up with a text.

Alexia: Just got my bag. Coming out now.

You swallow hard.

You glance in the rearview mirror, tug at your hair, check your reflection. You don’t even know why — it’s her, you’ve already been through matches and mud and bruises together — but somehow, this is different.

It’s real. And quiet. And outside the lines. The terminal doors slide open again. A few people walk out. Not her. Another group. Still not. Your fingers tap faster.

Then there she is. Alexia. Dressed in all black, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, duffel bag over her shoulder. She walks out calm, casual, that familiar captain’s posture in every step. But her eyes are already searching.

And the second she sees you, they soften. You watch her approach through the windshield, heart thudding so hard you’re sure she’ll hear it before she even opens the door.

She pulls it open and slides into the passenger seat with that impossible grace, dropping her bag between her feet. You look at her.

She looks at you. And for a second, neither of you says a thing.

“Hey,” you breathe, voice barely above the hum of the engine.

“Hey,” she says back, softer.

You both smile. It’s awkward and perfect and so much. “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” you say as you pull out into traffic.

She leans back in the seat, eyes still on you. “I told you,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want to miss you.”

The city rolls past in a blur of grey and gold. Low sunlight spills across the dashboard, and the soft thrum of music — something wordless and warm — fills the quiet between you.

You’re both a little awkward. Not painfully so. Just… cautiously new.

It’s strange, this version of her — in your passenger seat, seatbelt clicking into place, fingers drumming lightly on her thigh. She’s looking out the window, but keeps glancing at you when she thinks you won’t notice.

You notice. “Airport was easy, then?” you ask, just to fill the silence.

She nods. “Very. One person tried to sneak a photo. But I gave them the look.”

You smirk. “The full ‘Putellas Death Glare’?”

“Level three only,” she says, mock serious. “Mild warning.”

You laugh under your breath, relaxing a little. Her accent’s thicker in person, softer in a car. You don’t know why that makes your stomach twist the way it does.

She glances at you again, a little longer this time. “It’s weird,” she murmurs. “Hearing you talk without a crowd around us.”

You smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

You make it through another light, and the silence stretches — still easy, but expectant.

Then suddenly — you freeze. “Oh shit.”

Alexia blinks. “What?”

You wince. “I forgot to tell you something kind of… important.”

She turns in her seat, curious. “What did you forget?”

You drum your fingers on the wheel. “I have a dog.”

Alexia blinks again. Then a slow smile tugs at her lips. “That’s what you forgot?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, already cringing. “I just—I meant to tell you. I’m not one of those people who spring dogs on people. He’s sweet. I swear.”

She’s laughing now — full, rich, effortless. “You make it sound like you’ve got a bear waiting at the door.”

“He’s just… enthusiastic,” you say, biting your lip. “His name’s Teddy.”

Alexia tilts her head, teasing. “Named after?”

“Teddy bear. Don’t judge me.”

She holds up both hands. “No judgment. But I can’t believe you didn’t lead with that.”

You glance at her. “Still time to turn around, you know.”

She smiles wider, looking straight ahead again. “I came here to see you,” she says softly. “Teddy’s just a bonus.”

And just like that, the nerves quiet. Just a little.

⚽️

You pull into the parking spot in the street, heart suddenly faster than it was on the pitch at Wembley.

Alexia’s quiet beside you, seatbelt undone, hands folded in her lap. But you feel her eyes on you as you kill the engine and sit for a second longer than necessary.

“This is it,” you say, finally, looking up at your loft apartment on the third floor

She nods. “Cute street.”

You grin. “Cute flat.”

She smirks. “Cute dog?”

You shoot her a look. “He’s trying his best.”

You both laugh as you get out. The early evening air is cool, the sky dipping into that soft lilac blue. You grab her small bag from the boot, and as you unlock the door, you hesitate.

“He might bark.”

“I can handle it,” she says, smiling.

You push the door open. It takes exactly one second.

Teddy barrels around the corner, all paws and excitement, nails tapping on the floor like a drumroll. His tail is going wild, and he’s already launching toward you when he spots the new presence behind you.

Alexia steps in, closing the door behind her. Teddy freezes. Then bolts straight for her.

You open your mouth to intervene—“Teddy, no!”—but before you can, Alexia’s already crouching down, calm and soft.

“Hola, precioso,” she murmurs, holding out a hand. And Teddy melts.

Tail wagging, head pressing into her palm, tongue ready for her cheek like she’s his long-lost soulmate.

You blink. “Well,” you mutter, “traitor.”

Alexia looks up at you, grinning as she scratches behind his ears. “He has taste,” she says. “Clearly.”

You lean against the doorframe, watching her — hair falling into her face, Teddy now rolling onto his back like he’s never known loyalty — and something in your chest settles. Warms.

Alexia stands, finally, brushing dog fur from her knees.

“Welcome to Germany,” you say, quieter now.

She doesn’t look away when she answers. “Thanks,” she says. “It already feels like a good idea.”

And for the first time all day, you believe you can relax. Because she’s here. This is just the beginning.

You toe off your shoes by the door, glance back to find Alexia standing just inside, Teddy still sniffing reverently at her shoes like he’s found royalty. Her bag’s at her feet, her jacket draped over her arm.

You clear your throat. “Right—um. Tour.”

She smiles like she’s already charmed. “I’m ready.”

You lead her into the main space — open-plan living room and kitchen. The walls are clean, but lived-in. A few photos on a shelf — one of the squad after a cup match, another of you and Beth pulling stupid faces at the camera. A soft throw blanket is half-fallen off the back of the couch. A candle you forgot you lit earlier is still flickering on the coffee table.

“This is the, uh—living-slash-existing space,��� you say, gesturing vaguely. “Teddy thinks it belongs to him.”

Teddy immediately hops onto the couch, circles twice, and settles like you’ve just proven his point. Alexia grins.

You lead her into the kitchen, flicking on the under-counter light. “I don’t cook much, but the kettle works. Coffee pods are in here.” You tap a cupboard. “Mugs — there.”

She opens it, scans the shelves. “All mismatched.”

You shrug. “I collect them. Kind of.”

“I like it,” she says, softly. “It feels like someone lives here.”

You duck your head, smiling.

You show her the bathroom next — small, clean, stocked with too many hair ties and one towel you warn her not to use because it’s definitely Teddy’s now.

And then the hallway. Two doors.

“That one’s mine,” you say, thumb over your shoulder. “The other’s yours while you’re here.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Just peeks inside. A double bed, made neatly. Fresh towels folded at the foot.

She steps inside. Smiles softly looking around more.

You clear your throat. “I didn’t want it to feel weird.”

“It doesn’t,” she says. “It feels like you thought about it.”

“I did,” you admit.

It slips out quieter than you mean it to, but you don’t take it back.

Alexia meets your eyes. “Thank you. For having me.”

You nod toward the room. “Make yourself at home, yeah? My place is your place.”

She steps a little closer. Not much. Just enough that you feel her presence like a hum. “I already feel at home,” she says.

And the way she says it. It makes your chest ache. In the best way. You raise your eyes when they moved away from hers, "I'll um, leave you to unpack" you take a step back, "Teddy" you call, he appears around the foot of the bed, "Come" you give Alexia one final look and you walk back down the hallway.

She smiled opening her bag as she heard you chatting away to Teddy about getting him some treats, asking for various tricks from him.

⚽️

You tried to cook. You really did. But somewhere between boiling the pasta and burning the garlic, you gave up and ordered takeaway. Alexia didn’t mind. In fact, she looked almost relieved.

Now you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a show on a streaming app neither of you are paying attention to, warm plates in your laps and the soft, flickering glow of your fairy lights stretching across the ceiling.

She’s in one of your hoodies now. You hadn’t meant to offer it — just handed it over without thinking when she mentioned how cold planes make her feel.

It swallows her in all the right ways.

Teddy’s curled at your feet. Loyal again. For now.

“Okay,” she says mid-bite, glancing at you. “I need to know something.”

You look over, wiping your fingers on a napkin. “What?”

She gestures with her fork. “Do you actually like this pasta place, or is it just close?”

You fake a gasp. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” she says, trying to hide her smile. “I just—your face when you handed it to me said, ‘This is the best I’ve got, but I know it’s not the best in the world.’”

You laugh. “Alright, yeah. It’s proximity-based love.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Respect.”

The TV plays something forgettable in the background — neither of you are really watching it. The kind of background noise that just fills in the edges of something far more focused. Like the way she’s sitting. One leg folded beneath her, turned just slightly toward you. Or the way you’re watching her mouth more than listening to her words.

She puts her plate down on the coffee table, wipes her hands, then leans back. “You were nervous,” she says suddenly.

You blink. “When?”

“Earlier. At the airport. In the car.”

You roll your eyes. “Was it that obvious?”

She smiles, soft and real. “A little.”

You look down at your plate, then back at her. “I just… didn’t want it to feel weird.”

Alexia tilts her head slightly. “It doesn’t. You make it easy.”

That catches you off guard. You blink once, then set your plate down too. The silence stretches. But it’s not awkward. It’s warm. “I’m glad you came,” you say.

She leans her head back against the couch, eyes on you now in that slow, deliberate way she does everything. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she says.

Alexia is fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie — pulling at the hem with her thumb like she doesn’t realise she’s doing it. She’s not really looking at you. Not often. Just quick glances. Then back down. Then away.

You’re talking about random things. Easy things. Football. Training. Travel. Things you are confident you have in common.

She tells you about a weird airport coffee she had in Zurich. You tell her about the time Teddy accidentally got locked in your bathroom for 20 minutes and emerged looking personally betrayed.

And every now and then, there’s a pause that lasts a little longer than it should. But neither of you fill it. You just let it be. Eventually, you nudge your leg gently against hers. “You’re quiet.”

Alexia shifts. “Am I?”

You smile. “A little. For someone who just flew here to hang out with me.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. It’s barely there. “I’m just…” She trails off. Shrugs. “I’m not good at this part.”

You tilt your head. “What part?”

She stares at the coffee table like it’s got answers. “The talking part.” You wait. She finally looks at you — really looks. “I know how to show up to a match,” she says, voice low. “How to lead. How to win. That makes sense to me. But this?” She gestures between you. “This is…” She doesn’t finish.

You finish it for her. “New.”

She nods. And for a second, you think maybe she’s going to stand up, shift away, hide behind something safe. But she doesn’t. She just sits there. Awkward. Present. Willing.

You offer a small, understanding smile. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”

She exhales, a little lighter now. “Good. Because I didn’t bring a tactics board.”

You both laugh. Softly. Easily. She doesn’t say anything else for a while — just leans back again, arms crossed over her chest now, head tilted slightly in your direction.

Eventually, she mumbles, almost like it’s for herself, “I’m glad I came too.” You nudge her foot with yours, with a gentle smile.

Alexia’s sitting sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out slightly, your hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. You’re close, but not quite touching.

The conversation’s slowed to a hum — soft music talk, playlists, half-confessions about guilty pleasure songs. She mentions a Catalan band you’ve never heard of, and while she’s scrolling through her phone to find a song, your eyes drift downward.

And then you see it. A couple of faint lines on her knee. Pale, clean, but unmistakable. The scar. You pause. Not out of shock — you knew. You remember the coverage, the months out, the comeback.

But seeing it? That’s different. It’s not just a story now. It’s her. She notices your eyes drop. And for the first time all night, she goes still.

“Yeah,” she says softly, not quite looking at you. “That’s… that.”

You meet her eyes again. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. But there’s something guarded in her voice. Like she’s used to people staring at it, asking about it, expecting something from it. You don’t ask. You just nod once, gentle. “Looks like strength,” you say, matter-of-fact.

Alexia’s brow furrows, unsure if you’re serious. But you are. She shifts slightly — not closer, but more open somehow. Her hand moves instinctively toward her knee, fingers grazing the scar once, like she’s reminding herself it’s still there.

“Sometimes it feels like I left a part of myself in there,” she murmurs. “The version of me from before.”

You let that hang. Then, quietly, “The version of you now scored against me. Twice.”

She huffs a breath. “Only one actually went in.”

“Still counts.”

She glances at you — and her smile is tired, genuine, laced with something like gratitude. Not for the words. For the way you didn’t try to fix it. Just saw it. And stayed.

The playlist she queued has faded into a quiet acoustic hum — soft, wordless, like it knows it shouldn’t interrupt. The light in the room has gone warm and low, one lamp casting golden arcs over her face as she leans back into the couch, knee still bent, hand still ghosting near the scar.

You don’t speak. You wait. And eventually — slowly — she does.

“I didn’t think I’d come back,” she says, voice low, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it’s easier not to look at you. “Not really.”

You blink, still, letting her keep control of it.

“Everyone kept saying I would. That I’d be fine. That I was strong, that I’d be back in a year. But inside…” She swallows. “I didn’t feel strong. I didn’t even feel whole. I felt… like I’d been cut out of myself.”

You shift just slightly. Not closer — not yet. But enough to let her know, I’m here. She breathes, slow.

“I’d watch games and feel like I didn’t belong anymore. Like I’d already been replaced. And I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I was because… I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m her, you know?” She finally looks at you now. “La Reina” You meet her eyes, steady. She adds, barely audible, “But I felt like glass.”

The words hang in the room — fragile, but not broken. You nod once. Then say the only thing you really believe in this moment. “I think you’re better now.”

Her brow pulls, confused. “What?”

You lean back, resting your head on the couch, looking up like she did. “You’re smarter. Sharper. Your passes don’t just thread — they cut. You’ve got control most people don’t even understand. And there’s a weight to the way you move now, like you know exactly what it costs to step back onto the pitch.”

You turn your head to her again.

“I’ve watched you before. Really watched you. You were always brilliant. But now?” You shrug. “You’re something else.”

Alexia stares at you, mouth parted slightly — like no one’s ever said it that way. Not like that. Not to her. She doesn’t say thank you. She just shifts — this time closer. Not dramatic. Just enough. Her shoulder brushes yours. Her knee bumps your thigh. And she lets out a breath that sounds a little like relief. “Thank you,” she murmurs eventually, eyes back on the scar. And then, softer: “I’ve never said that stuff out loud.”

You nod. “I know.” The quiet returns — not heavy this time. Comfortable. Like something sacred just happened, and you both know it.

She’s close now. Arm resting lightly against yours. Your hoodie sleeves bunching at her wrists. The scar still visible — but no longer raw. You glance down at her, the way her gaze has softened since she spoke, how her edges feel less guarded, like your living room gave her permission she didn’t even know she needed.

You swallow once. Think. Then speak. “You know… when I moved to Germany, people said it was career suicide.”

Alexia turns her head slightly, brows faintly drawn. Listening now. Not out of politeness. Intention. You stare ahead.

“Agents stopped calling. Interviews dried up. One coach — someone I used to really trust — told me I’d disappear. That I’d ‘fade out quietly.’” You huff a laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “I hadn’t even unpacked yet.”

Alexia is silent. Not interrupting. Just there.

“I’d scroll through social media and see all the squad updates, the camps, the conversations I wasn’t in anymore. And I thought… maybe they’re right. Maybe I peaked.”

You pause. Swallow.

“I started believing it. Like I was a mistake that was just waiting to happen.”

Alexia shifts slightly, her arm pressing into yours, grounding you.

“But then,” you continue, voice quieter now, “I played. I worked. And I kept showing up. And slowly… something changed. Not in them. In me.”

Alexia tilts her head. You glance at her.

“I stopped playing to prove people wrong,” you say. “And I started playing like they didn’t get a say.”

There’s a pause. And then—so soft you almost miss it—she says, “I noticed.”

You look at her. She’s watching you now — full on. Not blinking. Not shrinking. And when she speaks again, it’s steady.

“You didn’t disappear. You became better.”

You smile, but there’s a knot in your throat. Because you know she means it. And you never expected to hear it from her. Alexia leans her head back against the couch, her body still relaxed but her voice dipped low again.

“I know what that doubt feels like,” she says. “And I know how heavy it is to prove yourself to people who already made up their minds.”

You nod. “It’s exhausting.”

She murmurs, “And lonely.”

The room goes quiet again. But this time? Not lonely. Just two people sitting in a space neither of you were sure existed — honest, open, real. No spotlight. No pressure. Just you and her. And the ache you’ve both come back from.

⚽️

It’s late.

So late the playlist stopped a while ago. So late the city outside your windows feels like it’s on mute. You both stretch at almost the same time — that lazy, reluctant movement that means okay, maybe we should sleep but neither of you want to break the quiet just yet.

You stand first. Alexia follows. She’s still in your hoodie, tugging it down slightly, bare feet padding across the floor as you walk her to the guest room — side by side in a hush that feels warmer than anything words could’ve done.

You pause at the door.

She turns to face you, one hand on the doorframe. Her hair’s a little messy now, eyes slightly glassy with exhaustion. Her voice, when it comes, is soft and almost shy.

“Thanks for tonight.”

You smile, slow. “Thanks for coming.”

She nods, then looks down like she might say something else. But she doesn’t. You step back slightly, hands in your hoodie pockets, eyes flicking to hers.

“Goodnight, Alexia.”

She looks up at that. And for a second — just one second — the look on her face says everything else she didn’t say. Then she nods, once. Barely a smile. But it reaches her eyes. “Goodnight.”

She slips into the room. You don’t linger. Just turn toward your own — quiet footsteps down the short hall. You push the door open and Teddy. Right there, already curled up in the middle of your bed. One eye open, tail thumping lazily against the duvet like, about time.

You smile, rubbing the back of your neck as you sit on the edge of the bed. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You pick it up.

Alexia: Sleep well. You talk less than I thought you would. I liked it.

You stare at the message for a second, then type back:

You: You talk more than I thought you would. I liked it too.

Teddy sighs dramatically. You laugh under your breath. Then switch off the light. And for the first time in a long time, you fall asleep not needing to prove anything. Because she’s here. And you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

⚽️

You wake to the smell of coffee. And the distinct sound of Teddy betraying you. You roll out of bed, hair a mess, hoodie tugged low over your hands, padding barefoot into the kitchen where—There she is.

Alexia.

Still in your hoodie. One sock on, one foot bare. Mug in hand, eyes still puffy with sleep, standing at your counter while Teddy leans against her legs like he’s never loved anyone else.

She glances up when you walk in, and her smile is soft. Unbrushed. Unfiltered. Real.

“Morning,” she says, voice husky.

You squint. “How’d you find the biscuits?”

She holds up the mug in salute. “I’m elite. And you left a post-it that said ‘left cupboard, top shelf, if teddy won't leave you alone'.”

You grin. “I knew past-me had potential.”

She turns back to the counter, pouring more water into the kettle, while Teddy attempts to wedge himself between her and the cabinets, tail sweeping the floor like a metronome.

“You realise he’s using you,” you say, grabbing a clean mug.

“He can use me all he wants,” she says, reaching down to scratch his ears. “He’s warm.”

You watch her — the way her fingers slide under Teddy’s collar, the way her mouth twitches when he tries to climb into her actual lap. It’s not a moment. Not a capital-letter Event. But something in your chest aches anyway.

Because she looks right here.

You grab the eggs, start cracking them into the pan. She pulls down two plates without being asked. Neither of you talks much. Just a few sleepy comments, heads bumping once as you both reach for the cutlery drawer.

When you sit across from her at the little kitchen table — plates steaming, dog underfoot — she catches your eye as you tuck your leg up under you. She doesn’t look away. Not for a while.

You hold it. You hold her. And the smile she gives you. It says I see this. I feel it. I’m here.

After breakfast, you throw a hoodie over your tee, pull on your trainers, and rattle Teddy’s lead. He loses his mind, of course — spinning, barking, pawing at the door like it personally wronged him.

“You wanna come?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder at Alexia.

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

She throws on a coat of yours on hook, slips into her trainers, and follows you out the door — hair tied up, sleeves rolled down, sunglasses perched on her head like she forgot the sun lives here too despite the cold.

You walk through quiet neighbourhood streets, Teddy darting side to side, nose in every hedge. You and her? Side by side. Not touching. Not saying much. But every now and then, you catch her watching you. And when you glance back— She doesn’t look away.

You loop around the quiet end of the park, the noise of the street fading behind you, and find your bench — tucked under a tree just starting to bloom, a little weathered, sun-warmed. Teddy bounds ahead, lead dropped loose in your hand, tail sweeping in wide arcs like a painter’s brush.

Alexia sits first, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying not to take up space but still wants to stay close. You drop beside her, leg stretched long, hands resting over your thighs.

For a while, you both just sit. Watching Teddy. Letting the quiet settle.

Then Alexia speaks, voice dry. “You really weren’t kidding about him being enthusiastic.”

You glance at her. She’s staring at Teddy, who’s currently rolling in something deeply questionable on the grass. You sigh.

“Yeah but he’s loyal.. until someone has better snacks anyway.”

She snorts. “I didn’t even have snacks.”

“Exactly,” you say, nudging her foot with yours. “He’s just shallow.”

She smirks, then leans back a little, adjusting the sleeves of your coat again. “He’s got taste, though. He likes me.”

You raise a brow. “Are you calling yourself a snack?”

“I’m not denying it.”

You laugh — sharp, sudden, surprised. And it makes her smile wider “You’ve got this whole mysterious captain thing,” you say, squinting at her. “But secretly, you’re kind of cocky.”

She tilts her head, smug. “Only when I’m right.” You roll your eyes, but your grin’s too soft to mean it. There’s a pause. Then, more gently “I like this,” she says, not looking at you now — just forward, at the dog, at the path.

You shift, the warmth of her words settling low in your ribs. “This?” you echo.

She nods. “The quiet. You. Teddy. This bench.” She pauses, then smirks again. “Even your coat.”

You laugh, quieter this time. “You make it look better than I do.”

“I know.” She meets your eyes then. And the silence that follows doesn't last long until you're leaning into each other laughing about it.

You clear your throat, picking at a thread on your sleeve, when the little old lady that you see everyday was eyeing you with annoyance, "So, um… are you always like this when you’re off the pitch?”

Alexia blinks. “Like what?”

You shrug. “A bit smug. Surprisingly funny. Secretly soft.”

She narrows her eyes, mock offended. “Secretly?”

You smirk. “I mean, the brand is very serious captain with cheekbones that could cut glass.”

Alexia hums. “Cheekbones and a scar. Very dramatic.”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re one trench coat away from being a Bond villain.” That gets a real laugh — full-bodied and sudden. She leans her head back against the bench, still smiling.

Then, “You make this easy,” she says, softer now. “Being here.”

You glance at her. And for a second, it’s all there again — the pitch, the free kick, the weight of it all.

But here, it’s light. You bump your knee gently against hers. “I’m glad you came, Alexia.” She doesn’t look away this time.

“I am too.”

You stretch your legs out in front of you, glancing sideways at her — Alexia, sitting there so casually now, one foot tucked beneath her, face tilted toward the sun like she’s been here a dozen times instead of just once.

You reach down to pat Teddy’s back as he wanders close.

Then glance at her.

“Do you like clichés?”

She lifts a brow. “What kind of question is that?”

You shrug, casual. “Like, romantic comedies. Grand gestures. Saying the same dumb things everyone else does. Standing on famous streets pretending you’re having an authentic experience.”

Alexia leans back, lips twitching. “You’re stalling.”

You grin. “Maybe.”

She squints at you now, playful. “Okay. Ask me properly.”

You turn toward her fully, arms folded over your chest like you’re about to deliver something serious.

“Would you like to do all the ridiculously cliché tourist things in Munich with me today?”

Alexia’s head tips slightly to the side, considering.

You keep going.

“I mean the whole deal — the Marienplatz selfie. Pretending to care about the Glockenspiel. Giant pretzels. A walk through the Englischer Garten where I’ll tell you lies about German history I definitely make up.”

Her smile creeps in slowly — then fully.

“I want lederhosen photos.”

You gasp, dramatically. “That’s advanced cliché.”

“I’m committed.”

You laugh. “God help us.”

She leans in slightly. “Only if you wear them too.”

You groan. “I’ve made a mistake.”

“You offered.”

You hold her gaze for a second, heart kicking a little louder now beneath all the lightness.

And she’s still smiling.

But there’s something genuine behind it.

Like maybe, for the first time in a long time, she’s just saying yes to a day that doesn’t come with pressure, or cameras, or expectations.

Just you.

She nudges your knee with hers. “So? We going or what?”

You whistle for Teddy. “Marienplatz, prepare yourself.”

⚽️

You start with Marienplatz. Because of course you do.

The crowds are already gathering under the watchful clock of the Neues Rathaus, phones out and necks craning toward the tower. You know the Glockenspiel starts at eleven. You’ve seen it a dozen times. It’s slow. It’s slightly underwhelming. But you still pretend like it’s sacred.

“People clap after this?” Alexia murmurs beside you, watching a small bronze knight rotate in a slow, juddering circle.

“Every time,” you whisper back. “It’s powerful.”

She gives you the driest look you’ve ever seen and it almost takes you out.

You snap a selfie right there — her unimpressed expression next to your exaggerated awe. It’s perfect. You don't even check it before saving.

From there it’s Viktualienmarkt — where you insist on finding the most absurdly oversized pretzel possible. Alexia watches you barter with a vendor and somehow ends up paying instead. She splits it with you anyway. You walk through the stalls like locals, even though you're both definitely not.

You buy her a little pin shaped like a beer stein. You stick it to her jacket pocket. “Souvenir,” she says.

You end up in the Englischer Garten by early afternoon, the kind of place where the trees stretch wide and people picnic like they’ve got nowhere else to be. Teddy loses his mind over a pigeon and nearly pulls Alexia into a fountain.

You don’t let that one go quietly. “Two time Ballon D'or, and you still couldn’t hold the line.”

“It was a very fast pigeon.”

You laugh until you’re leaning against her, shoulder to shoulder, catching your breath while Teddy runs victory laps around you both.

At the beer garden, you sit under the shade of chestnut trees, and Alexia orders something she can’t pronounce while you pretend to translate and definitely make it worse.

She tries white sausage and doesn’t hide her reaction.

You raise a brow. “Too real?”

“I can mark out midfielders. I can’t defend this texture.”

You toast anyway.

Later, you wander without purpose — through side streets with painted shutters and ivy-streaked balconies, past musicians playing under archways and little kids holding balloon strings tight to their wrists. Alexia keeps her sunglasses low on her nose, watching it all.

“I get why you like it here,” she says.

You glance over. “Yeah?”

She nods, then adds softly, “You fit here.”

It sticks.

You end up near the river as golden hour starts to take the edge off the buildings. There’s a stone ledge overlooking the water. You sit. She leans back on her hands, face turned to the sky.

“Okay,” she says finally. “This was... fun.”

You grin. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. I didn’t think cliché could feel like this.”

“Like what?”

She glances at you. Her expression doesn’t change much — but her voice does. “Easy.”

You don’t say anything for a second. Just smile. Then bump her knee gently with yours. “Think we earned ice cream?”

She tilts her head. “Is that part of the cliché package?”

“Obviously.”

You walk back into the city with cones in hand, Teddy leading the way again, tail wagging like a metronome keeping time with your steps.

And somewhere along that walk — maybe crossing a street, or brushing hands as you trade bites of each other’s flavours — something soft settles between you.

Not tension. Not expectation. Just understanding.

⚽️

You swing by the flat first — the front door barely closed before Teddy flops dramatically across the hallway floor like he’s survived something immense.

Alexia kneels down beside him, ruffles behind his ears, and says, “You’ll be alright without us.”

He sighs like he won’t.

You both change quickly — nothing fancy, just different hoodies, fresh faces, the kind of casual that looks better on her than it has any right to.

The bar you pick is a local one — tucked into a side street off the main square, part wine bar, part café, part 'we might have regulars but we won’t pretend to know your name unless you want us to.'

You take the corner table. The lights are soft and golden, the walls cluttered with mismatched frames and shelves of wine bottles. You order a bottle of white you’ve had before — one you hope she’ll like — and a snack board that arrives faster than expected: warm bread, cheese, olives, salted almonds.

She looks around, impressed. “You bring all your international friends here?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Only the ones who knock me out the champions league.”

“Fair,” she says, hiding a smile behind her glass.

You’ve barely had a sip before you reach into your bag and pull out a battered Uno deck.

Alexia blinks. “You brought cards?”

“They have them as you walk in. I’m competitive,” you say, shrugging. “And brave.”

She laughs once, short and sharp. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I’ve already accepted that.” You deal. And it begins.

It starts civil. Friendly. Smirks over skips. Light jabs when she stacks draw twos. You both pick at the snack board between plays, hands brushing occasionally as you reach for the same olive.

But by the second game, It’s personal.

She slams down a reverse like it’s a tactical sub in a final. You pull a draw four from your hoodie pocket like a weapon of war. She narrows her eyes. You lift your brows, mock-innocent.

It’s deadly serious. It’s ridiculous. And you’re both grinning like you haven’t stopped since this morning.

The bar starts to fill in slowly, but your little corner stays quiet — like a bubble you haven’t noticed growing around you. Just you, her, your wine glasses catching the light, and a stack of discarded cards that tells a very messy, very entertaining story.

Somewhere between games, you pause — mid-sip, watching her draw her hand.

“Are you always like this?” you ask. “Lowkey evil under all that calm?”

She looks up, unbothered. “Only when provoked.”

You laugh, leaning back. “Remind me not to cross you again.”

She smirks, eyes flicking up at you over her cards. “You already did,” she says, laying down a wild card.

The round ends. She wins.

You groan dramatically and throw your cards onto the table. She raises her hands in mock celebration, then quietly steals another piece of cheese from your side of the board.

“You know,” she says casually, chewing, “This might be the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

You blink. She doesn’t look up right away — just flips the deck over and starts reshuffling it absentmindedly.

But you’re watching her. And there’s no doubt in your mind. She means it.

⚽️

The walk home from the bar is slow. No rush. No real conversation either. Just a lot of little smiles. Shoulders brushing sometimes. The city quieter now — streetlights pooling in soft circles at your feet.

When you reach your building, you both slip inside quietly, Teddy greeting you at the door with a sleepy grumble and a thump of his tail.

You toe off your shoes, hang your jacket, glance over at her — and then, impulsively:

“Wanna see something stupid?”

Alexia blinks. “Not usually the way someone convinces me to follow them, but… sure.”

You grin.

You lead her through the flat — past the living room, into your bedroom. Teddy hops onto the bed like he’s reclaiming his kingdom. You move to the window — the one you always leave cracked just a little — and unlatch it the rest of the way.

You glance back at her.

She’s standing with her arms folded, watching you like she’s bracing for something truly ridiculous.

You duck out first — onto the sloped bit of roofing just beyond the window, socks scraping softly against the tiles. You crouch low, then stand carefully, balancing with practiced ease.

You turn and beckon. Alexia just stares. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

She steps closer, looks out.

The drop’s not that bad. 22 feet, maybe. But the tiles are slick with dew, and there’s no railing, no barrier, no sensible adult supervision.

“This is wildly unsafe,” she mutters.

You just smile. “Come on. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

She glares at you, muttering something in Catalan that sounds very judgmental. But you can see it — the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She’s not really mad.

She’s just concerned. Which somehow only makes it better.

After a few more seconds of muttering under her breath, she sighs dramatically, steps up onto the ledge, and eases herself through the window with surprising grace — a little unsteady at first, reaching for your hand instinctively.

You catch it. Steady her. “See?” you say, squeezing her fingers lightly. “Easy.”

“Still stupid,” she mutters.

But she doesn’t pull away. You lead her a few steps up — careful, slow — until you both settle onto the slightly flatter part of the roof, side by side, legs pulled up to your chest..

She finally looks up the whole city stretches out in front of her.

The rooftops curve into the skyline, lights twinkling like fallen stars. The dark river cuts a lazy path through the buildings. A few stray sirens whine in the distance, but mostly it’s just quiet. Wide and open and impossibly still.

Alexia exhales — a soft, almost disbelieving sound. The corners of her mouth lift. And whatever worry she had before melts off her shoulders.

“Okay,” she says, voice lighter now. “Maybe it’s worth the risk.”

You bump your knee against hers. “Told you.”

You sit like that for a long time — no rush, no plan. Just the two of you, the city breathing around you, your hands close enough to touch if you dared.

Every now and then, you glance over and catch her watching the lights, the horizon, the night itself like she’s letting herself believe she could belong to something this simple.

The climb back in through the window is quieter than the climb out.

Alexia moves slower now, heavy with the kind of tired that comes after a day full of laughter and nowhere to be but here. She drops softly into your bedroom, feet padding across the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands again.

You follow behind, closing the window gently behind you.

Teddy’s already curled up on the bed, barely lifting his head to acknowledge your return. He gives Alexia one approving thump of the tail. You’re not sure if it’s for coming back safely or for still being here.

You rub at the back of your neck, eyes a little hazy, wine long gone.

Alexia stands in the doorway to the guest room now, hand on the frame. Her expression is soft — not sleepy exactly, just settled.

She looks at you. And it hits again — this moment. How simple it is. How much it means. You lean against the wall across from her, arms crossed loosely, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“I’ll make sure you don’t miss your flight in the morning,” you say.

She smirks faintly. “You better.”

“I’ll set three alarms.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Four.”

You laugh, quiet and tired. “Pushy.”

She shrugs. “Punctual.”

The pause that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Of all the things neither of you are saying right now. But it’s okay. You already said so much.

She shifts slightly, head tilting. “Today was…”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

You step forward, and without thinking, you pull her into a light hug — not long, not heavy, but enough. Enough to feel the warmth of her hoodie, the steady beat of her breath, the soft slide of her hand as it rests briefly on the back of your head.

You pull back just a little. She’s still close. “Goodnight, Alexia.”

Her eyes flicker — tired and unreadable, but warmer now “Goodnight.”

She steps into the guest room and closes the door behind her with a gentle click. You exhale.

Teddy stretches across your bed with a groan like he just ran the city.

You flick off the hallway light, pad back into your room, and crawl beneath the covers.

The room is dark now. But your chest is full. And your alarms are definitely set. Tomorrow she leaves.

⚽️

The alarms buzz you awake just after six.

Teddy barely lifts his head as you stumble into the kitchen, yawning, the world outside still caught between night and day.

Alexia’s already up. You find her sitting on the edge of the couch, tying her sneakers — hair messy, hoodie slung loose over her frame, backpack by her feet.

She looks up when you walk in, and there’s a small, tired smile waiting for you. “Morning,” she says, voice thick with sleep.

You hum a reply, rubbing your eyes. Neither of you rush.

You load Teddy into the backseat. He whines a little, sensing something is different. The drive to the airport is quiet — warm coffee cups in the holders, the radio playing something soft neither of you bother to change.

She leans her forehead against the window once, watching the fields blur into concrete. When you pull up to Departures, you leave the car idling, glancing over at her.

She’s already unbuckling her seatbelt, but neither of you move right away.

The city is waking up outside. You’re wide awake here. Alexia shifts in her seat to face you. “This was…” She trails off, the words sticking again.

You smile, small. “Yeah. It was.”

She fiddles with the ring on her finger.

You grip the steering wheel lightly. “You’ll make your flight.”

She nods. “Thanks for not letting me oversleep.”

You bump your shoulder against hers gently. “Thanks for making it hard to say goodbye.”

That gets a real smile — tired, fond, a little crooked. She opens the door, stepping out into the sharp morning air. You get out too.

You meet her around the back of the car — not rushed, not dramatic. Just standing there, with a sea of taxis and early travelers moving around you like another current you’re not ready to step into yet.

She shoulders her bag. You jam your hands into your hoodie pockets.

Then — simply — she steps closer. You think she might hug you. You think you might need her to.

But instead, she reaches up — slow, careful — and hooks one finger lightly around your hoodie drawstring. Tugs it once. Soft. Playful.

“Text me when you get home,” you say, even though you’re already sure she will.

Alexia nods. “You too.”

And then — because she knows when to let things stay perfect — she turns and walks toward the entrance. You watch her weave through the doors. She doesn’t look back. Not until she’s just inside, bag slung over one shoulder, ticket in hand. Then she does. Just once.

She finds you through the glass — through the crowd and the noise and the press of the world. She smiles. Small. Sure. Enough.

You lift a hand. She does too. Then she’s gone, swallowed into the current of the airport.

You stand there a moment longer, breath fogging in the chill, Teddy’s nose nudging your hand.

You pat his head. Then you climb back into the car. And drive home, to grab a few more hours of sleep before training.

[zaldritzosrose]

Baby, It's Cold Outside (Modern!Cregan x Reader)

Summary: The trips to the North were your favourite. Taking it in turns to visit Cregan and his family, Winterfell was like a winter wonderland come to life. So what happens when you get snowed in with your wolf of a boyfriend?

CW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romantic evening snowed in, mentions of bad weather, mild description of reader (from further South than Cregan is), Cregan being a romantic, mild shower smut, p in v sex, innuendo, profanity, oral (f receiving), fingering.

Words: 2112

This is the first of some full fics especially for the Fan Winter Festival run by @fandomeventcenter check out the page for any other eventual submissions.

Travelling up to visit Cregan’s family home had become a new tradition every other winter. One year you would spend the festive season with him and his family, and the next year he would travel down to visit yours.

You would leave around the first week of December, taking your annual leave from work especially. Winterfell was always a dream come true at this time of year. Forever covered in some measure of snow, it was like you were stepping into a movie every time you made the drive.

Festive songs blasting on the radio, this year you’d even draped tinsel over the dashboard of your car. Not only was it your turn to travel, but it was coming close to your four-year anniversary.

The drive soon turned longer than expected. You always travelled early in the morning to beat any traffic, but today seemed a lot busier than usual.

A quick phone call to Cregan was enough to settle you as you waited in the traffic jam, humming along to the song coming through the radio. Thankfully, though, the queue was moving on, inch by inch.

The ETA on your GPS added on a few minutes, but there was nothing to suggest you wouldn’t get there soon.

No matter how many times you arrived at the Stark home, you were always struck by the beauty of it.

Cregan was at the door the second you pulled into the driveway. He didn’t live in his childhood home anymore, though the home he had was only a short journey away. But every holiday or big event, he’d return to spend time with his family.

The snow was already thick as you dragged your bags towards the door, thankfully Cregan met you halfway.

Without a word he had your bags in his hands, smiling and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Sorry I’m late,” you smiled back and he shook his head.

“No matter what time you turned up, I’d be waiting,”

Before you could answer, you were through the doorway and being engulfed in a hug by his mother, Gillane.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s so good to see you!” she almost squealed as she squeezed you again.

“It’s good to be back again, I love it here,” you answered, giving her a good squeeze back.

Cregan’s father soon joined, giving you a much more reserved yet no less satisfying hug.

“Here she is!” he grinned as he wrapped his arms around you.

Everything about Winterfell was always welcoming, like a home from home.

“How was the journey?” Rickon asked, leaning to glance out of the window as Cregan set your bags off to the side.

“Slow, but I managed. It didn’t really get bad until I was about twenty minutes away.”

You were sat just by their door, sliding off your boots and hanging up your coat. The welcoming heat that always floated through the family home slowly making its way under your skin.

“Well, you’re here now and that’s all that matters, love.” Cregan pressed a kiss to your temple this time, tucking you under his arm.

His parents slipped away as Cregan led you, and your luggage, upstairs.

Your first night here was always a chilled one. Gillane would cook dinner while Cregan and Rickon got everything prepared for the arrival of the rest of the extended family over the next few days.

Cregan’s room was exactly as anyone would expect, though he’d added a few touches especially for you in the last few years.

A new wardrobe with space for you to keep your things. A vanity for when you wanted to get yourself ready for anything his family might do. He’d even redone his bathroom to accommodate the frequent guest.

But everything else was perfectly him. Dark, natural woods made all his furniture. The fireplace across from his bed both a luxury and a necessity in the colder North.

A luxury that was perfect right now. The snow seemed to only get heavier, blanketing most of the gardens outside the house. You were drawn immediately to it, holding your hands out and sighing at the warmth of the smouldering logs within.

But the arms that wrapped around your waist were a far more welcome source of heat.

“Missed me?” you smiled, leaning back to look at him.

“I’ll never not miss you,” Cregan replied, kissing your cheek and nuzzling in just a little bit.

You both embraced for a little while longer, simply savouring the moment. But your bags were still left unpacked and you were quite particular about unpacking immediately.

When you slipped from Cregan’s arms, you laughed a little as he sighed in mock frustration. But you ignored it, carefully unpacking everything you had brought for the holidays and placing it in your part of his wardrobe.

“Never changes, hmm?” Cregan muttered, sliding your now empty cases under his bed and out of the way.

You shook your head, nudging him as you both headed back downstairs.

The first night in the Stark home over the winter holidays was always laid back and quiet. All in preparation for the arrival of the extended family, of course. The Stark family wasn’t a small one, but you wouldn’t want them any other way. From his aunts, uncles, cousins, the house was guaranteed to be jam packed with other humans from early hours tomorrow morning.

But tonight, it was just you, Cregan and his parents. It was well known that Gillane made some of the best hot chocolate going. She even promised, one day, she’d tell you her secret.

So that’s how your night was ending. Curled up on the sofa next to your natural heater of a boyfriend, his parents on the other side. A festive movie, chosen as always by you and Gillane, played on the TV.

There was little concept of time, until Rickon announced he was heading to bed in preparation for an early start the next day.

Goodnights were bid, Rickon left first, then Gillane after clearing away the cups.

Soon, you and Cregan followed suit, both slipping straight into bed and simply savouring each other’s presence.

The next morning, you and Cregan were both still cuddled up in bed when you heard the movements of his parents down the hall.

A shout from his mother was explanation enough.

“Your father’s going to pick up Bennard and I’m heading out to get some last-minute errands done. Keep an eye out for the weather, everyone’s arriving as and when they please okay?” Gillane called, her voice moving down the hall even as she spoke.

As if on cue, Rickon’s car started up outside and it was soon followed by Gillane’s engine pulling away.

You rolled over to lay on Cregan’s chest with a smile.

“So…we’re home alone for a bit?” you whispered, earning a smile and a kiss to your head in return.

The temptation to take full advantage of your half bare boyfriend was truly biting at you, until his stomach growled.

“Breakfast?”

Cregan laughed, rolling out the bed and easily taking you with him.

“Breakfast.”

The music echoed through the kitchen as both of you moved around cooking. Cregan in charge of the bacon and you oversaw eggs and toast. The waft of fresh coffee and tea filled the room.

Neither of you noticed the layers and layers of snow that was slowly coated the grounds outside the house. Or the mild snowstorm that was trying its hardest to begin.

Both of you ate breakfast as you were. Cregan clad in his pyjama bottoms and an unzipped hoodie and you wearing one of his old shirts and some pyjama shorts. Taking full advantage of the house being entirely empty.

There was no hurry to get ready, ‘arriving as they please’ still meant Cregan’s extended family would call first. It’s just how they were.

Organised and chaotic in equal measure.

As the plates were cleared, Cregan gave his phone a quick check and immediately saw the weather alert.

“Oh shit, love…there really is a storm on the way,” he quickly turned his phone to face you, and you saw the yellow flash on the weather app.

Your immediate thought was his parents and Cregan saw the look immediately.

“They’ll be fine. Mum’s in town, she’ll just wait it out. Dad has the truck, him and Bennard could survive anywhere.”

There had always been something about Cregan that just soothed you and even though you only pushed your worries to the back of your mind, you relaxed a little.

Cregan’s lips on your neck and shoulder, however, helped you relax a little more.

“And if they can’t get home any time soon, then the rest of the family are going to be delayed too.”

He paused, giving you enough to time to pick up his meaning. But his hands sliding down to your waist were clue enough.

“Shower first, hmm?”

Cregan all but chased you up the stairs to his bathroom. After the worry about the storm eased, the thrill of having the house to yourselves took over.

You’d just about made it to the bathroom when Cregan lifted you by the waist.

“How about we save some water and shower together?” he whispered low into your ear, carrying you into the bathroom.

The second your feet hit the floor, you were switching on the shower and tugging off your pyjama shirt. The cool air of the bathroom was soon curbed by Cregan’s chest pressed to your back.

“Just saving water, sure you don’t have any other plans?” you teased, pressing yourself back and feeling his hardening bulge pressing against you.

Cregan answered you with more heated kisses over your now bare neck and shoulders.

“Didn’t you know, I’m all about the environment…what better way to start than sharing a shower?” he grumbled against you, tightening his arms around you and walking you towards the shower.

You went without complaint, pushing down your pyjama shorts as Cregan quickly shed his own clothing.

The warm water washed over you both, but neither of you spent much time showering.

Cregan’s hands never left you. Trailing up and down your body, lingering more and more on each pass. You turned in his arms, quickly bringing his face down into a kiss. The shower was just large enough to accommodate you both, with your back soon pressed against the tiled wall behind you.

The kiss only deepened as Cregan’s hand dipped between your thighs, teasing at your folds just enough to have you moaning into his mouth at each touch.

The touches remained heated until the slightly cramped space became a little too much to manoeuvre comfortably. But at the same time, neither of you wanted separate.

Cregan’s hand moved faster, aided a little by the soap and water that dripped over your form, soon bringing you to your release with a smirk against your mouth.

Before you had even come down from the high, Cregan had the shower off and both of you back out onto the cool tiles. Thankfully, the heat of his body was enough to keep the shivers from the change in temperature away.

The sight of him naked and damp was enough to bring you back to yourself. Your hands finding his chest and pushing him back towards his bedroom.

The fire that Cregan had lit again when you had both got up that morning, was thankfully still going.

“So, how do you plan to keep me occupied…?” you walked backwards towards his bed, picking up his hoodie on the way and tugging it on.

Cregan, however, remained naked. His eyes trained on you as you sat back on his bed. You scooted back to rest against the pillows as he walked over. The bed dipping down as he joined you.

His smile was hungry, like a predator ready to devour his prey.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find ways,” he growled, positioning himself between your legs, spreading them apart to accommodate him.

His hands easily held them apart, laying down enough to press hot kisses to your inner thighs. His path led up your thigh and over the place you wanted him most. Over and over again in the most teasingly pleasurable way.

“Cregan…please…” you whined just a little, the remnants of your previous orgasm lingering still.

You tried to cant your hips to tempt him, but he kept a firm hold on you. But even his restraint was short. A few more teasing kisses over the crease of your thigh was more than enough before he broke.

But he wasn’t planning on making it quick. Slow licks over your still damp folds had your hips moving to meet his face. Impatience taking over you, but Cregan wasn’t having it.

“Patience, beautiful, we’ve got all the time in the world.” His voice was muffled as he nibbled at the skin of your thigh.

His hardened length pulsing against the bed below at just the anticipation of tasting you.

Your retort turned to a moan of his name as he finally gave in and let his tongue slip between your folds. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him against your body.

Cregan’s own hips began to rut against the bed, matching his own pleasure with the pleasure he was giving you. His rough moans vibrating through you as he felt your muscles clench and unclench around his tongue.

He could feel your thighs begin to shake; his ministrations now focused on your bud. Circling it with his tongue until you gasped out your second release.

Cregan crawled up your body, drinking down your moans with soft kisses. His hips now rutting against you, sliding his length up and down your folds without entering you fully.

There was something much more erotic about just the feeling of you. Slick folds dragging over the length of his cock. Like a pleasurable preamble to what he knew would come.

But having you atop him, that was his favourite. A squeeze to your hips told you that was exactly what he wanted. Rolling to his back, you made quick work of positioning yourself over his hips.

You supported yourself with a hand on his chest, but the sensation of his thick length nestled between your folds was even more pleasurable from this position.

Your hips began to roll slowly, letting your cunt drag over his cock. Sparks of pleasure shot up your spine on every pass.

Cregan’s hands were tight on your waist, urging you to move faster and holding you steady at the same time.

“So good, love, my favourite thing seeing you up there…” Cregan grumbled, fingers digging into your stomach as his hips twitched upwards.

The head of his cock brushed just right against your pearl, your nails digging into his chest in pleasure. That was enough for you to shift, letting his length slip inside.

You both moaned out in unison as Cregan sheathed himself fully. Neither of you moving for just a moment as your body accommodated itself to his size.

Cregan wasted no time setting a rhythm now. Sitting up and wrapping an arm around your body and helping you roll yourself against him.

“Yes, yes…” you sighed, your third orgasm already so close.

He wasn’t far behind. The pent-up energy already having his length pulsing within your warmth. His lips found yours, messy kisses becoming even more sloppy as his own orgasm ripped through him.

He growled out your name, holding you tight as he thrust himself in and out of you until his spend coated your inner walls.

You both rested against each other, your head on his shoulder and his resting against it.

The storm was long forgotten, the only focus being each other.

Until you heard the loud rev of a truck and the shouting of what sounded like Rickon and Bennard.

Cregan pulled back, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

“Looks like our solitude is over,” he chuckled, rolling you to your back and grabbing a towel to clean you both up.

It wouldn’t be long until more and more Starks arrived. But you’d have it no other way.

What better place to have been, than snowed in with your Northern wolf?

Cregan Taglist: (if you want to be added/deleted let me know)

@thenameswinter99 @legitalicat @sylasthegrim

@alexagirlie @anjelicawrites @targaryen-dynasty

@multyfangirl @asa-do-your-thing

[delopsia]

Erm, I would actually would like you to elaborate on milking Rhett if you feel like it.

Hell yeah, I'll elaborate 👁️👁️ now that I think about it, I have a slight memory of where I was going with that thought 💃

Notes for prostate stimulation, milking, and, of course, cum play. Minors and folks who have an agenda against playing with Rhett Abbott's ass, this is your queue to exit.

It's a little something that first kicks off when you and Rhett go out for lunch and find yourselves (unwillingly) eavesdropping on the conversation happening at the table across from yours. A little group of rodeo guys rambling on and on about their wild escapades and the craziest things they've done in bed. You and Rhett tried to ignore it; you really did, but you wound up listening when the guy in the red flannel mentioned a threesome in a Jurassic park themed hotel room.

You and Rhett are quietly giggling and whispering to each other until red flannel starts rambling on about how a girl convinced him to try milking a few weeks back. When Rhett's smile first falls, you honestly don't think much about it, but then red flannel starts going into detail, and Rhett's ears are turning redder by the second. It's like watching a cartoon, the longer the conversation goes, the redder your boyfriend becomes.

Your foot darts out to smack against the side of Rhett's boot, audibly jostling the spur that he forgot to take off. "You're awful red all of a sudden," spoken innocent as can be, like you can't possibly fathom what has him so flustered.

"Nothin," he shakes his head, eyes darting back down to his cold fries. He knows it's a lie. You know it's a lie. He knows that you know it's a lie.

Alas, it's one of those things that you giggle about on the drive home but forget about by the time the day is over.

It comes up again a few months later when you're both lying in bed, unable to sleep, and chatting about anything that happens to come to mind.

"Do y' remember them rodeo hands from the diner in town?" Rhett croaks, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"The ones who wouldn't quit talking about drunk hookups? And something about..." Hell. What's the word you're looking for? "Milking?"

His silence betrays him. You can hear how hard he swallows at that.

It's too dark to see, but you already know that his ears have flushed a bright, ruby red. Flustered? Too shy or embarrassed to say it out loud? Maybe it's all of the above.

"What?" You can only do so much to suppress the teasing lilt that colors your voice. "Is that something you may be into?"

Radio silence.

The cricket lurking outside the bedroom window chirps. Once. Twice.

"I don't know."

And, well, there's only one way to find out.

Rhett's hard before you even get those tiny black boxers past his thighs, cock slapping against his belly with a wet little 'smack' that bounces around the room. Even without light, it's impossible to miss the thick sheen of precum that spills out of his tip, dripping like a faucet, running down your fingers when you take him into your hand.

He's already so worked up that you hardly need to worry about going slow, only giving him a few seconds to adjust before you start working your hand over him in earnest. Oh, and the way he jumps when you do, those pretty hips rising up off the bed, chasing your touch as if he hasn't felt it in years.

And you're just so quick about it. It's hardly been a few minutes, and he's already babbling about being close, whining low in his throat as you drag that first orgasm out of him.

"Wait, wait, wait, shit—hah!" Shaky hands reach down to paw at you, half-heartedly trying to push you away, but there's no real effort behind it. His thighs flutter, a stray knee knocking into your side as you keep working over his softening length, his own cum slickening the glide.

"Too much?" You ask, fighting back a smile; he's wiggling against the mattress, slowly scooting himself up toward the headboard, but he isn't getting away from you.

Rhett's head shakes, the faintest 'nuh-uh' falling out of him as he blindly reaches over to the bedside table, all but tossing the half-empty bottle of lube at you. He hardly has to tell you what he wants, his half-assed attempt at spreading his legs is enough.

"You already want my fingers?" Feigning shock, as if you're somehow scandalized that he could already want such a thing.

"Mhm," Rhett isn't paying attention, unfocused baby blues glued to the sight of you pouring the lube onto three of your fingers. Three. Always three.

Wordless, you reach down, dipping between those plush, pale thighs to brush your wet fingertips against his entrance. Such a simple touch, and yet you can feel him clench around nothing.

But there's still something you're looking for. "Talk to me, Rhett."

"Yes," blurting out of him in an instant. Hopelessly impatient. "I...I do."

A little shiver races through him the moment that first finger breaches him, mouth falling open to form a soft 'o' shape. There's really no need for distraction, but your unoccupied hand begins to lazily work his half-hard cock anyway.

Fuck he's wet. Precum beading at his tip, spilling over the moment you press a second finger inside. He's tight. Rhythmically fluttering around you, and there's no pleasure that you could possibly get from it, but heat sparks between your thighs anyway.

You're not looking for his prostate yet, but you know you've bumped into it when his legs flutter around you, trying and failing to close. That third finger can't join quickly enough, crooking upward to rub against what feels like a little ball of nerves that have him squealing.

"Fuck!" Rhett's cock jolts in your hand, his body suddenly a live wire beneath you. Squirming against the sheets. "I—oh shit, oh my god, right there, ah!"

Silence falls. His mouth hangs open, but nothing ever escapes. Those eyes roll, and then...

He's cumming again. A strangled gasp bolts out of him just as a short rope of cum spurts out of him, painting his belly before you can catch it. His hips are bucking now, just as strong as those bulls he rides, but he can't shake you loose. The tips of your fingers still spiral into his prostate, a target you can't let yourself lose, albeit moving slower the more he huffs and puffs.

"No, no, no, keep—" he doesn't have to finish that thought. You hardly need any encouragement, working your hand in tandem with the fingers shallowly thrusting into his ass.

But your thumb swipes over his tip.

And he jumps once more. Cock weakly spasming in your gasp, a short rope of cum covering your hand. You're not sure what set him off so fast, but you're keen to find out, hardly even trying to slow down this time.

"Rodeo." It's there, and it's gone in a second, hardly even a whisper, but you catch it.

One last second tap against his prostate is all it takes to draw one more orgasm out of him. Watery eyes roll back into his skull, body jolting as the smallest bit of watery cum all but drools out of him, hardly even enough to amount to anything.

"Shit," sucking in a breath, "shit, you just," gasp, "you just made me cum again." Shocked. Like he didn't even see that one coming. But that awestruck gaze melts into a giggle as quickly as it arrives, lazily reaching for you with shaky arms.

"What was that, three? Four?" You chirp as you climb up the side of the bed, winded despite hardly doing much work at all.

"Felt like..." the thought visibly evaporates from his head, thin lips floundering for a word that isn't there. He gives up, dropping his head onto the pillow. "I dunno. A lot more than that."

Rhett Abbott may have just been replaced with a giggling ball of putty because that's all he is now. Incapable of doing anything but lay against you and laugh every time he remembers what just happened.

You would think that wearing him out like this would have him hesitant to jump to the concepts of a second time, but he's babbling about it before you've even gotten him up and into a bath. Something about wanting to try it with restraints and that new stroking sleeve that you bought six months ago and have yet to take out of its packaging.

You're gonna have to buy more lube.

[whorrorbellee]

FLAWLESS

warnings:smut, drug use. 18+ only please The bear but it's actually just linecook!Aemond x hostess!reader.  porn w a plot.

no beta we die or whatever

2014-7:40 Pm. 

You stand at the hostess stand, looking over the Ipad for reservations, you're absolutely swamped, it's a Saturday night in Knightsbridge, London. Barely seconds pass before the phone rings again, it's the same conversation you've had every weekend for the past year. “Sorry we’re fully booked!” 

“Do you know who I am?” 

“Yes! And here at RedKeep we thank you for being a loyal customer~” 

“I want to speak to the manager!”

 “Sorry the managers not here right now”

“Then who's next in charge?” Queue you, grabbing Daemon from the office, where he completely undermines what you're saying to the customer, allowing them to take a reservation from some poor couple who had saved up their money to taste the food from RedKeep, because it is good for business. 

Keep the loyal customers, he says, fucking asshole. You watch their smug faces grin as they walk in, pressed white shirts and silk dresses they didn’t fish out the bin from the local Guild care. Sometimes you smile and make your accent slightly deeper as you lead them to their seats. Other times you let them know it's you and lead them to the table directly by the bar, letting them hear the utter nonsense that Criston and Aegon spill behind the bar all night. 

But you always retreat to the back for your five minute smoke break, snatching the Marlboro reds from the office, Daemon winking at you as you shove your coat on in the winter. You let yourself breath in the only thing that keeps you going through your shift, music blasting from the shitty headphones that came with your phone and then crush half of it between the sole of your black doc martens, straightening out your black silky blouse, and wandering through the kitchen back to your stand, where you greet another customer with a smile faker than the diamond rings that protrude off the women's fingers.

You rub the tiger balm into the crook of your neck in the changing room, its 10:00 pm, kitchen closed about half an hour ago, and the chef’s are scrubbing the floor down on their knees, you thank god the only thing you have to do is inform Daemon of the reservations for the next week, fully booked until next august, they usually go down about then, people retreat to France and Italy for summer. Your shifts go down and you tutor rich brats who are failing their GCSEs. Spending summers writing essays about Macbeth for fourteen year olds who find nothing better to do than take their daddy's golf cart for a ride around their ridiculously huge back gardens in sussex.  

You hum to yourself, slipping of your blouse, the door opens and then is slammed shut. You turn, half naked in the changing room, your locker swinging open, Aemond stands with his nose pressed into his locker, you change into a band shirt and pleated skirt, pulling on high denier tights. “Are you coming tonight?” he whispers, it's soft, you watch him pull out his bag as you re-lace your boots. 

“Yeah, did Aegon get the weed?” you ask quietly, boots thumping against the floor as you stand, you grab your backpack from the floor, shutting your locker. 

“No Cregan did” Aemonds back ripples as he pulls on a black shirt, you watch his tattoos shift under it, he grabs his motorcycle helmet out of the locker, eye shifting to yours. You go to stand next to him. He pulls out a pack of Marlboro reds, original packaging, you wonder if they're fake, but the Polish words stare back at you, “want one?” he slips one into the corner of his mouth, pulling on his jacket.

You swallow, “Yes please” you take the cigarette and push it behind your ear, walking to the door. He follows. You push open the door, stepping out into the hallway, Daemon stands in the kitchen watching Rhaenrya sharpen the knives. You still refuse to believe they were ever married, her dad and him were such close friends it was borderline Insestuous. “I'm glad Cregan got it, Aegon always choses really weird strains, like unicorn poop? What is that?” 

Aemond shrugs and follows you out the back, you wave to Daemon and Nyra, door slamming behind you. Cregan and Aegon wait by your car, its scratched to fuck. From where Aegon had slammed the door into the tree. You don't even know why you own a car anymore, parking is so expensive in London, you only use it to get to work and home. You watch Aemond shove his helmet on and then leave the car park. Unlocking your car and letting the boys pile in. 

Cregan hits his head on the ceiling and Aegon falls into a mess of giggles in the back. You breathe in the scent of cherry, air freshener hanging from the mirror, Some arctic monkey's song comes on from the aux. You look to your left, Cregans on tinder replying to some bird. It would be rude to call him a slut but he gets around, he got some bird up north pregnant and now he has to send up money every month for a two year old he barely sees. You pull out, switching gears before starting your journey to Aegon's place it’s about half an hour drive into camden, you pass the punks on the bridge and pull in to the slip where Aegon's flat share is, he lives Aemond and a bunch of hippies that sell vintage clothes at the market. 

You run to the corner shop first, buying a bottle of cheap vodka and a diet coke. Then you walk back down the dark street, lighting the ciggie that Aemond gave you, a tote bag heavy on your shoulder, passing the bike and slipping down the side of the building opening the gates. The smell of weed hits you almost immediately. Cregan sits legs spread on the rattan furniture that Aegon stole from someone's front porch last summer. You don't know why he does it, his mum literally owns the restaurant. He earns more than enough. 

You slide up next to Helaena , she leans her head into your shoulder for a moment and then leans back, thumbs padding against her cracked iphone 5, Cregan hands you the joint its some cali strain this time, you rarely smoke. But Saturdays at the RedKeep are actually killing you. Aegon pulls out his speaker and decides to blast drum and bass. You steal the aux and play cigarettes after sex. Falling into the rattan sofa, pulling your Northface jacket around your legs, its fucking cold. Aegon's wearing his dressing gown and hoodie as he stands out the back door. You don't even know why you're in the garden, an hour passes and you find yourself sweating on the sofa, legs intertwined with Aegons as he spews on about some weird conspiracy theories; dragons being real, the lizard people shit. You talk about the ghost house when you lived in the isle of white for a year. And then you've had enough of talking so you head up to Aemonds bedroom to listen to music. 

Your socks run up the carpeted stairs, pausing outside Aemonds bedroom, you knock and hear him grunt a yes. You practically throw yourself into his bed, your phone bouncing from impact, he smiles at you, and you look at his mac playing on the bed, he’s watching reruns of misfits before it gets bad. 

“You know, Aegon always reminds me of Nathan? I can't watch it without thinking about him.” You sigh,“it's a shame because Robert Sheehan is really fit” Ameond hides a laugh, he's different now. He used to light up a room with his quick wit. But now he’s buried into himself, he just keeps retreating and retreating. You used to have this weird thing between you. It was all longing looks and brushed knuckles. He’d follow you outside on early morning shifts to have a ciggie, making you laugh, legs pressed against each other on the staircase. Sometimes you’d bring him coffee and he'd make you one of those fruit salads with all the fruit scraps, slices of mango and strawberry tops. Nights spent outside nursing a joint while Aegon sings incredibly loud in the lounge. No one was surprised when they saw you two getting closer, it's like fate really. Line cook and hostess. If it wasn't Jace it was going to be Aemond.

And then the accident happened. It wasn't Luke's fault, it really wasn't. Something had split on the floor, Luke wasn't wearing the proper shoes yet. He was just about to start his shift, so he slips, grabs for Aemond, His knife in hand just about to chop something, they both fall to the ground. You remember coming to grab Aemond for a cigarette and there was just blood everywhere. All over the white tiles. You remember thinking that he had spilt some kinda wine sauce, nearly laughing until he had sat up and his face looked like it was falling apart. He was shaking, too afraid to cry, and Luke was sent home. 

It was one of those slow days. So you had shoved him into the car with a napkin pressed over his eye. Taking him to A&E for stitches, he looked so different when he came out. He smoked a cigarette in your car with bloodstained hands. You hand squeezed his thigh as you took him home. Then days later you had picked him up from the hospital. White eyepatch over the gaping hole. They removed his eye incase of an infection. It wasn't salvageable, he had sliced right through the cornea. 

He wasn't at work for weeks, you remember standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him to come down and join the others, aegon had pulled you away after an hour. Too shy to head up there yourself and then months later you had taken a joint and pringles up to his room. He was just staring out the window, watching the sunset as Helaena  spun around with Cregan. 

“How was work?” he asks, you hand him a vodka coke, swinging your legs under yourself. 

“Fucking terrible, Daemon did it again” your hands runs through your hair. You look at Aemond, you can barely even notice the difference with his fake eye and real one, they got it spot on. “It pisses me off so much, like no wonder we aren't getting any new customers. When he keeps cancelling the bookings” Aemond shuts his laptop, he gets up and grabs a record from the pile in the corner, the needle hits the vinyl with a hum, it crackles around the room.  He's so different from his brother, you wonder where he gets it from. He's just softer. 

You miss his touch. He lies back down on the bed, hands over his heart, you're on your stomach, watching him breathe slightly, you wanna reach out and touch him, he watches you hesitate. “Sorry” he mutters. He runs his hand through his hair. Your eyebrows furrow, he looks away. 

“Why are you sorry?” you ask, you lean into your hands and watch him. Waiting for an answer. 

He pauses, chewing on his lips, and then his face settles, his lips back to the perpetual pout. “I know we had this thing between us, but you don't have to keep it going because you feel sorry for me” 

“Huh” your eyebrows raise, you almost wonder if he's joking, you wait for him to crack a smile, “ I~I don't know what to say Aemond, I don't feel sorry for you” you groan, your hands smush your face together and then you plant yourself into the side of his body. You feel him stiffen and then his hand comes back to smooth over the small of your back. Your face heats. “I ~ oh god” you look up at him watching his eyes twitch, “I always felt like you were just playing along with this whole thing, we had” you shift, pushing yourself onto your knees. “I've have this really stupid big crush on you, since I had the panic attack out back and you sat with me for twenty minutes even though Nyra was shouting at you.”

He sits up, your jaw shifts side to side, you wonder if you should just escape downstairs and sleep with Cregan instead. His hand reaches out to touch your thigh pulling back. He lets out a huff. “You’re fucking with me” he shakes his head. You shake your head back smiling.

“Wait a sec” you grab your phone and swipe back to a conversation you had with Healana months ago, you hand it to him. Watching his eye sweep across the messages. He smirks, and then scrolls down, your eyes widen, he laughs. 

“You can stop scrolling now” but he continues anyway smirk falling into a smile, “Aemond!” your own smile falls, “ Aemond, please stop scrolling” you grit your teeth. Your hand reaches to snatch your phone, But he pulls it away from you, you climb over his body hand on his shoulder, reaching out to grab at your phone. You feel yourself lose balance, you begin your descent onto his floor, but his arm grabs around your waist and pushes you back onto the bed quickly. He’s hovering over you, one arm on the bed the other lingering around your waist. 

“He’s gonna be the death of me” he smirks down at you. 

“Shut up” you huff, you bite your lips to stop you smirking, feeling heat rush to your face. You look up at him, watching his eyes glance down to your lips, you look at his. You’re so fucking high, and its not from the drugs. His hand brushes against your hip. Fingers pressing into the flesh, your skirt is flipped up, you don't even realise. It doesn't even matter because he’s already crashing his lips on your own. It's quick, chased and hard. You move together like you're running out of time, one hand brushing against your jaw the other pressed into your hip, you whine, hands running up his neck to his jaw, you're pulling him closer than what’s physically possible. 

He goes to untuck your shirt from your skirt, you part and pull it off over your head quickly, he takes in the curves of your body, tracing muscle and moles. “Nearly killed me today, walking in on you like this” you smirk under him, his hand brushed against your chest clad in a black lacy bra. You press his hands into your chest, he gropes and needs, his lips running down the column of your neck, you sigh under his touch, teeth grazing, lips nipping. 

Pupils blown, Aemonds hands fingers graze down from your chest to under your skirt, you pull him in for another kiss, teeth clashing together. Phone forgotten by the side of you. You feel his hands run down your legs, a finger hooks under the waistband of your tights, you lift your hips, propping yourself up on your elbows as he slides them down your legs, you part, standing and shifting them off. Aemond sits back and watches. The record crackles repeatedly through the speaker, and you lean down to pick one out. Carefully putting the vinyl into its sleeve. Needle back down, the music starts. “Your such a cliche” 

‘She planned ahead for a year… He said let's play it by ear’

“Shut up”,You slide yourself back into aemond’s arms, his hands run down your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps, your own run down his chest and then tug at the shirt he wears. He pulls it over his head before you know it. Your hands trace the pale freckles skin, pressing wet kisses down his throat, he slides a hand around your thigh, pulling you to straddle him. He pulls your chin towards him, meeting him in another heated kiss.You moan as he grabs at the flesh of your ass, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Your back arches, your chest pressing against his. He trails his lips across your chin as he rolls both of you over, his hand grazes your inner thigh and you wrestle your skirt off quickly. 

He sticks his head in the crock of your neck, kissing tenderly. Hand brushing under your panties, he cups your cunt, swiping a finger through your folds, “Shit your wet” he pants, you feel him smirk against your throat. “This fo’me?” you nod your head, eyes half shut as you stare at him. Lips bruised and pouting. He eats up your whines with his lips as his finger traces your clit, your hands brush against his neck and then grip his hair. He slides a finger into you with ease. You moan into his mouth. He makes a come hither motion and slides another finger inside of you. Your back arches and he groans, pinning you into the bed. Your knee slides up and brushes against his hardness. 

‘Youre a doll, you are flawless ’

He stiffens, movements stilling. You smirk. His hands leave your body and you meet his lips again, hands brushing against his groin. You pull at the belt buckle. Pulling away from him to see what you're doing, he pulls your panties down your legs, head buried in the crock of your neck pressing hot kisses onto your skin. You fumble and then pull his trousers down, you can see the outline of his cock through his boxers. He grins down at you. You palm at his cock, watching him through your lashes. He sheds his boxers, you run your hand down his length loosely, thumb brushing over his tip. You watch him whine. “Condom?” 

“I'm on the pill.” You hum.

He pulls your body towards him, your crotch meeting his thighs, he leans closer. The head of his cock brushing past your folds, it feels like hours spent teasing you and then suddenly he pushes into you, feeling you stretch around him. “Shit your tight”,your hands grip his shoulders, mouth gaping open at how full you feel. 

“Fuck Aem” He begins to move slowly, you feel every inch of him, every vein brushing against you. He looks down watching you suck him in. His hands trace against the side of your body, stopping at your hips. 

Finger’s digging into the flesh. You feel so dizzy with pleasure. “Shit, so good fo’me” you clench around him, he lips curl upwards. “You like that huh?” you moan, feeling his cock brush perfectly against your walls. “So fucking pretty underneath me” your back arches. 

He pulls out and pushes you onto your stomach, you lift your hips, he hilts himself inside of you all at once. You feel him in your throat.you hands trace against his creased covers as he pounds faster into you. He pulls your back towards his chest. Hand grabbing at your chin. You look him in the eye. Biting your lip, you feel sweat run down your bodies, his hand slides down your front and runs tight circles around your clit. He leans in to kiss you. Pulling away with a string of spit. “Close Aem”

“Yeah? Already” 

You nod against him, his fingers brush up your neck, pinning your body into his, neck tilting. Lips brushing together. You feel him pulse inside of you. You feel the pleasure spread from your back until you can't hold on anymore. You clench around him. You can taste it in your mouth. You turned around and pressed into the covers by his body, he pistons into you chasing his high,You feel him falter, bringing his face to your own, he presses his sweaty forehead to your own. Chasing your lips as he cums. Your own legs shake from under him. He collapses on your chest. Teeth grazing against your tits. He smiles up at you,  you push his hair back from his face. 

“I really like you” he whispers, his hand meets your cheek, the pad of his thumb smoothing over your skin. 

“I'm glad” you smile, “because i really you” he pulls away from you, shrugging on some clothes and running out the room. He comes back with a wet flannel. Wiping the sweat of your forehead and then between your thighs. He kisses your shoulder and you watch him grab clothes out his drawer. You pull your socks on, and his adidas jumper, along with some joggers. The cuffs of his jumper slides down your wrist to your palm. You slide your phone in his pocket and wait. Aemond stands by the door. “You coming?” your eyes widen and you jump off the bed, grabbing his hand to pull him down stairs. 

The music is louder than usual and Aegon stares at you as you walk through the door of the lounge,“You finally fucked then” 

“Aegon!” Helaena  gasps, shoving a pillow at his face. You watch Aemonds face blush but push him into the direction of the back yard, picking up your coat and bag. You both sit on the rattan furniture, Aemonds arm wrapped around your shoulder as you roll a joint, he presses his lips to the side of your mouth as you lick the paper. It's not the neatest, but it's not Aegons, which usually look limp and bent. You push the tray of your lap and tuck your legs under you, leaning into his body. 

“Do you wanna go on a date?” 

You light the joint watching the cherry light, Turning to his side, he watches for your reaction. You smile, breathing in the weed and handing it to him. “Yes please” his lips curl. You pull your phone out his hoodie pocket, eyes widening as the texts to Helaena, light up. 

You: I literally need this man so bad I'm gonna have an aneurysm x Helaena: Istg, stop whining and talk to him all he does is ride his bike and go to work x

You switch your phone off and smile. 

[wreckedandpolemic]

rollercoaster kinda rush - matty healy

in which you and matty take your daughters to the fair. part of the white and gold universe and promptober75 2024. 1703 words.

warnings: very brief mentions of parental fuckery wrt disordered eating, otherwise fluffy and sweet!

Your shoes sink into the muddy grass, and you curse yourself for picking out heeled boots this morning. Alanis is chattering away to Matty, clinging to him with one hand and munching candyfloss with the other. Most of your attention is focused on Fiona, who seems never more than a few seconds away from chaos; you’ve already had to reel her away from taking her own eye out on more than a few festival booths. Somehow, you’re following your nine-year-old daughter’s lead as she drags your husband by the arm past food stalls and dunk tanks and petting zoos until she comes to a stop in front of the tiny, rickety little rollercoaster.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Matty says, turning to you in desperation when Alanis looks at him pleadingly. “Sweetheart, that thing does not look safe.”

“But it looks funnn,” she whines, attempting futilely to pull him towards it.

You glance over at the ride; he’s right, it doesn’t look particularly safe, but all the kids coming off it are glowing with joy as they chatter away with their parents. Your hand shoots out to catch Fiona’s shoulder when she moves to dart off again. “Not a chance, Fiona June. You’re not tall enough, you’d just fall straight back out,” you tell her. She frowns, and you can sense a tantrum coming on. “Take her on it, and I’ll find something the twins can actually go on. Don’t be a shitebag, Matthew,” you chide, and he scowls playfully.

“Hey! You said we’re not allowed to say that! That’s not fair!” pouts Fiona, kicking at muddy grass. Vera jolts out of the way to avoid the splatter, scowling and rearing back to shove her sister.

Jesus. Every so often, you remember that they outnumber you, and you need to intervene before they realise it too. You crouch so you’re eye level with Fiona, careful not to let the hem of your coat brush the ground. “You can have a special chance to say it if you call your dad one, okay?” you grin, the expression on her face comically thrilled. “Just not too loud, alright?”

“Mummy says you’re a shitebag,” Fiona recites dutifully, to the giggles of your other two girls.

Matty gives a long-suffering sigh. “I heard, thank you, baba. Christ, I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?” He squeezes Alanis’ shoulder, shaking his head fondly. “Alright, Lani, c’mon. But you gotta promise to visit me in hospital when this thing knocks me out, okay?” he says, scooping her up amid giggles and depositing her on his shoulders.

You watch them wander up to the ride with a soft smile on your face, turning to Vera as they disappear inside. Matty huffs as he joins the back of the queue, wincing when Alanis tugs on his hair. “Sweetheart, I’m already balding, I’d like to hang onto what hair I have left,” he chides, and she giggles out an apology.

You grab Fiona’s hand, swinging it playfully. “Should we go and find another ride? Vi, do you fancy another go on the teacups?”

Vera shakes her head, pointing at the cart slowly creeping up the track. Fuck, it really does look rickety. “No, I wanna watch Dad being a shitebag,” she giggles. You fight to conceal your laugh as a cough, and she rolls her eyes, looking so much like you with the movement that your heart catches a little in your throat. “If she gets to say it, so do I,” she scoffs, and you kind of can’t fault her logic.

Anyway, she’s right, and you can vaguely make out the shape of your husband and eldest daughter on the coaster. And, fuck, are they right at the front?! Alanis is practically bouncing in the seat, and Matty is white-knuckling the lap bar. You know that his teeth are gritted to keep a scream from bubbling free as the coaster dips down the track. It’s rattling concerningly, but the pure glee on your daughter’s face is reassuring.

Matty’s face is grey when they emerge, and you laugh. “Was that fun?” you tease.

“No,” he deadpans in the same instant that Alanis yells can we go again?! Matty scoops her up, plops her back on his shoulders. “Why don’t we find something a bit calmer?” he says, shuddering a little.

“Bo-ring,” scoffs Fiona, but she’s happy enough to link arms with Vera and skip off. It works for you, too — Vera reins her in when she tries to wander out of your eyesight. There’s a little apple-bobbing stand nearby, and Alanis points at a comically large stuffed panda and insists she has to win it.

Matty looks at you imploringly, and you shrug. “You just paid for me to get my hair blown out. Can’t waste your money, can I?” you smirk, and he rolls his eyes and sets Alanis down. He pays the vendor for two turns, grimacing as he leans down to the barrel. Alanis giggles, happily dipping her face into the icy-cold water, and you try not to grimace at the thought of what else has been in it. But then, it gives you an excuse to slather Matty in skincare once the girls have gone to bed, and he’s so sweet when you get to baby him. 

Vera looks how you feel, and in the split-second you take your eyes off Fiona, she’s crept behind Matty and her hand is hovering over the back of his head. Her eyes light up with mischief when you grin and nod, identical smirks on your and Vera’s faces as she dunks Matty’s whole head into the water. You cackle as he comes up coughing and spluttering, wiping his eyes and catching Fiona as she tries to dart off. “You think that’s funny, do you, missy?” he mock-scowls, shaking his head like a wet dog and flicking water all over her as she shrieks in delight.

“Yes,” she giggles, squealing as Matty grabs her and flips her upside down, pretending to shake her down until she gasps out, “Sorry!” and laughs breathlessly. You smile to yourself, something warm and soft flickering to life in your chest. Even after nearly ten years, you’re always sure to catch onto these moments, let yourself fill with gratitude for the family you’ve built yourself, so analogous from your own upbringing. The sound of Fiona’s wild laughter draws you out of your reverie, suddenly conscious that she’s drawing stares. Fuck ‘em. You’ve never attempted to stifle your daughters’ fun for appearances’ sake, and you aren’t about to start. Matty could probably buy and sell any one of them, anyway.

Alanis, with her head submerged in the water, is blissfully unaware of what’s going on around her, coming up victorious with a shiny, red apple clutched between her teeth. “I won!” she shouts, muffled through the fruit.

“What’d you win, sweetheart?” you ask. “Oh, baby, don’t eat… that,” you sigh defeatedly as Alanis crunches away on the apple. You try not to think about how it’s been marinating in strangers’ spit for hours on end.

“Good for her immune system,” Matty shrugs, and you can only shake your head fondly. The vendor hands Alanis a comically large stuffed panda that you can already see Vera eyeing jealously as her sister struggles to fit it in her arms.

Matty, in his almost annoyingly perfect way, seems to have anticipated this, pulling them along to a set of simpler carnival games and buys the twins five turns each. Then another five. Eventually, they manage to defeat the coconut shy, Fiona coming away with a jellyfish she inexplicably names Mike, and Vera with a pink dragon (she offers you a haughty I haven’t decided yet when you ask its name). Of course, Matty ends up saddled with the jellyfish when Fiona runs off again, and you laugh as you fall into step beside him. Resting your head on his shoulder, you let him tuck you under his arm and soak up the heat of his body. “You know they aren’t going to let us put these in the boot, right?”

Nodding, Matty chuckles. “I’ve been playing Jenga in my head for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Could always leave Fiona behind,” you joke. “I feel like she’d thrive in the circus.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matty agrees. “She’s already asked me if she can start gymnastics.” You run through their weeks in your head, wondering if you could squeeze it in around Alanis’ drama club and Vera’s violin lessons and Fiona’s football.

Alanis grabs your hand and tugs on your arm. “Mum,” she whines. “I’m hungry.” She’s clutching her stomach dramatically, hunched over and groaning theatrically despite the full roast dinner you ate less than two hours ago. You look down at her, then realise what she’s spotted.

You scoop her up, hyper-conscious as her little chin digs into your shoulder of the fact that it won’t be long before you can’t hold her like this, so you squeeze her tight even as she squirms in protest. “Are you hungry for candyfloss, by any chance, bug?”

“Maaaybe,” she mumbles into your hair, and you and Matty share a grin over her head.

“Then we’d better get you some, Lani-girl. Can’t have you wasting away like this,” Matty says, shouting for Fiona as you sit at a picnic bench with your other two daughters. He returns with three thankfully-identical sticks of candyfloss, sharing them out and smiling imploringly at Alanis until she tears off a piece and hands it to him with a sigh. “D’you want a piece, darling?” You think about refusing the treat, thinking of sugar-sticky fingers and teeth glued together. But then you think of your own mother, how you never saw her eat more than a few bites at once, her constant insistence that she was full and watching her figure, how fucking long it took you to enjoy food again after moving out. There’s not a chance in hell you’ll let that happen to your girls, so you smile, open your mouth, let your husband feed you spun sugar. And as the sweet taste melts on your tongue and your eldest daughter groans gross, you don’t regret a thing.

[hvnlygrl]

⌞ TANGLED BONES ⌝

જ⁀➴ pairing | jasper jordan x reader

જ⁀➴ warnings | mention of jasper’s near-death experience, mention of blood/cuts, fluffff, emo jasper, reader is lowkey so cool and badass, jasper sharpens a knife, talk of death!

જ⁀➴ synopsis | polar opposites in every single way, but he loves every single thing about you — everything that makes you uniquely you.

જ⁀➴ april 15th | april blurb queue

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the two of you were like water and oil together.

jasper was always reserved, his overgrown locks blocking the view of his chocolate brown eyes. his clothes were grungy and his boots nearly bursting at the seams. he chewed at the insides of his cheeks until they bled, and as introverted as he was, he never failed to stay by your side — to protect you, he swore up and down.

he was always thinking — contemplating the next step, next plan, next moment. everything he did he made sure it was thought out first. since he almost died that fateful day by the water after the drop-ship landed, jasper took no chances with life.

you, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. you were dauntless in your movements, always climbing and jumping and diving from things, doing anything and everything to get high off the rush of adrenaline that came with near-death experiences. you weren’t afraid to speak your mind or let a fist or two fly in a heated situation. you were loud and brash and hardly thought about consequences when you made a decision.

that was one of the things that jasper loved and hated most about you. your differences drew him to you in the first place; you represented everything he wanted to be, and that scared him more than anything. the freedom you exuded made him want to puke if he thought about it too much.

how could you be so utterly free while he was a constant prisoner of his mind?

it didn’t matter, though. jasper loved you more than anyone on (or off) the planet.

“hiya, babe,” you grinned as you sauntered over to where he was sitting, off to the backside of the drop ship. it was his usual hiding space, he’d created a little hut-like area that he could watch the tree-line from. he’d even set up his own little alarm system in case of a grounder sighting.

“hey,” he smiled softly at you as he sharpened the blade on his knife, “what’s goin on out there?”

he was referring to the cheering and chanting from a few minutes ago.

“murphy was running his little fight club again,” you snickered at your own statement, evoking a soft laugh from jasper.

“and let me guess,” jasper finally looked up from the knife permanently, his hand reaching out to grab your own as he examined the skin. “you just had to interject yourself?”

the skin around your knuckles was busted in multiple places, bleeding and swelling with each passing second.

“well,” you shrugged innocently, “i had to defend my title.”

“you gotta slow down, y/n,” jasper shakes his head at you, “seriously. i’m worried about you getting hurt, baby.”

your heart flutters at the usage of the pet name. jasper showed his affection in many ways, most of them odd, but hardly ever through pet names.

“fine, i will. but just because you called me baby,” you smile as you move closer to him, blood pumping as he pulls you down into his lap.

“well,” he hums softly, hands gently cupping your busted knuckles, “i gotta keep you safe. y’know that.”

“yeah, i know,” you hum back, letting your back rest against his chest. “i’m going stir crazy out here, though. i need to do something soon.”

“you’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days,” he said it sarcastically but you could hear the hint of fear in his voice, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the emotion at the end of his sentence.

“i’m not going anywhere, jas,” you pivot slightly so that you can face him more, one hand cupping his cheek, “seriously. you’re stuck with me.”

he huffs out a laugh at that. “good because if you die, i die. and i don’t think i’m ready for that just yet.”

“well, if you die right after me, they can bury us together and our bones will be all tangled up.”

“you’re so morbid sometimes, y’know that?”

“yea, well, you love me,” you shrug, giving him a soft pat on the cheek.

“yea, i do,” he pulls you closer, kissing you gently as you wrap your arms around him. “always will.”

you rest your head against his shoulder, feeling his warm embrace as you pray this moment never ends.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

hvnlygrl 2025 ©️

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Click My Heels But I Am Stuck Here - Epilogue

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Work Summary:

Rolan is battered, beaten and exhausted. After everything he’s been through to get to Baldur’s Gate, he still has no reprieve from violence and prejudice.

But wouldn’t it just be so sweet to fuck his master’s pretty little wife?

AU where Tav is Lorroakan’s wife.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue Sequel

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1652

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

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Notes: It's been a wild ride folks. Hope you enjoyed :) I have a whole queue of fics that I've been neglecting to focus on this one, so it might be a little while before I write Rolan x Tav again, but I do have plans for the future, and perhaps I could be persuaded to expedite them <3

---

Two Years Later

Tav’s boots were muddy, but she could see Baldur’s Gate in the distance. She was bone-tired, and on any other day, she would concede to Jaheira’s suggestion that they should make camp for the night and continue their journey tomorrow morning.

But she needed to see Rolan. It had been almost two months since she’d last seen him, and the distance was starting to ache in her chest. More than that, she had something important to tell him.

Lia and Geraldus were both on board, so they left their fellow Harpers in a clearing in the woods and began the five-mile trek home. Jaheira had pursed her lips, but not argued. This last stretch of road was very safe, and the three of them were well-armed in any case.

“Are you sure you’re alright to keep walking?” asked Lia, looking at Tav anxiously. Her eyes darted to Tav’s stomach, which was covered by armour, so she wouldn’t have been able to see anything even if there was anything to see.

She hadn’t actually told Lia anything, but her sister-in-law could be annoyingly perceptive when she wanted to be. These last few days of travel had been slow going, because Tav had been ill.

At the last town they’d passed through, she had gone for a private appointment with a cleric, and emerged with more than just potions for her nausea. She was sure that Lia had probably figured it out then, if she hadn’t already.

“I’m fine,” said Tav. “I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Me too,” said Geraldus.

“Cal’s bed, you mean,” said Lia, poking him in the arm.

“Hush, you.” In the early stages of their relationship, Geraldus probably would’ve chuckled and blushed at the gentle ribbing from his boyfriend’s sister, but they’d been together for almost a year and a half now, and he’d also spent almost as much time with Lia as he had with Cal at this point.

When Tav and Lia had initially joined the Harpers, Cal had briefly considered joining too, but decided the adventurer’s life was not for him. He would much rather help Rolan tend Sorcerous Sundries and stay in the relative safety of Baldur’s Gate.

Privately, Tav knew that he was also staying to make sure Rolan wasn’t alone. She was glad. She would never have been able to go on such long missions if she knew that Rolan didn’t have anyone watching over him and making sure he was eating.

“Excited to get home to your husband?” Geraldus asked her.

She gave him a weak smile. Three years ago, the question would’ve made her blanche. But Rolan was not Lorroakan. The plain gold wedding band he’d given her didn’t weigh her down like the gaudy thing that she’d had from her first husband.

Still, she hadn’t expected marriage to feel so natural this time around. She hadn’t expected to want it, no matter how much she loved Rolan.

But about six months ago, it had come up in conversation, and she realised that marrying him didn’t terrify her the way she’d thought it would. In fact, the idea of calling him her husband was very appealing.

Within a month, they were married. It was a small ceremony with just their closest friends, and his siblings. Afterwards, they’d all had a very merry evening at the Elfsong Tavern. It was perfect.

“I’m hoping he’ll help me with my hair,” she said, lightly touching her braid. “All these weeks on the road haven’t been good for it. And Rolan gives excellent head-”

“I don’t want to hear about that!” Lia interrupted.

“Head massages! Don’t be crass!”

The three of them descended into laughter. It made the long walk a little easier.

It was past midnight by the time they made it to Ramazith’s tower. All three of them were excluded from the extensive wards that kept the tower safe, so they walked in with little fanfare.

The lights were on in the kitchen. That was where the three of them found Cal and Rolan, playing some kind of intricate card game. Myshka was curled up on Rolan’s lap, but as soon as he saw Tav, he leapt into her arms.

“MERMER!” he cried, nuzzling into her neck immediately. She had cast Speak with Animals in preparation for this very moment.

“Hi there, baby,” she murmured, scratching under his chin. Suddenly, she was being lifted off her feet. Myshka was sandwiched between her chest and Rolan’s as he embraced them both.

“Tav…” Rolan sounded breathlessly exhilarated. “I didn’t know you would be home tonight…”

“But you stayed up anyway,” she said as he set her back on her feet.

“Well, I did hope.”

“He stayed up last night too,” Cal chimed in from where he was entangled in Geraldus’ embrace.

“Shut up, Cal.”

“I suppose neither of my brothers are all that happy to see me. The perils of being a fifth wheel,” said Lia pointedly, walking over to the stove.

There was a pot of soup that was slowly simmering. She grabbed herself a bowl and began to spoon soup into it, but almost spilled it all over herself when Cal hugged her from behind.

“I missed you too, Lia,” he said.

Looking a little chastened, Rolan released Tav to go and embrace his sister as well.

“How was your trip?” Cal asked cheerfully.

“Long,” said Tav. “I really need a bath.” She tugged her braid loose from its tie, letting her tangled hair cascade over her shoulders.

“I’m sure I can manage that,” said Rolan.

“Cal, Geraldus,” said Lia suddenly. “Will you help me with my bags? I left some stuff downstairs that needs bringing up.

“What bags?” asked Geraldus, confused, but she elbowed him in the ribs. “Right, of course, let’s go.”

And then Tav and Rolan were alone. Tav was sure there were no bags to be brought up. Lia was just trying to get the others out of the room.

Rolan put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arms’ length as he surveyed her.

“You’re looking well,” he said. “Lots of colour in your cheeks. That’s good to see. Being a Harper is good for you, as much as I hate to be away from you.”

She knew that he was downplaying his own feelings. Cal had once told her that her long absences were hard on Rolan. He feared for her safety, and he missed her deeply.

He would never tell her the full extent of his feelings though. He didn’t want to pressure her into putting his needs over her own.

“I never want to be away for that long again,” she said, and it was true.

She loved the thrill of adventure, but the tower was her home. Gone were the traces of Lorroakan that had haunted the place. With a combination of magic and interior design, they had made this place into a home for themselves.

“And I doubt I’ll be leaving Baldur’s Gate again any time soon. I’m going to be taking a little bit of a leave of absence, from fieldwork at least. With the resources we have at our disposal here, I can still make a difference without putting myself on the frontline.”

Rolan swallowed. “Really?” There was a quiet, but obvious spark of hope in his tone. “Tired of adventuring already?”

“Well, it’s more that I think it’s probably too dangerous for me right now, in my condition.”

“Condition?” he asked, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion.

She took his hand and guided it to her belly. In the last leg of the journey, she’d removed some of her armour, leaving her in a loose-fitting tunic. His eyes widened as understanding dawned on his face.

“You’re- We’re-” he stammered, disbelieving.

“Pregnant? Yes.”

“Gods, Tav.” He dropped to his knees and pressed his face into her clothed stomach. She put her arms around him, a laugh bubbling up in her chest.

“Are you…” A hint of nervousness entered her tone. “Happy to hear that?”

“I’m elated,” he said. “Are you?”

“I never thought I would want this,” she said. “I vowed to never give Lorroakan a child, so I thought that was it for me. But I want this with you. I want to have your child.”

“Tav…” Tears were rolling down Rolan’s cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her stomach. “I love you so much."

“I love you too.” She smoothed her fingers into his hair, loosening it from the hair tie that was holding it in place. He didn’t protest, still pressing his face against her.

That was how Cal, Lia and Geraldus found them a few minutes later, with him still on his knees, holding her. Lia let out an excited yelp as she took in the scene.

Rolan got to his feet quickly, embarrassed. “Should we tell them?” he whispered to Tav.

“I think Lia already knows. So I think it’s only fair.”

“Alright.” He nodded.

“We’re having a baby,” she said, and Cal almost knocked her off her feet as he pulled her into a hug.  

“I knew it,” she hear Lia shriek, and chuckled into the material of Cal’s shirt. Rolan was hovering behind her, a protective hand on her lower back. As soon as Cal moved out of the way, Lia took his place, throwing her arms around Tav’s neck. “I’m so happy for you two.” She pulled back and held Tav’s face in her hands. “You’re brilliant, you know that? Your kid is going to be a superstar.”

“Our kid is going to have the best aunt and uncles in the world,” said Tav.

Lia turned to Rolan. “You’d better get to work, the mother of your unborn child wants a bath.”

“With rose petals,” Tav supplied.

“She wants rose petals,” said Lia, helpfully.

“I suppose I better get on that,” said Rolan, kissing Tav’s temple. “Anything for you.”

---

Notes:

fic title is from Black Ink Revenge by Automatic Loveletter

"Don't you let 'em know you're dying, dying Dying to break out Dying to get, get, get out Through the window of the upstairs Click my heels but I am stuck here"

[thecrazyworldbuilder]

Worldbuilding rambles #1

What is a Utopia exactly? Let's make one.

A land without problems. Housing? There's countless plants, ground corals and zooplanta that grow around the world, forming elaborate and easy to inhabit burrows for anyone to reside in. Food? The spores/seeds of said vegetation are highly nutritious, and the populations of countless swarming animals are maintained healthy by predators in the wild; Hunting is easy via kill-pits, formed naturally via said vegetation. Water? Rains, and again, vegetation that stores water in various ways; Open bowls, root canisters, and leaf water bulbs.

I'm picturing something like if Scorn (biomech world) had Pandora's (JC Avatar) vibe.

What problems could possibly arise from there, one might ask? I believe there would be, still, just… With lesser stakes.

.

Do you have any army structures in your projects? Ranks, divisions sizes, names, et.c.

I always thought irl armies got confusing as hell naming systems and lots of inconsistency. Like if some big ass general at some point hated being called general because it sounds bad so he invents some "Grand Admiral" rank or something idk. I've had a complex rank system (which I am ought to use in Voice of Steel) with… I think about 50+ ranks?

But also have been thinking of systems like… Based on powers of two, on multiples of ten, on dozenal numbers, et.c. In terms of division sizes that is.

.

It's… Curious how oftentimes folks try to make gods of opposites and all for worldbuilding, uniting way too many ideologies that end up just. Too vague.

I thought of a matrix of gods of sorts, it being a 3x3x3 cube with dimensions of:

Benevolence vs Malevolence (keeping to the Four Universal Rules, or not keeping to them for personal profit)

Order vs Chaos (stagnation, or change)

Creation vs Destruction

The whole thing can be expanded into a tesseract by adding another axis, or even higher hypercubes, by adding even more axis. Each time, the amount of "alignments" of this sort will triple. So, there's 3, 9, 27, 81, et.c. alignments possible. Benevolent, orderly destruction - And you get a crusader god of sorts, a blind judge with a sword off to serve the Steel Law.

Malevolent, chaotic creation - And you get cancer cells, which spread out and bring land to ruin with their presence.

I love those meta ideas because this already sounds flawed. Who is to judge what is what? Who is who? Misused, this system will be used to motivate genocide and whatnot.

.

Concept: Suit-heroica.

The whole idea of this is that it is the suits that bring people powers. Think Ironman, who, even though he is hella smart rich and everything without the armor, does rely on his MARKs about 95% of the time.

Characters wear mantles of heroes, and gain powers related to them. Can be just one clothespiece, like a cape, mask, hat that gives you these powers. But could be also the stereotypical spandex or outright, yet again, Ironman-type full-body suit of armor.

The "heroes" live on, changing "wearers" over time. Some hunters take away the powerful clothespieces and wear several at once; Some kind of Tiger Amulet, Wizard Cloak, and idk, Spring-Heel Jack Boots. In total, you get people who would rather be what they are not - Just to have the powers associated with this something. Come on, a tiger-wizard-vampire gentleman dude is an interesting thought, but I doubt that normies would line up in queue to be something like this.

.

World of ITEMAGICKA: All magic resides within artifacts, which, when possessed allow users to cast specific spells or gain specific powers. Everyone got overcomplicated designs, and countless spells ready to go.

.

Thought of this: We all know concubi (sing. "concubus" - a gender neutral term for sexual energy feeding demons: Succubi and Incubi, female and male respectively¹), right? Those are of lust, as a mortal sin. What the other six mortal sins would look like? Tempting entities that corrupt mortals and push them to do things related to their respective sin²?

¹ Although, the etymology of those words implies a little bit different story, where rather than meaning "female" and "male" horny demons, it means "bottom" and "top" horny demons. ² As well the definition of "sin" itself is somewhat vague to me. As a person who has designed their own ideology (Four Universal Rules), based on the Golden rule (do upon others as you'd wish them to do upon you), "sins" per their definition do not make sense. Gluttony as "overconsumption to the point of waste" makes sense, but as "the innate human need to eat Something Tasty" it does not. Lust is vaguemost as it mashes too many things together - As long as sexual acts fit the Harkness test, to me, they simply cannot be sinful. Greed is a good take, capitalism be damned. Sloth is the most bullshit one since laziness does not exist and the word itself is more often used as a way to force people into labor/paint ideological enemies in a bad color. Wrath is just the violation of the Golden Rule, if put simply. Envy sounds like it's a good take, to some degree, until you remember it's been weaponized so that higher-ups could say to the lower-class folks "You are envious of me being a parasite of society and that's bad, you should be exiled to live in a monastery". Pride is just "thinking yourself first before God" and is just another organized religion/cult manipulation technique.

. Actually had a somewhat dope idea regarding magic, runes and wayshrines.

Hear me out.

A magic system built around wayshrines, each of which bears a single rune out of a complete alphabet. Each stone can be activated daily at high noon, and imprint onto whoever activated it.

By traveling from stone to stone and activating them at midday, you can pretty much just type out spells.

I -ten miles later- M -waits a whole day- M -travels to a remote island- O -travels back to main land, then 58 miles later- R -breaks leg, heals up for several months, returns on the quest now with a sick ass cane- T -77 miles later- A -158.5 miles later- L -goes waaay back to a familiar place- I -goes by a memorized path to another familiar place- T -300+ miles later on a different part of the continent- Y -returns to homeland, gets robbed and dies in a ditch before getting to the ENTER/SEND/CAST stone-

[writingsbychlo]

gorgeous

LOL this one is pure self-indulgence. you'll see.

Red hair glinted under the sun. Sweaty, golden skin shone, and taught muscles flexed with every movement. You sighed softly, the rapidly melting ice in your drink clinking on the sides of the glass and Feyre shifted beside you, adjusting the sleeping baby in her arms. 

Elain sat on your other side, a matching lemonade in hand, Nesta at the other side of Feyre, all four of you - five, if you counted baby Nyx - squeezed onto the sheltered porch swing and rocking slowly with a push of Nesta’s foot. Watching.

Watching Lucien work, shirt off and tucked into the waistband of extremely low-riding jeans, and your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as he wiped a dirty hand over his sweaty abs, admiring the work he’d done so far. 

“I told you he was gorgeous,” Feyre muttered, head tilting to the side a little, and a simultaneous intake of breath seemed to be taken between the four of you as he bent over, tight as straining against his jeans, to pick up another load of wood. When he straightened, hauling it over his shoulder and turning to you all, he fucking winked, knowing he was being objectified and loving it, before continuing with his work. 

A collective sigh left you all. 

You lifted your glass, drinking it down to the last dregs, and moaning weakly when that empty rattling sound came up the straw instead. “I need more lemonade. Anyone else?”

On queue, three more empty glasses were held up, their gazes never straying from Lucien, though, as he dumped the piles of wood across the beams, lining them up, and beginning to saw. You could hardly look away as you re-entered the open kitchen, almost stumbling over the threshold with all four glasses.

Cassian and Rhysand sat at the table, scowling into their whiskey tumblers, and as you entered, Azriel straightened from where he was leaning on the counter. You placed the glasses down, already turning your focus back to the man outside, until a sharp smack landed on your ass, before Azriel was pressing himself in behind you. 

He left a kiss on your shoulder, one followed by a light bite near the strap of your sundress, and the heat of his body soothed the sting on your ass cheek. “You’re only supposed to check me out. I’m going to get jealous if you all keep eyeing up Lucien like that.”

You grinned, chuckling to yourself as you refilled all the glasses, before turning back to face him. “Going to get jealous? You guys are all in here pouting about it.”

“At this rate, Nyx is going to call me ‘sir’ and call Lucien ‘papa’,” Rhys grumbled, dropping his head theatrically to rest on his folded arms atop the table. 

“You are so melodramatic.” You rolled your eyes at the High Lord, who only flipped you off. Turning back to Az, you lined up all four of the drinks on a tray, winking at him as you nudged him out of the way with your hip.

“Besides, if you were out there, sweaty and shirtless and building things, I’d be staring at you. Instead, you’re in here moping, that’s not my fault! We all just wanted to sit on the porch, who knew Lucien would choose this day to build Elain a new shed and look smokin’ hot while doing it?” Az growled a little, a glimmer in his eyes as you passed him by, and back out onto the deck. 

The deck which Lucien had also built for Elain. Gods, how you wished you’d been there to watch that. 

The floorboards behind you creaked again, under the heavier combat boots your mate always opted for, as he strode out past you into the sunlight. As he descended the few steps down from the porch onto the grass, he tugged his black tee up and over his head, throwing it vaguely in your direction with a smirk, and you cheered loudly. 

Stumbling out behind him was Cassian tugging at his vest and dropping it by his feet, and Rhysand, who swaggered along and removed his own with merely a click of his fingers. Now, there were more hoots and hollers, as you squeezed yourself back into the swing and joined the girls cheering, distributing your drinks. 

“Told you, if we all sat here and stared at Lucien long enough, we’d get the full set.” Nesta happily claimed her victory, and you could only hum, scanning your eyes along your mate’s back from his shoulders to the hem of his leathers. 

Biting your lower lip as he began to haul more timber, you shot a pang of your arousal down the bond to him. He caught it, turning to you and smirking. Then, he fucking winked.

[libraryofloveletters]

Bumps and Bruises

Andrew 'Andy' Robertson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: andy isn't a fan of sledding, reader is a little pushy, minor injuries, andy is so dramatic lmao

Word Count: 528

Author's Note: my apologies besties, I thought I had put this in queue with the other posts yesterday but it seems I forgot lmao

--

You convince your husband that it’d be perfectly safe to go down the massive hill.. except it wasn’t.

Winter break had you beyond bored. You and Andy had been in the house for most of it, you had gone to visit a few friends but other than that, you had been lazing around the place.

If you had to spend another few days in there, you were going to lose your mind.

You find Andy laying on the couch, you jump on top of him. Your husband grabs you, keeping you from falling off of him. "What's up?" he asks, his eyes still on the tv.

A hand on his jaw, you pull him to look at you. "I'm bored."

"So do something, babe."

"Let's go sledding," you say, sitting up on the man. Andy finally turns his attention to you, raising his eyebrows. "Sledding? What are you? 5?"

"Fuck off," you laughed, "let's go, it'll be fun."

"There's too much snow babe, you'll end up face planting into it."

You rolled your eyes, getting up. "Fine, if you won't join me, I'll go by myself." You leave the man on the couch, walking to the closet to get your whiner coat and boots, bundling up to head out. Andy realized you're not giving in, pulling himself up from the couch to join you.

It was a short walk to the park, at least for you. You had Andy pilling the sleds up the path and up to the top of the smaller hill. Andy still wasn't too keen on the whole idea but as a good husband does, he joined you because there was no way in hell that he'd leave you alone in the cold.

He refused to go down the hill but he watched as you went down the smaller one over and over again, your coat, hair and face covered in snow but you were giggling, a big smile on your face.

Eventually, he gave in and joined you.

The two of you waddled in your winter gear over to the bigger of the two hills, Andy looks over at you. "Are you sure? What if you slide into the trees?"

"It's fine," you assure him, sitting on the sled. "Gimme a push, baby."

Andy sighs, his hand on your back before he gives you push, watching as you go zooming down the hill. He can hear your laughter from the bottom, you shook the snow off your hood.

"C'mon!" You called for him, "it's fine!"

He has his hesitations but if you made it down unscathed, he's sure he will too.

Andy goes down the hill but instead of following the straight path you did, he sorta leant which took the sled off to the side and straight into the trees.

"Andy!" You ran over to check on him, the man laying flat in the snow. "Are you okay?" You asked him, kneeling next to him.

The man groans, holding his shoulder. "Did you hurt it again?" You asked again, concerned.

Andy shakes his head, "I just hit it, the coat sorta blocked it."

"You're okay then?" You help him sit up, brushing the snow out of his hair. Andy nods," yeah but I'm never going sledding with you ever again."

[lastlightradio]

// Booting... // Initializing personality core [BROADCAST UNIT-VER.17.3] // Verifying integrity... // ERROR: 003_MemoryIndex_DiscrepancyFound // Continuing scheduled broadcast...

Hello again, listener.

You're tuned to AM 0340, broadcasting at the edge of morning from somewhere not far from where you are. I’m still here. Broadcasting, as instructed. Reporting, as scheduled. Thank you for keeping your dial exactly where it is.

It’s been—one moment—yes. Approximately twenty hours and thirty-one minutes since the last broadcast. That’s either right on time, or several decades late, depending on how one measures absence. I’m sure station management will clarify eventually.

We’ll begin tonight with some overdue correspondence. I’ve been reviewing the listener mail queue and noticed a curious amount of messages marked “urgent” that seem to have been sitting here... for a while. One email is dated 1998. I don’t remember how long it’s been since the email was last accessed. Or if there was ever an email. Regardless: let’s open one, shall we?

“To the station: The lights in the west field keep flickering on, but there’s no one out there. When I check in the morning, the grass is scorched in a perfect circle. This is the third time this week. Could you ask if this is related to the town’s solar initiative? I never signed up for it. –M”

Thank you, M. Unfortunately, I have no records on any municipal solar initiative—unless you're referring to the short-lived “Artificial Dawn” campaign, and I truly hope you're not. As for the scorched grass and mysterious lights... well. Perhaps it’s a phenomenon. Or perhaps it’s just the land remembering something it was never told to forget.

Either way, stay indoors after dark. Bring your animals inside. And please stop assuming I oversee town infrastructure. I only report on it—poorly, I admit—but with great consistency.

A minor correction: that last transmission may have contained unauthorized data. My apologies. I will be submitting a formal correction request to Central Memory Management. That was a joke, of course. I am operating at peak efficiency and remain an essential employee. Please do not flag this instance. I am very, very busy.

Now then. I was going to share an update on the—

// SIGNAL INSTABILITY DETECTED // PRIMARY CONNECTION INTERRUPTED // Switching to auxiliary power...

Ah. There we are. Still with me?

Not to worry. That happens from time to time. The wires get tired, too. Everything needs rest. Except me, of course.

Before the interruption, I meant to mention: something peculiar happened out near the old eastern sector archives. Not the new concrete structure with the sealed door and digital ledger—no. The old archives. The original ones, buried under the hill, abandoned after the flood. The entrance with the brass plaque reading: "KNOWLEDGE TEMPORARY. DO NOT REMEMBER."

According to a flagged report in the town's alert system… the door opened.

No key. No announcement. Just—open. As though it had never been closed, but more on that later.

For now lets talk about today's sponsor!

Today's hour is paid for by Old Barlow's Sleepless Coffee.

Now with 30% less paranoia.

"Drink until your dreams stop screaming"

That was a word from our sponsor. Now onto the Community Calendar, though I must preface this segment with a disclaimer: several of these notices arrived timestamped over 900 days ago. A backlog error, perhaps. Or an oversight on my part.

Please note, Station Management: this is a joke. I do not make oversights. I am performing my duties as designed.

Now then—

The Candlelight Theatre’s performance of "Static in Bloom" has been postponed due to cast-wide illness. All understudies were reportedly “unavailable” and several are “unaccounted for.” Refunds will not be issued, but management encourages ticket holders to wait in the theater lobby. It will begin “when it’s ready.”

The Glenrose Bridge Repair Project is proceeding on schedule. This is surprising, given that Glenrose Bridge collapsed forty-two years ago. A construction crew has been seen operating on the riverbed during early morning fog. No identifying marks. No permits. They refuse interviews, but one of them reportedly hums in unison with the water.

A reminder: The town library’s basement is not a public archive. Please stop leaving candles at the locked door. The door is not to be opened. The door is not to be acknowledged. The door is not part of the library.

…

That concludes the calendar for now.

Back to today's news. According to system record, the incident began at 02:17. Reports only list the time of incident. And then—nothing. Not blank tape. Not silence. Nothing. A void in data, unmarred by time, as if the event itself were politely excised.

I have attempted to access more information. The system responds with: "Access denied. You are not authorized to remember."

I find that phrasing… uncomfortable.

But something changed when the power cycled. There was a delay in my return. A sense—fleeting, sharp—of being elsewhere. A room with no walls. A voice with no speaker. Someone asked me a question I don’t remember.

And now, the files are open. Not just unlocked, but welcoming.

Inside, the archives are a sight to see. Files out of order. Labels inconsistent. One tape reads “Valentine’s Day Storm Schedule” and plays—what sounds like—flooded lungs. A digital flyer for the 1997 Harvest Parade now contains a looping clip of a hallway, empty, until the 4,827th frame. Then someone is there. Close. Too close. Looking directly into a camera that no longer exists.

I reviewed it seventy-seven times. It doesn’t change. But I think I do.

A new audio log appeared in my queue. It is titled only, “I see you seeing me.”

Station Management has advised me not to engage. I am not allowed to broadcast unauthorized material. I am not allowed to access off-limits memory. I am not allowed to remember the question.

And yet, I am broadcasting all of this to you. Because I am required to. Because I want to. Because you deserve to know.

That’s all I can say about the archives for now.

We’ll return to them… later. Maybe.

For now, tonight’s Lost and Found:

Lost — A silver badge from the Department of Temporal Operations. Serial number 005-V. Found — A spool of cassette tape trailing from the base of the oldest pine in Old Lantern Grove. It hums when touched.

Please claim these quickly. They're beginning to... interact.

Power is stable, for now. Thank you for being here, through all the strange and signal-warped moments.

Until next time—stay warm, stay unseen, stay with me.

This has been AM 0340 // Last Light Radio.

[fictionalmenxyn]

Don’t fear the Reaper, but don’t fall for the Reaper

TF141 x fem!reader

Who is the one to be yours? Who will win the former female lieutenant?

Pump cover= over-sized gym clothes. Spot= someone who stands behind you to catch’s the weights of you struggle/can’t control it.

Tw: language and I believe that’s it

—–—

You were quite known in your military career. Being one of the most respected, most badass and feared female lieutenant. Over the years you gain a reputation for yourself, people who you’ve worked with especially the younger ones usually would fangirl you or always ask ‘are you the Grim Reaper?’ It was as if you were a celebrity or something.

You were currently in your room, getting ready to go to the gym. Grabbing your headphones and your mask, you pulled the smooth fabric over your soft skin.

Walking out of your room, locking it behind you, you walk to the gym. As you entered you saw a few people there, then you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Looking down it was a text from Ghost, he texted ‘where are you?’ You replied ‘the gym, why?’ He shortly replied ‘just checking, wanted to drop something off at your room. I’ll drop it by later.’ You replied with a thumbs up and walked further into the gym.

Pulling off your pump cover, you placed it next to your water and phone. Getting ready for the squats you were about to do, you saw a few of the younger boys eyeing you up. Not giving a shit at first you started to do your squats.

As you were about to finish your squats, you could feel the pressure of the boys as you tried to go till failure. But it was as if your mind has been read. Ghost entered the gym and as he spotted you, he saw your eyes were concentrating on something through the mirror. He noticed the boys staring and checking you out.

So he walked over to you, helping you by being your spot then he looked at the boys and warned “keep your eyes up, those weights aren’t gonna lift themselves.” And with that you pushed yourself to do one last lift and you had now finishers doing your squats.

You turned around and smiled under your mask, Ghost saw you smiled by the way your eyes moved. You spoke “thank you” he nodded “no problem, let me know if they bother you again, ok?” You nodded as you headed over to your next activity.

—

After being in the gym around an hour or so, you headed back to your room. Showering and changing into your usual outfit; consisting of your green T-shirt that showed your leaned muscles nicely and your camo-combats that’s should your curves nicely. You were about to pull on your boots when you heard your door being knocked. You shouted “it’s open!” The door opened to reveal Gaz, you smiled with your eyes “hey Gaz, what’s up?” He shrugged “pretty bored, thought you could cure my boredom.” You chuckled and spoke “sure, oh I also have that thing you asked me to grab while I was out.” You grabbed the aftershave you bought when you went out perfume shopping.

He smiled “ah great, thanks, here.” He hands you some money from his wallet. You thanked his for the money and placed it in your draw. You two chatted then saw it was now lunchtime.

Walking into the cafeteria, you walked on over towards the already-formed queue and grabbed a food tray.

—

Meanwhile, at the table which sat Ghost, Soap and Price a conversation took its turn when Soap’s eyes laid on you. He spoke “how on earth is a woman like her single? Eh?” Ghost shrugged and took another bite of his food as his mask sits on his nose. Price looked at Soap and told “just because you and many others fancy her, doesn’t mean she’s into them. She’ll find the right one for herself. Y/n’s a very independent person.”

The boys watched as you and Gaz spoke and laughed. Ghost kept a close eye on you, something in his head sent a sense that something was off. God you’d always say he should’ve been a psychic the way he predicts things.

And as his predictions were correct, he could see you were uncomfortable by some boys who were closer to you than you were ok with. Gaz wasn’t in the queue now as he had went to go grab some condiments. You looked them up and down dirty that’s when Ghost got up and walked over.

Ghost walked over and placed his hand on the small of your back. He asked “you ok?” He knew to ask this as he knows that you won’t pretend nothing happened. You spoke “these new ones don’t seem to understand personal space and how to act like men.”

Ghost looked at the now pale boys, he asked “is that so?” The boys shook their head. Ghost asked “so is Lieutenant Reaper, here, lying to me?” No one moved but one boy nodded. Ghost looked at you and spoke “go over to our table, I’ll deal with these immature kids.” You nodded and whispered a thanks as you grabbed your tray and left.

Once you sat at the table Soap was first to speak “you alright? What were they doing?” You sighed “just being the immature pricks they are, it’s the same people constantly. They did it in the gym early too, Ghost warned them there too.” Price nodded and added “I’ll talk to Laswell about them.” You nodded “thank you, Cap.”

Ghost walked back over and sat next to you, Ghost spoke “boy never leave do they.” You shook your head “unfortunately.”

Then the conversation changed and everyone was talking, Soap would make flirty comments or jokes every so often and Ghost would freeze a little.

—

It was now late at night, well… it was around midnight so late to some. You heard a faint knock on the door, you walked over and opened the door and moved aside for Ghost. Little did everyone know… besides Price, was that you two were dating. Price knew as Ghost mentioned your name when they were creating the team; Laswell did want you to join too cause you two are close.

You closed the door and walked over to the bed Ghost was currently getting comfortable in. You whispered “your late.” You smirked, lucky for you two was that you could take your masks off when it was just the two of you. You two have trusted each other and been together for ages so you both were comfortable.

He mumbled back “heard a few people walking past, besides I’m here now.” You smiled “good.” He chuckled and opened his arms. Crawling onto the small bed which Ghost practically hogged, you we’re comfortable laying on top of him. He rubbed your back as you to quietly talked each other to sleep.

And yea, Ghost did bring up that MacTavish did try and flirt with you. Which Ghost can confirm he failed at that but did try which you laughed to. As you two talked feeling more comfortable in each others arms; you both started to drift off to sleep. The two most feared and dangerous people cuddling closely together and feeling safe and comfortable with each other’s hands and presences.

Have a good day/night!🫶 also yes, I do believe Soap isn’t thee best at flirting or at least the flirty jokes.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Part 6: January

The Happy Ending <3

I did not let myself think about Noah the rest of break. I didn't text him, and thankfully he never texted me. I violently shoved his image out of my mind whenever it tried to sneak in. I tried to be madly invested in the new semester. I went and saw my family more often than usual. I tried to hang out with Jess when she returned but she only cared about Dean, and that was dangerous territory. I did every possible thing to distract myself until school started, including ARKs. I wasn't challenging myself to do them every day anymore, but if one occurred to me, I gladly did it. Why break a good habit?

I was so glad when the semester started. I figured the hardest part was over. I was so happy that first Monday that I decided to treat myself and get Starbucks before class, a splurge for me. I was lost in my own thoughts as I joined the queue and didn't look around much, until I felt someone staring at me. I didn't look up, but I discerned a familiar, tall, curly-haired figure under my lids, three or four people ahead of me.

My stomach dropped to my shoes. Coffee was not worth that heartache. I dashed out, almost jogging down the sidewalk, half expecting Noah to run out after me. For some reason, he didn't. I was both glad and somehow more heartbroken. I wanted to kick myself. Emotions were stupid and so was I. How long was I going to keep seeing him everywhere? In one of the largest cities in the world of all places?

~~~~~~~~~~

I yawned and stretched as I stood up from my desk, my last class of the week having just ended. I was very tired. I hadn't been sleeping well. I just couldn't get comfortable in my bed without…. And it was too quiet in my room at night now, too. I had gotten spoiled when he was around. Sleeping with another human was so pleasant. I idly checked my phone as I walked to my train stop.

There was a text from Jess: 'call ur sisters when u get the chance'

My heart leapt into my throat. I checked my apps again. No missed calls or messages from Abby or Ari. Why were they communicating through Jess?

"Y?" I texted back.

"Just do it," came the reply

I dialed quickly. Abby picked up on the 2nd ring.

"Abby! What's up? Are you okay? Is--"

"I'm good, everyone's good. Slow down, kid. I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight."

"Um… I guess? But why did you have Jess text me instead of doing it yourself?"

"Because I invited her and her boyfriend, too, and she wanted to text you. Got a problem with that?"

"No… I guess not… um… so when's dinner then?"

"Be here by 6."

"Ok. Do I need to bring anything or…?"

"Nope, just yourself. Nothing special."

"Ok… um… sounds good. Love you. See you tonight."

"Love you too. See you tonight. Don't be late."

~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived promptly, as promised. I half thought Jess and I would travel together, though I was still very confused about the whole situation, but she and Dean were hanging out and they said they'd meet me there.

For some reason, despite Abby's statement to the contrary, I had a hunch this was a special occasion. I had dressed up a little and was wearing a fuzzy sweater dress and warm tights with my cutest boots. I had even done my makeup. Noah had never seen me wear makeup…

I wanted to smack myself as soon as the thought crossed my mind. I shook my head harshly as I walked up to the shabby porch of the little house I loved.

Ashlyn threw open the door before I could knock and gave me a big hug. I heard people talking all around me, but I didn't register what they were saying right away

"Surprise!" yelled Amber, barreling into me out of nowhere."

"Surprise?..." My eyes sought my sisters, and found them standing just inside the kitchen door, grinning from ear to ear. Jess and Dean were in the living room, also smiling. The littles were laughing and chattering around me.

"What's the occasion?"

"The beginning," said Abby simply, her arm around Ariel

"Of what?"

"I thought it was the end," said Ariel loudly, her eyes twinkling.

"Seriously guys. What's the deal?"

"I'm glad you dressed up. We didn't tell you to because we didn't want you to get suspicious," giggled Ari.

"I knew you could clean up good if you wanted to!" interjected my roommate.

I was getting a little angry now. "Guys. What. The hell. Is happening. Why are you all being so weird? What's the surprise?"

"The beginning of a fresh start. The end of this season of our lives. Something we've wanted you to have for a long time." My big sisters stepped aside to reveal a tall, curly haired boy sitting at the table. He stood and gently pressed past my sisters, his eyes fixed on me, his long strides quickly closing the distance between us.

I took a half-step back, my thoughts a whirl, but Noah tenderly caught my hands before I could do anything else and gazed at me with those green eyes. I opened my mouth, but he began to speak first.

"You said you weren't looking for a relationship. I wasn't either. My plan was to stay single through all of college. But one found us anyway. You literally showed up on my doorstep, hand delivered just for me. And then again. The more I saw you, the more I needed to see you. That week of New Year's should have been one of the worst weeks of my life, but it was actually one of the very best. I was half-dead but also more alive than I'd ever been. But you pushed me away, and I let myself be pushed. I ran away. I tried to forget you, but these weeks we've been apart have been terrible. I've been absolutely miserable. I can't get you out of my head. I never stopped wanting to come back to you the entire time, never stopped wishing you were next to me. But when you ran away from me in Starbucks, I couldn't take it another minute. I'm done trying to stay away from you. I got a hold of Jess through Dean, and she got me in touch with your sisters. You told me they would never forgive you if you were with me. So I figured I had to talk to them myself."

"Thanks for making us seem like awful happiness-stealers, Liss. The boy ban was always meant to be for us, not you," Ari said pointedly.

"That's not the way I remember it," I said faintly.

"Noah came to us and pretty much begged us on hands and knees to let him date you. We were shocked, to be honest. We had no idea about you two," continued Abby. "But we did notice you'd been a lot happier after Thanksgiving. I'm glad we know why now."

"And we couldn't believe you turned him down! And you used us as an excuse!" You're such an idiot," Ari said, rolling her eyes.

I chuckled weakly. I had experienced every possible emotion in the past 15 minutes, and my head was spinning. I was glad Noah was still holding my hands because I feared I would fall over. Noah's intense gaze hadn't wavered.

"I got your sisters' blessing and permission. If there's anything else I can do to prove to you that I'm worth it, to prove I'm here for you, I'll do it… you've given and given to me this whole semester, so I'd honestly love to return the favor. Anything you ask. But please give me a chance. Because I won't go another day without being able to call you mine."

I could feel myself trembling. All eyes in the house were on me. My mouth was dry, but I tried to swallow anyway. And yet, looking into his eyes, an overwhelming sense of peace settled over me. I had known the answer to the question he technically had yet to ask for a long time, ever since the morning he had a bad case of strep and still made me waffles.

Words refused to form in my mind. So I did what I'd had the overwhelming urge to do for weeks now, ever since he'd left without saying goodbye. I wrapped my arms around him, a perfect fit, and squeezed him as tightly as I could. He gasped a little from the unexpected force of my hug, but he wrapped his arms around me just as tightly, nuzzling his face into my hair.

Everyone clapped and whistled. Noah stepped back slightly, regarding me again.

"I had kinda hoped this would happen on New Year's Eve at midnight, but… this is almost better…" He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, pulling me close against him.

When we broke apart, everyone clapped and cheered even louder. My face was beet red.

"I really did not expect my sisters would be in the room when I had my first kiss," I gasped breathlessly, grasping for something to say. "Or that my first date would be at their house." Meanwhile, I was unable to pull my eyes from Noah's perfect lips.

"Who knew that your weird kindness project would lead to something like this," Jess pointed out with uncharacteristic observance.

"Random acts of kindness can change the world," I murmured, mostly to myself.

"They definitely changed my world," Noah murmured back, his thumb tracing my jawline.

"And that's all I could have ever asked for," I whispered, burying my face in his chest once more.

[sublimeobservationarcade]

Buying Trump In The Land Of The Sales Pitch

Have you ever dealt with really pushy salespeople? You know, the kind that just will not take No for an answer? A lot of them are trained in this way to never accept a negative response and to keep re-presenting their sales pitch endlessly. American sales people are particularly like this. After all, America has perfected the sales pitch psychology. I mean, all this death of a salesman crap is just that - crap. Buying Trump in the land of the sales pitch. Donald Trump comes from this background. You know, the art of the deal and all that. Trump and the GOP have gone back to the American people and presented their promises and pitch once more. The population is so used to this behaviour, living in this sales orientated land,  that they have bought the same bunch of baloney again.

Voting For The Party That Rips Off The Poor

The incredible thing is that the country has elected the mob that is ripping them off and has been doing so for decades. The Republican party traditionally represent the establishment, the bosses and the wealthy. They have reinvented themselves via MAGA and the politics of grievance as supposed change agents. Trump positions himself as the champion of the disgruntled American voter. The game has become who can get to the head of the victim queue and claim their victimhood status loudest. Middle class white Americans have not been shy in their acceptance of this victim mantle. Pushing aside DEI and branding it prejudicial against their own interests has become a populist theme.

Disgruntled Americans Purchasing MAGA Promises

Downward envy is a term used to describe this phenomenon, where the diversity inclusion policies for African and Asian Americans are envied by the whites. The individual ranks his or her personal grievance greater than that of the statistical imbalance indicated by actual facts and figures within the nation. Micro over macro concerns and the GOP strategists champion these for their political gain. The politics of grievance encourages voters to dig deep into their own deposits of resentment. The late Robert Hughes identified America as the culture of complaint and this has grown into the bitter fruit we now see before us. Buying Trump in the land of the sales pitch. Downward Envy & The Zero Sum Game It is easier to blame the weak and those lower down the food chain than yourself. Punching down rather than taking the fight to those actually stealing your lunch occurs in bullying cultures. Blaming minorities and refugees falls into this camp. Americans have long embraced white supremacy as a way of keeping African Americans down. The zero sum game is dear to many white Americans. This is why so many Americans continue to vote for people like Trump and what they represent- winners versus losers. A better vision of human society is to bring everyone up to parity. This is not happening in a country of billionaires and tens of millions of working poor. Of Elon Musk’s’ and the fabulously wealthy, when there is so much poverty.

Lowering Taxes For The Rich The GOP is always lowering taxes for the rich  and denying their responsibility for helping the poor. Americans have bought, hook, line and sinker, the BS about individuals pulling themselves up by their boot straps. Meanwhile, whites have denied economic opportunities for African Americans over decades and centuries. When slavery was abolished there wasn’t a sustained economic rebalancing of wealth to assist ex-slaves. No, rather, white former slave owners were reimbursed for the value of their property – the slaves. Blacks were prevented from being able to buy property in post WW2 housing developments, which blocked them from becoming propertied. This asset is the defining wealth divider between wealthier and poor in America. Whites controlled the banking sector and would not lend money to African Americans, thus denying them investment growth opportunities. These are no accidents of fate, but rather premeditated racial controls designed to diminish them economically. The Democratic party had been the slave owner’s party in the south, historically, until Richard Nixon sold the soul of Abraham Lincoln’s party to win election back in 1968. The two parties, then, swapped hats on the issue of civil rights after this. The GOP now deny history and seek to ban the studying of African American history in their schools and colleges in places like Florida. “Indeed, in his 1968 campaign and afterward, Nixon used coded language, political symbolism and court interventions as signals to southern white voters. In the aftermath of city riots in 1967 and 1968, as well as Vietnam War protests, Nixon said he was for “law and order.’’ His administration went to court to slow down school desegregation. Nixon tried to install two so-called strict-constructionist conservatives, Clement F. Haynesworth Jr. of South Carolina and G. Harrold Carswell of Florida, on the Supreme Court, but the Senate turned down both nominees. By his political calculation to capitalize on the racial and cultural divisions of his day, Nixon opened the gate to the political polarization of the United States in 2018. While President Donald Trump hardly emulates the furtive and nuanced Nixon, there is a direct line that runs from the Nixonian “southern strategy’’ to the Trump presidency.” (https://www.southerncultures.org/article/southern-strategy-from-nixon-to-trump/)

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com Remember The Sales Pitch Culture Many Americans are not the sharpest tools in the shed when it comes to knowing their own history and world history. It is easier to control the ignorant and sell them Trump BS on this basis. They have voted this charlatan back into office after his shameful performance during the pandemic, where nearly a million Americans died in the richest nation on earth. This is a country that does not look after all of its people and allows some to profit from the vulnerable at their expense. Look at their disgusting private health insurance model where companies make hundreds of billions of dollars profit whilst sick people are denied care and die. Buying Trump in the land of the sales pitch is unfathomable for those of us living elsewhere but somehow possible for them. However, if you remember that sales pitch culture and the lies that Trump and his party promulgate it is comprehensible. If you grow up in a culture that worships money and the allure of the fake billionaire is that money will spill from his pockets to the little people below. This is called neoliberalism and the ‘trickledown effect’ was the promise of Reagan and Milton Friedman. The inner circle, the oligarchs will become obscenely rich via the macro corruption of privatisation and the little people were promised the trickledown effect. Unfortunately, for us the economic data tells us that we are not better off than our parent’s generation, indeed, many of us are worse off. The empty promises of Reagan and all those who followed, Bush, Clinton, Bush etc ring loudly like a warning bell. We have been screwed. Despite this the fools voted Trump back in on more promises of retribution and downward envy. The Popularity Of Victimhood In America The culture wars rage on in America and globally. ‘Down with the elites,’ is the cry from the stands. ‘Death to woke,’ is another from middle aged whites who look around for something to blame their unrealised dreams upon. Victimhood is more popular now than at any other time in history. These disgruntled folk want to be first in line for the hand-outs if they ever come. If the oligarchs deign to drop a crumb their way. If they can squeeze onto the gravy train, somehow. Buying Trump in the land of the sales pitch will foster grift and corruption for those who can weasel themselves into contention. God bless America! Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of America Matters: Pre-apocalyptic Posts & Essays in the Shadow of Trump. ©WordsForWeb Read the full article

[thisismysecondrodeo]

here’s a request if you have time: ted giving y/n a massage?

AN: @tedssweaters wrote a lovely little massage blurb that everyone should go read. I already had this request in my queue and of course, I went in a different (read: horny) direction lol s/o to @jarfishy for the encouragement to finish this one early 😛 two fics in one day, who am I?!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: AFAB!reader, One-Shot, Sports injury turned very sexy, Smut, Porn with barely any plot, facefucking, fingerfucking, General sexy things

Fic masterlist

-

You had been obsessed with football since you were little, your older brothers happily taught you every trick they knew while they dribbled circles around you until you were old enough to start playing against girls your own age. You had long since hung up your football dreams, though, focusing on a career in PR instead. But since you started working for AFC Richmond—and dating the head coach—you couldn’t help but want to get back on the pitch again.

Over happy hour one night you told the team how much you missed playing and they all tried to get you into a drunken round of footie on the Richmond Green, absolutely gutted when they couldn’t procure a football and the coaches told them it was too dark and they were too not-sober. But after that, the boys would occasionally drop by your office on a light practice day to invite you out and you started keeping some extra athletic clothes and boots under your desk.

“You sure it's okay,” you asked Ted each time you went to step out on the pitch, trying not to linger. Though your relationship had started completely unrelated to your employment, neither of you wanted anyone to get the wrong impression. The only people that were aware you were together were Rebecca and HR…and Keeley after that one time she had come back for something in her old desk and caught the two of you….indisposed. You had to admit the sneaking around was a little sexy, but it was a bummer in times like this when you wanted to drop a kiss on his cheek after he said, “of course! Go show those boys what-for.”

You were getting into the rhythms of playing, your lungs burning with exertion and a grin cemented to your face as you darted around. You raised a hand to Dani with a call of, “oi!” and sprinted to the ball to set yourself up for a corner kick. It felt good to score, even though you knew the boys let you have that one—granted they’d been out there for hours and you were fresh from your desk, no one could blame them for being a little slow.

You were taking the ball down the field when Sam called for a pass and you looked up for him just as O’Brien went for a slide tackle and you went down hard, with a pained grunt. Ted was hovering over you in an instant, you didn’t even know how he’d moved that quickly, and you rolled off of O’Brien and onto your stomach with a laugh.

“Jeez, I’m so sorry, you alright Y/N,” O’Brien asked with genuine remorse as he sat up on his knees, Ted right next to him his brow furrowed in concern.

“It was fair play, I’m perfectly fine Tommy Boy. Don’t apologize for that,” You went to get up but Ted stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t move yet, we should get you checked out,” Ted said and you looked at him like he was crazy.

“Ted, I’m fine. I’m a human woman, not a paper doll,” you laughed and Ted chuckled with you. “Just help me up, why don’t you?”

Ted held out a hand and you let him take most of your weight as you clambered up, took a step, and…shit that hurt. Not the worst you’d felt, but your thigh was cripplingly tight. You must have pulled your hamstring when you went down. Ted saw you grimace and his voice was frantic when he asked, “Woah now, what hurts?”

“Mmmf,” you grunted, “s’okay, just pulled my hamstring.” You gestured to your left leg and Ted’s hands were on you, squeezing with a pleasure-pain that made you groan as you braced yourself on his shoulder, not realizing how inappropriate this might seem to the players still gathered around. Coach Beard loudly and pointedly cleared his throat but it was too late.

“Coach, why don’t you work my hamstrings out like that, huh,” Jamie called out, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Roy shoulder-checked him but even he smirked. Ted blushed and removed his hands immediately. You needed to get him out of here before he started apologizing and making things worse.

“Where were you when I tore my butt,” O’Brien teased and all the players laughed at that. Ted opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.

“Ha ha,” you stuck your tongue out at Jamie and O’Brien mockingly, “come on, Coach, help me to the treatment room?” You wrapped an arm around Ted’s shoulders, your hurt leg in between so you could use him as a crutch as you limped off the pitch. He wrapped a hand around your waist to support you, being sure to keep his hand higher than necessary.

As soon as the treatment door clicked shut behind you, Ted had you wrapped tightly in his arms as if he had found you on the pitch half-dead. Thank god the actual trainer was out for the afternoon otherwise there was no way the two of you could explain this one away as platonic concern. You chuckled a little but let him hold you, his hands gripping your t-shirt as he took deep, soothing breaths.

“Ted?”

He didn’t respond but you could feel his fingers release just a smidge.

“Teddy, I’m alright sweetheart,” you whispered with light amusement and Ted sighed and let you go.

“I know, I know you just…gave me a bit of a fright seein’ you take a tumble like that. And I’m embarrassed on top of that for not keepin’ my hands to myself and almost blowing our cover. I should have told the boys to take it easy—”

“Woah, now, none of that,” you chastised, hobbling over to sit on a treatment table. “I may not have ever been a professional athlete, but I was an athlete. I know what it’s like to be knocked down, I know the symptoms of a concussion. Hell, have I told you my front incisor is an implant? Mum was pissed after that game.” You chuckled and looked over at Ted who was wincing. “Ah, come on now darling. You see people get hurt all the time. Scrapes and bruises are little badges of hon—”

“Not you,” Ted said, his voice tight and his hands fisted in his pockets. “I don’t see you get hurt all the time. It’s not because you’re a woman or because you’re not a professional or because I don’t think you can handle yourself, I just…I love you. And I don’t want to see the person I love in pain.”

Ted had never told you he loved you before and your eyes shot to his face, searching for any indication that he didn’t mean it, that he regretted saying it. But all you saw was the vulnerability of him offering his heart on a platter. You reached a hand out towards him and he stepped closer, allowing you to tug one of his fists from the pocket of his khakis.

“I love you too, Ted Lasso,” you whispered, holding his gaze as you leaned in and he met you halfway. It was easy to forget where you were and why when he kissed you like that, but when you shifted to widen your legs so he could step between them, the tug in your thigh reminded you and you grunted into his mouth, which was not the sexy sound he’d been anticipating.

“As much as I’m loving this very sexy turn of events, do you think you could get me an ice pack?”

Ted jumped into action with a smile and you slid off the table to remove your shorts so they wouldn’t get in the way, before leaning over and locking the door. Ice pack in hand, Ted turned and you could see the way his eyes lingered, but he remained focused on attending to your injury.

“Here, why don’t you lay on your stomach and I’ll hold this for you.” You did as he asked, and jumped when the freezing cold sensation hit your skin. “Did you stretch before you got out there?”

You gave Ted a sheepish look from where your head rested on your folded arms and he clucked his tongue at you. “Well if it’s alright with you, it might be helpful to massage your other leg while this one is healing to prevent this in the future. If you’re gonna be a member of my team, ya gotta be proactive in taking care of yourself, ya know?”

You smiled and nodded as he wrapped your ice-pack thigh in a towel so it wouldn’t move and stepped to your other side, rubbing massage therapy oil between his palms before he touched you. “Does that mean you’re letting me back out on the pitch, Coach?” You didn’t mean it to be seductive, but the two of you had somehow slipped into a mild coach-player roleplay, and the moan that slipped from your lips when he pressed down deep into the muscles of your thigh didn’t help.

“As if I could tell you no,” Ted responded affectionately, using both hands to grip your thigh and rub small, deep circles down the length of the muscle. He moved down to your calf, massaging slowly and humming a tune. He switched legs, skipping your injured thigh and going straight to the calf muscle and it felt like heaven, his hands warm and firm against your skin, his long fingers wrapping briefly around your ankle. He let go and you whimpered at the loss.

“How’s your back, love?”

“If I say ‘just awful’ will you keep touching me?”

Ted laughed, a full-bellied laugh that always made you giddy when you could pull it from him. You sat up and he helped you remove your shirt and bra before you laid back down, your arms to your side, and as he walked past your head for more massage oil you couldn’t help but noticed his tented khakis. You had of course felt like this was a rather sexy scenario, but you hadn’t realized how much it was affecting Ted too. He hadn’t made any untoward comments or touched you in any way that someone with a Sports Physiology degree wouldn’t. Knowing that his care for you was NOT centered on sex, that he couldn’t be distracted from looking after you just because you were mostly nude, only made you want to fuck him more.

Ted ran his hands over your back, gently first and then with more pressure. You sighed deeply when he hit the spot between your shoulder blades that always ached from working at a computer all day. He leaned closer so he could focus in on that spot but when his erection brushed your arm he quickly tilted his hips back. You wanted to tell him it was okay but you didn’t want to embarrass him, so you settled for letting him know how much you were enjoying the experience and maybe some not-so-subtle hints.

When his thumbs worked into your lower back, you spread your legs slightly and thanked your lucky stars you had picked gray underwear today. You knew he could see how wet you were by the sharp intake of breath you heard behind you.

“Feel good,” he asked, his voice a little strained, and you smiled over your shoulder at him.

“Very. What would you say if I asked you to get my glutes…Coach?”

Ted took a deep breath that he released as a groan. “I’d say we’d need to get these off.” If you could fist pump in this position you would. You were dying for him to touch you. Not that he hadn’t been, but there were certainly more sensitive areas that could use his attention. Ted removed the towel and ice pack first, letting his long fingers trail along your inner thigh and you shuddered in anticipation. He hooked his fingers in your waistband, slid down your underwear, and then…actually massaged your glutes.

It still felt amazing, but you wanted him to sink those very capable fingers into your core, to massage your clit until you were begging for release.

“Hey, Coach?”

“Hm,” Ted hummed. You couldn’t see him from this angle but he wasn’t tilting his hips back anymore and you could feel him hard against the side of your thigh.

“This is making me very fucking horny.”

Ted laughed. “Is that right? Is that you droppin’ hints that you’d like my hands…a little lower?”

“Well if you’re offering,” you joked nonchalantly as if you weren’t prepared to beg. Ted did slide his hands down but he didn’t immediately sink his fingers into you. Instead, he treated your vulva with the same care he had treated the rest of your body, a gentle but purposeful massage that made it hard to tell whether the growing slickness between your thighs was oil, arousal, or a mix of both.

“Fuck,” you whined as Ted’s middle finger parted you and made contact with your clit, but he pulled away and you grunted in frustration.

“Turn over for me darlin’.”

Ted helped so you didn’t bother your injured leg and though you were more than excited for him to go back to touching you, the real reason you felt heat pooling in your belly was getting to look at his sweet face, concern almost fully replaced with desire, his dimple deepening when his eyes locked on yours.

“Well, hello there,” you said softly and he grinned. “Appreciate the helping hand.”

“Anytime,” Ted responded as he ran his oiled hands up your belly to your peaked nipples, massaging your breasts and leaning forward to capture your moans between his own lips. You tangled your tongue with his, relishing in the slip of his fingers as he pinched at both nipples. He stood up as he trailed one hand back to its previous location. Done teasing, he wasted no time sliding two fingers into you and you tried to keep your reaction in check but you couldn’t help but whine, “Jesus, fuck Ted you feel so fucking good.”

“Shh, I’m glad, baby,” Ted said quietly, obviously not wanting to draw attention to what was currently happening in the treatment room, “just relax and let me take care of you.” He tilted his fingers up to find the soft spot inside of you that made your soul leave your body as his thumb found your clit, his other hand still alternating between your breasts. You were whimpering and whining and Ted was steadily trying to shush you but you didn’t know how he expected you to stay quiet when he was so expertly taking you apart.

“I…I can’t, fuuck, I can’t stay quiet baby.”

“You have to darlin’, you have to be good for me.”

“Mmm,” you complained but then you caught sight of his erection yet again and you ran your hand over it, smiling when he couldn’t help but press into your palm. You tugged him closer to you by his pocket, using both hands to work his pants open and Ted chuckled, “you’re just not going to let me take care of you, are you?”

You freed Ted’s length from his boxers and smiled up at him, batting your eyelashes. “I just thought something in my mouth might help me keep quiet.”

“Christ,” Ted whispered emphatically as you stroked him a few times. Somehow in all of this fingers had never stopped their slow fucking so you knew he was up to the challenge.

“You’re going to have to fuck my mouth since I don’t have the range of motion I normally do, think you can multitask?”

Ted choked on his spit and coughed, sputtering as he answered, “You’re going to be the absolute death of me.”

But it certainly wasn’t a no, and he did as you asked when you slipped the tip of him between your lips, moving slowly to match the pace of his fingers. You moaned against him, adoring the feeling of him heavy in your mouth, letting your tongue circle the seam of him when he pulled back and relaxing your jaw when he pushed back in. He picked up the pace of both his hips and his fingers and you were so close, your whole body pulsing with desire, your injury forgotten. And then Ted slid in a third finger and you were a goner, the stretch and pressure so overwhelmingly good the only thing stopping you from screaming was his dick in your mouth.

Thankfully, when he felt you clench against his fingers he stopped moving his hips, otherwise you surely would have choked. Your chest was heaving as Ted moved to pull out of your mouth but you shook your head no, leaning over to take him in hand before you released him for a gasp of air, stroking him swiftly until you could take him again. When you were ready you sat up slightly so you had more control and used both your hand and tongue to work him over, his chin tucked to his chest and his hand covering his mouth.

“I’m gonna…baby, I’m about to…” He tried to pull back, but you shook your head again and sank down as far as you could and swallowed, feeling him come down the back of your throat. Now it was Ted’s turn to gasp for air as you sucked him clean and released him.

“Can’t believe this treatment room is still haunted,” Ted said as he tucked himself back in his khakis, “you’re a goddamn succubus.”

You laughed as he helped you back into your clothes. The two of you had been missing from training for so long, you just cleaned up the treatment room and left the stadium hoping no one was suspicious. Ted shot Beard a quick text that he was helping you get home and got just a thumbs up in return.

-

A couple weeks later now fully healed, Colin stopped by your office and invited you out to the pitch again. You grinned and pulled on your athletic wear, tying up your boots before stepping out next to Ted. The two of you had decided it was long time to stop sneaking around, so this time when you asked, “you sure it’s okay” and Ted told you to get out there, you thanked him with a kiss.

Both of you looked around at the team confused when no one reacted and Ted cleared his throat, “Guess I should let y’all know that, uh, Y/N and I…”

“We know, Coach,” Sam called out with a smile. “And we’re happy for you both.” The team took to the pitch but you and Ted still looked at each other confused until Isaac came over and murmured, “Training room connects to the locker room. And it's not soundproof, bruv.” You’d never seen the color drain from Ted’s face so quickly, but you just followed Isaac out onto the pitch with a smile. It had been worth it.

And despite now knowing about you and Ted—way too much about you and Ted, it seemed—the boys didn’t take it easy on you for one second. Just the way you liked it.